Book 9, Part 1

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Socrates - GLAUCON 

Finally, there's the tyrannical man. We still need to figure oot hoo he comes aboot fae a democracy, and whit his life is like - happy or miserable?

Aye, that's right, he said, he's the last one left tae discuss.

But there's an earlier question we havenae answered properly yet, I said.

Whit question is that?

I dinnae think we've truly nailed doon the nature and nummer o' desires fowk hae, and until we dae that, oor whole discussion will be a wee bit all ower the place.

Fair point, he said, it's no too late tae sort that oot.

Absolutely, I said. Noo, listen tae whit I'm trying tae get at: There's certain pleasures and desires that folk hae that arenae really necessary, and I wid say are wrang. Everyone seems tae hae them, but some fowk manage tae control them through laws and reason. In these fowk, the better desires win oot - either they get rid o' the bad desires completely, or they become weak and dinnae cause much bother. But for ithers, the bad desires are stronger and there's mair o' them.

Whilk desires are ye on aboot?

I mean the ones that come alive whin the sensible and human part o' us, the part that should be in charge, is sleepin'. Then the wild beast inside us wakes up, bein' all full o' food or drink, and throws off sleep. It goes oot on the rampage tae satisfy its desires, and there's nae foolishness or crime ye could imagine - nae even lyin' wi' yer ain family, or eatin' something that's forbidden - that a man michtnae be ready tae dae at that time, when he's lost all sense o' shame and reason.

Aye, that's absolutely true, he said.

But whin a man's body is healthy and keeps a guid balance, an' whin he wakes up the sensible part o' himsel afore he goes tae sleep, giein' it somethin' tae think aboot wi' noble thoughts an' enquiries, gatherin' himsel through meditation. An' after that, he disnae gie in tae his desires ower much or ower wee, juist enough tae put them tae sleep an' stop them an' their joys an' sorrows fae gettin' in the wey o' the mair important part - the bit that he leaves quiet an' clear-headed, free tae think aboot an' try an' understand things that are unknown, whether they happened in the past, are happening the noo, or will happen in the future. An' then again, whin he's calmed down the passionate side o' himsel, if he has a score tae settle wi' someone - aw right, so after he's pacified these twa irrational sides o' his nature, an' woken up the third ane, the reason, afore he goes tae rest, then, as ye ken yersel, that's when he's closest tae the truth, an' the least likely tae be plagued by daft an' lawless dreams.

I completely agree.

While I wis sayin' aw that, I kinda went off on a wee tangent, but the point I'm tryin' tae make is that aw o' us, even the good folk, hae a wild beast nature that's lawless an' comes oot whin we're sleepin'. Tell me if I'm richt, dae ye agree wi' me?

Aye, I agree.

An' noo, mind the description we gied o' the democratic man. We said that frae bein' a young yin, he wid hae been brought up by a parent that wis a bit of a tightwad, wha encouraged him tae save his siller, but put off ony desires that wisnae necessary an' juist for fun or show?

True.

An' then he went an' hung aboot wi' a mair sophisticated, wild crowd, an' takkin' up all their hedonistic ways, he swung completely the other wey, juist tae spite his mean o' a faither. In the end, bein' a better man than the folk that were corruptin' him, he got pulled in baith directions until he settled somewhere in the middle, livin' a life that wisnae aboot base an' slavish passions, but whit he thocht wis a moderate indulgence in various pleasures. Is that how the democratic man came oot o' the oligarch?

Aye, he said; that wis oor thinkin' then, an' it still is.

An' noo, I said, years will hae passed, an' ye need tae imagine this fella, sic as he is, havin' a son who's brought up wi' his faither's values.

I can imagine that alright.

Then ye need tae imagine the same thing happening tae the son as happened tae the faither: he gets sucked intae a completely lawless life, that his tempters say is perfect freedom. His faither and friends try an' keep him on the straight and narrow, while the other crowd egg him on. As soon as these scary wee manipulators an' tyrant-makers see they're losin' their grip, they'll stick a real whopper of a desire in him, tae be the boss o' his lazy and spendthrift urges. This desire is like some kind of giant, creepy, winged wasp - that's the only way tae properly describe it.

Aye, he said, that's the only image that really fits.

An' when his other desires, surrounded by clouds o' incense an' perfumes an' flowers an' wine, and all the pleasures o' a wild life, get let loose, they swarm aroond him, feedin' this sting o' desire they put in his wasp-like nature. Then, at last, this ruler o' his soul, wi' Madness as his chief bodyguard, goes completely mental. If there's any good ideas or desires simmerin' away inside him, or any wee shred o' decency left, he gets rid o' them a', throws them oot until he's purged o' self-control and completely oot o' his mind.

Aye, he said, that's how the tyrannical man comes about.

An' is that no why love has always been called a tyrant?

Makes sense.

And on top o' that, isnae a man who's drunk also in the grip o' a tyrant-like spirit?

He is that.

And ye ken that a fella who's oot o' his mind, no thinkin' straight, will believe he can rule everyone, even the gods?

Aye, that's what they'll think.

An' a true, real-life tyrannical man comes tae be when, either through his natural tendencies, or habits, or both, he becomes a drunken, lustful, passionate mess. Isn't that right, my friend?

Absolutely.

That's the kind o' man he is, and that's how he comes about. But whit's his life like? Tell me, as if you were just havin' a laugh.

Weel, I imagine, I said, that the next stage involves feasts and parties and wild celebrations and prostitutes, and all that kind o' thing. Love is the lord of the roost inside him, and runs everything to do with his soul.

That's definitely true.

Aye, and every single day and night, these desires just keep growin' bigger and stronger, and they all want somethin' different.

They sure dae, he said.

His income, if he has any, will soon be all gone.

True enough.

Then he'll be stuck wi' debts and will need to start sellin' off his stuff.

Of course.

When there's nothin' left, these desires, huddled together like a nest o' hungry young ravens, will be squawkin' for food. An' him, bein' prodded on by them, especially Love himself, who's kind of like their leader, will be in a right state, desperate to find someone he can rob or swindle oot o' their gear, so he can keep these desires happy.

Aye, that's bound to happen.

He'll need money, no matter how he gets it, if he wants to avoid some horrible pains and torments.

He will that.

An' just like how he kept wantin' new pleasures that overshadowed the old ones and took over, so him being younger will think he deserves more than his father and mother. And if he's already spent his own share o' the stuff, he'll try and nick a bit of theirs.

There's no doubt about it.

An' if his parents dinnae gie in, then he'll try to cheat them and lie to them first.

Very true.

And if that doesnae work, then he'll resort to force and steal it off them.

Aye, that's probably what he'll dae.

But what if the auld fella and wife try and fight back for their own stuff, my friend? Will this creature feel any guilt about tyrannizing over his ain parents?

Naw, he said, I widnae hae much hope for his parents at all.

Aye, but heavens forfend! Fitba [Fitba can also be "Eejit" or "Glaikit"] Adeimantus, on account o' some newfangled fancy for a slapper that's no a necessity by ony stretch, wid ye believe he'd strike his mither, wha's been a pal for ages an' is pure dead essential tae his existence? Wid he pit her unner the authority o' the other wan, jist 'cause they're unner the same roof noo? Or wid he dae the same tae his auld, feety falder, the first an' maist important pal a fella can hae, aw for the sake o' some spring chicken he's just met that's anythin' but essential?

Aye, true enough, he said, I wid believe that.

Weel then, says I, a tyrannical wean [wean = child] is a richt blessin' tae their fayther an' mither!

That they are, he says.

First they nick their gear, an' when that's gane an' pleasures are startin' tae swarm in their heid, they'll break intae a hoose, or rob some puir sod walkin' hame at night. Niest, they'll be raidin' a kirk [kirk = church]. A' the auld ideas they had as a bairn [bairn = child] aboot whit's richt an' whit's wrang get chucked oot by thir newfangled notions that've jist been let oot o' the cage an' are noo the bodyguards o' love an' share his rule. Back when they were jist a wean, an' still answerin' tae the law an' their dad, these ideas were only let loose in dreams. But noo that they're unner the thumb o' love, they become constantly an' in real life whit they only wis rarely an' in dreams afore; they'll commit a murder that wid make yer hair stand on end, or eat somethin' they shouldnae, or dae onythin' else that's pure horrific. Love's their tyrant, livin' like a lord an' lawless within them, and bein' a king itself, it leads them on, juist like a tyrant leads a kintra, tae dae onythin' reckless that keeps it an' its rabble o' pals gaun, whether it's them they've met up wi' 'cause o' bad company, or them they've let loose within themsels acause they're jist as rotten. Is that no a richt picture o' their life?

Aye, true enough, he says.

An' if there's only a wheen o' them in the kintra, an' the rest o' the folk are decent, they'll bugger off an' become the bodyguards or mercenary sodjers for some other tyrant that needs them for a war. An' if there's nae war, they bide at hame an' cause aw sorts o' wee problems in the toon.

Whit sort o' problems?

Weel, for a start, they're the thievin' scallywags, the burglars, the pickpockets, the neds, the kirk-robbers, the folk nappers o' the community. Or if they canny steal, they turn grass, gie fake evidence, an' tak bribes.

Aye, a wee listicle o' evils, even if they're no that common.

True enough, says I, but wee and big are jist relative terms. An' aw these things, wi' the misery an' evil they bring tae a kintra, are peanuts compared tae the tyrant. When this rotten lot an' their pals get numerous an' realise whit a powerful bunch they are, egged on by the daftness o' the folk, they pick the yin that's maist like a tyrant themself, an' mak' him their king.

Aye, that makes sense, he says. He'd be the perfect tyrant.

If the folk gie in, then aw well an' good. But if they fecht back, jist like he battered his ain fayther an' mither, noo if he's got the power, he'll gie them a right good clumpin' an' keep his beloved faitherland, or motherland as the Cretans say, unner the thumb o' his young mates he's brung in tae be their bosses. That's whit a' his passions an' desires are ultimately aboot.

Spot on.

When these chiels are juist ordinary folk an' havenae got any power yet, this is their character: they only hang aboot wi' their ain flatterers or folk that'll dae whit they're telt. Or if they need somethin' aff somebody, they'll be redy enough tae grovel at their feet: they'll tell them they're their best pal an' aw that. But ance they've got whit they wanted, they dinnae ken them frae a barstool.

Aye, that's true enough.

They're either the boss or the lackey, never a true friend tae anybody. The tyrant will never ken whit true freedom or friendship is like.

Absolutely no.

An' wid we no be right tae say these folk are treacherous?

Och, withoot a doubt.

They're also completely unjust, if we were richt aboot whit justice is?

Aye, he says, an' we were spot on.

So then, tae sum it up in a wee phrase, says I, this is whit the worst kind o' fella is like: he's the real-life version o' that nightmare we had.

Absolutely spot on!  This fellae that's naturally most like a tyrant, the langer he lives the waur a tyrant he becomes.

Socrates - GLAUCON

Aye, that's for sure, said Glaucon, havin' his turn tae answer.

An' willnae the yin that's been shown tae be the wickedest also be the maist miserable? An' the one that's tyrannized the langest an' maist, the maist constantly an' truly miserable; even though maist folk might no see it that way?

Aye, he says, that's bound tae be true.

An' disnae the tyrannical man hae tae be like the tyrannical state, an' the democratic fellae like the democratic state? Same goes for the rest o' them.

Of course.

An' as yin state is tae another in terms o' virtue an' happiness, so is yin fellae tae another?

Och aye, that's clear.

Then compare oor original city, the yin that wis unner a king, an' the city that's unner a tyrant, hoo dae they stack up in terms o' virtue?

They're the complete opposite ends o' the spectrum, he says, cause yin's the best an' the other's the worst.

There cannae be any mistake aboot whit is whit, says I, so I'll just ask ye straucht awa' if ye wid come tae the same conclusion aboot their happiness an' misery compared tae each other. An' here, we cannae let ourselves get feart o' the tyrant, wha's jist yin fellae an' maybe a few mates wi' him. But we need tae properly go intae every corner o' the city an' hae a good look aboot, an' then we can gie oor opinion.

A fair point, he says, an' it seems clear tae me, as it wid be tae anybody, that a tyranny is the worst form o' government, an' the rule o' a king is the best.

An' when judgin' the men too, wid it no be fair tae ask for a similar thing, that I should hae a judge that can see richt through human nature? They cannae be like a bairn that jist looks at the surface an' is gowked by the big show the tyrannical fellae puts on, but they need tae see richt through him. Can we assume that the judgement is made in front o' aw o' us by some fellae that can judge an' has bided in the same place as the tyrant, seen him in his everyday life an' kent him amang his faimily, whaur he can be seen withoot his fancy gear, an' again whin there's danger tae the public?  This fellae can tell us aboot the happiness an' misery o' the tyrant compared tae ither folk.

Aye, that's a fair point again, he says.  Sall we assume that we're capable judges oorsels, havin' met sic a person afore? Then we'll have somebody tae answer oor questions.

Absolutely.

Let me ask ye no tae forget the comparison between the individual an' the state. Keep that in mind, an' look at each o' them in turn, an' then tell me hoo they're doin'.

What dae ye mean? he asked.

Startin' wi' the state, I says, wid ye say a city that's run by a tyrant is free or enslaved?

There's nae city that can be mair completely enslaved, he says.

An' yet, as ye see, there are free men as well as masters in sic a state?

Aye, I see that there are – a wee handful; but the folk in general, an' the best o' them, are awfy degraded an' enslaved.

Then if the man is like the state, I says, disnae the same rule apply? His soul is full o' meanness an' vulgarity – the best parts o' him are enslaved; an' there's a wee controllin' part, that's an' aw the waur an' daftest.

That's bound tae be true.

An' wid ye say that the soul o' sic a fellae is the soul o' a free man, or a slave?

He's got the soul of a slave, in my opinion.

An' the state that's enslaved unner a tyrant is completely incapable o' doin' anythin' it wants?

Utterly incapable.

An' the same goes for the soul that's unner a tyrant (I'm speakin' aboot the soul as a whole) – it's the least capable o' doin' whit it wants; there's a gadfly that keeps naggin' it, an' it's full o' trouble an' regret?

Aye, that's spot on.

An' is the city that's run by a tyrant rich or puir?

Pure dead puir.

An' the tyrannical soul must aye be puir an' never satisfied?

True enough.

An' disnae sic a state an' sic a man aye hae tae be feart?

Aye, that's for sure.

Is there any state whaur ye'll find mair greetin' an' sadness an' moanin' an' pain?

Definitely no.

An' is there any man whaur ye'll find mair o' this kind o' misery than in the tyrannical man, wha's in a frenzy o' emotions an' desires?

Nae chance.

Thinkin' on these an' similar evils, ye said the tyrannical state wis the maist miserable o' states?

An' I wis richt, he says.

Absolutely, says I. An' whin ye see the same evils in the tyrannical man, whit dae ye say aboot him?

I say that he's by far the maist miserable o' aw men.

There noo, says I, I think ye might be startin' tae go off the rails a wee bit.

What dae ye mean?

I dinnae think he's reached the absolute depths o' misery yet.

Then wha's mair miserable?

Weel, there's somebody I'm aboot tae tell ye aboot.

Wha's that?

It's the fellae that's naturally tyrannical, but instead o' livin' a private life, he's been cursed wi' the extra misfortune o' bein' a tyrant in the public eye.

Frae whit we've been sayin', I gather ye're richt.

Aye, says I, but in this important discussion ye should be a wee bit mair certain, an' no jist guessin'; cause oot o' aw the questions we can ask, this yin aboot good an' evil is the biggest.

Aye, that's absolutely true, he says.

Lat me gie ye an illustration then, that might just help explain this whole thing.

What kind o' illustration is it?

Weel, think aboot rich folk in cities that own a lot o' slaves. They can gie ye an idea o' what it's like for a tyrant, seein' as they both have slaves; the only difference is the tyrant has more.

Aye, that's the main difference.

Ye ken these rich folk live in safety an' dinnae hae tae worry aboot their servants attackin' them?

What would they have tae fear?

Naething. But dae ye see the reason for that?

Aye, it's because the whole city works together tae protect each person.

Spot on, says I. But imagine yin o' these rich folk, say the owner o' aboot fifty slaves, whae gets whisked away by a god, alang wi' his faimily, belongings an' slaves, intae the wilderness, whaur there's no free folk tae help him oot. Wid he no be terrified that him an' his wife an' weans would be killed by his ain slaves?

Aye, he says, he would be utterly feart.

Then he'd be forced tae start butterin' up some o' his slaves, makin' promises o' freedom an' other stuff, even though he widnae want tae – he'd basically hae tae cajole his ain servants.

Aye, he says, that would be the only way tae save his skin.

An' imagine if the same god that took him away put him in a place wi' neighbours that wouldnae let any yin man be the master o' another, an' wha wid kill him if they caught him misbehavin'?

His situation would be even worse, if ye imagine him bein' surrounded an' watched by enemies everywhere.

An' is this no the kind o' prison the tyrant will be stuck in? This fellae that's naturally fule o' aw sorts o' fears an' desires, just like we described. His soul is delicate an' greedy, an' yet oot o' aw the free folk in the city, he's the only yin that's never allowed tae go travelin' or see the things other free folk want tae see. He lives in his den like a woman that's kept inside the house, an' he's jealous o' any ither citizen that goes abroad an' sees anythin' interesting.

Very true, he says.

An' amang aw these evils, widnae the fellae that's poorly ruled within himself – the tyrannical man, I mean – wha ye just decided wis the maist miserable o' aw – widnae he be even mair miserable if, instead o' havin' a private life, fate forced him tae be a public tyrant? He has tae be the master o' others when he can't even master himself. He's like a sick or paralysed man that's forced tae spend his life fightin' and clashin' wi' other folk, instead o' takin' it easy.

Aye, he says, that's a perfect comparison.

Disnae his life sound utterly miserable? An' disnae the real tyrant actually live a waur life than the fellae whose life ye decided wis the worst?

Definitely.

The real tyrant, whatever folk might think, is the real slave, an' is forced tae be the biggest flatterer an' groveller, fawnin' ower the lowest o' the low. He's got desires he cannae satisfy at all, an' he needs mair stuff than any other body. He's truly puir, if ye ken hoo tae see intae his whole soul: his whole life is dogged by fear, an' he's fankle-free an' distracted, just like the state he resembles. An' surely the resemblance holds up?

Very true, he says.

An' on top o' that, as we were sayin' afore, he gets waur the mair power he has. He becomes, an' cannae help but become, mair jealous, mair untrustworthy, mair unjust, mair friendless, an' mair ungodly than he wis at first. He encourages an' cherishes every kind o' vice, an' the consequence is that he's utterly miserable, an' he makes everybody else as miserable as himself.

Nae sensible fellae could argue wi' that.

So then, says I, like the main judge in a play contest declarin' the winner, tell me who ye think is the happiest, an' who's second, an' hoo the rest o' them rank: there's five o' them in total – the kingly, the timocratic, the oligarchic, the democratic, an' the tyrannical.

That's easy tae answer, he says. They'll be like choruses comin' oan the stage, an' I hae tae judge them in the order they appear, based on hoo virtuous or wicked, happy or miserable they are.

Dae we need tae get a herald, or should I announce it mysel': that the son o' Ariston (the best) has decided that the best an' fairest man is also the happiest, an' that this is the fellae that's the most kingly an' rules himself? An' that the worst an' maist unjust man is also the most miserable, an' that this is the fellae that bein' the biggest tyrant o' himself is also the biggest tyrant o' his state?

Announce it yersel', he says.

An' should I add, 'whether seen or unseen by gods an' men'?

Aye, throw that bit in as well.

Aye, then, that'll be oor first bit o' evidence; an' there's another yin that might also be important.

What's that?

This second bit o' evidence comes fae the nature o' the soul: seein' as we've split the individual soul, just like the state, intae three parts, this division might gie us a new way o' seein' things.

What kind o' way?

It seems tae me that these three parts each come wi' their own pleasures. Three desires an' three ways o' controllin' things as well.

How dae ye mean? he says.

There's yin part that a fellae learns wi', as we were sayin', anither yin that maks him angry; the third yin has lots o' different forms, it disnae have a special name, but we generally just call it the 'wantin' part' because o' the extraordinary strength an' force o' desires like eatin' an' drinkin' an' the other sensual cravings that are the main things it's aboot. It also includes lovin' siller, because these desires are usually satisfied wi' the help o' cash.

That's true, he says.

If we were tae say that the loves an' pleasures o' this third part are aw aboot gettin' gear, then we could jist focus on the yin idea; an' we could properly an' clearly describe this part o' the soul as lovin' gain or siller.

I agree wi' ye.

An' again, isnae the passionate part completely set on rulin' an' conquerin' an' gettin' famous?

True.

Suppose we call it the argumentative or ambitious part – would that term work?

Absolutely perfect.

On the other hand, everybody sees that the part that kens things is completely focused on the truth, an' it disnae care as much aboot gettin' rich or famous as the other twa.

Far less.

'Lover o' wisdom,' 'lover o' knowledge,' are names that we can rightly apply tae that part o' the soul?

Certainly.

Yin principle rules in the souls o' some folk, anither yin in ithers, dependin' on what happens?

Aye.

Then we can start by assumin' that there are three classes o' men – lovers o' wisdom, lovers o' honour, lovers o' gain?

Exactly.

An' there are three kinds o' pleasure, that are their different goals?

Very true.

Noo, if ye look at these three classes o' men, an' ask each o' them in turn which life is maist pleasant, each yin will be foond praisin' their ain an' puttin' down the ithers: the fellae that chases siller will compare the vanity o' gettin' honour or learnin' if it brings nae cash wi' the solid advantages o' gowd an' silver.

True, he says.

An' the lover o' honour – what will his opinion be? Will he no think that the pleasure o' riches is vulgar, while the pleasure o' learnin', if it brings no fame, is all smoke an' nonsense tae him?

Aye, that's true enough.

An' are we supposed tae think, says I, that the philosopher values any other pleasures compared tae the pleasure o' learnin' the truth, an' spendin' his time on that quest, aye learnin', no far away, in fact, fae the very heavens o' pleasure? Disnae he consider the other pleasures tae be necessary, thinkin' that if he didnae need them, he wid rather no hae them at aw?

There's nae doot aboot that, he says.

Since then, the pleasures o' each class o' folk an' the life o' each are up for debate, an' the question isnae which life is mair or less honourable, or better or waur, but which is the mair pleasant or painless – how will we ken wha's speakin' the truth?

I cannae tell ye mysel', he says.

Well, whit should be the judge o' this? Is anythin' better than experience, wisdom an' reason?

There cannae be anythin' better, he says.

Then, says I, think aboot it. Oot o' these three folk, wha has the maist experience o' aw the pleasures we listed? Dis the fellae that chases siller, when he's learnin' the nature o' essential truth, hae a greater experience o' the pleasure o' knowledge than the philosopher has o' the pleasure o' gettin' rich?

The philosopher, he says, has a much bigger advantage; because he's always necessarily known the taste o' the other pleasures since he wis a bairn. But the fellae that chases siller, in all his experience, hasnae necessarily tasted – or, I should rather say, even if he wid hae wanted tae, could hardly hae tasted – the sweetness o' learnin' an' kennin' the truth.

Then the lover o' wisdom has a big advantage ower the lover o' gain, because he's got twice the experience?

Aye, a very big advantage.

An' again, dis he hae a greater experience o' the pleasures o' honour, or the lover o' honour o' the pleasures o' wisdom?

Nae, he says, aw three o' them are honoured as much as they achieve their goal; because the rich man, the brave man, an' the wise man aw hae their crowd o' admirers, an' as they aw get honoured they aw experience the pleasures o' honour. But the delight that comes fae learnin' aboot true bein' is only kent tae the philosopher.

Then his experience will allow him tae judge better than any ither body?

Far better.

An' he's the only yin that's got baith wisdom an' experience?

Absolutely.

On top o' that, the very faculty that's the tool o' judgement isnae possessed by the greedy or ambitious man, but only by the philosopher?

What faculty is that?

Reason, that we were sayin' should be the yin makkin' the decision.

Aye.

An' reasonin' is his special tool?

Certainly.

If siller an' gain wur the measure, then the praise or blame o' the fellae that chases siller would surely be the maist trustworthy?

Absolutely.

Or if honour or victory or courage wis important, then the judgement o' the ambitious or aggressive fellae would be the truest?

Clearly.

But since experience, wisdom an' reason are the judges--

The only conclusion possible, he says, is that the pleasures that are approved by the lover o' wisdom an' reason are the truest.

An' so we arrive at the answer, that the pleasure o' the intelligent part o' the soul is the maist pleasant o' the three, an' that the yin o' us wha has that as the rulin' principle has the maist pleasant life.

There's nae doot aboot it, he says, the wise man speaks wi' authority when he approves o' his own life.

An' what dis the judge say is the next best life, an' the next best pleasure?

Clearly that o' the soldier an' lover o' honour; wha's closer tae himsel' than the fellae that chases siller.

Last comes the lover o' gain?

Very true, he says.

Twice in a row, then, has the just man defeated the unjust man in this contest; an' noo comes the third trial, that's dedicated tae Olympian Zeus the saviour. A wise fella is whisperin' in my lug that nae pleasure except that o' the wise man is truly pure – aw the ithers are jist shadows; an' surely this will prove tae be the biggest an' maist decisive defeat?

Aye, the biggest; but will ye explain yersel'?

I will work oot the hale thing an' ye can answer my questions.

Proceed.

So tell me, isnae pleasure the opposite o' pain?

True.

An' there's a neutral state that's neither pleasure nor pain?

There is.

A state that's in the middle, a kind o' restin' place for the soul regardin' either pleasure or pain – that's what ye mean?

Aye, that's right.

Mind what folk say when they're sick?

What dae they say?

That there's nothin' mair pleasant than bein' healthy, efter aw. But then they never kent this wis the greatest pleasure until they wisnae well.

Aye, I ken, he says.

An' when folk are sufferin' from awful pain, ye maun hae heard them say that there's nothin' mair pleasant than gettin' shot o' their pain?

I have.

An' there's lots o' ither times o' sufferin' whaur they juist praise havin' a rest an' nae mair pain, rather than any real enjoyment, as the greatest pleasure?

Aye, he says; at the time they're happy an' content jist tae be restin'.

Then again, when pleasure stops, that kind o' rest or stoppin' will be painful?

There's nae doot aboot it, he says.

Then the middle state o' rest will be pleasure an' will also be pain?

That seems tae be the case.

But can something that's neither o' twa things become baith o' them?

I widnae say sae.

An' baith pleasure an' pain are movements o' the soul, are they no?

Aye.

But we jist showed that something that's neither o' them is rest an' no movement, an' in the middle between them?

Aye.

Hoo can we be richt then thinkin' that the absence o' pain is pleasure, or that the absence o' pleasure is pain?

We cannae possibly.

This then is juist an illusion an' no real; that is tae say, the rest is pleasure at the moment an' compared tae something that's painful, an' painful compared tae something that's pleasant; but aw these ideas, whin ye test them against true pleasure, arenae real but a kind o' trickery?

That's the conclusion.

Look at the other kind o' pleasures that dinnae come efter pain, an' ye'll no longer think, as ye maybe dae the noo, that pleasure is only the stoppin' o' pain, or pain o' pleasure.

What are they, he says, an' whaur can I find them?

There's loads o' them: tak the pleasures o' smell, for example, that are really great an' dinnae come efter any pain; they come in a moment, an' whin they leave they dinnae leave any pain behind them.

Absolutely true, he says.

Lat's no be fooled intae thinkin' that pure pleasure is jist the stoppin' o' pain, or pain the stoppin' o' pleasure.

Naw.

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