In saying that, did you bear in mind that the arts in general, and the men who devote themselves to them,
make use of opinion and persistently investigate things which have to do with opinion? And even if they think they are studying nature, they are spending their lives in the study of the things of this world, the manner of their production, their action, and the forces to which they are subjected. Is not that true?
Yes, it is.
Such thinkers, then, toil to discover, not eternal verities, but transient productions of the present, the future, or the past?
Perfectly true.
And can we say that any of these things becomes certain, if tested by the touchstone of strictest truth,
since none of them ever was, will be, or is in the same state?
Of course not.
How can we gain anything fixed whatsoever about things which have no fixedness whatsoever?
In no way, as it seems to me.
Then no mind or science which is occupied with them possesses the most perfect truth.
No, it naturally does not.
Then we must dismiss the thought of you and me and Gorgias and Philebus, and make this solemn declaration
on the part of our argument.
What is the solemn declaration?
That fixed and pure and true and what we call unalloyed knowledge has to do with the things which are eternally the same without change or mixture, or with that which is most akin to them; and all other things are to be regarded as secondary and inferior.
Very true.
And of the names applied to such matters, it would be fairest to give the finest names to the finest things, would it not?
That is reasonable.
Are not mind, then, and wisdom the names which we should honor most?
Yes.
Then these names are applied most accurately and correctly to cases of contemplation of true being.
Certainly.
And these are precisely the names which I brought forward in the first place as parties to our suit.
Yes, of course they are, Socrates.
Very well. As to the mixture of wisdom and pleasure,
if anyone were to say that we are like artisans, with the materials before us from which to create our work, the simile would be a good one.
Certainly.
And is it, then, our next task to try to make the mixture?
Surely.
Would it not be better first to repeat certain things and recall them to our minds?
What things?
Those which we mentioned before. I think the proverb we ought to repeat twice and even three times that which is goodis an excellent one.
Surely.
Well then, in God’s name; I think this is the gist of our discussion.
What is it?
Philebus says that pleasure is the true goal of every living being and that all ought to aim at it, and that therefore this is also the good for all, and the two designations good and pleasant are properly and essentially one; Socrates, however, says that they are not one,
but two in fact as in name, that the good and the pleasant differ from one another in nature, and that wisdom’s share in the good is greater than pleasure’s. Is not and was not that what was said, Protarchus?
Yes, certainly.
And furthermore, is not and was not this a point of agreement among us?
What?
That the nature of the good differs from all else in this respect.
In what respect?
That whatever living being possesses the good always, altogether, and in all ways, has no further need of anything, but is perfectly sufficient. We agreed to that?
We did.
And then we tried in thought to separate each from the other and apply them to individual lives, pleasure unmixed with wisdom and likewise wisdom which had not the slightest alloy of pleasure?
Yes.
And did we think then that either of them would be sufficient for any one?
By no means.
And if we made any mistake at that time, let any one now take up the question again. Assuming that memory, wisdom, knowledge, and true opinion belong to the same class, let him ask whether anyone would wish to have or acquire anything whatsoever without these not to speak of pleasure, be it never so abundant or intense, if he could have no true opinion that he is pleased, no knowledge whatsoever
of what he has felt, and not even the slightest memory of the feeling. And let him ask in the same way about wisdom, whether anyone would wish to have wisdom without any, even the slightest, pleasure rather than with some pleasures, or all pleasures without wisdom rather than with some wisdom.
That is impossible, Socrates; it is useless to ask the same question over and over again.
Then the perfect, that which is to be desired by all and is altogether good, is neither of these?
Certainly not.
We must, then, gain a clear conception of the good, or at least an outline of it, that we may, as we said, know to what the second place is to be assigned.
Quite right.
And have we not found a road which leads to the good?
What road?
If you were looking for a particular man and
first found out correctly where he lived, you would have made great progress towards finding him whom you sought.
Yes, certainly.
And just now we received an indication, as we did in the beginning, that we must seek the good, not in the unmixed, but in the mixed life.
Certainly.
Surely there is greater hope that the object of our search will be clearly present in the well mixed life than in the life which is not well mixed?
Far greater.
Let us make the mixture, Protarchus, with a prayer to the gods,
to Dionysus or Hephaestus, or whoever he be who presides over the mixing.
By all means.
We are like wine-pourers, and beside us are fountains—that of pleasure may be likened to a fount of honey, and the sober, wineless fount of wisdom to one of pure, health-giving water—of which we must do our best to mix as well as possible.
Certainly we must.
Before we make the mixture, tell me: should we be most likely to succeed by mixing all pleasure with all wisdom?
Perhaps.
But that is not safe; and I think I can offer a plan by which we can make our mixture with less risk.
What is it?
We found, I believe, that one pleasure was greater than another and one art more exact than another?
Certainly.
And knowledge was of two kinds, one turning its eyes towards transitory things,
the other towards things which neither come into being nor pass away, but are the same and immutable for ever. Considering them with a view to truth, we judged that the latter was truer than the former.
That is quite right.
Then what if we first mix the truest sections of each and see whether, when mixed together, they are capable of giving us the most adorable life, or whether we still need something more and different?
I think that is what we should do.
Let us assume, then, a man who possesses wisdom about the nature of justice itself, and reason in accordance with his wisdom, and has the same kind of knowledge of all other things.
Agreed.
Now will this man have sufficient knowledge, if he is master of the theory of the divine circle and sphere, but is ignorant of our human sphere and human circles, even when he uses these
and other kinds of rules or patterns in building houses?
We call that a ridiculous state of intellect in a man, Socrates, which is concerned only with divine knowledge.
What? Do you mean to say that the uncertain and impure art of the false rule and circle is to be put into our mixture?
Yes, that is inevitable, if any man is ever to find his own way home.
And must we add music, which we said a little while ago
was full of guesswork and imitation and lacked purity?
Yes, I think we must, if our life is to be life at all.
Shall I, then, like a doorkeeper who is pushed and hustled by a mob, give up, open the door, and let all the kinds of knowledge stream in, the impure mingling with the pure?
I do not know, Socrates, what harm it can do a man to take in all the other kinds of knowledge if he has the first.
Shall I, then, let them all flow into what Homer very poetically calls the mingling of the vales?Hom. Il. 4.453.
Certainly.
They are let in; and now we must turn again to the spring of pleasure. For our original plan for making the mixture, by taking first the true parts, did not succeed; because of our love of knowledge,
we let all kinds of knowledge in together before pleasure.
Very true.
So now it is time for us to consider about pleasures also, whether these, too, shall be all let loose together, or we shall let only the true ones loose at first.
It is much safer to let loose the true first.
We will let them loose, then. But what next? If there are any necessary pleasures, as there were kinds of knowledge, must we not mix them with the true?
Of course; the necessary pleasures must certainly be added.
And as we said it was harmless and useful to know all the arts throughout our life, if we now say the same of pleasures—that is, if it is advantageous and harmless for us to enjoy all pleasures throughout life—they must all form part of the mixture.
What shall we say about these pleasures, and what shall we do?
There is no use in asking us, Protarchus; we must ask the pleasures and the arts and sciences themselves
about one another.
What shall we ask them?
Dear ones—whether you should be called pleasures or by any other name—would you choose to dwell with all wisdom, or with none at all? I think only one reply is possible.
What is it?
What we said before: For any class to be alone, solitary, and unalloyed is neither altogether possible nor is it profitable; but of all classes,
comparing them one with another, we think the best to live with is the knowledge of all other things and, so far as is possible, the perfect knowledge of our individual selves.
Your reply is excellent, we shall tell them.
Right. And next we must turn to wisdom and mind, and question them. We shall ask them, Do you want any further pleasures in the mixture? And they might reply, What pleasures?
Quite likely.
Then we should go on to say: In addition to those true pleasures, do you want the greatest and most intense pleasures also to dwell with you?How can we want them, Socrates, they might perhaps say, since they contain countless hindrances for us, inasmuch as they disturb with maddening pleasures the souls of men in which we dwell, thereby preventing us from being born at all, and utterly destroying
for the most part, through the carelessness and forgetfulness which they engender, those of our children which are born?
But the true and pure pleasures, of which you spoke, you must consider almost our own by nature, and also those which are united with health and self-restraint, and furthermore all those which are handmaids of virtue in general and follow everywhere in its train as if it were a god,—add these to the mixture; but as for the pleasures which follow after folly and all baseness, it would be very senseless for anyone who desires to discover the most beautiful and most restful mixture or compound,
and to try to learn which of its elements is good in man and the universe, and what we should divine its nature to be, to mix these with mind. Shall we not say that this reply which mind has now made for itself and memory and right opinion is wise and reasonable?
Certainly.
But another addition is surely necessary, without which nothing whatsoever can ever come into being.
What is it?
That in which there is no admixture of truth can never truly come into being or exist.
No, of course not.
No. But if anything is still wanting in our mixture, you and Philebus must speak of it. For to me it seems that our argument is now completed, as it were an incorporeal order which shall rule nobly a living body.
And you may say, Socrates, that I am of the same opinion.
And if we were to say that we are now in the vestibule of the good and of the dwelling of the good, should we not be speaking the truth after a fashion?
I certainly think so.
What element, then, of the mixture would appear to us to be the most precious and also the chief cause why such a state is beloved of all? When we have discovered this, we will then consider whether it is more closely attached and more akin to pleasure or to mind in the universe.
Right; for that is most serviceable to us in forming our judgement.
And it is quite easy to see the cause which makes any mixture whatsoever either of the highest value or of none at all.
What do you mean?
Why, everybody knows that.
Knows what?
That any compound, however made, which lacks measure and proportion, must necessarily destroy its components and first of all itself;
for it is in truth no compound, but an uncompounded jumble, and is always a misfortune to those who possess it.
Perfectly true.
So now the power of the good has taken refuge in the nature of the beautiful; for measure and proportion are everywhere identified with beauty and virtue.
Certainly.
We said that truth also was mingled with them in the compound.