"What about all the things within a human being?" he said. "Do you say anything else rules besides the soul, especially an intelligent one?" "I do not." "Does it rule by yielding to the affections of the body, or by opposing them? I mean, for example, when the body has a fever and is thirsty, the soul draws it opposite, toward not drinking. When it is hungry, toward not eating. And in countless other ways, we see the soul opposing the elements of the body. Do we not?" "Certainly." "Did we not also agree earlier that if it were a harmony, it could never sound contrary to the tensions, relaxations, pluckings, and other affections of the elements composing it, but would always follow them and never lead them?" "We did agree," he said. "How could we not?" "But now it appears to be doing the exact opposite. It leads all the things it is supposedly composed of, opposing them in almost everything throughout life, acting as master in every way. It chastises some harshly with pain (as in gymnastics and medicine), and handles others more gently. It threatens some and advises others, conversing with desires, angers, and fears as though it were distinct from them. Just as Homer portrays in the Odyssey, when Odysseus 'struck his chest and rebuked his heart, saying: Bear up, my heart; you endured even worse than this.' Do you think he composed this while believing the soul was a harmony, capable of being led by the body's affections? Rather, he knew it was able to lead and master them, being something far more divine than a harmony." "By Zeus, Socrates, it seems so to me." "Therefore, my excellent friend, it is by no means right for us to say the soul is a harmony. We would apparently be disagreeing both with the divine poet Homer and with ourselves." "That is so," he said.