Did we not say that pleasure in the misfortunes of friends was caused by envy?
There can be no other cause.
Then our argument declares that when we laugh at the ridiculous qualities of our friends, we mix pleasure with pain, since we mix it with envy; for we have agreed all along that envy is a pain of the soul, and that laughter is a pleasure, yet these two are present at the same time on such occasions.
True.
So now our argument shows that in mournings and tragedies and comedies, not merely on the stage, but in all the tragedy and comedy of life, and in countless other ways, pain is mixed with pleasure.
It is impossible not to agree with that, Socrates, even though one be most eager to maintain the opposite opinion.
Again we mentioned anger, yearning, mourning, love, jealousy, envy, and the like,
as conditions in which we should find a mixture of the two elements we have now often named, did we not?
Yes.
And we understand that all the details I have been describing just now are concerned only with sorrow and envy and anger?
Of course we understand that.
Then there are still many others of those conditions left for us to discuss.
Yes, very many.
Now why do you particularly suppose I pointed out to you the mixture of pain and pleasure in comedy? Was it not for the sake of convincing you,
because it is easy to show the mixture in love and fear and the rest, and because I thought that when you had made this example your own, you would relieve me from the necessity of discussing those other conditions in detail, and would simply accept the fact that in the affections of the body apart from the soul, of the soul apart from the body, and of the two in common, there are plentiful mixtures of pain and pleasure? So tell me; will you let me off, or will you keep on till midnight? But I think I need say only a few words to induce you to let me off. I will agree to give you an account of all these matters
tomorrow, but now I wish to steer my bark towards the remaining points that are needful for the judgement which Philebus demands.
Good, Socrates; just finish what remains in any way you please.
Then after the mixed pleasures we should naturally and almost of necessity proceed in turn to the unmixed.
Very good.
So I will turn to them and try to explain them; for I do not in the least agree with those who say that all pleasures are merely surcease from pain, but, as I said, I use them as witnesses to prove that some pleasures are apparent, but not in any way real, and that there are others which appear to be both great and numerous, but are really mixed up with pains and with cessations of the greatest pains and distresses of body and soul.
But what pleasures, Socrates, may rightly be considered true?
Those arising from what are called beautiful colors, or from forms, most of those that arise from odors and sounds, in short all those the want of which is unfelt and painless, whereas the satisfaction furnished by them is felt by the senses, pleasant, and unmixed with pain.
Once more, Socrates, what do you mean by this?
My meaning is certainly not clear at the first glance,
and I must try to make it so. For when I say beauty of form, I am trying to express, not what most people would understand by the words, such as the beauty of animals or of paintings, but I mean, says the argument, the straight line and the circle and the plane and solid figures formed from these by turning-lathes and rulers and patterns of angles; perhaps you understand. For I assert that the beauty of these is not relative, like that of other things, but they are always absolutely beautiful by nature
and have peculiar pleasures in no way subject to comparison with the pleasures of scratching; and there are colors which possess beauty and pleasures of this character. Do you understand?
I am trying to do so, Socrates; and I hope you also will try to make your meaning still clearer.
I mean that those sounds which are smooth and clear and send forth a single pure note are beautiful, not relatively, but absolutely, and that there are pleasures which pertain to these by nature and result from them.
Yes, that also is true.
The pleasures of smell are a less divine class; but they have no necessary pains mixed with them, and wherever and in whatever we find this freedom from pain, I regard it always as a mark of similarity to those other pleasures. These, then, are two classes of the pleasures of which I am speaking. Do you understand me?
I understand.
And further let us add to these the pleasures of knowledge, if they appear to us not to have hunger for knowledge or pangs of such hunger as their source.
I agree to that.
Well, if men are full of knowledge and then lose it through forgetfulness, do you see any pains in the losses?
Not by their inherent nature, but sometimes there is pain in reflecting on the event,
when a man who has lost knowledge is pained by the lack of it.
True, my dear fellow, but just at present we are recounting natural feelings only, not reflection.
Then you are right in saying that we feel no pain in the loss of knowledge.
Then we may say that these pleasures of knowledge are unmixed with pain and are felt not by the many but only by very few.
Yes, certainly.
And now that we have fairly well separated the pure pleasures and those which may be pretty correctly called impure, let us add the further statement that the intense pleasures are without measure and those of the opposite sort have measure; those which admit of greatness and intensity and are often or seldom great or intense we shall assign to the class of the infinite, which circulates more or less freely through the body and soul alike,
and the others we shall assign to the class of the limited.
Quite right, Socrates.
There is still another question about them to be considered.
What is it?
What kind of thing is most closely related to truth? The pure and unadulterated, or the violent, the widespread, the great, and the sufficient?
What is your object, Socrates, in asking that question?
My object, Protarchus, is to leave no gap in my test of pleasure
and knowledge, if some part of each of them is pure and some part impure, in order that each of them may offer itself for judgement in a condition of purity, and thus make the judgement easier for you and me and all our audience.
Quite right.
Very well, let us adopt that point of view towards all the classes which we call pure. First let us select one of them and examine it.