Call.

Oh, you most certainly do, Socrates. For how can a man be happy if he is a slave to anybody at all? No, natural fairness and justice, I tell you now quite frankly, is this—that he who would live rightly should let his desires be as strong as possible and not chasten them, and should be able to minister to them when they are at their height by reason of his manliness and intelligence, and satisfy each appetite in turn with what it desires. But this, I suppose, is not possible for the many; whence it comes that they decry such persons out of shame, to disguise their own impotence, and are so good as to tell us that licentiousness is disgraceful, thus enslaving—as I remarked before—the better type of mankind; and being unable themselves to procure achievement of their pleasures they praise temperance and justice by reason of their own unmanliness. For to those who started with the advantage of being either kings’ sons or able by their own parts to procure some authority or monarchy or absolute power, what in truth could be fouler or worse than temperance and justice in such cases? Finding themselves free to enjoy good things, with no obstacle in the way, they would be merely imposing on themselves a master in the shape of the law, the talk and the rebuke of the multitude. Or how could they fail to be sunk in wretchedness by that fairness of justice and temperance, if they had no larger portion to give to their own friends than to their enemies, that too when they were rulers in their own cities? No, in good truth, Socrates—which you claim to be seeking—the fact is this: luxury and licentiousness and liberty, if they have the support of force, are virtue and happiness, and the rest of these embellishments—the unnatural covenants of mankind—are all mere stuff and nonsense.

Soc.

Far from ignoble, at any rate, Callicles, is the frankness with which you develop your thesis: for you are now stating in clear terms what the rest of the world think indeed, but are loth to say. So I beg you not to give up on any account, that it may be made really evident how one ought to live. Now tell me: do you say the desires are not to be chastened if a man would be such as he ought to be, but he should let them be as great as possible and provide them with satisfaction from some source or other, and this is virtue?

Call.

Yes, I say that.

Soc.

Then it is not correct to say, as people do, that those who want nothing are happy.

Call.

No, for at that rate stones and corpses would be extremely happy.

Soc.

Well, well, as you say, life is strange. For I tell you I should not wonder if Euripides’ words were true, when he says:Who knows if to live is to be dead,And to be dead, to live?Eur. PolydusEur. fr. 638. and we really, it may be, are dead; in fact I once heard sages say that we are now dead, and the body is our tomb,The sage was perhaps Philolaus, a Pythagorean philosopher contemporary with Socrates. The phrase σῶμα σῆμα, suggesting a mystical similarity between body and tomb, was part of the Orphic doctrine. and the part of the soul in which we have desires is liable to be over-persuaded and to vacillate to and fro, and so some smart fellow, a Sicilian, I daresay, or Italian,Sicilian may refer to Empedocles; Italian to one of the Pythagoreans. made a fable in which—by a play of wordsThe play is with πιθανόν and πίθον:πειστοκόν is added to explain that πιθανόν is not used in its ordinary active sense of impressive.—he named this part, as being so impressionable and persuadable, a jar, and the thoughtless he called uninitiate:The σοφός seems to have falsely derived ἀμυήτους from μύω (= close), with the meaning unclosed, in order to connect it with the notion of cracked or leaky. in these uninitiate that part of the soul where the desires are, the licentious and fissured part, he named a leaky jar in his allegory, because it is so insatiate. So you see this person, Callicles, takes the opposite view to yours, showing how of all who are in Hades—meaning of course the invisible—these uninitiate will be most wretched, and will carry water into their leaky jar with a sieve which is no less leaky. And then by the sieve, as my story-teller said, he means the soul: and the soul of the thoughtless he likened to a sieve, as being perforated, since it is unable to hold anything by reason of its unbelief and forgetfulness. All this, indeed, is bordering pretty well on the absurd; but still it sets forth what I wish to impress upon you, if I somehow can, in order to induce you to make a change, and instead of a life of insatiate licentiousness to choose an orderly one that is set up and contented with what it happens to have got. Now, am I at all prevailing upon you to change over to the view that the orderly people are happier than the licentious or will no amount of similar fables that I might tell you have any effect in changing your mind?

Call.

The latter is more like the truth, Socrates.

Soc.

Come now, let me tell you another parable from the same schoolProbably of Pythagoras. as that I have just told. Consider if each of the two lives, the temperate and the licentious, might be described by imagining that each of two men had a number of jars, and those of one man were sound and full, one of wine, another of honey, a third of milk, and various others of various things, and that the sources of each of these supplies were scanty and difficult and only available through much hard toil:

Soc.

well, one man, when he has taken his fill, neither draws off any more nor troubles himself a jot, but remains at ease on that score; whilst the other finds, like his fellow, that the sources are possible indeed, though difficult, but his vessels are leaky and decayed, and he is compelled to fill them constantly, all night and day, or else suffer extreme distress. If such is the nature of each of the two lives, do you say that the licentious man has a happier one than the orderly? Do I, with this story of mine, induce you at all to concede that the orderly life is better than the licentious, or do I fail?

Call.

You fail, Socrates. For that man who has taken his fill can have no pleasure any more; in fact it is what I just now called living like a stone, when one has filled up and no longer feels any joy or pain. But a pleasant life consists rather in the largest possible amount of inflow.

Soc.

Well then, if the inflow be large, must not that which runs away be of large amount also, and must not the holes for such outflow be of great size?

Call.

Certainly.

Soc.

Then it is a plover’s lifeReferring to this bird’s habit of drinking water and then ejecting it. you are describing this time, not that of a corpse or a stone. Now tell me, is the life you mean something like feeling hunger and eating when hungry?

Call.

Yes, it is.

Soc.

And feeling thirst and drinking when thirsty?

Call.

Yes, and having all the other desires, and being able to satisfy them, and so with these enjoyments leading a happy life.

Soc.

Bravo, my fine fellow! Do go on as you have begun, and mind you show no bashfulness about it. I too, it seems, must try not to be too bashful. First of all, tell me whether a man who has an itch and wants to scratch, and may scratch in all freedom, can pass his life happily in continual scratching.

Call.

What an odd person you are, Socrates—a regular stump-orator!

Soc.

Why, of course, Callicles, that is how I upset Polus and Gorgias, and struck them with bashfulness; but you, I know, will never be upset or abashed; you are such a manly fellow. Come, just answer that.

Call.

Then I say that the man also who scratches himself will thus spend a pleasant life.

Soc.

And if a pleasant one, a happy one also?

Call.

Certainly.

Soc.

Is it so if he only wants to scratch his head? Or what more am I to ask you? See, Callicles, what your answer will be, if you are asked everything in succession that links on to that statement; and the culmination of the case, as stated—the life of catamites—is not that awful, shameful, and wretched? Or will you dare to assert that these are happy if they can freely indulge their wants?

Call.

Are you not ashamed, Socrates, to lead the discussion into such topics?

Soc.

What, is it I who am leading it there, noble sir, or the person who says outright that those who enjoy themselves, with whatever kind of enjoyment, are happy, and draws no distinction between the good and bad sorts of pleasure? But come, try again now and tell me whether you say that pleasant and good are the same thing, or that there is some pleasure which is not good.

Call.

Then, so that my statement may not be inconsistent through my saying they are different, I say they are the same.

Soc.

You are spoiling your first statements,Cf. Plat. Gorg. 482d, where Callicles blamed Polus for not saying what he really thought. Callicles, and you can no longer be a fit partner with me in probing the truth, if you are going to speak against your own convictions.

Call.

Why, you do the same, Socrates.

Soc.

Then I am just as much in the wrong if I do, as you are. But look here, my gifted friend, perhaps the good is not mere unconditional enjoyment: for if it is, we have to face not only that string of shameful consequences I have just shadowed forth, but many more besides.

Call.

In your opinion, that is, Socrates.

Soc.

And do you, Callicles, really maintain that it is?

Call.

I do.

Soc.

Then are we to set about discussing it as your serious view?

Call.

Oh yes, to be sure.

Soc.

Come then, since that is your opinion, resolve me this: there is something, I suppose, that you call knowledge?

Call.

Yes.

Soc.

And were you not saying just now that knowledge can have a certain courage coupled with it?

Call.

Yes, I was.

Soc.

And you surely meant that they were two things, courage being distinct from knowledge?

Call.

Quite so.

Soc.

Well now, are pleasure and knowledge the same thing, or different?

Call.

Different, I presume, O sage of sages.

Soc.

And courage too, is that different from pleasure?

Call.

Of course it is.

Soc.

Come now, let us be sure to remember this, that Callicles the Acharnian said pleasant and good were the same, but knowledge and courage were different both from each other and from the good.

Call.

And Socrates of Alopece refuses to grant us this; or does he grant it?

Soc.

He does not; nor, I believe, will Callicles either, when he has rightly considered himself. For tell me, do you not regard people who are well off as being in the opposite condition to those who are badly off?

Call.

I do.

Soc.

Then if these conditions are opposite to each other, must not the same hold of them as of health and disease? For, you know, a man is never well and ill at the same time, nor gets rid of health and disease together.

Call.

How do you mean?

Soc.

Take, for instance, any part of the body you like by itself, and consider it. A man, I suppose, may have a disease of the eyes, called ophthalmia?

Call.

Certainly.

Soc.

Then I presume he is not sound also at that time in those same eyes?

Call.

By no conceivable means.

Soc.

And what say you, when he gets rid of his ophthalmia? Does he at that time get rid too of the health of his eyes, and so at last is rid of both things together?

Call.

Far from it.

Soc.

Because, I imagine, this would be an astonishing and irrational result, would it not?

Call.

Very much so.

Soc.

Whereas, I take it, he gets and loses either turn?

Call.

I agree.

Soc.

And so with strength and weakness in just the same way?

Call.

Yes.

Soc.

And speed and slowness?

Call.

Certainly.

Soc.

And so too with good things and happiness and their opposites—bad things and wretchedness—does one take on each of these in turn, and in turn put it off?

Call.

Absolutely, I presume.

Soc.

Then if we find any things that a man puts off and retains at one and the same moment, clearly these cannot be the good and the bad. Do we admit this? Now consider very carefully before you answer.

Call.

Oh, I admit it down to the ground.

Soc.

So now for our former admissions: did you say that being hungry was pleasant or painful? I mean, hunger itself.

Call.

Painful, I said; though eating when one is hungry I call pleasant.

Soc.

I see: but at all events hunger itself is painful, is it not?

Call.

I agree.

Soc.

And so too with thirst?

Call.

Quite so.

Soc.

Then am I to ask you any further questions, or do you admit that all want and desire is painful?

Call.

I admit it; no, do not question me further.

Soc.

Very good: but drinking when one is thirsty you surely say is pleasant?

Call.

I do.

Soc.

Now, in this phrase of yours the words when one is thirsty, I take it, stand for when one is in pain?

Call.

Yes.

Soc.

But drinking is a satisfaction of the want, and a pleasure?

Call.

Yes.

Soc.

So in the act of drinking, you say, one has enjoyment?

Call.

Quite so.

Soc.

When one is thirsty?

Call.

I agree.

Soc.

That is, in pain?

Call.

Yes.

Soc.

Then do you perceive the conclusion,—that you say one enjoys oneself, though in pain at the same moment, when you say one drinks when one is thirsty? Or does this not occur at once, at the same place and time—in either soul or body, as you please? For I fancy it makes no difference. Is this so or not?

Call.

It is.

Soc.

But further, you say it is impossible to be badly off, or to fare ill, at the same time as one is faring well.