Book IX, 579–586

579a “Would he not then be compelled to flatter some of his slaves, make them many promises, and set them free though he had no wish to, revealing himself as a flatterer of his own servants?”

“He would have no choice,” he said, “unless he wished to perish.”

“And suppose,” I said, “the god settled many neighbors all around him, people who would not tolerate anyone’s claim to master another, but who would inflict the severest penalties on anyone they caught doing so. 579b”

“I think,” he said, “his plight would be worse in every way, surrounded on all sides by enemies keeping watch over him.”

“Is the tyrant not bound in a prison of just this kind, being by nature the man we have described, full of fears and passions of every sort? Although his soul is greedy, he alone of all the people in the city may neither travel abroad nor see any of the sights that other free men long to visit. For the most part he stays shut up in his house like a woman, 579c envying the other citizens if any one of them goes abroad and sees something fine.”

“Exactly,” he said.

“Then such are the evils reaped in greater measure by the man who governs himself badly—the tyrannical man whom you just now judged most wretched—if instead of living as a private citizen he is compelled by some chance to become a tyrant, and, unable to master himself, attempts to rule others. It is as if a man with a sick body, unable to control it, were compelled to spend his life, not in private retirement, but in 579d athletic contests and combat against other bodies.”

“Your comparison is exceedingly apt and true, Socrates,” he said.

“Then, dear Glaucon,” I said, “is not his condition utterly miserable? And does the man who rules as a tyrant live an even harder life than the man whose life you judged hardest?”

“Certainly,” he said.

“So in truth, whatever anyone may think, a real tyrant is a real slave, given to the most abject flattery and servitude, 579e a flatterer of the most depraved men. Far from satisfying his desires in the slightest, he proves the neediest of all, poor in truth, if one knows how to behold an entire soul: throughout his life he is full of fear, writhing and racked with pain—if indeed he resembles the condition of the city he rules. And he does resemble it, does he not?”

“Very much,” he said.

“580a Shall we not also attribute to this man what we said earlier: because of his power, he must be, and become still more than before, envious, untrustworthy, unjust, friendless, and impious, a host and nurturer of every vice? All this will make him supremely unhappy himself, and afterward make those near him unhappy too.”

“No one with any sense,” he said, “will dispute that.”

“Come, then,” I said, “now pronounce your judgment like the judge who gives the final verdict 580b over the whole contest. Say who in your opinion comes first in happiness, who second, and judge all five in order: the kingly, the honor-loving, the oligarchic, the democratic, and the tyrannical man.”

“The judgment is easy,” he said. “I rank them, just as they came before us, like choruses in a contest, in order of virtue and vice, happiness and its opposite.”

“Shall we hire a herald,” I said, “or shall I proclaim that the son of Ariston has judged the best and most just man the happiest 580c—the man who is most kingly and rules himself—and the worst and most unjust man the most wretched—the man who, being most tyrannical, exerts the greatest tyranny over himself and the city?”

“Let it be proclaimed by you,” he said.

“Shall I add,” I said, “that this is true whether or not they escape the notice of all human beings and gods?”

“Proclaim that too,” he said.

“Well then,” I said, “that is one demonstration for us. Consider this second one as well, if you think it has any force. 580d”

“What is it?”

“Since the soul of each person, like the city,” I said, “is divided into three parts—[the reasoning part]—it will admit, I think, of another demonstration.”

“What demonstration?”

“This one: as there are three parts, there appear to be three kinds of pleasure, one peculiar to each; and likewise three kinds of desire and rule.”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“One part, we say, is that by which a person learns, a second that by which he feels anger; as for the third, because of its many forms, we could find no single name 580e peculiar to it, and so we named it for what was greatest and strongest in it. We called it the desiring part because of the intensity of its desires for food, drink, sex, and all that goes along with these; and we called it the money-loving part, because it is chiefly through money 581a that desires of this sort are fulfilled.”

“And rightly so,” he said.

“If, then, we said that its pleasure and affection are directed toward gain, would we best bring our account under a single head, so that we make clear to ourselves which part of the soul we are speaking of? And would we be right to call it money-loving and gain-loving?”

“I think so,” he said.

“And what of the spirited part? Do we not say that its whole impulse is always directed toward mastery, victory, and high repute? 581b”

“Certainly.”

“So if we called it victory-loving and honor-loving, would that be fitting?”

“Entirely fitting.”

“But it is clear to everyone that the part by which we learn is always wholly bent on knowing the truth of how things stand, and cares least of these parts for money or reputation.”

“Far less than the others.”

“Would we then aptly call it learning-loving and philosophical?”

“How could we not?”

“And in some people,” I said, “this is the part that rules the soul, 581c while in others one or the other of the remaining parts rules, as the case may be?”

“So it is,” he said.

“That is why we also say there are three chief kinds of human beings: the philosophical, the victory-loving, and the gain-loving.”

“Precisely.”

“And three kinds of pleasure, one assigned to each of these?”

“Yes.”

“You know,” I said, “that if you were to question three such men in turn about which of their lives is most pleasant, each would praise his own above the others. The man devoted to money-making 581d would say that compared with profit, the pleasure of honor or learning is worth nothing, unless it brings in money.”

“True,” he said.

“And what of the lover of honor?” I said. “Does he not regard the pleasure that comes from money as vulgar, and that from learning, unless the learning brings honor, as smoke and empty talk?”

“That is so,” he said.

“And how do we imagine,” I said, “the philosopher judges the other 581e pleasures beside the pleasure of knowing the truth as it is, and of being always engaged in learning? Does he not think them remote from [that pleasure], and call them necessary in the strict sense, since he would have no need of any of them if necessity did not compel him?”

“We may be sure of that,” he said.

“Now, since the pleasures of each part, and the lives themselves, are in dispute—not over which life is nobler or baser, or better or worse, but over which is actually 582a more pleasant and freer from pain—how could we know which man speaks most truly?”

“I cannot readily say,” he replied.

“Consider it this way. By what ought matters to be judged if they are to be judged well? Is it not by experience, intelligence, and reason? Could anyone possess a better criterion than these?”

“How could he?” he said.

“Consider, then: of the three men, which is most experienced in all the pleasures we have mentioned? Do you think the lover of gain, as he learns what truth itself is like, becomes more experienced in the pleasure 582b of knowledge than the philosopher is in the pleasure of gain?”

“There is a great difference,” he said. “The philosopher has had to taste the other pleasures from childhood; but the lover of gain is under no necessity, in learning the nature of what is, to taste how sweet that pleasure is or become experienced in it. Indeed, even if he were eager to do so, it would not be easy.”

“Then the philosopher,” I said, “far surpasses the lover of gain in experience of both pleasures. 582c”

“Far surpasses him.”

“And what of the lover of honor? Is the philosopher less experienced in the pleasure of receiving honor than the honor-lover is in the pleasure of understanding?”

“Honor,” he said, “comes to all of them if each accomplishes the aim toward which he has set out. Many people honor the rich, and the brave, and the wise as well. Thus everyone has experience of what the pleasure of being honored is like; but no one except the philosopher can taste the pleasure that comes from contemplating what is. 582d”

“Then,” I said, “as far as experience is concerned, he judges best of the three men.”

“By far.”

“And he alone will have gained that experience together with intelligence.”

“Of course.”

“Further, the instrument by which the judgment must be made belongs neither to the lover of gain nor to the lover of honor, but to the philosopher.”

“What instrument?”

“We said the judgment must be made by means of reasoned arguments, did we not?”

“Yes.”

“And arguments are chiefly his instrument.”

“How could they not be?”

“If wealth and profit were the best means of judging 582e what is in question, then the things praised and condemned by the lover of gain would necessarily be most truly judged.”

“Certainly.”

“And if honor, victory, and courage were the measure, it would be what the lover of honor and victory praised, would it not?”

“Clearly.”

“But since experience, intelligence, and reason are the measures?”

“Then what the philosopher, the lover of reasoned discourse, praises must necessarily be most true,” he said.

“583a Of the three kinds of pleasure, then, the pleasure of the part of the soul by which we learn would be the sweetest; and the life in which this part rules would be sweetest for us?”

“How could it be otherwise?” he said. “The intelligent man praises his own life, and his praise carries authority.”

“And which life and which pleasure,” I said, “does our judge rank second?”

“Plainly those of the warrior and lover of honor, for he is nearer to the philosopher than the man devoted to money-making.”

“So the lover of gain comes last, it seems.”

“Of course,” he said. 583b

“These, then, would be two victories in succession, and the just man has twice defeated the unjust. Now for the third—an Olympic victory, in honor of Zeus the Savior and Olympian Zeus. Observe that the pleasure of the other parts, apart from that of the intelligent part, is not even wholly real or pure; it is a kind of shadow painting, as I seem to have heard from one of the wise. And this would be the greatest and most decisive of the falls.”

“Indeed. But what do you mean? 583c”

“I shall find out,” I said, “by inquiring as you answer.”

“Ask away,” he said.

“Tell me,” I said, “do we not say that pain is opposite to pleasure?”

“Certainly.”

“And there is also a state of feeling neither pleasure nor pain?”

“There is.”

“Being in the middle between them, is it a kind of stillness of the soul with regard to these feelings? Or would you not call it that?”

“I would,” he said.

“Do you remember,” I said, “what sick people say when they are ill?”

“What?”

“That nothing, it seems, is more pleasant than being healthy, though 583d they had not realized before falling ill how delightful it was.”

“I remember,” he said.

“And you hear those suffering some intense pain say that nothing is more pleasant than the cessation of pain?”

“I do.”

“And I imagine you notice many other circumstances of this kind, in which people in pain praise the absence of pain and the stillness that comes with it as the greatest pleasure, rather than any positive enjoyment.”

“For at such a moment,” he said, “stillness perhaps becomes pleasant and welcome. 583e”

“And when someone ceases to enjoy a pleasure,” I said, “the stillness of pleasure will be painful.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“So the stillness that we have just called the middle state between them will sometimes be both pain and pleasure.”

“So it seems.”

“Can what is neither really become both?”

“I think not.”

“Moreover, when pleasure and pain arise in the soul, each is a kind of movement, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“584a But did not the state that is neither painful nor pleasant prove just now to be stillness, lying midway between the two?”

“It did.”

“How, then, can it be right to regard freedom from pain as pleasant, or freedom from enjoyment as distressing?”

“It cannot.”

“It is not so, then,” I said, “but stillness appears pleasant beside pain and painful beside pleasure at those moments. None of these appearances holds any truth about real pleasure; they are a kind of enchantment.”

“So the argument indicates,” he said. 584b

“Then consider pleasures that do not arise from pains,” I said, “so that you may not come to think that pleasure is by nature merely the cessation of pain, and pain the cessation of pleasure.”

“Where shall I look, and what pleasures do you mean?” he said.

“There are many others,” I said, “but if you wish, consider especially the pleasures of smell. These suddenly become astonishingly intense without any preceding pain, and when they cease, leave no pain behind.”

“Entirely true,” he said. 584c

“Let us not be persuaded, then, that pure pleasure is escape from pain, or pure pain escape from pleasure.”

“No, let us not.”

“And yet,” I said, “the so-called pleasures that pass through the body to the soul—the most numerous and greatest, perhaps—are of this kind: forms of release from pain.”

“They are.”

“And do not the anticipations of pleasure and pain, born of expectation before these events, follow the same pattern?”

“They do. 584d”

“Do you know,” I said, “what they are like and what most closely resembles them?”

“What?” he said.

“Do you believe,” I said, “that in nature there is an above, a below, and a middle?”

“I do.”

“Then do you think someone carried from below toward the middle would suppose he was being carried anywhere but upward? And when he stood in the middle and looked back toward the place from which he had come, would he think himself anywhere but above, if he had never seen what is truly above?”

“By Zeus,” he said, “I do not see how such a man could think otherwise. 584e”

“But if he were carried back down,” I said, “he would think he was moving downward, and he would think truly?”

“How could he not?”

“And he would undergo all this because he had no experience of the truly above, the middle, and the below?”

“Clearly.”

“Would you be surprised, then, if people without experience of truth hold unsound opinions about many other things, and stand in just this relation to pleasure, pain, and what lies between them? When carried toward 585a pain, they judge truly and really do suffer; but when they move from pain toward the middle state, they firmly think they are coming to fulfillment and pleasure. Just as people who have never seen white mistake gray for white when they compare it with black, so these people, having no experience of pleasure, are deceived when they compare pain with freedom from pain.”

“By Zeus,” he said, “I would be far more surprised if it were not so.”

“Consider it this way too,” I said. “Are not hunger, thirst, and the like 585b forms of emptiness in the condition of the body?”

“Of course.”

“And are not ignorance and folly in turn a kind of emptiness in the condition of the soul?”

“Very much so.”

“Then a person is filled in one case by taking nourishment, and in the other by gaining understanding?”

“How could it be otherwise?”

“Which is the truer filling: one with what is less real, or with what is more real?”

“Clearly with what is more real.”

“Which kinds of things do you think partake more of pure being: things like bread, drink, delicacies, and food of every sort; or the kind comprising true belief, knowledge, understanding, 585c and, in a word, every virtue? Judge it this way: what is connected with the always unchanging, the immortal, and truth, is itself of that nature, and comes into being in what is of that nature—does it seem to you to be more real than what is connected with the never unchanging and the mortal, is itself such, and comes into being in what is such?”

“What is connected with the always unchanging is far more real,” he said.

“Does the being of the always unchanging partake any more of being than of knowledge?”

“Not at all.”

“And of truth?”

“Not of that either.”

“And if it partakes less of truth, does it not also partake less of being?”

“It must. 585d”

“Then, in general, do not the things that tend the body partake less of truth and being than those that tend the soul?”

“Far less.”

“And do you not think the body itself does so in comparison with the soul?”

“I do.”

“Then what is filled with things more real, and is itself more real, is filled more truly than what is filled with things less real, and is itself less real?”

“How could it not be?”

“If being filled with what naturally belongs to us is pleasant, then what is filled with what really is, and is itself more real, would cause a truer and more genuine enjoyment 585e of true pleasure; while what partakes of things less real would be filled less truly and securely and would partake of a less trustworthy and less genuine pleasure.”

“Most necessarily,” he said.

“586a Those, then, who have no experience of intelligence and virtue, but are forever occupied with feasts and the like, are carried, it seems, down below and back up only as far as the middle. Throughout their lives they wander between those points, never passing beyond them, never lifting their eyes or being carried up toward what is truly above. They have never been truly filled with what is, or tasted any stable, pure pleasure. Like grazing beasts, they look down constantly, bent over the ground and their tables, feeding, gorging, and mating; 586b and in their greed for these things they kick and butt one another, killing each other with iron horns and hooves, because they are insatiable: they fill neither the real part of themselves nor the part capable of holding what is real with what truly is.”

“You speak like an oracle, Socrates,” said Glaucon, “of the life of most people.”

“Must they not live with pleasures mixed with pains, phantoms of true pleasure, painted with shadows, 586c heightened by contrast with one another so that each appears intense, and breeding in fools a frenzied longing for them that makes them objects of strife? So, Stesichorus says, the phantom of Helen was fought over by those at Troy because they did not know the true one.”

“It must be something very much like that,” he said.

“And what of the spirited part? Must not things of this sort happen there too when a man acts on it, whether through envy born of love of honor, through violence born of love of victory, or through anger born of ill temper, 586d pursuing his fill of honor, victory, and anger without reflection or understanding?”

“They must happen in this part too,” he said.

“Then,” I said, “can we say with confidence that among the desires of both the gain-loving and victory-loving parts, those that follow knowledge and reason, and pursue with their help the pleasures prescribed by the intelligent part, will attain the truest pleasures possible for them, since they follow truth—and also the pleasures proper to themselves, if what is best for each thing is also what is most its own? 586e”

“Indeed, it is what is most its own,” he said.

“Then, when the whole soul follows the philosophical part and is free from civil strife, each part is able, in other respects, to do its own work and to be just, and each also enjoys its own pleasures, the best pleasures and, so far as possible, the”

579a “Wouldn't he have to flatter some of the enslaved people, make them many promises, and set them free though he had no wish to do so? He would turn out to be a flatterer of his own servants.”

“He would have to,” he said, “or be killed.”

“And what if the god settled many neighbors around him who could not stand anyone claiming to be another person's master? If they caught such a man, they would inflict the harshest penalties on him.”

579b “Then I think his troubles would be worse still,” he said. “He would be surrounded by enemies on every side.”

“Isn't the tyrant locked in a prison like that? He has the nature we described, full of fears and desires of every kind. Though his soul is insatiable, he alone in the city cannot travel anywhere or go to see the sights that other free people want to see. He spends most of his time shut up in his house like a woman 579c and envies the other citizens if one of them travels abroad and sees something good.”

“Exactly,” he said.

“Doesn't a man reap even more of these evils when he has a badly governed soul—the tyrannical man you just called most miserable—and is forced by some chance to become a tyrant instead of living as a private citizen? Though he cannot control himself, he tries to rule others. It is as if a sick man who cannot control his body had to spend his life competing and fighting against other bodies 579d instead of living privately.”

“That comparison is exactly right, Socrates,” he said.

“So, my dear Glaucon, his situation is utterly miserable. The ruling tyrant has a harder life even than the man you judged most miserable.”

“He certainly does,” he said.

579e “Then in truth, whether or not anyone thinks so, an actual tyrant is an actual slave. He must flatter and serve others to the utmost, and flatter the worst people. He cannot satisfy his desires in the least. He lacks more things than anyone else, and is truly poor, if you know how to look at his whole soul. He is full of fear throughout his life, racked by distress and pain, if he resembles the city he rules. And he does resemble it, doesn't he?”

“He certainly does,” he said.

580a “Besides all this, mustn't we give him the traits we mentioned before? His rule makes him, and increasingly so, envious, untrustworthy, unjust, without friends, unholy, a host and nurturer of every vice. All this makes him supremely miserable himself and makes the people around him miserable too.”

“No one with any sense would disagree with you,” he said.

“Now,” I said, “act like a judge 580b who gives the final verdict. Rank the five men in order of happiness, first, second, and so on: the kingly, the timocratic, the oligarchic, the democratic, and the tyrannical.”

“That judgment is easy,” he said. “I rank them as they entered, like choirs in a contest, according to their virtue or vice, their happiness or its opposite.”

“Shall we hire a herald,” I asked, “or shall I announce it myself? 580c The son of Ariston has judged that the best and most just man is the happiest. That is the man who is most kingly and rules himself. The worst and most unjust man is the most miserable: the one who is most tyrannical and rules both himself and his city most tyrannically.”

“Make your announcement,” he said.

“Shall I add that this is true whether or not all human beings and gods know what they are like?”

“Add that,” he said.

“Very well,” I said. “That is one proof. Look at this second one, if you think it counts.”

“What is it?”

580d “Each person's soul has three parts, just as a city has three classes. So I think it allows another proof.”

“What proof?”

“This one. Since there are three parts, each has its own kind of pleasure. Each also has its own desires and its own way of taking charge.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“We say there is the part with which a person learns, and the part with which he gets angry. The third takes so many forms that we could not give it a single name all its own. We named it after what is strongest and largest within it. 580e We called it the appetitive part because its desires for food, drink, sex, and related things are so strong. We also called it money-loving, since money is the main way of satisfying those desires.”

581a “And rightly so,” he said.

“Suppose we said its pleasure and affection center on gain. That would bring what we mean together under one description, making it clear which part of the soul we are talking about. Wouldn't we be right to call it the money-loving and gain-loving part?”

“I think so,” he said.

“What about the spirited part? Don't we say it strains constantly toward power, victory, and a good reputation?”

“Certainly.”

581b “Would it be fitting to call it the victory-loving and honor-loving part?”

“Perfectly fitting.”

“Now everyone can see that the part with which we learn is always intent on knowing the truth about everything. It cares least of all about money and reputation.”

“Much less than the others.”

“So would it be proper to call it learning-loving and wisdom-loving?”

“Of course.”

581c “And in some souls this part rules, while in others one or the other of those two rules, whichever happens to gain control.”

“That's right,” he said.

“That is why we say there are three main kinds of people: lovers of wisdom, lovers of victory, and lovers of gain.”

“Exactly.”

“And there are three kinds of pleasure, one belonging to each of them.”

“Certainly.”

“You know that if you questioned three such men in turn about which life is most pleasant, each would praise his own above the rest. 581d The man devoted to making money would say that, compared with profit, the pleasures of receiving honor or learning are worth nothing, unless they bring in money.”

“True,” he said.

“And the lover of honor?” I asked. “Doesn't he regard the pleasure of making money as vulgar, and the pleasure of learning as mere smoke and nonsense unless the learning brings honor?”

“He does,” he said.

581e “And what do we think the philosopher believes about the other pleasures, compared with knowing the truth about the way things are and always being engaged in learning? Doesn't he think they are nowhere near that pleasure? Doesn't he call them necessary pleasures, since he would have no need of them at all if necessity did not force him?”

“We can be sure of that,” he said.

“Each kind of pleasure and each way of life is disputed. The question is not which life is finer or more shameful, or better or worse, but which is more pleasant and has less pain. How can we tell which of them speaks most truly?”

582a “I can't quite say,” he replied.

“Consider this, then. How should we judge things if we want to judge them well? By experience, understanding, and reason, shouldn't we? Could anyone have a better standard than these?”

“How could they?” he said.

“Then consider the three men. Which has the most experience of all the pleasures we mentioned? Do you think the lover of gain, even if he learns about truth itself, has more experience of the pleasure of knowing than the philosopher has of the pleasure of gain?”

582b “There is a great difference,” he said. “The philosopher necessarily tastes the other pleasures starting in childhood. The lover of gain has no need to taste the pleasure of learning the nature of reality or experience how sweet it is. Even if he tried, it would not be easy.”

“So the philosopher far surpasses the lover of gain in experience of both kinds of pleasure.”

“By far.”

582c “What about the lover of honor? Is the philosopher less experienced in the pleasure of honor than that man is in the pleasure of understanding?”

“Honor comes to all three if they achieve what they seek,” he said. “Many people honor the rich man, the brave man, and the wise man. So all of them know what the pleasure of honor is like. But no one except the philosopher can taste the pleasure of seeing what is real.”

582d “So in terms of experience, he is the best judge of the three.”

“By far.”

“And he alone will have gained his experience together with understanding.”

“Of course.”

“And the tool needed to judge is not the tool of the lover of gain or the lover of honor, but of the philosopher.”

“What tool?”

“We said judgment must be made through reasoning, didn't we?”

“Yes.”

“And reasoning is especially his tool.”

“How could it not be?”

“If wealth and gain were the best 582e measures for judging these things, the lover of gain's praise and blame would necessarily be the truest.”

“Certainly.”

“And if honor, victory, and courage were the measures, wouldn't the lover of honor and victory be right?”

“Clearly.”

“But if the measures are experience, understanding, and reason?”

“Then what the lover of wisdom and reason praises must be the truest,” he said.

583a “So, of the three pleasures, the sweetest must be the pleasure of the part of the soul with which we learn. And the most pleasant life must belong to the person ruled by that part.”

“How could it be otherwise?” he said. “The man of understanding is a qualified judge, and he praises his own life.”

“Which life and pleasure,” I asked, “does our judge rank second?”

“Clearly those of the fighter and lover of honor. His life is closer to the philosopher's than the money-maker's is.”

“And the lover of gain comes last, it seems.”

“Of course,” he said.

583b “So these are two consecutive victories for the just man over the unjust man,” I said. “Now look at the third, an Olympic victory dedicated to Zeus the Savior and Zeus of Olympia. Apart from the pleasure of the person with understanding, the others' pleasure is not wholly real or pure. It is a sort of shadow painting, as I think I heard some wise person say. This would be the greatest and most decisive defeat of all.”

“Certainly. But what do you mean?”

583c “I'll find the answer as I go, if you answer my questions,” I said.

“Ask away,” he said.

“Tell me: don't we say pain is the opposite of pleasure?”

“Certainly.”

“And there is also a condition of feeling neither pleasure nor pain?”

“There is.”

“Isn't that a kind of stillness of the soul between the two? Or wouldn't you describe it that way?”

“I would,” he said.

“Do you remember what sick people say while they are sick?”

“What do they say?”

“583d Nothing, they say, is more pleasant than being healthy. But before they got sick, they failed to realize how pleasant health was.”

“I remember,” he said.

“And don't you hear people in severe pain say that nothing is more pleasant than the pain stopping?”

“I do.”

“I expect you notice people in many other situations like these. When they are in pain, they praise being free of pain and at rest as the greatest pleasure, rather than actual enjoyment.”

“At a time like that,” he said, “peace may seem pleasant and welcome.”

583e “And when someone stops enjoying something, the stillness after pleasure will feel painful.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“So the stillness we just said lies between the two will turn out to be both pain and pleasure.”

“It seems so.”

“But can what is neither become both?”

“I don't think so.”

“Furthermore, both pleasure and pain, as they arise in the soul, are kinds of movement, aren't they?”

“Yes.”

584a “And what is neither painful nor pleasant has just proved to be stillness, midway between them.”

“Yes, it has.”

“How, then, can it be right to think that not suffering is pleasant, or that not enjoying is painful?”

“It can't be.”

“It isn't so,” I said. “But when placed beside pain, stillness appears pleasant, and when placed beside pleasure, it appears painful. There is no truth in these appearances about real pleasure. They are a kind of illusion.”

“At least that's what the argument shows,” he said.

584b “Then look at pleasures that do not arise from pains,” I said. “That will stop you from thinking for the moment that pleasure naturally is just the ending of pain, and pain the ending of pleasure.”

“Where are these pleasures, and what are they?” he asked.

“There are many,” I said. “Think especially of the pleasures of smells. They suddenly become intensely pleasant without any earlier pain, and when they end, they leave no pain behind.”

“Quite true,” he said.

584c “Then let's not be persuaded that pure pleasure is relief from pain, or that pain is relief from pleasure.”

“Let's not.”

“Still,” I said, “most of the largest pleasures said to pass through the body into the soul are of this sort. They are forms of relief from pain.”

“They are.”

“And the advance pleasures and pains we feel in anticipation of future ones work the same way?”

“They do.”

584d “Do you know what they are like, and what they resemble most?” I asked.

“What?” he said.

“Do you think there is an upper, a lower, and a middle region in nature?”

“I do.”

“Suppose someone moves from below to the middle. Wouldn't he think he was moving upward? And when he stood in the middle and looked back to where he had come from, wouldn't he think he was at the top, if he had never seen the real top?”

“By Zeus,” he said, “I don't see how he could think otherwise.”

584e “And if he moved back again, he would think he was going down, and he'd be right.”

“Of course.”

“All this would happen because he had no experience of what is truly above, in the middle, or below.”

“Clearly.”

“Would you be surprised, then, if people with no experience of truth have mistaken beliefs about many other things as well? They are in that position with pleasure, pain, and the condition between them. When they move toward pain, they are right to think it is real pain. 585a But when they move from pain to the middle, they are firmly convinced they are approaching satisfaction and pleasure. They are like someone who looks at gray beside black and mistakes it for white because he has never seen white. In the same way, they look from pain to the painless state and are deceived because they have never known pleasure.”

“By Zeus,” he said, “I wouldn't be surprised. I'd be much more surprised if it were otherwise.”

“Consider it this way,” I said. 585b “Aren't hunger, thirst, and the like kinds of emptiness in the condition of the body?”

“Of course.”

“And aren't ignorance and lack of understanding a kind of emptiness in the condition of the soul?”

“Very much so.”

“Wouldn't a person be filled by taking in food, or by gaining understanding?”

“How could they not?”

“Is filling more genuine when the thing that fills is less real or more real?”

“More real, clearly.”

“Which class of things do you think has a greater share in pure reality: grain, drink, meat, and all kinds of food, or true opinion, knowledge, understanding, and, in short, every virtue? 585c Judge it this way. What belongs to what always stays the same, to immortality, and to truth, and is itself of that kind and exists among such things: does it seem more real than what belongs to what never stays the same and is mortal, and is itself of that kind and exists among such things?”

“What belongs to what always stays the same is far more real,” he said.

“Does the being of what always stays the same have any greater share in reality than it has in knowledge?”

“No.”

“What about truth?”

“Not in that either.”

“And if something has less truth, doesn't it also have less reality?”

“It must.”

585d “So, in general, the things that serve the body have less truth and reality than those that serve the soul.”

“Much less.”

“And don't you think the same is true of the body itself compared with the soul?”

“I do.”

“Then what is more real and is filled with more real things is more truly filled than what is less real and is filled with less real things.”

“Of course.”

“If it is pleasant to be filled 585e with things suited to our nature, then what is really real and is filled with real things will produce more actual and genuine enjoyment of true pleasure. But what takes in things less real will be filled less genuinely and securely, and will share in a less trustworthy and less true pleasure.”

“That necessarily follows,” he said.

586a “So people with no experience of understanding and virtue, who spend all their time feasting and indulging in such things, move downward and then back up toward the middle. It seems they wander between these levels their whole lives. They have never looked up or risen beyond the middle toward what is truly above. They have never truly filled themselves with what is real or tasted steady, pure pleasure. Instead, like grazing animals, they keep their eyes down, bent toward the ground and the tables. They feed, gorge themselves, and mate. 586b Hungry for a bigger share of these things, they kick and butt each other with iron horns and weapons and kill each other. They are never satisfied, because neither what they fill themselves with nor what they use to contain it is real.”

“Socrates,” said Glaucon, “you are speaking like a prophet about the lives of the majority.”

586c “Mustn't their pleasures be mixed with pains? They are images of true pleasure, colored like a shadow painting by being set side by side with pains. Both seem intense and produce raging desires for themselves in people who lack understanding. People fight over them, just as, according to Stesichorus, the men at Troy fought over an image of Helen because they did not know the real Helen.”

“Something like that must be true,” he said.

“And mustn't similar things happen with the spirited part when someone acts on it out of envy and love of honor, violence and love of victory, or anger and ill temper? 586d He pursues his fill of honor, victory, and anger without thought or understanding.”

“The same must be true of that part,” he said.

“So can we say confidently that the desires belonging to both the gain-loving and the victory-loving parts will get the truest pleasures they can get, if they follow knowledge and reason and pursue the pleasures that the thinking part directs them toward? 586e By following truth they will get the pleasures truest for them, and also the pleasures that properly belong to them, if what is best for each part is also what belongs to it most closely.”

“It certainly belongs to it most closely,” he said.

“So when the whole soul follows the part that loves wisdom and is not divided against itself, each part can do its own work and be just in all other respects. Each can also enjoy the pleasures proper to itself, the best ones, and, as far as possible, the