Plato
SYMPOSIUM
translated
by Benjamin Jowett
Persons of the
Dialogue :
APOLLODORUS, who repeats to his Companion the
dialogue
which he had heard from ARISTODEMUS,
and had already once
narrated to GLAUCON ;
PHAEDRUS ; PAUSANIAS ;
ERYXIMACHUS ; ARISTOPHANES ; AGATHON ; SOCRATES ;
ALCIBIADES ; A troop of revellers.
Scene : The House of
Agathon
Concerning the
things about which you ask to be informed I believe that I am not ill-prepared
with an answer. For the day before yesterday I was coming from my own home at
Phalerum to the city, and one of my acquaintance, who had caught a sight of me
from behind, hind, out playfully in the distance, said : Apollodorus, O
thou Phalerian man, halt ! So I did as I was bid ; and then he said, I
was looking for you, Apollodorus, only just now, that I might ask you about the
speeches in praise of love, which were delivered by Socrates, Alcibiades, and
others, at Agathon’s supper. Phoenix, the son of Philip, told another person who
told me of them ; his narrative was very indistinct, but he said that you
knew, and I wish that you would give me an account of them. Who, if not you,
should be the reporter of the words of your friend ? And first tell me, he
said, were you present at this meeting ?
Your informant,
Glaucon, I said, must have been very indistinct indeed, if you imagine that the
occasion was recent ; or that I could have been of the
party.
Why, yes, he
replied, I thought so.
Impossible : I
said. Are you ignorant that for many years Agathon has not resided at
Athens ; and not three have elapsed since I became acquainted with
Socrates, and have made it my daily business to know all that he says and does.
There was a time when I was running about the world, fancying myself to be well
employed, but I was really a most wretched thing, no better than you are now. I
thought that I ought to do anything rather than be a
philosopher.
Well, he said,
jesting apart, tell me when the meeting occurred.
In our boyhood, I
replied, when Agathon won the prize with his first tragedy, on the day after
that on which he and his chorus offered the sacrifice of
victory.
Then it must have
been a long while ago, he said ; and who told you — did
Socrates ?
No indeed, I
replied, but the same person who told Phoenix ; — he was a little fellow,
who never wore any shoes Aristodemus, of the deme of Cydathenaeum. He had been
at Agathon’s feast ; and I think that in those days there was no one who
was a more devoted admirer of Socrates. Moreover, I have asked Socrates about
the truth of some parts of his narrative, and he confirmed them.
Then, said Glaucon,
let us have the tale over again ; is not the road to Athens just made for
conversation ?
And so we walked,
and talked of the discourses on love ; and therefore, as I said at first, I
am not ill-prepared to comply with your request, and will have another rehearsal
of them if you like. For to speak or to hear others speak of philosophy always
gives me the greatest pleasure, to say nothing of the profit. But when I hear
another strain, especially that of you rich men and traders, such conversation
displeases me ; and I pity you who are my companions, because you think
that you are doing something when in reality you are doing nothing. And I dare
say that you pity me in return, whom you regard as an unhappy creature, and very
probably you are right. But I certainly know of you what you only think of me —
there is the difference.
Companion. I see,
Apollodorus, that you are just the same — always speaking evil of yourself, and
of others ; and I do believe that you pity all mankind, with the exception
of Socrates, yourself first of all, true in this to your old name, which,
however deserved I know how you acquired, of Apollodorus the madman ; for
you are always raging against yourself and everybody but
Socrates.
Apollodorus. Yes, friend, and
the reason why I am said to be mad, and out of my wits, is just because I have
these notions of myself and you ; no other evidence is
required.
Com. No more of that,
Apollodorus ; but let me renew my request that you would repeat the
conversation.
Apoll. Well, the tale of
love was on this wise : — But perhaps I had better begin at the beginning,
and endeavour to give you the exact words of
Aristodemus :
He said that he met
Socrates fresh from the bath and sandalled ; and as the sight of the
sandals was unusual, he asked him whither he was going that he had been
converted into such a beau :
— To a banquet at
Agathon’s, he replied, whose invitation to his sacrifice of victory I refused
yesterday, fearing a crowd, but promising that I would come to-day
instead ; and so I have put on my finery, because he is such a fine man.
What say you to going with me unasked ?
I will do as you
bid me, I replied.
Follow then, he
said, and let us demolish the proverb :
To the feasts of inferior men the
good unbidden go ;
instead of which
our proverb will run :
To the feasts of the good the good
unbidden go ;
and this alteration
may be supported by the authority of Homer himself, who not only demolishes but
literally outrages the proverb. For, after picturing Agamemnon as the most
valiant of men, he makes Menelaus, who is but a fainthearted warrior, come
unbidden to the banquet of Agamemnon, who is feasting and offering sacrifices,
not the better to the worse, but the worse to the better.
I rather fear,
Socrates, said Aristodemus, lest this may still be my case ; and that, like
Menelaus in Homer, I shall be the inferior person, who
To the leasts of the wise unbidden
goes.
But I shall say
that I was bidden of you, and then you will have to make an
excuse.
Two going together,
he replied, in Homeric fashion, one or other of them may invent an excuse by the
way.
This was the style
of their conversation as they went along. Socrates dropped behind in a fit of
abstraction, and desired Aristodemus, who was waiting, to go on before him. When
he reached the house of Agathon he found the doors wide open, and a comical
thing happened. A servant coming out met him, and led him at once into the
banqueting-hall in which the guests were reclining, for the banquet was about to
begin. Welcome, Aristodemus, said Agathon, as soon as he appeared — you are just
in time to sup with us ; if you come on any other matter put it off, and
make one of us, as I was looking for you yesterday and meant to have asked you,
if I could have found you. But what have you done with
Socrates ?
I turned round, but
Socrates was nowhere to be seen ; and I had to explain that he had been
with me a moment before, and that I came by his invitation to the
supper.
You were quite
right in coming, said Agathon ; but where is he
himself ?
He was behind me
just now, as I entered, he said, and I cannot think what has become of
him.
Go and look for
him, boy, said Agathon, and bring him in ; and do you, Aristodemus,
meanwhile take the place by Eryximachus.
The servant then
assisted him to wash, and he lay down, and presently another servant came in and
reported that our friend Socrates had retired into the portico of the
neighbouring house. “There he is fixed,” said he, “and when I call to him he
will not stir.”
How strange, said
Agathon ; then you must call him again, and keep calling
him.
Let him alone, said
my informant ; he has a way of stopping anywhere and losing himself without
any reason. I believe that he will soon appear ; do not therefore disturb
him.
Well, if you think
so, I will leave him, said Agathon. And then, turning to the servants, he added,
“Let us have supper without waiting for him. Serve up whatever you please, for
there is no one to give you orders ; hitherto I have never left you to
yourselves. But on this occasion imagine that you art our hosts, and that I and
the company are your guests ; treat us well, and then we shall commend
you.” After this, supper was served, but still no Socrates ; and during the
meal Agathon several times expressed a wish to send for him, but Aristodemus
objected ; and at last when the feast was about half over — for the fit, as
usual, was not of long duration — Socrates entered ; Agathon, who was
reclining alone at the end of the table, begged that he would take the place
next to him ; that “I may touch you,” he said, “and have the benefit of
that wise thought which came into your mind in the portico, and is now in your
possession ; for I am certain that you would not have come away until you
had found what you sought.”
How I wish, said
Socrates, taking his place as he was desired, that wisdom could be infused by
touch, out of the fuller the emptier man, as water runs through wool out of a
fuller cup into an emptier one ; if that were so, how greatly should I
value the privilege of reclining at your side ! For you would have filled
me full with a stream of wisdom plenteous and fair ; whereas my own is of a
very mean and questionable sort, no better than a dream. But yours is bright and
full of promise, and was manifested forth in all the splendour of youth the day
before yesterday, in the presence of more than thirty thousand
Hellenes.
You are mocking,
Socrates, said Agathon, and ere long you and I will have to determine who bears
off the palm of wisdom — of this Dionysus shall be the judge ; but at
present you are better occupied with supper.
Socrates took his
place on the couch, and supped with the rest ; and then libations were
offered, and after a hymn had been sung to the god, and there had been the usual
ceremonies, they were about to commence drinking, when Pausanias said, And now,
my friends, how can we drink with least injury to ourselves ? I can assure
you that I feel severely the effect of yesterday’s potations, and must have time
to recover ; and I suspect that most of you are in the same predicament,
for you were of the party yesterday. Consider then : How can the drinking
be made easiest ?
I entirely agree,
said Aristophanes, that we should, by all means, avoid hard drinking, for I was
myself one of those who were yesterday drowned in drink.
I think that you
are right, said Eryximachus, the son of Acumenus ; but I should still like
to hear one other person speak : Is Agathon able to drink
hard ?
I am not equal to
it, said Agathon.
Then, the
Eryximachus, the weak heads like myself, Aristodemus, Phaedrus, and others who
never can drink, are fortunate in finding that the stronger ones are not in a
drinking mood. (I do not include Socrates, who is able either to drink or to
abstain, and will not mind, whichever we do.) Well, as of none of the company
seem disposed to drink much, I may be forgiven for saying, as a physician, that
drinking deep is a bad practice, which I never follow, if I can help, and
certainly do not recommend to another, least of all to any one who still feels
the effects of yesterday’s carouse.
I always do what
you advise, and especially what you prescribe as a physician, rejoined Phaedrus
the Myrrhinusian, and the rest of the company, if they are wise, will do the
same.
It was agreed that
drinking was not to be the order of the day, but that they were all to drink
only so much as they pleased.
Then, said
Eryximachus, as you are all agreed that drinking is to be voluntary, and that
there is to be no compulsion, I move, in the next place, that the flute-girl,
who has just made her appearance, be told to go away and play to herself, or, if
she likes, to the women who are within. To-day let us have conversation
instead ; and, if you will allow me, I will tell you what sort of
conversation. This proposal having been accepted, Eryximachus proceeded as
follows : — I will begin, he said, after the manner of Melanippe in
Euripides,
Not mine the word which I am about
to speak,
but that of
Phaedrus. For often he says to me in an indignant tone : “What a strange
thing it is, Eryximachus, that, whereas other gods have poems and hymns made in
their honour, the great and glorious god, Love, has no encomiast among all the
poets who are so many. There are the worthy sophists too — the excellent
Prodicus for example, who have descanted in prose on the virtues of Heracles and
other heroes ; and, what is still more extraordinary, I have met with a
philosophical work in which the utility of salt has been made the theme of an
eloquent discourse ; and many other like things have had a like honour
bestowed upon them. And only to think that there should have been an eager
interest created about them, and yet that to this day no one has ever dared
worthily to hymn Love’s praises ! So entirely has this great deity been
neglected.” Now in this Phaedrus seems to me to be quite right, and therefore I
want to offer him a contribution ; also I think that at the present moment
we who are here assembled cannot do better than honour the god Love. If you
agree with me, there will be no lack of conversation ; for I mean to
propose that each of us in turn, going from left to right, shall make a speech
in honour of Love. Let him give us the best which he can ; and Phaedrus,
because he is sitting first on the left hand, and because he is the father of
the thought, shall begin.
No one will vote
against you, Eryximachus, said Socrates. How can I oppose your motion, who
profess to understand nothing but matters of love ; nor, I presume, will
Agathon and Pausanias ; and there can be no doubt of Aristophanes, whose
whole concern is with Dionysus and Aphrodite ; nor will any one disagree of
those whom I, see around me. The proposal, as I am aware, may seem rather hard
upon us whose place is last ; but we shall be contented if we hear some
good speeches first. Let Phaedrus begin the praise of Love, and good luck to
him.
All the company
expressed their assent, and desired him to do as Socrates bade
him.
Aristodemus did not
recollect all that was said, nor do I recollect all that he related to me ;
but I will tell you what I thought most worthy of remembrance, and what the
chief speakers said.
Phaedrus began by
affirming that love is a mighty god, and wonderful among gods and men, but
especially wonderful in his birth. For he is the eldest of the gods, which is an
honour to him ; and a proof of his claim to this honour is, that of his
parents there is no memorial ; neither poet nor prose-writer has ever
affirmed that he had any. As Hesiod says :
First Chaos came, and then broad-bosomed
Earth,
The everlasting seat of all that
is,
And Love.
In other words,
after Chaos, the Earth and Love, these two, came into being. Also Parmenides
sings of Generation :
First in the train of gods, he
fashioned Love.
And Acusilaus
agrees with Hesiod. Thus numerous are the witnesses who acknowledge Love to be
the eldest of the gods. And not only is he the eldest, he is also the source of
the greatest benefits to us. For I know not any greater blessing to a young man
who is beginning life than a virtuous lover or to the lover than a beloved
youth. For the principle which ought to be the guide of men who would nobly live
at principle, I say, neither kindred, nor honour, nor wealth, nor any other
motive is able to implant so well as love. Of what am I speaking ? Of the
sense of honour and dishonour, without which neither states nor individuals ever
do any good or great work. And I say that a lover who is detected in doing any
dishonourable act, or submitting through cowardice when any dishonour is done to
him by another, will be more pained at being detected by his beloved than at
being seen by his father, or by his companions, or by any one else. The beloved
too, when he is found in any disgraceful situation, has the same feeling about
his lover. And if there were only some way of contriving that a state or an army
should be made up of lovers and their loves, they would be the very best
governors of their own city, abstaining from all dishonour, and emulating one
another in honour ; and when fighting at each other’s side, although a mere
handful, they would overcome the world. For what lover would not choose rather
to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either when abandoning his post
or throwing away his arms ? He would be ready to die a thousand deaths
rather than endure this. Or who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour
of danger ? The veriest coward would become an inspired hero, equal to the
bravest, at such a time ; Love would inspire him. That courage which, as
Homer says, the god breathes into the souls of some heroes, Love of his own
nature infuses into the lover.
Love will make men
dare to die for their beloved-love alone ; and women as well as men. Of
this, Alcestis, the daughter of Pelias, is a monument to all Hellas ; for
she was willing to lay down her life on behalf of her husband, when no one else
would, although he had a father and mother ; but the tenderness of her love
so far exceeded theirs, that she made them seem to be strangers in blood to
their own son, and in name only related to him ; and so noble did this
action of hers appear to the gods, as well as to men, that among the many who
have done virtuously she is one of the very few to whom, in admiration of her
noble action, they have granted the privilege of returning alive to earth ;
such exceeding honour is paid by the gods to the devotion and virtue of love.
But Orpheus, the son of Oeagrus, the harper, they sent empty away, and presented
to him an apparition only of her whom he sought, but herself they would not give
up, because he showed no spirit ; he was only a harp-player, and did not
dare like Alcestis to die for love, but was contriving how he might enter hades
alive ; moreover, they afterwards caused him to suffer death at the hands
of women, as the punishment of his cowardliness. Very different was the reward
of the true love of Achilles towards his lover Patroclus — his lover and not his
love (the notion that Patroclus was the beloved one is a foolish error into
which Aeschylus has fallen, for Achilles was surely the fairer of the two,
fairer also than all the other heroes ; and, as Homer informs us, he was
still beardless, and younger far). And greatly as the gods honour the virtue of
love, still the return of love on the part of the beloved to the lover is more
admired and valued and rewarded by them, for the lover is more divine ;
because he is inspired by God. Now Achilles was quite aware, for he had been
told by his mother, that he might avoid death and return home, and live to a
good old age, if he abstained from slaying Hector. Nevertheless he gave his life
to revenge his friend, and dared to die, not only in his defence, but after he
was dead Wherefore the gods honoured him even above Alcestis, and sent him to
the Islands of the Blest. These are my reasons for affirming that Love is the
eldest and noblest and mightiest of the gods ; and the chiefest author and
giver of virtue in life, and of happiness after death.
This, or something
like this, was the speech of Phaedrus ; and some other speeches followed
which Aristodemus did not remember ; the next which he repeated was that of
Pausanias.
Phaedrus, he said,
the argument has not been set before us, I think, quite in the right form ;
— we should not be called upon to praise Love in such an indiscriminate manner.
If there were only one Love, then what you said would be well enough ; but
since there are more Loves than one, — should have begun by determining which of
them was to be the theme of our praises. I will amend this defect ; and
first of all I would tell you which Love is deserving of praise, and then try to
hymn the praiseworthy one in a manner worthy of him. For we all know that Love
is inseparable from Aphrodite, and if there were only one Aphrodite there would
be only one Love ; but as there are two goddesses there must be two
Loves.
And am I not right
in asserting that there are two goddesses ? The elder one, having no
mother, who is called the heavenly Aphrodite — she is the daughter of
Uranus ; the younger, who is the daughter of Zeus and Dione — her we call
common ; and the Love who is her fellow-worker is rightly named common, as
the other love is called heavenly. All the gods ought to have praise given to
them, but not without distinction of their natures ; and therefore I must
try to distinguish the characters of the two Loves. Now actions vary according
to the manner of their performance. Take, for example, that which we are now
doing, drinking, singing and talking these actions are not in themselves either
good or evil, but they turn out in this or that way according to the mode of
performing them ; and when well done they are good, and when wrongly done
they are evil ; and in like manner not every love, but only that which has
a noble purpose, is noble and worthy of praise. The Love who is the offspring of
the common Aphrodite is essentially common, and has no discrimination, being
such as the meaner sort of men feel, and is apt to be of women as well as of
youths, and is of the body rather than of the soul — the most foolish beings are
the objects of this love which desires only to gain an end, but never thinks of
accomplishing the end nobly, and therefore does good and evil quite
indiscriminately. The goddess who is his mother is far younger than the other,
and she was born of the union of the male and female, and partakes of
both.
But the offspring
of the heavenly Aphrodite is derived from a mother in whose birth the female has
no part, — she is from the male only ; this is that love which is of
youths, and the goddess being older, there is nothing of wantonness in her.
Those who are inspired by this love turn to the male, and delight in him who is
the more valiant and intelligent nature ; any one may recognise the pure
enthusiasts in the very character of their attachments. For they love not boys,
but intelligent, beings whose reason is beginning to be developed, much about
the time at which their beards begin to grow. And in choosing young men to be
their companions, they mean to be faithful to them, and pass their whole life in
company with them, not to take them in their inexperience, and deceive them, and
play the fool with them, or run away from one to another of them. But the love
of young boys should be forbidden by law, because their future is
uncertain ; they may turn out good or bad, either in body or soul, and much
noble enthusiasm may be thrown away upon them ; in this matter the good are
a law to themselves, and the coarser sort of lovers ought to be restrained by
force ; as we restrain or attempt to restrain them from fixing their
affections on women of free birth. These are the persons who bring a reproach on
love ; and some have been led to deny the lawfulness of such attachments
because they see the impropriety and evil of them ; for surely nothing that
is decorously and lawfully done can justly be censured.
Now here and in
Lacedaemon the rules about love are perplexing, but in most cities they are
simple and easily intelligible ; in Elis and Boeotia, and in countries
having no gifts of eloquence, they are very straightforward ; the law is
simply in favour of these connexions, and no one, whether young or old, has
anything to say to their discredit ; the reason being, as I suppose, that
they are men of few words in those parts, and therefore the lovers do not like
the trouble of pleading their suit. In Ionia and other places, and generally in
countries which are subject to the barbarians, the custom is held to be
dishonourable ; loves of youths share the evil repute in which philosophy
and gymnastics are held because they are inimical to tyranny ; for the
interests of rulers require that their subjects should be poor in spirit and
that there should be no strong bond of friendship or society among them, which
love, above all other motives, is likely to inspire, as our Athenian tyrants
learned by experience ; for the love of Aristogeiton and the constancy of
Harmodius had strength which undid their power. And, therefore, the ill-repute
into which these attachments have fallen is to be ascribed to the evil condition
of those who make them to be ill-reputed ; that is to say, to the
self-seeking of the governors and the cowardice of the governed ; on the
other hand, the indiscriminate honour which is given to them in some countries
is attributable to the laziness of those who hold this opinion of them. In our
own country a far better principle prevails, but, as I was saying, the
explanation of it is rather perplexing. For, observe that open loves are held to
be more honourable than secret ones, and that the love of the noblest and
highest, even if their persons are less beautiful than others, is especially
honourable.
Consider, too, how
great is the encouragement which all the world gives to the lover ; neither
is he supposed to be doing anything dishonourable ; but if he succeeds he
is praised, and if he fail he is blamed. And in the pursuit of his love the
custom of mankind allows him to do many strange things, which philosophy would
bitterly censure if they were done from any motive of interest, or wish for
office or power. He may pray, and entreat, and supplicate, and swear, and lie on
a mat at the door, and endure a slavery worse than that of any slave — in any
other case friends and enemies would be equally ready to prevent him, but now
there is no friend who will be ashamed of him and admonish him, and no enemy
will charge him with meanness or flattery ; the actions of a lover have a
grace which ennobles them ; and custom has decided that they are highly
commendable and that there no loss of character in them ; and, what is
strangest of all, he only may swear and forswear himself (so men say), and the
gods will forgive his transgression, for there is no such thing as a lover’s
oath. Such is the entire liberty which gods and men have allowed the lover,
according to the custom which prevails in our part of the world. From this point
of view a man fairly argues in Athens to love and to be loved is held to be a
very honourable thing. But when parents forbid their sons to talk with their
lovers, and place them under a tutor’s care, who is appointed to see to these
things, and their companions and equals cast in their teeth anything of the sort
which they may observe, and their elders refuse to silence the reprovers and do
not rebuke them — any one who reflects on all this will, on the contrary, think
that we hold these practices to be most disgraceful. But, as I was saying at
first, the truth as I imagine is, that whether such practices are honourable or
whether they are dishonourable is not a simple question ; they are
honourable to him who follows them honourably, dishonourable to him who follows
them dishonourably. There is dishonour in yielding to the evil, or in an evil
manner ; but there is honour in yielding to the good, or in an honourable
manner.
Evil is the vulgar
lover who loves the body rather than the soul, inasmuch as he is not even
stable, because he loves a thing which is in itself unstable, and therefore when
the bloom of youth which he was desiring is over, he takes wing and flies away,
in spite of all his words and promises ; whereas the love of the noble
disposition is life-long, for it becomes one with the everlasting. The custom of
our country would have both of them proven well and truly, and would have us
yield to the one sort of lover and avoid the other, and therefore encourages
some to pursue, and others to fly ; testing both the lover and beloved in
contests and trials, until they show to which of the two classes they
respectively belong. And this is the reason why, in the first place, a hasty
attachment is held to be dishonourable, because time is the true test of this as
of most other things ; and secondly there is a dishonour in being overcome
by the love of money, or of wealth, or of political power, whether a man is
frightened into surrender by the loss of them, or, having experienced the
benefits of money and political corruption, is unable to rise above the
seductions of them. For none of these things are of a permanent or lasting
nature ; not to mention that no generous friendship ever sprang from them.
There remains, then, only one way of honourable attachment which custom allows
in the beloved, and this is the way of virtue ; for as we admitted that any
service which the lover does to him is not to be accounted flattery or a
dishonour to himself, so the beloved has one way only of voluntary service which
is not dishonourable, and this is virtuous service.
For we have a
custom, and according to our custom any one who does service to another under
the idea that he will be improved by him either in wisdom, or, in some other
particular of virtue — such a voluntary service, I say, is not to be regarded as
a dishonour, and is not open to the charge of flattery. And these two customs,
one the love of youth, and the other the practice of philosophy and virtue in
general, ought to meet in one, and then the beloved may honourably indulge the
lover. For when the lover and beloved come together, having each of them a law,
and the lover thinks that he is right in doing any service which he can to his
gracious loving one ; and the other that he is right in showing any
kindness which he can to him who is making him wise and good ; the one
capable of communicating wisdom and virtue, the other seeking to acquire them
with a view to education and wisdom, when the two laws of love are fulfilled and
meet in one — then, and then only, may the beloved yield with honour to the
lover. Nor when love is of this disinterested sort is there any disgrace in
being deceived, but in every other case there is equal disgrace in being or not
being deceived. For he who is gracious to his lover under the impression that he
is rich, and is disappointed of his gains because he turns out to be poor, is
disgraced all the same : for he has done his best to show that he would
give himself up to any one’s “uses base” for the sake of money ; but this
is not honourable. And on the same principle he who gives himself to a lover
because he is a good man, and in the hope that he will be improved by his
company, shows himself to be virtuous, even though the object of his affection
turn out to be a villain, and to have no virtue ; and if he is deceived he
has committed a noble error. For he has proved that for his part he will do
anything for anybody with a view to virtue and improvement, than which there can
be nothing nobler. Thus noble in every case is the acceptance of another for the
sake of virtue. This is that love which is the love of the heavenly godess, and
is heavenly, and of great price to individuals and cities, making the lover and
the beloved alike eager in the work of their own improvement. But all other
loves are the offspring of the other, who is the common goddess. To you,
Phaedrus, I offer this my contribution in praise of love, which is as good as I
could make extempore.
Pausanias came to a
pause — this is the balanced way in which I have been taught by the wise to
speak ; and Aristodemus said that the turn of Aristophanes was next, but
either he had eaten too much, or from some other cause he had the hiccough, and
was obliged to change turns with Eryximachus the physician, who was reclining on
the couch below him. Eryximachus, he said, you ought either to stop my hiccough,
or to speak in my turn until I have left off.
I will do both,
said Eryximachus : I will speak in your turn, and do you speak in
mine ; and while I am speaking let me recommend you to hold your breath,
and if after you have done so for some time the hiccough is no better, then
gargle with a little water ; and if it still continues, tickle your nose
with something and sneeze ; and if you sneeze once or twice, even the most
violent hiccough is sure to go. I will do as you prescribe, said Aristophanes,
and now get on.
Eryximachus spoke
as follows : Seeing that Pausanias made a fair beginning, and but a lame
ending, I must endeavour to supply his deficiency. I think that he has rightly
distinguished two kinds of love. But my art further informs me that the double
love is not merely an affection of the soul of man towards the fair, or towards
anything, but is to be found in the bodies of all animals and in productions of
the earth, and I may say in all that is ; such is the conclusion which I
seem to have gathered from my own art of medicine, whence I learn how great and
wonderful and universal is the deity of love, whose empire extends over all
things, divine as well as human. And from medicine I would begin that I may do
honour to my art. There are in the human body these two kinds of love, which are
confessedly different and unlike, and being unlike, they have loves and desires
which are unlike ; and the desire of the healthy is one, and the desire of
the diseased is another ; and as Pausanias was just now saying that to
indulge good men is honourable, and bad men dishonourable : — so too in the
body the good and healthy elements are to be indulged, and the bad elements and
the elements of disease are not to be indulged, but discouraged. And this is
what the physician has to do, and in this the art of medicine consists :
for medicine may be regarded generally as the knowledge of the loves and desires
of the body, and how to satisfy them or not ; and the best physician is he
who is able to separate fair love from foul, or to convert one into the
other ; and he who knows how to eradicate and how to implant love,
whichever is required, and can reconcile the most hostile elements in the
constitution and make them loving friends, is skilful practitioner. Now
the : most hostile are the most opposite, such as hot and cold, bitter and
sweet, moist and dry, and the like. And my ancestor, Asclepius, knowing how to
implant friendship and accord in these elements, was the creator of our art, as
our friends the poets here tell us, and I believe them ; and not only
medicine in every branch but the arts of gymnastic and husbandry are under his
dominion.
Any one who pays
the least attention to the subject will also perceive that in music there is the
same reconciliation of opposites ; and I suppose that this must have been
the meaning of Heracleitus, although his words are not accurate, for he says
that is united by disunion, like the harmony of bow and the lyre. Now there is
an absurdity saying that harmony is discord or is composed of elements which are
still in a state of discord. But what he probably meant was, that, harmony is
composed of differing notes of higher or lower pitch which disagreed once, but
are now reconciled by the art of music ; for if the higher and lower notes
still disagreed, there could be there could be no harmony — clearly not. For
harmony is a symphony, and symphony is an agreement ; but an agreement of
disagreements while they disagree there cannot be ; you cannot harmonize
that which disagrees. In like manner rhythm is compounded of elements short and
long, once differing and now in accord ; which accordance, as in the former
instance, medicine, so in all these other cases, music implants, making love and
unison to grow up among them ; and thus music, too, is concerned with the
principles of love in their application to harmony and rhythm. Again, in the
essential nature of harmony and rhythm there is no difficulty in discerning love
which has not yet become double. But when you want to use them in actual life,
either in the composition of songs or in the correct performance of airs or
metres composed already, which latter is called education, then the difficulty
begins, and the good artist is needed. Then the old tale has to be repeated of
fair and heavenly love — the love of Urania the fair and heavenly muse, and of
the duty of accepting the temperate, and those who are as yet intemperate only
that they may become temperate, and of preserving their love ; and again,
of the vulgar Polyhymnia, who must be used with circumspection that the pleasure
be enjoyed, but may not generate licentiousness ; just as in my own art it
is a great matter so to regulate the desires of the epicure that he may gratify
his tastes without the attendant evil of disease. Whence I infer that in music,
in medicine, in all other things human as which as divine, both loves ought to
be noted as far as may be, for they are both present.
The course of the
seasons is also full of both these principles ; and when, as I was saying,
the elements of hot and cold, moist and dry, attain the harmonious love of one
another and blend in temperance and harmony, they bring to men, animals, and
plants health and plenty, and do them no harm ; whereas the wanton love,
getting the upper hand and affecting the seasons of the year, is very
destructive and injurious, being the source of pestilence, and bringing many
other kinds of diseases on animals and plants ; for hoar-frost and hail and
blight spring from the excesses and disorders of these elements of love, which
to know in relation to the revolutions of the heavenly bodies and the seasons of
the year is termed astronomy. Furthermore all sacrifices and the whole province
of divination, which is the art of communion between gods and men — these, I
say, are concerned with the preservation of the good and the cure of the evil
love. For all manner of impiety is likely to ensue if, instead of accepting and
honouring and reverencing the harmonious love in all his actions, a man honours
the other love, whether in his feelings towards gods or parents, towards the
living or the dead. Wherefore the business of divination is to see to these
loves and to heal them, and divination is the peacemaker of gods and men,
working by a knowledge of the religious or irreligious tendencies which exist in
human loves. Such is the great and mighty, or rather omnipotent force of love in
general. And the love, more especially, which is concerned with the good, and
which is perfected in company with temperance and justice, whether among gods or
men, has the greatest power, and is the source of all our happiness and harmony,
and makes us friends with the gods who are above us, and with one another. I
dare say that I too have omitted several things which might be said in praise of
Love, but this was not intentional, and you, Aristophanes, may now supply the
omission or take some other line of commendation ; for I perceive that you
are rid of the hiccough.
Yes, said
Aristophanes, who followed, the hiccough is gone ; not, however, until I
applied the sneezing ; and I wonder whether the harmony of the body has a
love of such noises and ticklings, for I no sooner applied the sneezing than I
was cured.
Eryximachus
said : Beware, friend Aristophanes, although you are going to speak, you
are making fun of me ; and I shall have to watch and see whether I cannot
have a laugh at your expense, when you might speak in
peace.
You are right, said
Aristophanes, laughing. I will unsay my words ; but do you please not to
watch me, as I fear that in the speech which I am about to make, instead of
others laughing with me, which is to the manner born of our muse and would be
all the better, I shall only be laughed at by them.
Do you expect to
shoot your bolt and escape, Aristophanes ? Well, perhaps if you are very
careful and bear in mind that you will be called to account, I may be induced to
let you off.
Aristophanes
professed to open another vein of discourse ; he had a mind to praise Love
in another way, unlike that either of Pausanias or Eryximachus. Mankind ;
he said, judging by their neglect of him, have never, as I think, at all
understood the power of Love. For if they had understood him they would surely
have built noble temples and altars, and offered solemn sacrifices in his
honour ; but this is not done, and most certainly ought to be done :
since of all the gods he is the best friend of men, the helper and the healer of
the ills which are the great impediment to the happiness of the race. I will try
to describe his power to you, and you shall teach the rest of the world what I
am teaching you. In the first place, let me treat of the nature of man and what
has happened to it ; for the original human nature was not like the
present, but different. The sexes were not two as they are now, but originally
three in number ; there was man, woman, and the union of the two, having a
name corresponding to this double nature, which had once a real existence, but
is now lost, and the word “Androgynous” is only preserved as a term of reproach.
In the second place, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a
circle ; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces,
looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike ; also four
ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. He could walk upright
as men now do, backwards or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll over
and over at a great pace, turning on his four hands and four feet, eight in all,
like tumblers going over and over with their legs in the air ; this was
when he wanted to run fast. Now the sexes were three, and such as I have
described them ; because the sun, moon, and earth are three ; — and
the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the
man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all
round and moved round and round : like their parents. Terrible was their
might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made
an attack upon the gods ; of them is told the tale of Otys and Ephialtes
who, as Homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the
gods. Doubt reigned in the celestial councils. Should they kill them and
annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had done the giants, then there
would be an end of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to them ;
but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer their insolence to be
unrestrained.
At last, after a
good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way. He said : “Methinks I have
a plan which will humble their pride and improve their manners ; men shall
continue to exist, but I will cut them in two and then they will be diminished
in strength and increased in numbers ; this will have the advantage of
making them more profitable to us. They shall walk upright on two legs, and if
they continue insolent and will not be quiet, I will split them again and they
shall hop about on a single leg.” He spoke and cut men in two, like a sorb-apple
which is halved for pickling, or as you might divide an egg with a hair ;
and as he cut them one after another, he bade Apollo give the face and the half
of the neck a turn in order that the man might contemplate the section of
himself : he would thus learn a lesson of humility. Apollo was also bidden
to heal their wounds and compose their forms. So he gave a turn to the face and
pulled the skin from the sides all over that which in our language is called the
belly, like the purses which draw in, and he made one mouth at the centre, which
he fastened in a knot (the same which is called the navel) ; he also
moulded the breast and took out most of the wrinkles, much as a shoemaker might
smooth leather upon a last ; he left a few, however, in the region of the
belly and navel, as a memorial of the primeval state. After the division the two
parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their
arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one,
they were on the point of dying from hunger and self-neglect, because they did
not like to do anything apart ; and when one of the halves died and the
other survived, the survivor sought another mate, man or woman as we call them,
being the sections of entire men or women, and clung to that. They were being
destroyed, when Zeus in pity of them invented a new plan : he turned the
parts of generation round to the front, for this had not been always their
position and they sowed the seed no longer as hitherto like grasshoppers in the
ground, but in one another ; and after the transposition the male generated
in the female in order that by the mutual embraces of man and woman they might
breed, and the race might continue ; or if man came to man they might be
satisfied, and rest, and go their ways to the business of life : so ancient
is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original
nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man.
Each of us when
separated, having one side only, like a flat fish, is but the indenture of a
man, and he is always looking for his other half. Men who are a section of that
double nature which was once called Androgynous are lovers of women ;
adulterers are generally of this breed, and also adulterous women who lust after
men : the women who are a section of the woman do not care for men, but
have female attachments ; the female companions are of this sort. But they
who are a section of the male follow the male, and while they are young, being
slices of the original man, they hang about men and embrace them, and they are
themselves the best of boys and youths, because they have the most manly nature.
Some indeed assert that they are shameless, but this is not true ; for they
do not act thus from any want of shame, but because they are valiant and manly,
and have a manly countenance, and they embrace that which is like them. And
these when they grow up become our statesmen, and these only, which is a great
proof of the truth of what I am saving. When they reach manhood they are loves
of youth, and are not naturally inclined to marry or beget children, — if at
all, they do so only in obedience to the law ; but they are satisfied if
they may be allowed to live with one another unwedded ; and such a nature
is prone to love and ready to return love, always embracing that which is akin
to him. And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of
himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are
lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and would not be out
of the other’s sight, as I may say, even for a moment : these are the
people who pass their whole lives together ; yet they could not explain
what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has
towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover’s intercourse, but
of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell,
and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment. Suppose Hephaestus,
with his instruments, to come to the pair who are lying side, by side and to say
to them, “What do you people want of one another ?” they would be unable to
explain. And suppose further, that when he saw their perplexity he said :
“Do you desire to be wholly one ; always day and night to be in one
another’s company ? for if this is what you desire, I am ready to melt you
into one and let you grow together, so that being two you shall become one, and
while you live a common life as if you were a single man, and after your death
in the world below still be one departed soul instead of two — I ask whether
this is what you lovingly desire, and whether you are satisfied to attain
this ?” — there is not a man of them who when he heard the proposal would
deny or would not acknowledge that this meeting and melting into one another,
this becoming one instead of two, was the very expression of his ancient need.
And the reason is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and
the desire and pursuit of the whole is called love. There was a time, I say,
when we were one, but now because of the wickedness of mankind God has dispersed
us, as the Arcadians were dispersed into villages by the Lacedaemonians. And if
we are not obedient to the gods, there is a danger that we shall be split up
again and go about in basso-relievo, like the profile figures having only half a
nose which are sculptured on monuments, and that we shall be like
tallies.
Wherefore let us
exhort all men to piety, that we may avoid evil, and obtain the good, of which
Love is to us the lord and minister ; and let no one oppose him — he is the
enemy of the gods who oppose him. For if we are friends of the God and at peace
with him we shall find our own true loves, which rarely happens in this world at
present. I am serious, and therefore I must beg Eryximachus not to make fun or
to find any allusion in what I am saying to Pausanias and Agathon, who, as I
suspect, are both of the manly nature, and belong to the class which I have been
describing. But my words have a wider application — they include men and women
everywhere ; and I believe that if our loves were perfectly accomplished,
and each one returning to his primeval nature had his original true love, then
our race would be happy. And if this would be best of all, the best in the next
degree and under present circumstances must be the nearest approach to such an
union ; and that will be the attainment of a congenial love. Wherefore, if
we would praise him who has given to us the benefit, we must praise the god
Love, who is our greatest benefactor, both leading us in this life back to our
own nature, and giving us high hopes for the future, for he promises that if we
are pious, he will restore us to our original state, and heal us and make us
happy and blessed. This, Eryximachus, is my discourse of love, which, although
different to yours, I must beg you to leave unassailed by the shafts of your
ridicule, in order that each may have his turn ; each, or rather either,
for Agathon and Socrates are the only ones left.
Indeed, I am not
going to attack you, said Eryximachus, for I thought your speech charming, and
did I not know that Agathon and Socrates are masters in the art of love, I
should be really afraid that they would have nothing to say, after the world of
things which have been said already. But, for all that, I am not without
hopes.
Socrates
said : You played your part well, Eryximachus ; but if you were as I
am now, or rather as I shall be when Agathon has spoken, you would, indeed, be
in a great strait.
You want to cast a
spell over me, Socrates, said Agathon, in the hope that I may be disconcerted at
the expectation raised among the audience that I shall speak
well.
I should be
strangely forgetful, Agathon, replied Socrates, of the courage and magnanimity
which you showed when your own compositions were about to be exhibited, and you
came upon the stage with the actors and faced the vast theatre altogether
undismayed, if I thought that your nerves could be fluttered at a small party of
friends.
Do you think,
Socrates, said Agathon, that my head is so full of the theatre as not to know
how much more formidable to a man of sense a few good judges are than many
fools ?
Nay, replied
Socrates, I should be very wrong in attributing to you, Agathon, that or any
other want of refinement. And I am quite aware that if you happened to meet with
any whom you thought wise, you would care for their opinion much more than for
that of the many. But then we, having been a part of the foolish many in the
theatre, cannot be regarded as the select wise ; though I know that if you
chanced to be in the presence, not of one of ourselves, but of some really wise
man, you would be ashamed of disgracing yourself before him — would you
not ?
Yes, said
Agathon.
But before the many
you would not be ashamed, if you thought that you were doing something
disgraceful in their presence ?
Here Phaedrus
interrupted them, saying : not answer him, my dear Agathon ; for if he
can only get a partner with whom he can talk, especially a good-looking one, he
will no longer care about the completion of our plan. Now I love to hear him
talk ; but just at present I must not forget the encomium on Love which I
ought to receive from him and from every one. When you and he have paid your
tribute to the god, then you may talk.
Very good,
Phaedrus, said Agathon ; I see no reason why I should not proceed with my
speech, as I shall have many other opportunities of conversing with Socrates.
Let me say first how I ought to speak, and then
speak :
— The previous
speakers, instead of praising the god Love, or unfolding his nature, appear to
have congratulated mankind on the benefits which he confers upon them. But I
would rather praise the god first, and then speak of his gifts ; this is
always the right way of praising everything. May I say without impiety or
offence, that of all the blessed gods he is the most blessed because he is the
fairest and best ? And he is the fairest : for, in the first place, he
is the youngest, and of his youth he is himself the witness, fleeing out of the
way of age, who is swift enough, swifter truly than most of us like : —
Love hates him and will not come near him ; but youth and love live and
move together — like to like, as the proverb says. Many things were said by
Phaedrus about Love in which I agree with him ; but I cannot agree that he
is older than Iapetus and Kronos : — not so ; I maintain him to be the
youngest of the gods, and youthful ever. The ancient doings among the gods of
which Hesiod and Parmenides spoke, if the tradition of them be true, were done
of Necessity and not Love ; had Love been in those days, there would have
been no chaining or mutilation of the gods, or other violence, but peace and
sweetness, as there is now in heaven, since the rule of Love
began.
Love is young and
also tender ; he ought to have a poet like Homer to describe his
tenderness, as Homer says of Ate, that she is a goddess and
tender :
Her feet are tender, for she sets her
steps,
Not on the ground but on the heads
of men :
herein is an
excellent proof of her tenderness — that she walks not upon the hard but upon
the soft. Let us adduce a similar proof of the tenderness of Love ; for he
walks not upon the earth, nor yet upon skulls of men, which are not so very
soft, but in the hearts and souls of both god, and men, which are of all things
the softest : in them he walks and dwells and makes his home. Not in every
soul without exception, for Where there is hardness he departs, where there is
softness there he dwells ; and nestling always with his feet and in all
manner of ways in the softest of soft places, how can he be other than the
softest of all things ? Of a truth he is the tenderest as well as the
youngest, and also he is of flexile form ; for if he were hard and without
flexure he could not enfold all things, or wind his way into and out of every
soul of man undiscovered. And a proof of his flexibility and symmetry of form is
his grace, which is universally admitted to be in an especial manner the
attribute of Love ; ungrace and love are always at war with one another.
The fairness of his complexion is revealed by his habitation among the
flowers ; for he dwells not amid bloomless or fading beauties, whether of
body or soul or aught else, but in the place of flowers and scents, there he
sits and abides. Concerning the beauty of the god I have said enough ; and
yet there remains much more which I might say. Of his virtue I have now to
speak : his greatest glory is that he can neither do nor suffer wrong to or
from any god or any man ; for he suffers not by force if he suffers ;
force comes not near him, neither when he acts does he act by force. For all men
in all things serve him of their own free will, and where there is voluntary
agreement, there, as the laws which are the lords of the city say, is justice.
And not only is he just but exceedingly temperate, for Temperance is the
acknowledged ruler of the pleasures and desires, and no pleasure ever masters
Love ; he is their master and they are his servants ; and if he
conquers them he must be temperate indeed. As to courage, even the God of War is
no match for him ; he is the captive and Love is the lord, for love, the
love of Aphrodite, masters him, as the tale runs ; and the master is
stronger than the servant. And if he conquers the bravest of all others, he must
be himself the bravest.
Of his courage and
justice and temperance I have spoken, but I have yet to speak of his wisdom —
and according to the measure of my ability I must try to do my best. In the
first place he is a poet (and here, like Eryximachus, I magnify my art), and he
is also the source of poesy in others, which he could not be if he were not
himself a poet. And at the touch of him every one becomes a poet, even though he
had no music in him before ; this also is a proof that Love is a good poet
and accomplished in all the fine arts ; for no one can give to another that
which he has not himself, or teach that of which he has no knowledge. Who will
deny that the creation of the animals is his doing ? Are they not all the
works his wisdom, born and begotten of him ? And as to the artists, do we
not know that he only of them whom love inspires has the light of fame ? —
he whom Love touches riot walks in darkness. The arts of medicine and archery
and divination were discovered by Apollo, under the guidance of love and
desire ; so that he too is a disciple of Love. Also the melody of the
Muses, the metallurgy of Hephaestus, the weaving of Athene, the empire of Zeus
over gods and men, are all due to Love, who was the inventor of them. And so
Love set in order the empire of the gods — the love of beauty, as is evident,
for with deformity Love has no concern. In the days of old, as I began by
saying, dreadful deeds were done among the gods, for they were ruled by
Necessity ; but now since the birth of Love, and from the Love of the
beautiful, has sprung every good in heaven and earth. Therefore, Phaedrus, I say
of Love that he is the fairest and best in himself, and the cause of what is
fairest and best in all other things. And there comes into my mind a line of
poetry in which he is said to be the god who
Gives peace on earth and calms the stormy
deep,
Who stills the winds and bids the
sufferer sleep.
This is he who
empties men of disaffection and fills them with affection, who makes them to
meet together at banquets such as these : in sacrifices, feasts, dances, he
is our lord — who sends courtesy and sends away discourtesy, who gives kindness
ever and never gives unkindness ; the friend of the good, the wonder of the
wise, the amazement of the gods ; desired by those who have no part in him,
and precious to those who have the better part in him ; parent of delicacy,
luxury, desire, fondness, softness, grace ; regardful of the good,
regardless of the evil : in every word, work, wish, fear-saviour, pilot,
comrade, helper ; glory of gods and men, leader best and brightest :
in whose footsteps let every man follow, sweetly singing in his honour and
joining in that sweet strain with which love charms the souls of gods and men.
Such is the speech, Phaedrus, half-playful, yet having a certain measure of
seriousness, which, according to my ability, I dedicate to the
god.
When Agathon had
done speaking, Aristodemus said that there was a general cheer ; the young
man was thought to have spoken in a manner worthy of himself, and of the god.
And Socrates, looking at Eryximachus, said : Tell me, son of Acumenus, was
there not reason in my fears ? and was I not a true prophet when I said
that Agathon would make a wonderful oration, and that I should be in a
strait ?
The part of the
prophecy which concerns Agathon, replied Eryximachus, appears to me to be
true ; but, not the other part — that you will be in a
strait.
Why, my dear
friend, said Socrates, must not I or any one be in a strait who has to speak
after he has heard such a rich and varied discourse ? I am especially
struck with the beauty of the concluding words — who could listen to them
without amazement ? When I reflected on the immeasurable inferiority of my
own powers, I was ready to run away for shame, if there had been a possibility
of escape. For I was reminded of Gorgias, and at the end of his speech I fancied
that Agathon was shaking at me the Gorginian or Gorgonian head of the great
master of rhetoric, which was simply to turn me and my speech, into stone, as
Homer says, and strike me dumb. And then I perceived how foolish I had been in
consenting to take my turn with you in praising love, and saying that I too was
a master of the art, when I really had no conception how anything ought to be
praised. For in my simplicity I imagined that the topics of praise should be
true, and that this being presupposed, out of the true the speaker was to choose
the best and set them forth in the best manner. And I felt quite proud, thinking
that I knew the nature of true praise, and should speak well. Whereas I now see
that the intention was to attribute to Love every species of greatness and
glory, whether really belonging to him not, without regard to truth or falsehood
— that was no matter ; for the original, proposal seems to have been not
that each of you should really praise Love, but only that you should appear to
praise him. And so you attribute to Love every imaginable form of praise which
can be gathered anywhere ; and you say that “he is all this,” and “the
cause of all that,” making him appear the fairest and best of all to those who
know him not, for you cannot impose upon those who know him. And a noble and
solemn hymn of praise have you rehearsed. But as I misunderstood the nature of
the praise when I said that I would take my turn, I must beg to be absolved from
the promise which I made in ignorance, and which (as Euripides would say) was a
promise of the lips and not of the mind. Farewell then to such a strain :
for I do not praise in that way ; no, indeed, I cannot. But if you like to
here the truth about love, I am ready to speak in my own manner, though I will
not make myself ridiculous by entering into any rivalry with you. Say then,
Phaedrus, whether you would like, to have the truth about love, spoken in any
words and in any order which may happen to come into my mind at the time. Will
that be agreeable to you ?
Aristodemus said
that Phaedrus and the company bid him speak in any manner which he thought
best.
Then, he added, let
me have your permission first to ask Agathon a few more questions, in order that
I may take his admissions as the premisses of my
discourse.
I grant the
permission, said Phaedrus : put your questions.
Socrates then
proceeded as follows :
— In the
magnificent oration which you have just uttered, I think that you were right, my
dear Agathon, in proposing to speak of the nature of Love first and afterwards
of his works — that is a way of beginning which I very much approve. And as you
have spoken so eloquently of his nature, may I ask you further, Whether love is
the love of something or of nothing ? And here I must explain myself :
I do not want you to say that love is the love of a father or the love of a
mother — that would be ridiculous ; but to answer as you would, if I asked
is a father a father of something ? to which you would find no difficulty
in replying, of a son or daughter : and the answer would be
right.
Very true, said
Agathon.
And you would say
the same of a mother ?
He
assented.
Yet let me ask you
one more question in order to illustrate my meaning : Is not a brother to
be regarded essentially as a brother of something ?
Certainly, he
replied.
That is, of a
brother or sister ?
Yes, he
said.
And now, said
Socrates, I will ask about Love : — Is Love of something or of
nothing ?
Of something,
surely, he replied.
Keep in mind what
this is, and tell me what I want to know — whether Love desires that of which
love is.
Yes,
surely.
And does he
possess, or does he not possess, that which he loves and
desires ?
Probably not, I
should say.
Nay, replied
Socrates, I would have you consider whether “necessarily” is not rather the
word. The inference that he who desires something is in want of something, and
that he who desires nothing is in want of nothing, is in my judgment, Agathon
absolutely and necessarily true. What do you think ?
I agree with you,
said Agathon.
Very good. Would he
who is great, desire to be great, or he who is strong, desire to be
strong ?
That would be
inconsistent with our previous admissions.
True. For he who is
anything cannot want to be that which he is ?
Very
true.
And yet, added
Socrates, if a man being strong desired to be strong, or being swift desired to
be swift, or being healthy desired to be healthy, in that case he might be
thought to desire something which he already has or is. I give the example in
order that we may avoid misconception. For the possessors of these qualities,
Agathon, must be supposed to have their respective advantages at the time,
whether they choose or not ; and who can desire that which he has ?
Therefore when a person says, I am well and wish to be well, or I am rich and
wish to be rich, and I desire simply to have what I have — to him we shall
reply : “You, my friend, having wealth and health and strength, want to
have the continuance of them ; for at this moment, whether you choose or
no, you have them. And when you say, I desire that which I have and nothing
else, is not your meaning that you want to have what you now have in the
future ?” He must agree with us — must he not ?
He must, replied
Agathon.
Then, said
Socrates, he desires that what he has at present may be preserved to him in the
future, which is equivalent to saying that he desires something which is
non-existent to him, and which as yet he has not got.
Very true, he
said.
Then he and every
one who desires, desires that which he has not already, and which is future and
not present, and which he has not, and is not, and of which he is in want ;
— these are the sort of things which love and desire
seek ?
Very true, he
said.
Then now, said
Socrates, let us recapitulate the argument. First, is not love of something, and
of something too which is wanting to a man ?
Yes, he
replied.
Remember further
what you said in your speech, or if you do not remember I will remind you :
you said that the love of the beautiful set in order the empire of the gods, for
that of deformed things there is no love — did you not say something of that
kind ?
Yes, said
Agathon.
Yes, my friend, and
the remark was a just one. And if this is true, Love is the love of beauty and
not of deformity ?
He
assented.
And the admission
has been already made that Love is of something which a man wants and has
not ?
True, he
said.
Then Love wants and
has not beauty ?
Certainly, he
replied.
And would you call
that beautiful which wants and does not possess
beauty ?
Certainly
not.
Then would you
still say that love is beautiful ?
Agathon
replied : I fear that I did not understand what I was
saying.
You made a very
good speech, Agathon, replied Socrates ; but there is yet one small
question which I would fain ask : — Is not the good also the
beautiful ?
Yes.
Then in wanting the
beautiful, love wants also the good ?
I cannot refute
you, Socrates, said Agathon : — Let us assume that what you say is
true.
Say rather, beloved
Agathon, that you cannot refute the truth ; for Socrates is easily
refuted.
And now, taking my
leave of you, I would rehearse a tale of love which I heard from Diotima of
Mantineia, a woman wise in this and in many other kinds of knowledge, who in the
days of old, when the Athenians offered sacrifice before the coming of the
plague, delayed the disease ten years. She was my instructress in the art of
love, and I shall repeat to you what she said to me, beginning with the
admissions made by Agathon, which are nearly if not quite the same which I made
to the wise woman when she questioned me — I think that this will be the easiest
way, and I shall take both parts myself as well as I can. As you, Agathon,
suggested, I must speak first of the being and nature of Love, and then of his
works. First I said to her in nearly the same words which he used to me, that
Love was a mighty god, and likewise fair and she proved to me as I proved to him
that, by my own showing, Love was neither fair nor good. “What do you mean,
Diotima,” I said, “is love then evil and foul ?” “Hush,” she cried ;
“must that be foul which is not fair ?” “Certainly,” I said. “And is that
which is not wise, ignorant ? do you not see that there is a mean between
wisdom and ignorance ?” “And what may that be ?” I said. “Right
opinion,” she replied ; “which, as you know, being incapable of giving a
reason, is not knowledge (for how can knowledge be devoid of reason ? nor
again, ignorance, for neither can ignorance attain the truth), but is clearly
something which is a mean between ignorance and wisdom.” “Quite true,” I
replied. “Do not then insist,” she said, “that what is not fair is of necessity
foul, or what is not good evil ; or infer that because love is not fair and
good he is therefore foul and evil ; for he is in a mean between them.”
“Well,” I said, “Love is surely admitted by all to be a great god.” “By those
who know or by those who do not know ?” “By all.” “And how, Socrates,” she
said with a smile, “can Love be acknowledged to be a great god by those who say
that he is not a god at all ?” “And who are they ?” I said. “You and I
are two of them,” she replied. “How can that be ?” I said. “It is quite
intelligible,” she replied ; “for you yourself would acknowledge that the
gods are happy and fair of course you would — would to say that any god was
not ?” “Certainly not,” I replied. “And you mean by the happy, those who
are the possessors of things good or fair ?” “Yes.” “And you admitted that
Love, because he was in want, desires those good and fair things of which he is
in want ?” “Yes, I did.” “But how can he be a god who has no portion in
what is either good or fair ?” “Impossible.” “Then you see that you also
deny the divinity of Love.”
“What then is
Love ?” I asked ; “Is he mortal ?” “No.” “What then ?” “As
in the former instance, he is neither mortal nor immortal, but in a mean between
the two.” “What is he, Diotima ?” “He is a great spirit (daimon), and like
all spirits he is intermediate between the divine and the mortal.” “And what,” I
said, “is his power ?” “He interprets,” she replied, “between gods and men,
conveying and taking across to the gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and
to men the commands and replies of the gods ; he is the mediator who spans
the chasm which divides them, and therefore in him all is bound together, and
through him the arts of the prophet and the priest, their sacrifices and
mysteries and charms, and all, prophecy and incantation, find their way. For God
mingles not with man ; but through Love. all the intercourse, and converse
of god with man, whether awake or asleep, is carried on. The wisdom which
understands this is spiritual ; all other wisdom, such as that of arts and
handicrafts, is mean and vulgar. Now these spirits or intermediate powers are
many and diverse, and one of them is Love. “And who,” I said, “was his father,
and who his mother ?” “The tale,” she said, “will take time ;
nevertheless I will tell you. On the birthday of Aphrodite there was a feast of
the gods, at which the god Poros or Plenty, who is the son of Metis or
Discretion, was one of the guests. When the feast was over, Penia or Poverty, as
the manner is on such occasions, came about the doors to beg. Now Plenty who was
the worse for nectar (there was no wine in those days), went into the garden of
Zeus and fell into a heavy sleep, and Poverty considering her own straitened
circumstances, plotted to have a child by him, and accordingly she lay down at
his side and conceived love, who partly because he is naturally a lover of the
beautiful, and because Aphrodite is herself beautiful, and also because he was
born on her birthday, is her follower and attendant. And as his parentage is, so
also are his fortunes. In the first place he is always poor, and anything but
tender and fair, as the many imagine him ; and he is rough and squalid, and
has no shoes, nor a house to dwell in ; on the bare earth exposed he lies
under the open heaven, in the streets, or at the doors of houses, taking his
rest ; and like his mother he is always in distress. Like his father too,
whom he also partly resembles, he is always plotting against the fair and
good ; he is bold, enterprising, strong, a mighty hunter, always weaving
some intrigue or other, keen in the pursuit of wisdom, fertile in
resources ; a philosopher at all times, terrible as an enchanter, sorcerer,
sophist. He is by nature neither mortal nor immortal, but alive and flourishing
at one moment when he is in plenty, and dead at another moment, and again alive
by reason of his father’s nature. But that which is always flowing in is always
flowing out, and so he is never in want and never in wealth ; and, further,
he is in a mean between ignorance and knowledge. The truth of the matter is
this : No god is a philosopher. or seeker after wisdom, for he is wise
already ; nor does any man who is wise seek after wisdom. Neither do the
ignorant seek after Wisdom. For herein is the evil of ignorance, that he who is
neither good nor wise is nevertheless satisfied with himself : he has no
desire for that of which he feels no want.” “But — who then, Diotima,” I said,
“are the lovers of wisdom, if they are neither the wise nor the foolish ?”
“A child may answer that question,” she replied ; “they are those who are
in a mean between the two ; Love is one of them. For wisdom is a most
beautiful thing, and Love is of the beautiful ; and therefore Love is also
a philosopher : or lover of wisdom, and being a lover of wisdom is in a
mean between the wise and the ignorant. And of this too his birth is the
cause ; for his father is wealthy and wise, and his mother poor and
foolish. Such, my dear Socrates, is the nature of the spirit Love. The error in
your conception of him was very natural, and as I imagine from what you say, has
arisen out of a confusion of love and the beloved, which made you think that
love was all beautiful. For the beloved is the truly beautiful, and delicate,
and perfect, and blessed ; but the principle of love is of another nature,
and is such as I have described.”
I said, “O thou
stranger woman, thou sayest well ; but, assuming Love to be such as you
say, what is the use of him to men ?” “That, Socrates,” she replied, “I
will attempt to unfold : of his nature and birth I have already
spoken ; and you acknowledge that love is of the beautiful. But some one
will say : Of the beautiful in what, Socrates and Diotima ? — or
rather let me put the question more dearly, and ask : When a man loves the
beautiful, what does he desire ?” I answered her “That the beautiful may be
his.” “Still,” she said, “the answer suggests a further question : What is
given by the possession of beauty ?” “To what you have asked,” I replied,
“I have no answer ready.” “Then,” she said, “Let me put the word ‘good’ in the
place of the beautiful, and repeat the question once more : If he who loves
good, what is it then that he loves ? “The possession of the good,” I said.
“And what does he gain who possesses the good ?” “Happiness,” I
replied ; “there is less difficulty in answering that question.” “Yes,” she
said, “the happy are made happy by the acquisition of good things. Nor is there
any need to ask why a man desires happiness ; the answer is already final.”
“You are right.” I said. “And is this wish and this desire common to all ?
and do all men always desire their own good, or only some men ? — what say
you ?” “All men,” I replied ; “the desire is common to all.” “Why,
then,” she rejoined, “are not all men, Socrates, said to love, but only some
them ? whereas you say that all men are always loving the same things.” “I
myself wonder,” I said, — why this is.” “There is nothing to wonder at,” she
replied ; “the reason is that one part of love is separated off and
receives the name of the whole, but the other parts have other names.” “Give an
illustration,” I said. She answered me as follows : “There is poetry,
which, as you know, is complex ; and manifold. All creation or passage of
non-being into being is poetry or making, and the processes of all art are
creative ; and the masters of arts are all poets or makers.” “Very true.”
“Still,” she said, “you know that they are not called poets, but have other
names ; only that portion of the art which is separated off from the rest,
and is concerned with music and metre, is termed poetry, and they who possess
poetry in this sense of the word are called poets.” “Very true,” I said. “And
the same holds of love. For you may say generally that all desire of good and
happiness is only the great and subtle power of love ; but they who are
drawn towards him by any other path, whether the path of money-making or
gymnastics or philosophy, are not called lovers — the name of the whole is
appropriated to those whose affection takes one form only — they alone are said
to love, or to be lovers.” “I dare say,” I replied, “that you are right.” “Yes,”
she added, “and you hear people say that lovers are seeking for their other
half ; but I say that they are seeking neither for the half of themselves,
nor for the whole, unless the half or the whole be also a good. And they will
cut off their own hands and feet and cast them away, if they are evil ; for
they love not what is their own, unless perchance there be some one who calls
what belongs to him the good, and what belongs to another the evil. For there is
nothing which men love but the good. Is there anything ?” “Certainly, I
should say, that there is nothing.” “Then,” she said, “the simple truth is, that
men love the good.” “Yes,” I said. “To which must be added that they love the
possession of the good ? “Yes, that must be added.” “And not only the
possession, but the everlasting possession of the good ?” “That must be
added too.” “Then love,” she said, “may be described generally as the love of
the everlasting possession of the good ?” “That is most
true.”
“Then if this be
the nature of love, can you tell me further,” she said, “what is the manner of
the pursuit ? what are they doing who show all this eagerness and heat
which is called love ? and what is the object which they have in
view ? Answer me.” “Nay, Diotima,” I replied, “if I had known, I should not
have wondered at your wisdom, neither should I have come to learn from you about
this very matter.” “Well,” she said, “I will teach you : — The object which
they have in view is birth in beauty, whether of body or, soul.” “I do not
understand you,” I said ; “the oracle requires an explanation.” “I will
make my meaning dearer,” she replied. “I mean to say, that all men are bringing
to the birth in their bodies and in their souls. There is a certain age at which
human nature is desirous of procreation — procreation which must be in beauty
and not in deformity ; and this procreation is the union of man and woman,
and is a divine thing ; for conception and generation are an immortal
principle in the mortal creature, and in the inharmonious they can never be. But
the deformed is always inharmonious with the divine, and the beautiful
harmonious. Beauty, then, is the destiny or goddess of parturition who presides
at birth, and therefore, when approaching beauty, the conceiving power is
propitious, and diffusive, and benign, and begets and bears fruit : at the
sight of ugliness she frowns and contracts and has a sense of pain, and turns
away, and shrivels up, and not without a pang refrains from conception. And this
is the reason why, when the hour of conception arrives, and the teeming nature
is full, there is such a flutter and ecstasy about beauty whose approach is the
alleviation of the pain of travail. For love, Socrates, is not, as you imagine,
the love of the beautiful only.” “What then ?” “The love of generation and
of birth in beauty.” “Yes,” I said. “Yes, indeed,” she replied. “But why of
generation ?” “Because to the mortal creature, generation is a sort of
eternity and immortality,” she replied ; “and if, as has been already
admitted, love is of the everlasting possession of the good, all men will
necessarily desire immortality together with good : Wherefore love is of
immortality.”
All this she taught
me at various times when she spoke of love. And I remember her once saying to
me, “What is the cause, Socrates, of love, and the attendant desire ? See
you not how all animals, birds, as well as beasts, in their desire of
procreation, are in agony when they take the infection of love, which begins
with the desire of union ; whereto is added the care of offspring, on whose
behalf the weakest are ready to battle against the strongest even to the
uttermost, and to die for them, and will, let themselves be tormented with
hunger or suffer anything in order to maintain their young. Man may be supposed
to act thus from reason ; but why should animals have these passionate
feelings ? Can you tell me why ?” Again I replied that I did not know.
She said to me : “And do you expect ever to become a master in the art of
love, if you do not know this ?” “But I have told you already, Diotima,
that my ignorance is the reason why I come to you ; for I am conscious that
I want a teacher ; tell me then the cause of this and of the other
mysteries of love.” “Marvel not,” she said, “if you believe that love is of the
immortal, as we have several times acknowledged ; for here again, and on
the same principle too, the mortal nature is seeking as far as is possible to be
everlasting and immortal : and this is only to be attained by generation,
because generation always leaves behind a new existence in the place of the old.
Nay even in the life, of the same individual there is succession and not
absolute unity : a man is called the same, and yet in the short interval
which elapses between youth and age, and in which every animal is said to have
life and identity, he is undergoing a perpetual process of loss and reparation —
hair, flesh, bones, blood, and the whole body are always changing. Which is true
not only of the body, but also of the soul, whose habits, tempers, opinions,
desires, pleasures, pains, fears, never remain the same in any one of us, but
are always coming and going ; and equally true of knowledge, and what is
still more surprising to us mortals, not only do the sciences in general spring
up and decay, so that in respect of them we are never the same ; but each
of them individually experiences a like change. For what is implied in the word
‘recollection,’ but the departure of knowledge, which is ever being forgotten,
and is renewed and preserved by recollection, and appears to be the same
although in reality new, according to that law of succession by which all mortal
things are preserved, not absolutely the same, but by substitution, the old
worn-out mortality leaving another new and similar existence behind unlike the
divine, which is always the same and not another ? And in this way,
Socrates, the mortal body, or mortal anything, partakes of immortality ;
but the immortal in another way. Marvel not then at the love which all men have
of their offspring ; for that universal love and interest is for the sake
of immortality.”
I was astonished at
her words, and said : “Is this really true, O thou wise Diotima ?” And
she answered with all the authority of an accomplished sophist : “Of that,
Socrates, you may be assured ; — think only of the ambition of men, and you
will wonder at the senselessness of their ways, unless you consider how they are
stirred by the love of an immortality of fame. They are ready to run all risks
greater far than they would have for their children, and to spend money and
undergo any sort of toil, and even to die, for the sake of leaving behind them a
name which shall be eternal. Do you imagine that Alcestis would have died to
save Admetus, or Achilles to avenge Patroclus, or your own Codrus in order to
preserve the kingdom for his sons, if they had not imagined that the memory of
their virtues, which still survives among us, would be immortal ? Nay,” she
said, “I am persuaded that all men do all things, and the better they are the
more they do them, in hope of the glorious fame of immortal virtue ; for
they desire the immortal.
“Those who are
pregnant in the body only, betake themselves to women and beget children — this
is the character of their love ; their offspring, as they hope, will
preserve their memory and giving them the blessedness and immortality which they
desire in the future. But souls which are pregnant — for there certainly are men
who are more creative in their souls than in their bodies conceive that which is
proper for the soul to conceive or contain. And what are these
conceptions ? — wisdom and virtue in general. And such creators are poets
and all artists who are deserving of the name inventor. But the greatest and
fairest sort of wisdom by far is that which is concerned with the ordering of
states and families, and which is called temperance and justice. And he who in
youth has the seed of these implanted in him and is himself inspired, when he
comes to maturity desires to beget and generate. He wanders about seeking beauty
that he may beget offspring — for in deformity he will beget nothing — and
naturally embraces the beautiful rather than the deformed body ; above all
when he finds fair and noble and well-nurtured soul, he embraces the two in one
person, and to such an one he is full of speech about virtue and the nature and
pursuits of a good man ; and he tries to educate him ; and at the
touch of the beautiful which is ever present to his memory, even when absent, he
brings forth that which he had conceived long before, and in company with him
tends that which he brings forth ; and they are married by a far nearer tie
and have a closer friendship than those who beget mortal children, for the
children who are their common offspring are fairer and more immortal. Who, when
he thinks of Homer and Hesiod and other great poets, would not rather have their
children than ordinary human ones ? Who would not emulate them in the
creation of children such as theirs, which have preserved their memory and given
them everlasting glory ? Or who would not have such children as Lycurgus
left behind him to be the saviours, not only of Lacedaemon, but of Hellas, as
one may say ? There is Solon, too, who is the revered father of Athenian
laws ; and many others there are in many other places, both among hellenes
and barbarians, who have given to the world many noble works, and have been the
parents of virtue of every kind ; and many temples have been raised in
their honour for the sake of children such as theirs ; which were never
raised in honour of any one, for the sake of his mortal
children.
“These are the
lesser mysteries of love, into which even you, Socrates, may enter ; to the
greater and more hidden ones which are the crown of these, and to which, if you
pursue them in a right spirit, they will lead, I know not whether you will be
able to attain. But I will do my utmost to inform you, and do you follow if you
can. For he who would proceed aright in this matter should begin in youth to
visit beautiful forms ; and first, if he be guided by his instructor
aright, to love one such form only — out of that he should create fair
thoughts ; and soon he will of himself perceive that the beauty of one form
is akin to the beauty of another ; and then if beauty of form in general is
his pursuit, how foolish would he be not to recognize that the beauty in every
form is and the same ! And when he perceives this he will abate his violent
love of the one, which he will despise and deem a small thing, and will become a
lover of all beautiful forms ; in the next stage he will consider that the
beauty of the mind is more honourable than the beauty of the outward form. So
that if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will be content to love
and tend him, and will search out and bring to the birth thoughts which may
improve the young, until he is compelled to contemplate and see the beauty of
institutions and laws, and to understand that the beauty of them all is of one
family, and that personal beauty is a trifle ; and after laws and
institutions he will go on to the sciences, that he may see their beauty, being
not like a servant in love with the beauty of one youth or man or institution,
himself a slave mean and narrow-minded, but drawing towards and contemplating
the vast sea of beauty, he will create many fair and noble thoughts and notions
in boundless love of wisdom ; until on that shore he grows and waxes
strong, and at last the vision is revealed to him of a single science, which is
the science of beauty everywhere. To this I will proceed ; please to give
me your very best attention :
“He who has been
instructed thus far in the things of love, and who has learned to see the
beautiful in due order and succession, when he comes toward the end will
suddenly perceive a nature of wondrous beauty (and this, Socrates, is the final
cause of all our former toils) — a nature which in the first place is
everlasting, not growing and decaying, or waxing and waning ; secondly, not
fair in one point of view and foul in another, or at one time or in one relation
or at one place fair, at another time or in another relation or at another place
foul, as if fair to some and foul to others, or in the likeness of a face or
hands or any other part of the bodily frame, or in any form of speech or
knowledge, or existing in any other being, as for example, in an animal, or in
heaven or in earth, or in any other place ; but beauty absolute, separate,
simple, and everlasting, which without diminution and without increase, or any
change, is imparted to the ever-growing and perishing beauties of all other
things. He who from these ascending under the influence of true love, begins to
perceive that beauty, is not far from the end. And the true order of going, or
being led by another, to the things of love, is to begin from the beauties of
earth and mount upwards for the sake of that other beauty, using these as steps
only, and from one going on to two, and from two to all fair forms, and from
fair forms to fair practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, until
from fair notions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows
what the essence of beauty is. This, my dear Socrates,” said the stranger of
Mantineia, “is that life above all others which man should live, in the
contemplation of beauty absolute ; a beauty which if you once beheld, you
would see not to be after the measure of gold, and garments, and fair boys and
youths, whose presence now entrances you ; and you and many a one would be
content to live seeing them only and conversing with them without meat or drink,
if that were possible — you only want to look at them and to be with them. But
what if man had eyes to see the true beauty — the divine beauty, I mean, pure
and dear and unalloyed, not clogged with the pollutions of mortality and all the
colours and vanities of human life — thither looking, and holding converse with
the true beauty simple and divine ? Remember how in that communion only,
beholding beauty with the eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth,
not images of beauty, but realities (for he has hold not of an image but of a
reality), and bringing forth and nourishing true virtue to become the friend of
God and be immortal, if mortal man may. Would that be an ignoble
life ?”
Such, Phaedrus, —
and I speak not only to you, but to all of you — were the words of
Diotima ; and I am persuaded of their truth. And being persuaded of them, I
try to persuade others, that in the attainment of this end human nature will not
easily find a helper better than love : And therefore, also, I say that
every man ought to honour him as I myself honour him, and walk in his ways, and
exhort others to do the same, and praise the power and spirit of love according
to the measure of my ability now and ever.
The words which I
have spoken, you, Phaedrus, may call an encomium of love, or anything else which
you please.
When Socrates had
done speaking, the company applauded, and Aristophanes was beginning to say
something in answer to the allusion which Socrates had made to his own speech,
when suddenly there was a great knocking at the door of the house, as of
revellers, and the sound of a flute-girl was heard. Agathon told the attendants
to go and see who were the intruders. “If they are friends of ours,” he said,
“invite them in, but if not, say that the drinking is over.” A little while
afterwards they heard the voice of Alcibiades resounding in the court ; he
was in a great state of intoxication and kept roaring and shouting “Where is
Agathon ? Lead me to Agathon,” and at length, supported by the flute-girl
and some of his attendants, he found his way to them. “Hail, friends,” he said,
appearing at the door crown, with a massive garland of ivy and violets, his head
flowing with ribands. “Will you have a very drunken man as a companion of your
revels ? Or shall I crown Agathon, which was my intention in coming, and go
away ? For I was unable to come yesterday, and therefore I am here to-day,
carrying on my head these ribands, that taking them from my own head, I may
crown the head of this fairest and wisest of men, as I may be allowed to call
him. Will you laugh at me because I am drunk ? Yet I know very well that I
am speaking the truth, although you may laugh. But first tell me ; if I
come in shall we have the understanding of which I spoke ? Will you drink
with me or not ?”
The company were
vociferous in begging that he would take his place among them, and Agathon
specially invited him. Thereupon he was led in by the people who were with
him ; and as he was being led, intending to crown Agathon, he took the
ribands from his own head and held them in front of his eyes ; he was thus
prevented from seeing Socrates, who made way for him, and Alcibiades took the
vacant place between Agathon and Socrates, and in taking the place he embraced
Agathon and crowned him. Take off his sandals, said Agathon, and let him make a
third on the same couch.
By all means ;
but who makes the third partner in our revels ? said Alcibiades, turning
round and starting up as he caught sight of Socrates. By Heracles, he said, what
is this ? here is Socrates always lying in wait for me, and always, as his
way is, coming out at all sorts of unsuspected places : and now, what have
you to say for yourself, and why are you lying here, where I perceive that you
have contrived to find a place, not by a joker or lover of jokes, like
Aristophanes, but by the fairest of the company ?
Socrates turned to
Agathon and said : I must ask you to protect me, Agathon ; for the
passion of this man has grown quite a serious matter to me. Since I became his
admirer I have never been allowed to speak to any other fair one, or so much as
to look at them. If I do, he goes wild with envy and jealousy, and not only
abuses me but can hardly keep his hands off me, and at this moment he may do me
some harm. Please to see to this, and either reconcile me to him, or, if he
attempts violence, protect me, as I am in bodily fear of his mad and passionate
attempts.
There can never be
reconciliation between you and me, said Alcibiades ; but for the present I
will defer your chastisement. And I must beg you, Agathoron, to give me back
some of the ribands that I may crown the marvellous head of this universal
despot — I would not have him complain of me for crowning you, and neglecting
him, who in conversation is the conqueror of all mankind ; and this not
only once, as you were the day before yesterday, but always. Whereupon, taking
some of the ribands, he crowned Socrates, and again
reclined.
Then he said :
You seem, my friends, to be sober, which is a thing not to be endured ; you
must drink — for that was the agreement under which I was admitted — and I elect
myself master of the feast until you are well drunk. Let us have a large goblet,
Agathon, or rather, he said, addressing the attendant, bring me that
wine-cooler. The wine-cooler which had caught his eye was a vessel holding more
than two quarts — this he filled and emptied, and bade the attendant fill it
again for Socrates. Observe, my friends, said Alcibiades, that this ingenious
trick of mine will have no effect on Socrates, for he can drink any quantity of
wine and not be at all nearer being drunk. Socrates drank the cup which the
attendant filled for him.
Eryximachus
said : What is this Alcibiades ? Are we to have neither conversation
nor singing over our cups ; but simply to drink as if we were
thirsty ?
Alcibiades
replied : Hail, worthy son of a most wise and worthy
sire !
The same to you,
said Eryximachus ; but what shall we do ?
That I leave to
you, said Alcibiades.
The wise physician
skilled our wounds to heal shall prescribe and we will obey. What do you
want ?
Well, said
Eryximachus, before you appeared we had passed a resolution that each one of us
in turn should make a speech in praise of love, and as good a one as he
could : the turn was passed round from left to right ; and as all of
us have spoken, and you have not spoken but have well drunken, you ought to
speak, and then impose upon Socrates any task which you please, and he on his
right hand neighbour, and so on.
That is good,
Eryximachus, said Alcibiades ; and yet the comparison, of a drunken man’s
speech with those of sober men is hardly fair ; and I should like to know,
sweet friend, whether you really believe — what Socrates was just now
saying ; for I can assure you that the very reverse is the fact, and that
if I praise any one but himself in his presence, whether God or man, he will
hardly keep his hands off me.
For shame, said
Socrates.
Hold your tongue,
said Alcibiades, for by Poseidon, there is no one else whom I will praise when
you are of the company.
Well then, said
Eryximachus, if you like praise Socrates.
What do you think,
Eryximachus ? said Alcibiades : shall I attack him : and inflict
the punishment before you all ?
What are you
about ? said Socrates ; are you going to raise a laugh at my
expense ? Is that the meaning of your praise ?
I am going to speak
the truth, if you will permit me.
I not only permit,
but exhort you to speak the truth.
Then I will begin
at once, said Alcibiades, and if I say anything which is not true, you may
interrupt me if you will, and say “that is a lie,” though my intention is to
speak the truth. But you must not wonder if I speak any how as things come into
my mind ; for the fluent and orderly enumeration of all your singularities
is not a task which is easy to a man in my condition.
And now, my boys, I
shall praise Socrates in a figure which will appear to him to be a caricature,
and yet I speak, not to make fun of him, but only for the truth’s sake. I say,
that he is exactly like the busts of Silenus, which are set up in the
statuaries, shops, holding pipes and flutes in their mouths ; and they are
made to open in the middle, and have images of gods inside them. I say also that
hit is like Marsyas the satyr. You yourself will not deny, Socrates, that your
face is like that of a satyr. Aye, and there is a resemblance in other points
too. For example, you are a bully, as I can prove by witnesses, if you will not
confess. And are you not a flute-player ? That you are, and a performer far
more wonderful than Marsyas. He indeed with instruments used to charm the souls
of men by the powers of his breath, and the players of his music do so
still : for the melodies of Olympus are derived from Marsyas who taught
them, and these, whether they are played by a great master or by a miserable
flute-girl, have a power which no others have ; they alone possess the soul
and reveal the wants of those who have need of gods and mysteries, because they
are divine. But you produce the same effect with your words only, and do not
require the flute ; that is the difference between you and him. When we
hear any other speaker, even very good one, he produces absolutely no effect
upon us, or not much, whereas the mere fragments of you and your words, even at
second-hand, and however imperfectly repeated, amaze and possess the souls of
every man, woman, and child who comes within hearing of them. And if I were not,
afraid that you would think me hopelessly drunk, I would have sworn as well as
spoken to the influence which they have always had and still have over me. For
my heart leaps within me more than that of any Corybantian reveller, and my eyes
rain tears when I hear them. And I observe that many others are affected in the
same manner. I have heard Pericles and other great orators, and I thought that
they spoke well, but I never had any similar feeling ; my soul was not
stirred by them, nor was I angry at the thought of my own slavish state. But
this Marsyas has often brought me to such pass, that I have felt as if I could
hardly endure the life which I am leading (this, Socrates, you will
admit) ; and I am conscious that if I did not shut my ears against him, and
fly as from the voice of the siren, my fate would be like that of others, — he
would transfix me, and I should grow old sitting at his feet. For he makes me
confess that I ought not to live as I do, neglecting the wants of my own soul,
and busying myself with the concerns of the Athenians ; therefore I hold my
ears and tear myself away from him. And he is the only person who ever made me
ashamed, which you might think not to be in my nature, and there is no one else
who does the same. For I know that I cannot answer him or say that I ought not
to do as he bids, but when I leave his presence the love of popularity gets the
better of me. And therefore I run away and fly from him, and when I see him I am
ashamed of what I have confessed to him. Many a time have I wished that he were
dead, and yet I know that I should be much more sorry than glad, if he were to
die : so that am at my wit’s end.
And this is what I
and many others have suffered, from the flute-playing of this satyr. Yet hear me
once more while I show you how exact the image is, and. how marvellous his
power. For let me tell you ; none of you know him ; but I will reveal
him to you ; having begun, I must go on. See you how fond he is of the
fair ? He is always with them and is always being smitten by them, and then
again he knows nothing and is ignorant of all thing such is the appearance which
he puts on. Is he not like a Silenus in this ? To be sure he is : his
outer mask is the carved head of the Silenus ; but, O my companions in
drink, when he is opened, what temperance there is residing within ! Know
you that beauty and wealth and honour, at which the many wonder, are of no
account with him, and are utterly despised by him : he regards not at all
the persons who are gifted with them ; mankind are nothing to him ;
all his life is spent in mocking and flouting at them. But when I opened him,
and looked within at his serious purpose, I saw in him divine and golden images
of such fascinating beauty that I was ready to do in a moment whatever Socrates
commanded : they may have escaped the observation of others, but I saw
them. Now I fancied that he was seriously enamoured of my beauty, and I thought
that I should therefore have a grand opportunity of hearing him tell what he
knew, for I had a wonderful opinion of the attractions of my youth. In the
prosecution of this design, when I next went to him, I sent away the attendant
who usually accompanied me (I will confess the whole truth, and beg you to
listen ; and if I speak falsely, do you, Socrates, expose the falsehood).
Well, he and I were alone together, and I thought that when there was nobody
with us, I should hear him speak the language which lovers use to their loves
when they are by themselves, and I was delighted. Nothing of the sort ; he
conversed as usual, and spent the day with me and then went away. Afterwards I
challenged him to the palaestra ; and he wrestled and closed with me,
several times when there was no one present ; I fancied that I might
succeed in this manner. Not a bit ; I made no way with him. Lastly, as I
had failed hitherto, I thought that I must take stronger measures and attack him
boldly, and, as I had begun, not give him up, but see how matters stood between
him and me. So I invited him to sup with me, just as if he were a fair youth,
and I a designing lover. He was not easily persuaded to come ; he did,
however, after a while accept the invitation, and when he came the first time,
he wanted to go away at once as soon as supper was over, and I had not the face
to detain him. The second time, still in pursuance of my design, after we had
supped, I went on conversing far into the night, and when he wanted to go away,
I pretended that the hour was late and that he had much better remain. So he lay
down on the couch next to me, the same on which he had supped, and there was no
one but ourselves sleeping in the apartment. All this may be told without shame
to any one. But what follows I could hardly tell you if I were sober. Yet as the
proverb says, “In vino veritas,” whether with boys, or without them ; and
therefore I must speak. Nor, again, should I be justified in concealing the
lofty actions of Socrates when I come to praise him. Moreover I have felt the
serpent’s sting ; and he who has suffered, as they say, is willing to tell
his fellow-sufferers only, as they alone will be likely to understand him, and
will not be extreme in judging of the sayings or doings which have been wrung
from his agony. For I have been bitten by a more than viper’s tooth ; I
have known in my soul, or in my heart, or in some other part, that worst of
pangs, more violent in ingenuous youth than any serpent’s tooth, the pang of
philosophy, which will make a man say or do anything. And you whom I see around
me, Phaedrus and Agathon and Eryximachus and Pausanias and Aristodemus and
Aristophanes, all of you, and I need not say Socrates himself, have had
experience of the same madness and passion in your longing after wisdom.
Therefore listen and excuse my doings then and my sayings now. But let the
attendants and other profane and unmannered persons close up the doors of their
ears.
When the lamp was
put out and the servants had gone away, I thought that I must be plain with him
and have no more ambiguity. So I gave him a shake, and I said : “Socrates,
are you asleep ?” “No,” he said. “Do you know what I am meditating ?
“What are you meditating ?” he said. “I think,” I replied, “that of all the
lovers whom I have ever had you are the only one who is worthy of me, and you
appear to be too modest to speak. Now I feel that I should be a fool to refuse
you this or any other favour, and therefore I come to lay at your feet all that
I have and all that my friends have, in the hope that you will assist me in the
way of virtue, which I desire above all things, and in which I believe that you
can help me better than any one else. And I should certainly have more reason to
be ashamed of what wise men would say if I were to refuse a favour to such as
you, than of what the world who are mostly fools, would say of me if I granted
it.” To these words he replied in the ironical manner which is so characteristic
of him : “Alcibiades, my friend, you have indeed an elevated aim if what
you say is true, and if there really is in me any power by which you may become
better ; truly you must see in me some rare beauty of a kind infinitely
higher than any which I see in you. And therefore, if you mean to share with me
and to exchange beauty for beauty, you will have greatly the advantage of
me ; you will gain true beauty in return for appearance — like Diomede,
gold in exchange for brass. But look again, sweet friend, and see whether you
are not deceived in me. The mind begins to grow critical when the bodily eye
fails, and it will be a long time before you get old.” Hearing this, I
said : “I have told you my purpose, which is quite serious, and do you
consider what you think best for you and me.” “That is good,” he said ; “at
some other time then we will consider and act as seems best about this and about
other matters.” Whereupon, I fancied that was smitten, and that the words which
I had uttered like arrows had wounded him, and so without waiting to hear more I
got up, and throwing my coat about him crept under his threadbare cloak, as the
time of year was winter, and there I lay during the whole night having this
wonderful monster in my arms. This again, Socrates, will not be denied by you.
And yet, notwithstanding all, he was so superior to my solicitations, so
contemptuous and derisive and disdainful of my beauty — which really, as I
fancied, had some attractions — hear, O judges ; for judges you shall be of
the haughty virtue of Socrates — nothing more happened, but in the morning when
I awoke (let all the gods and goddesses be my witnesses) I arose as from the
couch of a father or an elder brother.
What do you suppose
must have been my feelings, after this rejection, at the thought of my own
dishonour ? And yet I could not help wondering at his natural temperance
and self-restraint and manliness. I never imagined that I could have met with a
man such as he is in wisdom and endurance. And therefore I could not be angry
with him or renounce his company, any more than I could hope to win him. For I
well knew that if Ajax could not be wounded by steel, much less he by
money ; and my only chance of captivating him by my personal attractions
had faded. So I was at my wit’s end ; no one was ever more hopelessly
enslaved by another. All this happened before he and I went on the expedition to
Potidaea ; there we messed together, and I had the opportunity of observing
his extraordinary power of sustaining fatigue. His endurance was simply
marvellous when, being cut off from our supplies, we were compelled to go
without food — on such occasions, which often happen in time of war, he was
superior not only to me but to everybody ; there was no one to be compared
to him. Yet at a festival he was the only person who had any real powers of
enjoyment ; though not willing to drink, he could if compelled beat us all
at that, — wonderful to relate ! no human being had ever seen Socrates
drunk ; and his powers, if I am not mistaken, will be tested before long.
His fortitude in enduring cold was also surprising. There was a severe frost,
for the winter in that region is really tremendous, and everybody else either
remained indoors, or if they went out had on an amazing quantity of clothes, and
were well shod, and had their feet swathed in felt and fleeces : in the
midst of this, Socrates with his bare feet on the ice and in his ordinary dress
marched better than the other soldiers who had shoes, and they looked daggers at
him because he seemed to despise them.
I have told you one
tale, and now I must tell you another, which is worth hearing, ‘Of the doings
and sufferings of the enduring man’, while he was on the expedition. One morning
he was thinking about something which he could not resolve ; he would not
give it up, but continued thinking from early dawn until noon — there he stood
fixed in thought ; and at noon attention was drawn to him, and the rumour
ran through the wondering crowd that Socrates had been standing and thinking
about something ever since the break of day. At last, in the evening after
supper, some Ionians out of curiosity (I should explain that this was not in
winter but in summer), brought out their mats and slept in the open air that
they might watch him and see whether he would stand all night. There he stood
until the following morning ; and with the return of light he offered up a
prayer to the sun, and went his way. I will also tell, if you please — and
indeed I am bound to tell of his courage in battle ; for who but he saved
my life ? Now this was the engagement in which I received the prize of
valour : for I was wounded and he would not leave me, but he rescued me and
my arms ; and he ought to have received the prize of valour which the
generals wanted to confer on me partly on account of my rank, and I told them
so, (this, again Socrates will not impeach or deny), but he was more eager than
the generals that I and not he should have the prize. There was another occasion
on which his behaviour was very remarkable — in the flight of the army after the
battle of Delium, where he served among the heavy-armed — I had a better
opportunity of seeing him than at Potidaea, for I was myself on horseback, and
therefore comparatively out of danger. He and Laches were retreating, for the
troops were in flight, and I met them and told them not to be discouraged, and
promised to remain with them ; and there you might see him, Aristophanes,
as you describe, just as he is in the streets of Athens, stalking like a and
rolling his eyes, calmly contemplating enemies as well as friends, and making
very intelligible to anybody, even from a distance, that whoever attacked him
would be likely to meet with a stout resistance ; and in this way he and
his companion escaped — for this is the sort of man who is never touched in
war ; those only are pursued who are running away headlong. I particularly
observed how superior he was to Laches in presence of mind. Many are the marvels
which I might narrate in praise of Socrates ; most of his ways might
perhaps be paralleled in another man, but his absolute unlikeness to any human
being that is or ever has been is perfectly astonishing. You may imagine
Brasidas and others to have been like Achilles ; or you may imagine Nestor
and Antenor to have been like Perides ; and the same may be said of other
famous men, but of this strange being you will never be able to find any
likeness, however remote, either among men who now are or who ever have been —
other than that which I have already suggested of Silenus and the satyrs ;
and they represent in a figure not only himself, but his words. For, although I
forgot to mention this to you before, his words are like the images of Silenus
which open ; they are ridiculous when you first hear them ; he clothes
himself in language that is like the skin of the wanton satyr — for his talk is
of pack-asses and smiths and cobblers and curriers, and he is always repeating
the same things in the same words, so that any ignorant or inexperienced person
might feel disposed to laugh at him ; but he who opens the bust and sees
what is within will find that they are the only words which have a meaning in
them, and also the most divine, abounding in fair images of virtue, and of the
widest comprehension, or rather extending to the whole duty of a good and
honourable man.
This, friends, is
my praise of Socrates. I have added my blame of him for his ill-treatment of
me ; and he has ill-treated not only me, but Charmides the son of Glaucon,
and Euthydemus the son of Diocles, and many others in the same way — beginning
as their lover he has ended by making them pay their addresses to him. Wherefore
I say to you, Agathon, “Be no deceived by him ; learn from me : and
take warning, and do not be a fool and learn by experience, as the proverb
says.”
When Alcibiades had
finished, there was a laugh at his outspokenness ; for he seemed to be
still in love with Socrates. You are sober, Alcibiades, said Socrates, or you
would never have gone so far about to hide the purpose of your satyr’s praises,
for all this long story is only an ingenious circumlocution, of which the point
comes in by the way at the end ; you want to get up a quarrel between me
and Agathon, and your notion — is that I ought to love you and nobody else, and
that you and you only ought to love Agathon. But the plot of this Satyric or
Silenic drama has been detected, and you must not allow him, Agathon, to set us
at variance.
I believe you are
right, said Agathon, and I am disposed to think that his intention in placing
himself between you and me was only to divide us ; but he shall gain
nothing by that move ; for I will go and lie on the couch next to
you.
Yes, yes, replied
Socrates, by all means come here and lie on the couch below
me.
Alas, said
Alcibiades, how I am fooled by this man ; he is determined to get the
better of me at every turn. I do beseech you, allow Agathon to lie between
us.
Certainly not, said
Socrates, as you praised me, and I in turn ought to praise my neighbour on the
right, he will be out of order in praising me again when he ought rather to be
praised by me, and I must entreat you to consent to this, and not be jealous,
for I have a great desire to praise the youth.
Hurrah ! cried
Agathon, I will rise instantly, that I may be praised by
Socrates.
The usual way, said
Alcibiades ; where Socrates is, no one else has any chance with the
fair ; and now how readily has he invented a specious reason for attracting
Agathon to himself.
Agathon arose in
order that he might take his place on the couch by Socrates, when suddenly a
band of revellers entered, and spoiled the order of the banquet. Some one who
was going out having left the door open, they had found their way in, and made
themselves at home ; great confusion ensued, and every one was compelled to
drink large quantities of wine. Aristodemus said that Eryximachus, Phaedrus, and
others went away — he himself fell asleep, and as the nights were long took a
good rest : he was awakened towards daybreak by a crowing of cocks, and
when he awoke, the others were either asleep, or had gone away ; there
remained only Socrates, Aristophanes, and Agathon, who were drinking out of a
large goblet which they passed round, and Socrates was discoursing to them.
Aristodemus was only half awake, and he did not hear the beginning of the
discourse ; the chief thing which he remembered was Socrates compelling the
other two to acknowledge that the genius of comedy was the same with that of
tragedy, and that the true artist in tragedy was an artist in comedy also. To
this they were constrained to assent, being drowsy, and not quite following the
argument. And first of all Aristophanes dropped off, then, when the day was
already dawning, Agathon. Socrates, having laid them to sleep, rose to
depart ; Aristodemus, as his manner was, following him. At the Lyceum he
took a bath, and passed the day as usual. In the evening he retired to rest at
his own home.