Gorgias
them are lovers, and they have both a pair of loves; the beloved of
Callicles are the Athenian Demos and Demos the son of Pyrilampes; the
beloved of Socrates are Alcibiades and philosophy. The peculiarity of
Callicles is that he can never contradict his loves; he changes as his
Demos changes in all his opinions; he watches the countenance of both
his loves, and repeats their sentiments, and if any one is surprised at
his sayings and doings, the explanation of them is, that he is not a
free agent, but must always be imitating his two loves. And this is the
explanation of Socrates’ peculiarities also. He is always repeating
what his mistress, Philosophy, is saying to him, who unlike his other
love, Alcibiades, is ever the same, ever true. Callicles must refute
her, or he will never be at unity with himself; and discord in life is
far worse than the discord of musical sounds.
Callicles answers, that Gorgias was overthrown because, as Polus said,
in compliance with popular prejudice he had admitted that if his pupil
did not know justice the rhetorician must teach him; and Polus has been
similarly entangled, because his modesty led him to admit that to
suffer is more honourable than to do injustice. By custom “yes,” but
not by nature, says Callicles. And Socrates is always playing between
the two points of view, and putting one in the place of the other. In
this very argument, what Polus only meant in a conventional sense has
been affirmed by him to be a law of nature. For convention says that
“injustice is dishonourable,” but nature says that “might is right.”
And we are always taming down the nobler spirits among us to the
conventional level. But sometimes a great man will rise up and reassert
his original rights, trampling under foot all our formularies, and then
the light of natural justice shines forth. Pindar says, “Law, the king
of all, does violence with high hand;” as is indeed proved by the
example of Heracles, who drove off the oxen of Geryon and never paid
for them.
This is the truth, Socrates, as you will be convinced, if you leave
philosophy and pass on to the real business of life. A little
philosophy is an excellent thing; too much is the ruin of a man. He who
has not “passed his metaphysics” before he has grown up to manhood will
never know the world. Philosophers are ridiculous when they take to
politics, and I dare say that politicians are equally ridiculous when
they take to philosophy: “Every man,” as Euripides says, “is fondest of
that in which he is best.” Philosophy is graceful in youth, like the
lisp of infancy, and should be cultivated as a part of education; but
when a grown-up man lisps or studies philosophy, I should like to beat
him. None of those over-refined natures ever come to any good; they
avoid the busy haunts of men, and skulk in corners, whispering to a few
admiring youths, and never giving utterance to any noble sentiments.
For you, Socrates, I have a regard, and therefore I say to you, as
Zethus says to Amphion in the play, that you have “a noble soul
disguised in a puerile exterior.” And I would have you consider the
danger which you and other philosophers incur. For you would not know
how to defend yourself if any one accused you in a law-court,—there you
would stand, with gaping mouth and dizzy brain, and might be murdered,
robbed, boxed on the ears with impunity. Take my advice, then, and get
a little common sense; leave to others these frivolities; walk in the
ways of the wealthy and be wise.
Socrates professes to have found in Callicles the philosopher’s
touchstone; and he is certain that any opinion in which they both agree
must be the very truth. Callicles has all the three qualities which are
needed in a critic—knowledge, good-will, frankness; Gorgias and Polus,
although learned men, were too modest, and their modesty made them
contradict themselves. But Callicles is well-educated; and he is not
too modest to speak out (of this he has already given proof), and his
good-will is shown both by his own profession and by his giving the
same caution against philosophy to Socrates, which Socrates remembers
hearing him give long ago to his own clique of friends. He will pledge
himself to retract any error into which he may have fallen, and which
Callicles may point out. But he would like to know first of all what he
and Pindar mean by natural justice. Do they suppose that the rule of
justice is the rule of the stronger or of the better?” “There is no
difference.” Then are not the many superior to the one, and the
opinions of the many better? And their opinion is that justice is
equality, and that to do is more dishonourable than to suffer wrong.
And as they are the superior or stronger, this opinion of theirs must
be in accordance with natural as well as conventional justice. “Why
will you continue splitting words? Have I not told you that the
superior is the better?” But what do you mean by the better? Tell me
that, and please to be a little milder in your language, if you do not
wish to drive me away. “I mean the worthier, the wiser.” You mean to
say that one man of sense ought to rule over ten thousand fools? “Yes,
that is my meaning.” Ought the physician then to have a larger share of
meats and drinks? or the weaver to have more coats, or the cobbler
larger shoes, or the farmer more seed? “You are always saying the same
things, Socrates.” Yes, and on the same subjects too; but you are never
saying the same things. For, first, you defined the superior to be the
stronger, and then the wiser, and now something else;—what DO you mean?
“I mean men of political ability, who ought to govern and to have more
than the governed.” Than themselves? “What do you mean?” I mean to say
that every man is his own governor. “I see that you mean those dolts,
the temperate. But my doctrine is, that a man should let his desires
grow, and take the means of satisfying them. To the many this is
impossible, and therefore they combine to prevent him. But if he is a
king, and has power, how base would he be in submitting to them! To
invite the common herd to be lord over him, when he might have the
enjoyment of all things! For the truth is, Socrates, that luxury and
self-indulgence are virtue and happiness; all the rest is mere talk.”
Socrates compliments Callicles on his frankness in saying what other
men only think. According to his view, those who want nothing are not
happy. “Why,” says Callicles, “if they were, stones and the dead would
be happy.” Socrates in reply is led into a half-serious, half-comic
vein of reflection. “Who knows,” as Euripides says, “whether life may
not be death, and death life?” Nay, there are philosophers who maintain
that even in life we are dead, and that the body (soma) is the tomb
(sema) of the soul. And some ingenious Sicilian has made an allegory,
in which he represents fools as the uninitiated, who are supposed to be
carrying water to a vessel, which is full of holes, in a similarly
holey sieve, and this sieve is their own soul. The idea is fanciful,
but nevertheless is a figure of a truth which I want to make you
acknowledge, viz. that the life of contentment is better than the life
of indulgence. Are you disposed to admit that? “Far otherwise.” Then
hear another parable. The life of self-contentment and self-indulgence
may be represented respectively by two men, who are filling jars with
streams of wine, honey, milk,—the jars of the one are sound, and the
jars of the other leaky; the first fills his jars, and has no more
trouble with them; the second is always filling them, and would suffer
extreme misery if he desisted. Are you of the same opinion still? “Yes,
Socrates, and the figure expresses what I mean. For true pleasure is a
perpetual stream, flowing in and flowing out. To be hungry and always
eating, to be thirsty and always drinking, and to have all the other
desires and to satisfy them, that, as I admit, is my idea of
happiness.” And to be itching and always scratching? “I do not deny
that there may be happiness even in that.” And to indulge unnatural
desires, if they are abundantly satisfied? Callicles is indignant at
the introduction of such topics. But he is reminded by Socrates that
they are introduced, not by him, but by the maintainer of the identity
of pleasure and good. Will Callicles still maintain this? “Yes, for the
sake of consistency, he will.” The answer does not satisfy Socrates,
who fears that he is losing his touchstone. A profession of seriousness
on the part of Callicles reassures him, and they proceed with the
argument. Pleasure and good are the same, but knowledge and courage are
not the same either with pleasure or good, or with one another.
Socrates disproves the first of these statements by showing that two
opposites cannot coexist, but must alternate with one another—to be
well and ill together is impossible. But pleasure and pain are
simultaneous, and the cessation of them is simultaneous; e.g. in the
case of drinking and thirsting, whereas good and evil are not
simultaneous, and do not cease simultaneously, and therefore pleasure
cannot be the same as good.
Callicles has already lost his temper, and can only be persuaded to go
on by the interposition of Gorgias. Socrates, having already guarded
against objections by distinguishing courage and knowledge from
pleasure and good, proceeds:—The good are good by the presence of good,
and the bad are bad by the presence of evil. And the brave and wise are
good, and the cowardly and foolish are bad. And he who feels pleasure
is good, and he who feels pain is bad, and both feel pleasure and pain
in nearly the same degree, and sometimes the bad man or coward in a
greater degree. Therefore the bad man or coward is as good as the brave
or may be even better.
Callicles endeavours now to avert the inevitable absurdity by affirming
that he and all mankind admitted some pleasures to be good and others
bad. The good are the beneficial, and the bad are the hurtful, and we
should choose the one and avoid the other. But this, as Socrates
observes, is a return to the old doctrine of himself and Polus, that
all things should be done for the sake of the good.
Callicles assents to this, and Socrates, finding that they are agreed
in distinguishing pleasure from good, returns to his old division of
empirical habits, or shams, or flatteries, which study pleasure only,
and the arts which are concerned with the higher interests of soul and
body. Does Callicles agree to this division? Callicles will agree to
anything, in order that he may get through the argument. Which of the
arts then are flatteries? Flute-playing, harp-playing, choral
exhibitions, the dithyrambics of Cinesias are all equally condemned on
the ground that they give pleasure only; and Meles the harp-player, who
was the father of Cinesias, failed even in that. The stately muse of
Tragedy is bent upon pleasure, and not upon improvement. Poetry in
general is only a rhetorical address to a mixed audience of men, women,
and children. And the orators are very far from speaking with a view to
what is best; their way is to humour the assembly as if they were
children.
Callicles replies, that this is only true of some of them; others have
a real regard for their fellow-citizens. Granted; then there are two
species of oratory; the one a flattery, another which has a real regard
for the citizens. But where are the orators among whom you find the
latter? Callicles admits that there are none remaining, but there were
such in the days when Themistocles, Cimon, Miltiades, and the great
Pericles were still alive. Socrates replies that none of these were
true artists, setting before themselves the duty of bringing order out
of disorder. The good man and true orator has a settled design, running