GEORGE HOLMES HOWISON THE -BANQUET OF PLATO TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY MDCCCCVIII THE PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE Apollodorus A Friend of Apollodorus Glauco Aristodemus Socrates Agathon Phaedrus Pausanias Eryximachus Aristophanes Diotima Alcibiades S5U91 **** &&&<& Jl<\&s -, ' / jsj&t*- ftvetfjrfa^ , n , ____________ , ^x THE BANQUET OF PLATO APOLLODORUS. I think that the subject of your inquiries is still fresh in my memory ; for yesterday, as I chanced to be returning home from Phaleros, one of my acquaintance, see^ ing me before him, called out to me from a distance, jokingly, * Apollodo' rus, you Phalerian, will you not wait a minute i f I waited for him, and as soon as he overtook me, 'I have just been looking for you, Apollodorus/ he said, * for I wish to hear what those discussions were on Love, which took place at the party, when Agathon,SoC' rates, Alcibiades, and some others met at supper. Some one who heard it from Phoenix, the son of Philip, told me that you could give a full account, but he could relate nothing distinctly hinv self Relate to me, then, I entreat you, all the circumstances, I know you are a faithful reporter of the discussions of your friends ; but first tell me, were you present at the party or not?' 'Your informant/ 1 replied, 'seems to have given you no very clear idea of what you wish to hear, if he thinks that these discussions took place so lately as that I could have been of the party/ 'Indeed, I thought so/ re- plied he. ' For how/ said I, ' O Glau- co! could I have been present ? Do you not know that Agathon has been ah- sent from the city many years? But, since I began to converse with Socra- tes, and to observe each day all his words and actions, three years are scarcely past. Before this time I wan- dered about wherever it might chance, thinking that I did something, but be- ; 2 ing, in truth, a most miserable wretch, not less than you are now, who believe that you ought to do anything rather than practise the love of wisdom/ 'Do not cavil/ interrupted Glauco, 'but tell me, when did this party take place ? ' ' \Vhilst we were yet children/ I re^ plied/ when Agathon first gained the prize of tragedy, and the day after that on which he and the chorus made sac^ rifices in celebration of their success/ 'A long time ago, it seems. But who told you all the circumstances of the discussion ? Did you hear them from Socrates himself?' 'No, by Jupiter ! but the same person from whom Phae^ nix had his information, one AristO" demus, a Cydathenean, a little man who always went about without dais. He was present at this feast, 3 ing, I believe, more than any of his con- temporaries, a lover and admirer of Socrates. I have questioned Socrates concerning some of the circumstances of his narration, who confirms all that I have heard from Aristodemus/ *\Vhy, then/ said Glauco,' why not re- late them, as we walk, to me ? The road to the city is every way convenient, both for those who listen and those who speak/ Thus as we walked I gave him some account of those discussions concern- ing Love ; since, as I said before, I re- member them with sufficient accura- cy. If I am required to relate them also to you, that shall willingly be done; for whensoever either I myself talk of philosophy, or listen to others talking of it, in addition to the improvement which I conceive there arises from such conversation, I am delighted be- yond measure ; but whenever I hear your discussions about moneyed men and great proprietors, I am weighed down with grief, and pity you, who, doing nothing, believe that you are do- ing something. Perhaps you think that I am a miserable wretch ; and, indeed, I believe that you think truly. I do not think, but well know, that you are mis- erable. COMPANION. You are always the same, Apollodorus always say- ing some ill of yourself and others. Indeed, you seem to me to think every one miserable except Socrates, begin- ning with yourself. I do not know what could have entitled you to the surname of the * Madman/ for I am sure you are consistent enough, for- ever inveighing with bitterness against yourself and all others except Socrates. APOLLODORUS. My dear friend, it is manifest that I am out of my wits from this alone that I have such opinions as you describe concerning myself and you. COMPANION. It is not worth while, Apollodorus, to dispute now about these things ; but do what I en^ treat you, and relate to us what were these discussions. APOLLODORUS. They were such as I will proceed to tell you. But let me attempt to relate them in the or^ der which Aristodemus observed in relating them to me. He said that he met Socrates washed, and, contrary to his usual custom, sandalled, and hav^ ing inquired whither he went so gaily dressed,Socrates replied,'! am going to sup at Agathon's ; yesterday I avoided it, disliking the crowd, which would attend at the prize sacrifices then cele- brated ; to-day I promised to be there, and I made myself so gay, because one ought to be beautiful to approach one who is beautiful But you, Aristode- mus, what think you of coming unin- vited to supper?' 'I will do/ he re- plied, 'as you command/ 'Follow, then, that we may, by changing its ap- plication, disarm that proverb which says, "To the feasts of the good, the good come uninvited/' Homer, in- deed, seems not only to destroy, but to outrage the proverb ; for, describing Agamemnon as excellent in battle, and Menelaus but a faint-hearted warrior, he represents Menelaus as coming un- invited to the feast of one better and braver than himself/ Aristodemus, hearing this, said, 'I also am in some 7 danger, Socrates, not as you say, but according to Homer, of approaching like an unworthy inferior the banquet of one more wise and excellent than myself Will you not, then, make some excuse for me ? for I shall not confess that I came uninvited, but shall say that I was invited by you/ 'As we walk together/ said Socrates, 'we will consider together what excuse to make but let us go/ Thus discoursing, they proceeded. But as they walked, Socrates, engaged in some deep contemplation, slack- ened his pace, and, observing Aristo- demus waiting for him, he desired him to go on before* When Aristo- demus arrived at Agathon's house he found the door open, and it occurred, somewhat comically, that a slave met him at the vestibule, and conducted 8 him where he found the guests already reclined. As soon as Agathon saw him, 'You arrive just in time to sup with us, Aristodemus/ he said; ' if you have any other purpose in your visit, defer it to a better opportunity. I was look> ing for you yesterday, to invite you to be of our party ; I could not find you anywhere. But how is it that you do not bring Socrates with you I ' But he, turning round and not seeing Socrates behind him, said to Agathon, ' I just came hither in his company, being invited by him to sup with you/ ' You did well/ replied Agathon, 'to come; but where is Socrates ?' ' He just now came hither behind me; I myself wonder where he can be/ ' Go and look, boy/ said Agathon, ' and bring Socrates in; meanwhile, you, Aristodemus, recline there near Eryxi- machus/ And he bade a slave wash his feet that he might recline./ Another slave, meanwhile, brought word that Socrates had retired into a neighbour^ ing vestibule, where he stood, and, in spite of his message, refused to come in. 'What absurdity you talk! 'cried Agathon ; 'call him, and do not leave him till he comes/ 'Let him alone, by all means/ said Aristodemus ; 'it is customary with him sometimes to rex tire in this way and stand wherever it may chance. He will come presently, I do not doubt ; do not disturb him/ 'Well, be it as you will/ said Aga- thon ; ' as it is, you boys, bring supper for the rest ; put before us what you will, for I resolved that there should be no master of the feast. Consider me and these my friends as guests, whom you have invited to supper, and serve IO them so that we may commend you/ After this they began supper, but Soo rates did not come in. Agathon order- ed him to be called, but Aristodemus perpetually forbade it. At last he came in, much about the middle of supper, not having delayed so long as was his custom* Agathon (who happened to be reclining at the end of the table, and alone) said, as he entered, ' Come hither, Socrates, and sit down by me; so that by the mere touch of one so wise as you are, I may enjoy the fruit of your meditations in the vestibule ; for I well know, you would not have departed till you had discovered and secured it/ Socrates, having sate down as he was desired, replied, ' It would be well, Aga- thon, if wisdom were of such a na- ture, as that when we touched each other, it would overflow of its own ac- ii cord, from him who possesses much to him who possesses little ; like the water in two chalices, which will flow through a flock of wool from the full' er into the emptier, until both are e^ quaL If wisdom had this property, I should esteem myself most fortunate in reclining near to you* I should thus soon be filled, I think, with the most beautiful and various wisdom. Mine, indeed, is something obscure, and doubtful, and dreamlike. But yours is radiant, and has been crowned with amplest reward ; for though you are yet so young, it shone forth from you, and became so manifest yesterday, that more than thirty thousand Greeks can bear testimony to its excellence and loveliness/ 'You are laughing at me, Socrates/ said Agathon ; ' but you and I will decide this controversy 12 about wisdom by and by, taking Bac" chus for our judge. At present turn to your supper/ After Socrates and the rest had fin- ished supper, and had reclined back on their couches, and the libations had been poured forth, and they had sung hymns to the god, and all other rites which are customary had been per- formed, they turned to drinking. Then Pausanias made this kind of proposal. 'Come, my friends/ said he, 'in what manner will it be pleasant- est for us to drink ? I must confess to you that, in reality, I am not very well from the wine we drank last night, and I have need of some intermission. I suspect that most of you are in the same condition, for you were here yes- terday. Now consider how we shall drink most easily and comfortably/ 13 4 'Tis a good proposal, Pausanias/ said Aristophanes, 'to contrive, in some way or other, to place moderation in our cups, I was one of those who were drenched last night/ Eryximachus, the son of Acumenius, hearing this, said, * I am of your opinion ; I only wish to know one thing whether Agathon is in the humour for hard drinking I* 'Not at all/ replied Aga- thon; 'I confess that I am not able to drink much this evening/ 'It is an excellent thing for us/ replied Eryxi- machus 'I mean myself, Aristode- mus, Phsedrus, and these others if you, who are such invincible drinkers, now refuse to drink. I ought to except Socrates, for he is capable of drinking everything or nothing ; and whatever we shall determine will equally suit him. Since, then, no one present has any desire to drink much wine, I shall perhaps give less offence if I declare the nature of drunkenness. The science of medicine teaches us that drunken^ ness is ver y pernicious ; nor would I choose to drink immoderately myself, or counsel another to do so, especially if he had been drunk the night before/ 'Yes/ said Phsedrus, the MyrinU' sian, interrupting him, 'I have been ac- customed to confide in you, especially in your directions concerning medi^ cine ; and I would now willingly do so, if the rest will do the same/ All then agreed that they would drink at this present banquet not for drunkenness, but for pleasure* 'Since, then/ said Eryximachus, 'it is decided that no one shall be compelled to drink more than he pleases, I think that we may as well send away the 15 flute-player to play to herself; or, if she likes, to the women within* Let us de- vote the present occasion to conver- sation between ourselves, and if you wish, I will propose to you what shall be the subject of our discussion/ All present desired and entreated that he would explain. ' The exordium of my speech/ said Eryximachus, 'will be in the style of the Menalippe of Euripi- des, for the story which I am about to tell belongs not to me, but to Phsedrus. Phsedrus has often indignantly com- plained to me, saying,"Is it not strange, Eryximachus, that there are innumer- able hymns and paeans composed for the other gods, but that not one of the many poets who spring up in the world has ever composed a verse in honour of Love, who is such and so great a god ? Nor any one of those accom- 16 plished sophists, who, like the famous Prodicus, have celebrated the praise of Hercules and others, has ever cele- brated that of Love ; but, what is more astonishing, I have lately met with the book of some philosopher, in which salt is extolled on account of its util- ity, and many other things of the same nature are in like manner extolled with elaborate praise. That so much serious thought is expended on such trifles, and that no man has dared to this day to frame a hymn in honour of Love, who being so great a deity is thus neglected, may well be sufficient to excite my indignation/ 1 4 There seemed to me some justice in these complaints of Phaedrus ; I pn> pose, therefore, at the same time for the sake of giving pleasure to Phx- drus, and that we may on the present '7 occasion do something well and befit> ting us, that this god should receive from those who are now present the honour which is most due to him. If you agree to my proposal, an excellent discussion might arise on the subject. Every one ought, according to my plan, to praise Love with as much ek> quence as he can. Let Phsedrus begin first, both because he reclines the first in order, and because he is the father of the discussion/ 4 No one will vote against you, Eryxi- machus/ said Socrates, ' for how can I oppose your proposal, who am ready to confess that I know nothing on any subject but love? Or how can Aga^ thon, or Pausanias, or even AristO' phanes, whose life is one perpetual ministration to Venus and Bacchus ? Or how can any other whom I see 18 here? Though we who sit last are scarcely on an equality with you ; for if those who speak before us shall have exhausted the subject with their elo- quence and reasonings, our discourses will be superfluous. But in the name of Good Fortune, let Phsedrus begin and praise Love/ The whole party agreed to what Socrates said, and en- treated Phaedrus to begin, \Vhat each then said on this subject, Aristodemus did not entirely recol- lect, nor do I recollect all that he re- lated to me ; but only the speeches of those who said what was most worthy of remembrance. First, then, Phsedrus began thus: ' Love is a mighty deity, and the ob- ject of admiration, both to gods and men, for many and for various claims ; but especially on account of his ori- 19 gin. For that he is to be honoured as one of the most ancient of the gods, this may serve as a testimony that Love has no parents, nor is there any poet or other person who has ever affirmed that there are such. Hesiod says, that first " Chaos was produced ; then the broad^bosomed Earth, to be a secure foundation for all things; then Love/' He says, that after Chaos these two \vere produced, the Earth and Love. Parmenides, speaking of generation, says: "But he created Love before any of the gods/' Acusi' leus agrees with Hesiod. Love, there^ fore, is universally acknowledged to be among the oldest of things. And in addition to this, Love is the author of our greatest advantages ; for I cannot imagine a greater happiness and ad> vantage to one who is in the flower of 20 youth than an amiable lover, or to a lover than an amiable object of his love. For neither birth, nor wealth, nor honours, can awaken in the minds of men the principles which should guide those who from their youth aspire to an honourable and excellent life, as Love awakens them. I speak of the fear of shame,which deters them from that which is disgraceful ; and the love of glory, which incites to honourable deeds. For it is not possible that a state or private person should accomplish, without these incitements, anything beautiful or great. I assert, then, tEat should one who loves be discovered ^^ in any dishonourable action, or tame^ | ly enduring insult through cowardice, he would feel more anguish and shame if observed by the object of his pas- sion than if he were observed by his 21 father, or his companions, or any other person. In like manner, among warnv ly attached friends, a man is especially grieved to be discovered by his friend in any dishonourable act. If then, by any contrivance, a state or army could be composed of friends bound by strong attachment, it is beyond calcu^ lation how excellently they would ad' minister their affairs, refraining from anything base, contending with each other for the acquirement of fame, and exhibiting such valour in battle as that, though few in numbers, they might subdue all mankind. For should one friend desert the ranks or cast away his arms in the presence of the other, he would suffer far acuter shame from that one person's regard, than from the regard of all other men. A thousand times would he prefer to die, 22 rather than desert the object of his attachment, and not succour him in danger. 'There is none so worthless whom Love cannot impel, as it were by a di" vine inspiration, towards virtue, even so that he may through this inspira^ tion become equal to one who might naturally be more excellent ; and, in truth, as Homer says, the God breathes vigour into certain heroes so Love breathes into those who love, the spirit which is produced from himself Not only men, but even women who love, are those alone who willingly expose themselves to die for others. Alcestis, the daughter of Pelias, affords to the Greeks a remarkable example of this opinion ; she alone being willing to die for her husband, and so surpassing his parents in the affection with which 23 love inspired her towards him, as to make them appear, in the comparison with her, strangers to their own child, and related to him merely in name ; and so lovely and admirable did this action appear, not only to men, but even to the Gods, that, although they conceded the prerogative of bringing back the spirit from death to few a^ mong the many who then performed excellent and honourable deeds, yet, delighted with this action, they re- deemed her soul from the infernal regions : so highly do the Gods hon- our zeal and devotion in love. They sent back indeed Orpheus, the son of CEagrus, from Hell, with his purpose unfulfilled, and, showing him only the spectre of her for whom he came, refused to render up herself For Or- pheus seemed to them, not, as Alcestis, 24 to have dared die for the sake of her whom he loved, and thus to secure to himself a perpetual intercourse with her in the regions to which she had preceded him, but, like a cowardly- musician, to have contrived to descend alive into Hell; and, indeed, they ap- pointed as a punishment for his cow- ardice that he should be put to death by women. ' Far otherwise did they reward Achil- les, the son of Thetis, whom they sent to inhabit the islands of the blessed. For Achilles, though informed by his mother that his own death would en- sue upon his killing Hector, but that if he refrained from it he might return home and die in old age, yet preferred revenging and honouring his beloved Patroclus ; not to die for him mere- ly, but to disdain and reject that life 25 which he had ceased to share. There- fore the Greeks honoured Achilles be- yond all other men, because he thus preferred his friend to all things else. 1 On this account have the Gods re- warded Achilles more amply than Al- cestis ; permitting his spirit to inhabit the islands of the blessed. Hence do I as- sert that Love is the most ancient and venerable of deities, and most powerful to endow mortals with the possession of happiness and virtue, both whilst they live and after they die/ Thus Aristodemus reported the dis- course of Phsedrus ; and after Phse- drus, he said that some others spoke, whose discourses he did not well re- member.\Vhen they had ceased, Pau- sanias began thus : 'Simply to praise Love, O Phasdrus, seems to me too bounded a scope for 26 our discourse. If Love were one, it would be well* But since Love is not one, I will endeavour to distinguish which is the Love whom it becomes us to praise, and, having thus discrimi- nated one from the other, will attempt to render him who is the subject of our discourse the honour due to his di- vinity. We all know that Venus is never without Love ; and if Venus were one, Love would be one ; but since there are two Venuses, of necessity also must there be two Loves. For as- suredly are there two Venuses ; one, the eldest, the daughter of Uranus, born without a mother, whom we call the Uranian ; the other younger, the daughter of Jupiter and Dione, whom we call thePandemian ; of necessity must there also be two Loves, the Ura nian and Pandemian companions of 2 7 these goddesses. It is becoming to praise all the Gods, but the attributes which fall to the lot of each may be distill' guished and selected* For any particu^ lar action whatever, in itself is neither good nor evil ; what we are now doing drinking, singing, talking, none of these things are good in themselves, but the mode in which they are done stamps them with its own nature; and that which is done well is good, and that which is done ill is evil Thus, not all love, nor every mode of love is beau^ tiful, or worthy of commendation, but that alone which excites us to love worthily. The Love, therefore, which attends upon Venus Pandemos is, in truth, common to the vulgar, and pre- sides over transient and fortuitous connections, and is worshipped by the least excellent of mankind* The vota^ 28 ties of this deity seek the body rather than the soul, and the ignorant rather than the wise, disdaining all that is honourable and lovely, and consider^ ing how they shall best satisfy their sensual necessities* This love is derrv> ed from the younger goddess, who par-- takes in her nature both of male and female. But the attendant on the other, the Uranian, whose nature is entirely masculine, is the Love who inspires us with affection, and exempts us from all wantonness and libertinism. Those who are inspired by this divinity seek the affections of those who are en^ dowed by nature with greater excel' lence and vigour both of body and mind. And it is easy to distinguish those who especially exist under the influence of this power, by their choos^ ing in early youth as the objects of 29 their love those in whom the intellect" ual faculties have begun to develop. For those who begin to love in this manner seem to me to be preparing to pass their whole life together in a community of good and evil, and not ever lightly deceiving those who love them, to be faithless to their vows. There ought to be a law that none should love the very young : so much serious affection as this deity enknv dies should not be doubtfully bestow^ ed ; for the body and mind of those so young are yet unformed, and it is dif- ficult to foretell what will be their fu" ture tendencies and power. The good voluntarily impose this law upon themselves, and those vulgar lovers ought to be compelled to the same ob^ servance, as we deter them with all the power of the laws from the love of 30 free matrons. For these are the persons whose shameful actions embolden those who observe their importunity and intemperance, to assert that it is dishonourable to serve and gratify the objects of our love. But no one who does this gracefully, and according to law, can justly be liable to the impu- tation of blame. 'Not only friendship, but philosophy and the practice of the gymnastic exer- cises, are represented as dishonourable by the tyrannical governments under which the barbarians live. For I imag- ine it would little conduce to the bene- fit of the governors, that the governed should be disciplined to lofty thoughts and to the unity and communion of steadfast friendship, of which admira- ble effects the tyrants of our own coun- try have also learned that Love is the 3 1 author. For the love of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, strengthened into a firm friendship, dissolved the tyranny. Wherever, therefore, it is declared dis^ honourable in any case to serve and ben^ efit friends, that law is a mark of the depravity of the legislator, the avarice and tyranny of the rulers, and the cow^ ardice of those who are ruled. Wher^ ever it is simply declared to be honour^ able without distinction of cases, such a declaration denotes dulness and want of subtlety of mind in the authors of the regulation. Here the degrees of praise or blame to be attributed by law are far better regulated ; but it is yet difficult to determine the cases to which they should refer. 'It is evident, however, for one in whom passion is enkindled, it is more honourable to love openly than se^ 3 2 cretly ; and most honourable to love the most excellent and virtuous, even if they should be less beautiful than others. It is honourable for the lover to exhort and sustain the object of his love in virtuous conduct. It is con^ sidered honourable to attain the love of those whom we seek, and the con^ trary shameful ; and to facilitate this attainment, opinion has given to the lover the permission of acquiring fax vour by the most extraordinary devices, which if a person should practise for any purpose besides this, he would in^ cur-the severest reproof of philosophy. "For if any one desirous of accumulate ing money, or ambitious of procuring power, or seeking any other advan^ tage, should, like a lover seeking to acquire the favour of his beloved, env ploy prayers and entreaties in his ne^ 33 cessity, and swear such oaths as lovers swear, and sleep before the threshold, and offer to subject himself to such slavery as no slave even would endure, he would be frustrated of the attain- ment of what he sought, both by his enemies and friends ; these reviling him for his flattery, those sharply ad- monishing him, and taking to them- selves the shame of his servility. But there is a certain grace in a lover who does all these things, so that he alone may do them without dishonour. It is commonly said that the Gods ac- cord pardon to the lover alone if he should break his oath, and that there is no oath by Venus, Thus, as our law declares, both Gods and men have given to lovers all possible indulgence, ' The affair, however, I imagine, stands thus : As I have before said, love can- 34 not be considered in itself as either honourable or dishonourable : if it is honourably pursued, it is honourable; if dishonourably, dishonourable ; it is dishonourable basely to serve and grat- ify a worthless person ; it is honourable honourably to serve a person of virtue. That Pandemic lover who loves rather the body than the soul is worthless, nor can be constant and consistent, since he has placed his affections on that which has no stability. For as soon as the flower of the form, which was the sole object of his desire, has faded, then he departs and is seen no more ; bound by no faith nor shame of his many promises and persuasions. But he who is the lover of virtuous manners is con^ stant during life, since he has placed himself in harmony and desire with that which is consistent with itself 35 * These two classes of persons we ought to distinguish with careful examina- tion, so that we may serve and con- verse with the one and avoid the other ; determining, by that inquiry, by what a man is attracted, and for what the object of his love is dear to him* On the same account it is considered as dishonourable to be inspired with love at once, lest time should be wanting to know and approve the character of the object. It is considered dishonour- able to be captivated by the allure- ments of wealth and power, or terri- fied through injuries to yield up the affections, or not to despise in the com- parison with an unconstrained choice all political influence and personal ad- vantage. For no circumstance is there in wealth or power so invariable and consistent, as that no generous friend- 36 ship can ever spring up from amongst them. We have an opinion with re^ spect to lovers which declares that it shall not be considered servile or dis' graceful, though the lover should sulv mit himself to any species of slavery for the sake of his beloved. The same opinion holds with respect to those who undergo any degradation for the sake of virtue. And also it is esteemed among us, that if any one chooses to serve and obey another for the pur^ pose of becoming more wise or more virtuous through the intercourse that might thence arise, such willing slav^ ery is not the slavery of a dishonest flatterer. Through this we should sider in the same light a servitude dertaken for the sake of love as one un^ dertaken for the acquirement of wis^ dom or any other excellence, if indeed 37 the devotion of a lover to his beloved is to be considered a beautiful thing, For when the lover and the beloved have once arrived at the same point, the province of each being distinguish' ed : the one able to assist in the cultiva^ tion of the mind and in the acquirement of every other excellence; the other yet requiring education, and seeking the possession of wisdom ; then alone, by the union of these conditions, and in no other case, is it honourable for the be^ loved to yield up the affections to the lover. In this servitude alone there is no disgrace in being deceived and defeat' ed of the object for which it was under-- taken ; whereas every other is disgrace^ ful, whether we are deceived or no. 'On the same principle, if any one seeks the friendship of another, believ^ ing him to be virtuous, for the sake of 38 becoming better through such inter ' course and affection, and is deceived, his friend turning out to be worthless, and far from the possession of virtue; yet it is honourable to have been so de- ceived. For such a one seems to have submitted to a kind of servitude, be- cause he would endure anything for the sake of becoming more virtuous and wise ; a disposition of mind emi- gently beautiful. 4 This is that Love who attends on the Uranian deity, and is Uranian ; the author of innu merable benefits both to the state and to individuals, and by the necessity of whose influence those who love are disciplined into the zeal of vir- tue. All other loves are the attendants on Venus Pandemos, So much, although unpremeditated, is what I have to de- liver on the subject of Love,O Phaedrus/ 39 Pausanias having ceased (for so the learned teach me to denote the chan^ ges of the discourse), Aristodemus said that it came to the turn of Aristopha^ nes to speak ; but it happened that, from repletion or some other cause, he had an hiccough which prevented him ; so he turned to Eryximachus, thepjijsician t who was reclining close beside him, and said, * Eryximachus, it is but fair that you should cure my hiccough, or speak instead of me until it is over/ 'I will do both/ said Eryxi' machus ; * I will speak in your turn, and you, when your hiccough has ceased, shall speak in mine. Meanwhile, if you hold your breath some time, it will sub" side* If not, gargle your throat with water ; and if it still continue, take something to stimulate your nostrils, and sneeze ; do this once or twice, and 40 even though it should be very violent, it will cease/ 'Whilst you speak/ said Aristophanes, 'I will follow your directions/ Eryximachus then be- gan: * Since Pausanias, beginning his dis- course excellently, placed no fit com- pletion and development to it, I think it necessary to attempt to fill up what he has left unfinished. He has reason- edwell in defining Love as of a double nature* The science of medicine, to which I have addicted myself, seems to teach me that the Love which im- pels towards those who are beautiful, does not subsist only in the souls of men, but in the bodies also of those of all other living beings which are pro- duced upon earth, and, in a word, in all things which are. So wonderful and mighty is this divinity, and so widely 41 is his influence extended over all di^ vine and human things ! For the hon^ our of my profession, I will begin by adducing a proof from medicine. The nature of the body contains within it" self this double Love, For that which is healthy and that which is diseased in a body differ and are unlike : that which is unlike, loves and desires that which is unlike, 1 Love, therefore, is different in a sane and in a diseased body, Pausanias has asserted rightly that it is honourable to gratify those things in the body which are good and healthy, and in this consists the skill of the physician ; whilst those which are bad and diseased ought to be treat' ed with no indulgence. The science of medicine, in a word, is a knowledge of the love affairs of the body, as they bear relation to repletion and evacu^ 42 ation ; and he is the most skilful sician who can trace those operations of the good and evil Love, can make the one change places with the other, and attract Love into those parts from which he is absent, or expel him from those which he ought not to occupy. He ought to make those things which are most inimical, friendly, and excite them to mutual love. But those things are most inimical, which are most op^ posite to each other; cold to heat, bit' terness to sweetness, dryness to moist' ure. Our progenitor, ^Esculapius, as the poets inform us (and indeed I be^ lieve them), through the skill which he possessed to inspire love and concord in these contending principles, estab' lished the science of medicine. 'The gymnastic arts and agriculture, no less than medicine, are exercised uii' 43 der the dominion of this God. Music, as any one may perceive who yields a very slight attention to the subject, o^ riginates from the same source ; which Heraclitus probably meant, though he could not express his meaning very clearly in words, when he says, "One though apparently differing, yet so a^ grees with itself, as the harmony of a lyre and a bow," It is great absurdity to say that a harmony differs, and can exist between things whilst they are dissimilar; but probably he meant that from sounds which first differed, like the grave and the acute, and which afterwards agreed, harmony was pro^ duced according to musical art. For no harmony can arise from the grave and the acute whilst yet they differ. But harmony is symphony: sympho^ ny is, as it were, concord. But it is inv 44 possible that concord should subsist between things that differ, so long as they differ* Between things which are discordant and dissimilar there is then no harmony* A rhythm is produced from that which is quick, and that which is slow, first being distinguish- ed and opposed to each other, and then made accordant ; so does medicine, no less than music, establish a concord between the objects of its art, produc- ing love and agreement between ad- verse things* 'Music is, then, the knowledge of that which relates to love in harmony and system* In the very system of harmo- ny and rhythm, it is easy to distinguish love* The double love is not distin- guishable in music itself; but it is re- quired to apply it to the service of man- kind by system and harmony, which 45 is called poetry, or the composition of melody ; or by the correct use of songs and measures already composed, which is called discipline ; then one can be dis- tinguished from the other, by the aid of an extremely skilful artist. And the better love ought to be honoured and preserved for the sake of those who are virtuous, and that the nature of the vicious may be changed through the inspiration of its spirit. This is that beautiful Uranian Love, the attend- ant on the Uranian muse : the Pande- mian is the attendant of Polyhymnia ; to whose influence we should only so far subject ourselves as to derive pleas- ure from it without indulging to ex- cess ; in the same manner as, accord- ing to our art, we are instructed to seek the pleasures of the table only so far as we can enjoy them without the con- 4 6 sequences of disease. In music, there^ fore, and in medicine, and in all other things, human and divine, this double love ought to be traced and discrimix nated, for it is in all things. ' Even the constitution of the seasons of the year is penetrated with these contending principles. For so often as heat and cold, dryness and moisture, of which I spoke before, are influenced by the more benignant love, and are harmoniously and temperately inter^ mingled with the seasons, they bring maturity and health to men, and to all the other animals and plants. But when the evil and injurious love as^ sumes the dominion of the seasons of the year, destruction is spread widely abroad. Then pestilence is accustomed to arise, and many other blights and diseases fall upon animals and plants : 47 and hoar frosts, and hails, and mildew on the corn are produced from that ex- cessive and disorderly love with which each season of the year is impelled to- wards the other; the motions of which, and the knowledge of the stars, is called astronomy. All sacrifices, and all those things in which divination is concern- ed (for these things are the links by which is maintained an intercourse and communion between the Gods and men), are nothing else than the science of preservation and right gov- ernment of love* For impiety is accus- tomed to spring up so soon as anyone ceases to serve the more honourable love, and worship him by the sacrifice of good actions ; but submits himself to the influences of the other, in rela- tion to his duties towards his parents and the Gods, and the living and the 4 8 dead. It is the object of divination to distinguish and remedy the effects of these opposite loves; and divination is therefore the author of the friendship of Gods and men, because it affords the knowledge of what in matters of love is lawful or unlawful to men* 'Thus every species of love possesses collectively a various and vast, or ratlv er universal power. But love which in- cites to the acquirement of its objects according to virtue and wisdom, pos- sesses the most exclusive dominion, and prepares for his worshippers the highest happiness through the mutual intercourse of social kindness which it promotes among them, and through the benevolence which he attracts to them from the Gods, our superiors. ' Probably in thus praising love, I have unwillingly omitted many things ; but 49 it is your business, O Aristophanes, to fill up all that I have left incomplete ; or if you have imagined any other mode of honouring the divinity ; for I observe your hiccough is over/ 'Yes/ said Aristophanes, 'but not be- fore I applied the sneezing, I wonder why the harmonious construction of our body should require such noisy op- erations as sneezing ; for it ceased the moment I sneezed/ ' Do you not ob- serve what you do, my good Aristo^ phanes?' said Eryximachus; 'you are going to speak, and you predispose us to laughter, and compel me to watch for the first ridiculous idea which you may start in your discourse, when you might have spoken in peace/ 'Let me unsay what I have said, then/ re-- plied Aristophanes, laughing. ' Do not watch me, I entreat you ; though I am 50 not afraid of saying what is laughable (since that would be all gain, and quite in the accustomed spirit of my muse), but lest I should say what is ridiculous/ 'Do you think to throw your dart, and escape with impunity, Aristopha^ nes > Attend, and what you say be care- ful you maintain ; then, perhaps, if it pleases me, I may dismiss you without question/ * Indeed, Eryximachus/ proceeded Ar^ istpphanes, ' I have designed that my discourse should be very different from yours and that of Pausanias. It seems to me that mankind are by no means penetrated with a conception of the power of Love, or they would have built sumptuous temples and altars, and have established magnificent rites of sacrifice in his honour ; he deserves worship and homage more than all the 51 other Gods, and he has yet received none. For Love is of all the Gods the most friendly to mortals, and the phy - sician of those wounds whose cure would be the greatest happiness which could be conferred upon the human race, I will endeavour to unfold to you his true power, and you can relate what I declare to others. 'You ought first to know the nature of man, and the adventures he has gone through ; for his nature was an- ciently far different from that which it is at present. First, then, human be- ings were formerly not divided into two sexes, male and female ; there was also a third, common to both the oth- ers, the name of which remains, though the sex itself has disappeared. The an- drogynous sex, both in appearance and in name, was common both to male 52 and female ; its name alone remains, which labours under a reproach* 'At the period to which I refer, the form of every human being was round, the back and the sides being circularly joined, and each had four arms and as many legs ; two faces fixed upon a round neck, exactly like each other ; one head between the two faces ; four ears, and everything else as from such propor^ tions it is easy to conjecture, Man walked upright as now, in whatever di rection he pleased ; but when he wished to go fast he made use of all his eight limbs, and proceeded in a rapid mo^ tion by rolling circularly round like tumblers, who with their legs in the air tumble round and round. We ac<- count for the production of three sexes by supposing that, at the beginning, the male was produced from the sun, 53 the female from the earth ; and that sex which participated in both sexes, from the moon, by reason of the an- drogynous nature of the moon. They were round, and their mode of pro- ceeding was round, from the similarity which must needs subsist between them and their parent. 'They were strong also, and had as- piring thoughts. They it was who lev- ied war against the Gods ; and what Homer writes concerning Ephialtus and Otus, that they sought to ascend heaven and dethrone the Gods, in re- ality relates to this primitive people. Jupiter and the other Gods debated what was to be done in this emergency. For neither could they prevail on them- selves to destroy them, as they had the giants, with thunder, so that the race should be abolished ; for in that case 54 they would be deprived of the hoiv ours of the sacrifices which they were in the custom of receiving from them ; nor could they permit a continuance of their insolence and impiety, Jupiter, with some difficulty having desired si' lence, at length spoke. "I think/' said he, "I have contrived a method by which we may, by rendering the hu' man race more feeble, quell the inso' lence which they exercise, without pro ceeding to their utter destruction. I will cut each of them in half; and so they will at once be weaker and more useful on account of their numbers. They shall walk upright on two legs. If they show any more insolence, and will not keep quiet, I will cut them up in half again, so they shall go about hop' ping on one leg/' ' So saying, he cut human beings in 55 half, as people cut eggs before they salt them, or as I have seen eggs cut with hairs. He ordered Apollo to take each one as he cut him, and turn his face and half his neck towards the operation, so that by contemplating it he might be^ come more cautious and humble; and then, to cure him, Apollo turned the face round, and drawing the skin upon what we now call the belly, like a con^ tracted pouch, and leaving one open^ ing, that which is called the navel, tied it in the middle. He then smoothed many other wrinkles, and moulded the breast with much such an instrument as the leather^cutters use to smooth the skins upon the block* He left only a few wrinkles in the belly, near the navel, to serve as a record of its former adventure. Immediately after this di' vision, as each desired to possess the 56 other half of himself, these divided peo^ pie threw their arms around and em^ braced each other, seeking to grow to^ gether ; and from this resolution to do nothing without the other half, they died of hunger and weakness : when one half died and the other was left alive, that which was thus left sought the other and folded it to its bosom ; whether that half were an entire wo^ man (for we now call it a woman) or a man ; and thus they perished. But Ju-- piter, pitying them, thought of another contrivance. 4 . In this manner is gen^ eration now produced, by the union of male and female ; so that from the env brace of a man and woman the race is propagated. 'From this period, mutual love has naturally existed between human beings ; that reconciler and bond of 57 union of their original nature, which seeks to make two one, and to heal the divided nature of man. Every one of us is thus the half of what may be prop' erly termed a man, and like a psetta cut in two, is the imperfect portion of an entire whole, perpetually necessi^ tated to seek the half belonging to him. 'Such as I have described is ever an af- fectionate lover and a faithful friend, delighting in that which is in conform^ ity with his own nature. Whenever, therefore, any such as I have described are impetuously struck, through the sentiment of their former union, with love and desire and the want of conv munity, they are unwilling to be di' vided even for a moment. These are they who devote their whole lives to each other, with a vain and inexpres^ sible longing to obtain from each other 58 something they know not what ; for it is not merely the sensual delights of their intercourse for the sake of which they dedicate themselves to each other with such serious affection ; but the soul of each manifestly thirsts for, from the other, something which there are no words to describe, and divines that which it seeks, and traces obscurely the footsteps of its obscure desire. If Vul- can should say to persons thus affected, " ^7 good people, what is it that you want with one another ? " And if, while they were hesitating what to answer, he should proceed to ask, " Do you not desire the closest union and singleness to exist between you, so that you may never be divided night or day/ If so, I will melt you together, and make you grow into one, so that both in life and death ye maybe undivided. Consider, 59 is this what you desire? V/ill it content you if you become that which I pro pose?" we all know that no one would refuse such an offer, but would at once feel that this was what he had ever sought ; and intimately to mix and melt and to be melted together with his beloved, so that one should be made out of two, 4 The cause of this desire is, that accord' ing to our original nature, we were once entire. The desire and the pursuit of in' tegrity and union is that which we all love. First, as I said, we were entire, but now we have been dwindled through our own weakness, as the Arcadians by the Lacedaemonians. There is reason to fear, if we are guilty of any additional impiety towards the Gods, that we may be cut in two again, and may go about like those figures painted on the col' 60 umns, divided through the middle of our nostrils, as thin as lispse. On which account every man ought to be ex- horted to pay due reverence to the Gods, that we may escape so severe a punish- ment, and obtain those things which Love, our general and commander, in- cites us to desire ; against whom let none rebel by exciting the hatred of the Gods. For if we continue on good terms with them, we may discover and possess those lost and concealed objects of our love, a good-fortune which now be- falls to few. 1 1 assert, then, that the happiness of all, both men and women, consists singly in the fulfilment of their love, and in that possession of its objects by which we are in some degree restored to our ancient nature. If this be the comple- tion of felicity, that must necessarily 61 approach nearest to it in which we ob- tain the possession and society of those whose natures most intimately accord with our own. And if we would cele- brate any God as the author of this ben- efit, we should justly celebrate Love with hymns of joy; who, in our pres- ent condition, brings good assistance in our necessity, and affords great hopes, if we persevere in piety towards the Gods, that he will restore us to our origi- nal state, and confer on us the complete happiness alone suited to our nature. 'Such, Eryximachus, is my discourse on the subject of Love ; different in- deed from yours, which I nevertheless entreat you not to turn into ridicule, that we may not interrupt what each has separately to deliver on the subject/ 'I will refrain at present/ said Eryxi- machus, 'for your discourse delighted 62 me. And if I did not know that Soo rates and Agathon were profoundly versed in the science of love affairs, I should fear that they had nothing new to say, after so many and such various imaginations. As it is, I confide in the fer- tility of their geniuses/ 'Your part of the contest at least was strenuously fought, Eryximachus/ said Socrates, 'but if you had been in the situation in which I am, or rather shall be, after the discourse of Agathon, like me you would then have reason to fear, and be reduced to your wits' end/ ' Socra- tes/ said Agathon, 'wishes to confuse me with the enchantments of his wit, sufficiently confused already with the expectation I see in the assembly in favour of my discourse/ ' I must have lost my memory, Agathon/replied Soc- rates, 'if I imagined that you could be 63 disturbed by a few private persons, af t" er having witnessed your firmness and courage in ascending the rostrum with the actors, and in calmly reciting your compositions in the presence of so great an assembly as that which decreed you the prize of tragedy/ 'What, then, Socrates/ retorted Agathon, 'do you think me so full of the theatre as to be ignorant that the judgment of a few wise is more awful than that of a multi^ tude of others, to one who rightly baL ances the value of their suffrages?* ' I should judge ill indeed, Agathon/ an^ swered Socrates, ' in thinking you capa^ ble of any rude and unrefined concep^ tion, for I well know that if you meet with any whom you consider wise, you esteem such alone of more value than all others. But we are far from being entitled to this distinction, for we were 64 also of that assembly, and to be nunv bered among the rest. But should you meet with any who are really wise, you would be careful to say nothing in their presence which you thought they would not approve is it not so ? ' ' Certain- ly/ replied Agathon. ' You would not then exercise the same caution in the presence of the multitude in which they were included i ' ' My dear Aga- thon/said Phsedrus, interrupting him, 'if you answer all the questions of Soc- rates, they will never have an end ; he will urge them without conscience so long as he can get any person, especially one who is so beautiful, to dispute with him. I own it delights me to hear Soc- rates discuss ; but at present I must see that Love is not defrauded of the praise, which it is my province to exact from each of you. Pay the God his due, and 65 then reason between yourselves if you will/ * Your admonition is just, Phsedrus/ re- plied Agathon, 'nor need any reason- ing I hold with Socrates impede me : we shall find many future opportunities for discussion. I will begin my discourse, then, first having defined what ought to be the subject of it. All who have al- ready spoken seem to me not so much to have praised Love, as to have felicitat- ed mankind on the many advantages of which that deity is the cause; what he is, the author of these great benefits, none have yet declared. There is one mode alone of celebration which would comprehend the whole topic, namely, first to declare what are those benefits, and then what he is who is the author of those benefits, which are the subject of our discourse. Love ought first to be 66 ' praised, and then his gifts declared. I assert, then, that although all the Gods are immortally happy, Love, if I dare trust my voice to express so awful a truth, is the happiest, and most excel' lent, and the most beautiful That he is the most beautiful is evident; first, O Phsedrus, from this circumstance, that he is the youngest of the Gods ; and secondly, from his fleetness, and from his repugnance to all that is old ; for he escapes with the swiftness of wings from old age, a thing in itself sufficiently swift, since it overtakes us sooner than there is need; and which Love, who delights in the intercourse of the young, hates, and in no manner can be induced to enter into commu' nity with. The ancient proverb, which says that like is attracted by like, ap- plies to the attributes of Love. I con- 67 cede many things to you, O Phsedrus, but this I do not concede, that Love is more ancient than Saturn and Jupiter. I assert that he is not only the young' est of the Gods, but invested with ever^ lasting youth* Those ancient deeds % among the Gods recorded by Hesiod and Parmenides, if their relations are to be considered as true, were produced not by Love, but by Necessity. For if Love had been then in Heaven, those violent and sanguinary crimes never would have taken place; but there would ever have subsisted that affec^ tion and peace, in which the Gods now live, under the influence of Love. 'He is young, therefore, and being young is tender and soft. There were need of some poet like Homer to cele^ brate the delicacy and tenderness of Love. For Homer says, that the goddess 68 Calamity is delicate, and that her feet are tender. " Her feet are soft/' he says, "for she treads not upon the ground, birt naakes her path upon the heads of men/' He gives as an evidence of her tenderness, that she walks not upon that which is hard, but that which is soft. The same evidence is sufficient to make manifest the tenderness of Love. For Love walks not upon the earth, nor over the heads of men, which are not indeed very soft ; but he dwells within, and treads on the softest of existing things, having established his habita- tion within the souls and inmost nat- ure of Gods and men ; not indeed in all souls for wherever he chances to find a hard and rugged disposition, there he will not inhabit, but only where it is most soft and tender. Of needs must he be the most delicate of all things, 69 who touches lightly with his feet only the softest parts of those things which are the softest of all. ' He is then the youngest and most deli- cate of all divinities ; and in addition to this he is, as it were, the most moist and liquid. For if he were otherwise he could not, as he does, fold himself around everything, and secretly flow out and into every soul His loveliness, that which Love possesses far beyond all other things, is a manifestation of the liquid and flowing symmetry of his form ; for between deformity and Love there is eternal contrast and re- pugnance. His life is spent among flow- ers, and this accounts for the immortal fairness of his skin ; for the winged Love rests not in his flight on any form, or within any soul the flower of whose loveliness is faded, but there remains 70 most willingly where is the odour and radiance of blossoms yet un withered. Concerning the beauty of the God, let this be sufficient, though many things must remain unsaid. Let us next con^ sider the virtue and power of Love, 'What is most admirable in Love is, that he neither inflicts nor endures nv jury in his relations either with Gods or men. Nor if he suffers anything does he suffer it through violence, nor doing anything does he act it with vio^ lence, for Love is never even touched with violence. Every one willingly ad- ministers everything to Love ; and that which every one voluntarily concedes to another, the laws, which are the kings of the republic, decree that it is just for him to possess. In addition to justice, Love participates in the highest tem- perance ; for if temperance is defined 7 1 to be the being superior to and holding under dominion pleasures and desires, then Love, than whom no pleasure is more powerful, and who is thus more powerful than all persuasions and de- lights, must be excellently temperate. In power and valour Mars cannot con- tend with Love ; the love of Venus pos- sesses Mars ; the possessor is always superior to the possessed, and he who subdues the most powerful must of ne- cessity be the most powerful of all. 'The justice and temperance and val- our of the God have been thus declared ; there remains to exhibit his wisdom. And first, that, like Ery ximachus, I may honour my own profession, the God is a wise poet ; so wise that he can even make a poet one who was not before: for every one, even if before he were ever so undisciplined, becomes a poet 72 as soon as he is touched by Love, a sufficient proof that Love is a great poet, and well skilled in that science accord" ing to the discipline of music. For what any one possesses not, or knows not, that can he neither give nor teach an^ other* And who will deny that the di' vine poetry, by which all living things are produced upon the earth, is har^ monized by the wisdom of Love ? Is it not evident that Love was the author of all the arts of life with which we are acquainted, and that he whose teacher has been Love becomes eminent and illustrious, whilst he who knows not Love remains for ever unregarded and obscure ? Apollo invented medicine, and divination, and archery, under the guidance of desire and Love ; so that Apollo was the disciple of Love. Through him the Muses discovered 73 the arts of literature, and Vulcan that of moulding brass, and Minerva the loom, and Jupiter the mystery of the dominion which he now exercises over Gods and men. So were the Gods taught and disciplined by the love of that which is beautiful, for there is no love towards deformity, ' At the origin of things, as I have be^ fore said, many fearful deeds are report' ed to have been done among the Gods, on account of the dominion of Neces^ sity. But so soon as this deity sprang forth from the desire which for ever tends in the universe towards that which is lovely, then all blessings de^ scended upon all living things, human and divine. Love seems to me, O Phse^ drus, a divinity the most beautiful and the best of all, and the author to all others of the excellencies with which 74 his own nature is endowed. Nor can I restrain the poetic enthusiasm which takes possession of my discourse, and bids me declare that Love is the divin^ ity who creates peace among men, and calm upon the sea, the windless silence of storms, repose and sleep in sadness. Love divests us of all alienation from each other, and fills our vacant hearts with overflowing sympathy; he gatlv ers us together in such social meetings as we now delight to celebrate, our guardian and our guide in dances, and sacrifices, and feasts. Yes, Love, who showers benignity upon the world, and before whose presence all harsh pas^ sions flee and perish ; the author of all soft affections ; the destroyer of all un^ gentle thoughts ; merciful, mild ; the object of t/i e $ ' ' Without doubt/ ' Yet bear with me, and answer a few more ques^ tions, for I would learn from you that 82 which I wish to know. If I should inquire, in addition, is not a brother, through the very nature of his relation, the brother of some one / ' ' Certain x ly/ 4 Of a brother or sister, is he not i ' 'Without question/ 'Try to ex^ plain to me, then, the nature of Love ; Love is the love of something or noth^ ing I ' ' Of something, certainly/ 'Observe and remember this conces^ sion. Tell me yet farther whether Love desires that of which it is the Love or not?' 'It desires it, assuredly/ 'Whether, possessing that which it de^ sires and loves, or not possessing it, does it desire and love /' 'Not possessing it, I should imagine/ 'Observe now, whether it does not appear that, of necessity, desire desires that which it wants and does not possess, and no longer desires that which it no longer 83 wants : this appears to me, Agathon , of necessity to be ; how does it appear to you?' 'It appears so to me also/ 4 Would any one who was already illus^ trious desire to be illustrious ? would any one already strong desire to be strong? From what has already been conceded, it follows that he would not* If any one already strong should de^ sire to be strong ; or any one already swift should desire to be swift ; or any one already healthy should desire to be healthy, it must be concluded that they still desired the advantages of which they already seemed possessed. To destroy the foundation of this er^ ror, observe, Agathon, that each of these persons must possess the several advantages in question, at the moment present to our thoughts, whether he will or no. And now, is it possible that 8 4 those advantages should be at that time the objects of his desire I For, if any one should say, being in health, "I desire to be in health ;" being rich, "I desire to be rich, and thus still de- sire those things which I already pos- sess," we might say to him," You, my friend, possess health, and strength, and riches ; you do not desire to possess now, but to continue to possess them in future ; for, whether you will or no, they now belong to you. Consider, then, whether, when you say that you desire things present to you, and in your own possession, you say anything else than that you desire the advan- tages to be for the future also in your possession." \Vhat else could he reply? ' 'Nothing, indeed/ 'Is not Love, then, the love of that which is not within its reach, and which cannot 85 hold in security, for the future, those things of which it obtains a present and transitory possession ?' 'Evidently/ ' Love, therefore, and everything else that desires anything, desires that which is absent and beyond his reach, that which it has not, that which is not itself, that which it wants ; such are the things of which there are desire and love/ ' Assuredly/ 'Come/ said Socrates, 'let us review your concessions. Is Love anything else than the love first of something ; and, secondly, of those things of which it has need/' 'Nothing/ 'Now, re- member of those things you said in your discourse, that Love was the love if you wish I will remind you. I think you said something of this kind, that all the affairs of the gods were admirably disposed through the love 86 I ' of the things which are beautiful ; for there was no love of things deformed ; did you not say so I* 'I confess that I did/ 'You said what was most likely to be true, my friend ; and if the matter be so, the love of beauty must be one thing, and the love of defornv ity another/ ' Certainly/ ' It is con-^ ceded, then, that Love loves that which he wants, but possesses not/' 'Yes, certainly/ ' But Love wants and does not possess beauty? ' ' Indeed it must necessarily follow/ 'What, then! call you that beautiful which has need of beauty and possesses not?' 'As^ suredly no/ ' Do you still assert, then, that Love is beautiful, if all that we have said be true ? ' ' Indeed, Socrates/ said Agathon, ' I am in danger of being convicted of ignorance, with respect to all that I then spoke/ 'You spoke 87 most eloquently, my dear Agathon ; but bear with my questions yet a mo^ ment. You admit that things which are good are also beautiful > ' ' No doubt/ ' If Love, then, be in want of beauti' ful things, and things which are good are beautiful, he must be in want of things which are good I' 'I cannot re^ fute your arguments, Socrates/ 'You cannot refute truth, my dear Agathon : to refute Socrates is nothing difficult. 'But I will dismiss these questionings. At present let me endeavour, to the best of my power, to repeat to you, on the basis of the points which have been agreed upon between me and Agathon, a discourse concerning Love which I formerly heard from the prophetess Diotima, who was profoundly skilled in this and many other doctrines, and who, ten years before the pestilence, . 88 ^4. procured to the Athenians, through their sacrifices, a delay of the disease; for it was she who taught me the sci" ence of things relating to Love. * As you well remarked, Agathon, we ought to declare who and what is Love, and then his works. It is easiest to re^ late them in the same order as the for^ eign prophetess observed when, ques^ tioning me, she related them. For I said to her much the same things that Ag' athon has just said to me that Love was a great deity, and that he was beau^ tiful; and she refuted me with the same reasons as I have employed to refute Agathon, compelling me to infer that he was neither beautiful nor good, as I said. " What, then/' I objected," O Diotima, is Love ugly and evil I" " Good words, I entreat you/' said Di' otima; "do you think that everything 89 which is not beautiful must of neces- sity be ugly ? " " Certainly/' " And everything that is not wise, ignorant f Do you not perceive that there is some- thing between ignorance and wisdom ? " " What is that I" "To have a right opinion or conjecture* Observe, that this kind of opinion, for which no rea- son can be rendered, cannot be called knowledge ; for how can that be called knowledge which is without evidence or reason i Nor ignorance, on the other hand ; for how can that be called igno^ ranee which arrives at the persuasion of that which it really is? A right opin- ion is something between understand' ing and ignorance." I confessed that what she alleged was true. "Do not then say," she continued, " that what is not beautiful is of necessity deformed, nor what is not good is of necessity 90 evil ; nor, since you have confessed that Love is neither beautiful nor good, in- fer, therefore, that he is deformed or evil, but rather something intermedia ate." ' " But/' I said, " Love is confessed by all to be a great God/' "Do you mean, when you say all, all those who know, or those who know not, what they say ? " " All collectively/' " And how can that be, Socrates?" said she, laughing ; " how can he be acknowl" edged to be a great God by those who assert that he is not even a God at all i " "And who are they?" I said. "You for one, and I for another/' " How can you say that, Diotima?" "Ea- sily," she replied, "and with truth; for tell me, do you not own that all the Gods are beautiful and happy? or will you presume to maintain that any 9 1 God is otherwise I " " Byjupiter, not I!" "Do you not call those alone happy who possess all things that are beautiful and good?" "Certainly/' "You have confessed that Love, through his desire for things beautiful and good, possesses not those materials of happiness." " Indeed, such was my concession." " But how can we con^ ceive a God to be without the posses^ sion of what is beautiful and good i " "In no manner, I confess." "Ob^ serve, then, that you do not consider Love to be a God." "\Vhat, then," I said, "is Love a mortal?" "By no means." " But what, then } " " Like those things which I have before in^ stanced, he is neither mortal nor inv mortal, but something intermediate." "What is that, O Diotima?" "A great daemon, Socrates ; and every^ 92 thing daemoniacal holds an intermedia ate place between what is divine and what is mortal/' '"What is his power and nature?" I inquired. " He interprets and makes a communication between divine and human things, conveying the prayers and sacrifices of men to the Gods, and communicating the commands and di- rections concerning the mode of wor- ship most pleasing to them, from Gods to men. He fills up that intermediate space between these two classes of be** ings, so as to bind together, by his own power, the whole universe of things. Through him subsist all divination, and the science of sacred things as it re- lates to sacrifices, and expiations, and disenchantments, and prophecy, and magic. The divine nature cannot im- mediately communicate with what is 93 human, but all that intercourse and converse which is conceded by the Gods to men, both whilst they sleep and when they wake, subsists through the intervention of Love; and he who is wise in the science of this intercourse is supremely happy, and participates in the dsemoniacal nature ; whilst he who is wise in any other science or art remains a mere ordinary slave. These daemons are, indeed, many and vari^ ous, and one of them is Love/' 1 " Who are the parents of Love ? " I HV quired, "The history of what you ask," replied Diotima, "is somewhat long ; nevertheless I will explain it to you. On the birth of Venus the Gods celebrated a great feast, and among them came Plenty, the son of Metis. After supper, Poverty, observing the profusion, came to beg, and stood be" 94 side the door. Plenty being drunk with nectar, for wine was not yet invented, went out intojupiter's garden, and fell into a deep sleep. Poverty wishing to have a child by Plenty, on account of her low estate, lay down by him, and from his embraces conceived Love, Love is, therefore, the follower and ser- vant of Venus, because he was con- ceived at her birth, and because by nat- ure he is a lover of all that is beautiful, and Venus was beautiful. And since Love is the child of Poverty and Plenty, his nature and fortune participate in that of his parents. He is for ever poor, and so far from being delicate and beautiful, as mankind imagine, he is squalid and withered ; he flies low a-* long the ground, and is homeless and unsandalled ; he sleeps without cover- ing before the doors, and in the un- 95 sheltered streets ; possessing thus far his mother's nature, that he is ever the companion of \Vant. But, inasmuch as he participates in that of his father, he is for ever scheming to obtain things which are good and beautiful ; he is fearless, vehement, and strong ; a dread' ful hunter, for ever weaving some new contrivance ; exceedingly cautious and prudent, and full of resources ; he is also, during his whole existence, a philoso^ pher, a powerful enchanter, a wizard, and a subtle sophist. And, as his nat^ ure is neither mortal nor immortal, on the same day when he is fortunate and successful, he will at one time flourish, and then die away, and then, accord^ ing to his father's nature, again revive* All that he acquires perpetually flows away from him, so that Love is never either rich or poor, and holding for ever 96 an intermediate state between igno- rance and wisdom. The case stands thus : No God philosophizes or de- sires to become wise, for he is wise ; nor, if there exist any other being who is wise, does he philosophize. Nor do the ignorant philosophize, for they desire not to become wise ; for this is the evil of ignorance, that he who has neither intelligence, nor virtue, nor delicacy of sentiment, imagines that he possesses all those things sufficiently. He seeks not, therefore, that possession, of whose want he is not aware/' " Who, then, O Diotima," I inquired, "are philoso- phers, if they are neither the ignorant nor the wise I " " It is evident, even to a child, that they are those interme- diate persons, among whom is Love. For Wisdom is one of the most beau- tiful of all things ; Love is that which 97 thirsts for the beautiful, so that Love is of necessity a philosopher, philosophy being an intermediate state between ignorance and wisdom. His parentage accounts for his condition, being the child of a wise and welLprovided fa^ ther, and of a mother both ignorant and poor. ' "Such is the demoniacal nature, my dear Socrates ; nor do I wonder at your error concerning Love, for you thought, as I conjecture from what you say, that Love was not the lover but the beloved, and thence well concluded that he must be supremely beautiful; for that which is the object of Love must indeed be fair, and delicate, and perfect, and most happy ; but Love inherits, as I have declared, a totally opposite nature/' "Your words have persuasion in them, O stranger/' I said ; "be it as you say. But this Love, what advantages does he afford to men?" "I will proceed to explain it to you, Socrates, Love,be^ ing such and so produced as I have de^ scribed, is, indeed, as you say, the love of things which are beautiful. But if any one should ask us, saying: O Soc^ rates and Diotima, why is Love the love of beautiful things/ Or, in planv er words, what does the lover of that which is beautiful, love in the object of his love, and seek from it i " "He seeks," I said, interrupting her, "the property and possession of it." " But that," she replied, "might still be met with another question, What has he, who possesses that which is beautiful ? " "Indeed, I cannot immediately re^ ply." "But if, changing the beauti' ful for good, any one should inquire, I ask, O Socrates, what is that which 99 he who loves that which is good, loves in the object of his love I " " To be in his possession," I replied. " And what has he, who has the possession of good ? " " This question is of easier solution : he is happy." " Those who are hap" py, then, are happy through the pos- session ; and it is useless to inquire what he desires, who desires to be happy; the question seems to have a complete re- ply. But do you think that this wish and this love are common to all men, and that all desire that that which is good should be for ever present to them ? " " Certainly, common to all." " Why do we not say, then, Socra- tes, that every one loves i if, indeed, all love perpetually the same thing I But we say that some love, and some do not." " Indeed, I wonder why it is so." "Wonder not," said Diotima, "for IOO we select a particular species of love, and apply to it distinctively the appel- lation of that which is universal*" ' " Give me an example of such a select application/' ''Poetry; which is a general name signifying every cause whereby anything proceeds from that which is not, in to that which is ; so that the exercise of every inventive art is poetry, and all such artists poets* Yet they are not called poets, but distin- guished by other names; and one por^ tion or species of poetry, that which has relation to music and rhythm, is divided from all others, and known by the name belonging to all. For this is alone properly called poetry, and those who exercise the art of this species of poetry, poets. So with respect to Love* Love is indeed universally all that ear- nest desire for the possession of hap I P- IOI piness and that which is good ; the greatest and the subtlest love, and which inhabits the heart of every living being; but those who seek this object through the acquirement of wealth, or the exercise of the gymnastic arts, or philosophy, are not said to love, nor are called lovers ; one species alone is called love, and those alone are said to be lovers, and to love, who seek the at- tainment of the universal desire through one species of love, which is peculiarly distinguished by the name belonging to the wholeut is asserted by some that they4ove who are seeking the lost half of their divided being. But I assert that Love is neither the love of half nor of the whole, unless, my friend, it meets with that which is good ; since men willingly cut off their own hands and feet, if they think that they are the 102 cause of evil to them. Nor do they cher- ish and embrace that which may be- long to themselves merely because it is their own, unless, indeed, any one should choose to say that that which is good is attached to his own nature and is his own, whilst that which is evil is foreign and accidental ; but love noth- ing but that which is good. Does it not appear so to you ?" "Assuredly/' " Can we, then, simply affirm that men love that which is good?" "Wrth- out doubt/' " What, then, must we not add, that, in addition to loving that which is good, they love that it sh'ould be present to themselves I" "Indeed that must be added/' "And not mere- ly that it should be present, but that it should ever be present i " " This also must be added/' 4 " Love, then, is collectively the desire 103 in men that good should be for ever present to them/' "Most true/' "Since this is the general definition of Love, can you explain in what mode of attaining its object, and in what spe- cies of actions, does Love peculiarly consist ?" "If I knew what you ask, ^ O Diotima, I should not have so much wondered at your wisdom, nor have sought you out for the purpose of deriving improvement from your in- structions/' "I will tell you," she re- plied: "Love is the desire of generation in the beautiful, both with relation to the body and the soul/' "I must be a diviner to comprehend what you say, for, being such as I am, I confess that I do not understand it/' "But I will explain it more clearly. The bodies and the souls of all human beings are alike pregnant with their future progeny, 104 and when we arrive at a certain age our nature impels us to bring forth and propagate. This nature is unable to produce in that which is deformed, but it can produce in that which is beauti^ fuL The intercourse of the male and female in generation, a divine work, through pregnancy and production, is, as it were, something immortal in mor^ tality. These things cannot take place in that which is incongruous ; for that which is deformed is incongruous, but that which is beautiful is congruous with what is immortal and divine. Beauty is, therefore, the fate and the JunoLucina to generation. Wherefore, whenever that which is pregnant with the generative principle approaches that which is beautiful, it becomes transported with delight, and is poured forth in overflowing pleasure, and pro" 105 pagates. But when it approaches that which is deformed, it is contracted by sadness, and, being repelled and check> ed, it does not produce, but retains un^ willingly that with which it is preg^ nant. Wherefore, to one pregnant, and, as it were, already bursting with the load of his desire, the impulse towards that which is beautiful is intense, on account of the great pain of retaining that which he has conceived. Love, then, O Socrates, is not as you imagine the love of the beautiful/' " What, then ? " "Of generation and production in the beautiful/' "Why then of gene^ ration !" "Generation is something eternal and immortal in mortality. It necessarily, from what has been con^ fessed, follows, that we must desire inv mortality together with what is good, since Love is the desire that good be for 1 06 ever present to us. Of necessity Love must also be the desire of immortality/' 'Diotima taught me all this doctrine in the discourse we had together con- cerning Love; and in addition she in- quired, " What do you think, Socrates, is the cause of this love and desire ? Do you not perceive how all animals, both those of the earth and of the air, are af- fected when they desire the propaga- tion of their species, affected even to weakness and disease by the impulse of their love ; first, longing to be mixed with each other, and then seeking nour- ishment for their offspring, so that the feeblest are ready to contend with the strongest in obedience to this law, and to die for the sake of their young, or to waste away with hunger, and do or suffer anything so that they may not want nourishment. It might be said 107 that human beings do these things through reason, but can you explain why other animals are thus affected through love / " I confessed that I did not know. "Do you imagine your^ self/' said she, "to be skilful in the sci^ ence of Love, if you are ignorant of these things I" "As I said before, O Diotima, I come to you, well knowing how much I am in need of a teacher. But explain to me, I entreat you, the cause of these things, and of the other things relating to Love." "If," said Diotima, "you believe that Love is of the same nature as we have mutually agreed upon, wonder not that such are its effects. For the mortal nature seeks, so far as it is able, to become deathless and eternal. But it can only accomplish this desire by generation, which for ever leaves another new in place of the 108 old. For, although each human being be severally said to live, and be the same from youth to old age, yet that which is called the same never contains with' in itself the same things, but always is becoming new by the loss and change of that which it possessed before; both the hair, and the flesh, and the bones, and the entire body, '"And not only does this change take place in the body, but also with respect to the soul Manners, morals, opinions, desires, pleasures, sorrows, fears ; none of these ever remain unchanged in the same persons, but some die away, and others are produced. And, what is yet more strange is, that not only does some knowledge spring up, and another de^ cay, and that we are never the same with respect to our knowledge, but that each several object of our thoughts suf- 109 fers the same revolution* That which is called meditation, or the exercise of memory, is the science of the escape or departure of memory ; for, forgetfulness is the going out of knowledge ; and meditation, calling up a new memory in the place of that which has departed, preserves knowledge ; so that, though for ever displaced and restored, it seems to be the same. In this manner every ' thing mortal is preserved : not that it is constant and eternal, like that which is divine, but that in the place of what has grown old and is departed, it leaves another new like that which it was it' self. By this contrivance, O Socrates, does what is mortal, the body and all other things, partake of immortality ; that which is immortal is immortal in another manner. Wonder not, then, if everything by nature cherishes that no v which was produced from itself, for this earnest Love is a tendency towards eternity/' ' Having heard this discourse, I was as^ tonished, and asked, " Can these things be true, O wisest Diotima >" And she, like an accomplished sophist, said, "Know well, O Socrates, that if you only regard that love of glory which inspires men, you will wonder at your own unskilfulness in not having dis' covered all that I now declare. Observe with how vehement a desire they are affected to become illustrious and to prolong their glory into immortal time, to obtain which object,f ar more ardent' ly than for the sake of their children, all men are ready to engage in many dangers, and expend their fortunes, and submit to any labours and incur any death. Do you believe that Alcestis would have died in the place of Ad' metus, or Achilles for the revenge of Patroclus, or Codrus for the kingdom of his posterity, if they had not believed that the immortal memory of their actions, which we now cherish, would have remained after their death ? Far otherwise ; all such deeds are done for the sake of ever4iving virtue, and this immortal glory which they have ol> tained ; and inasmuch as any one is of an excellent nature, so much the more is he impelled to attain this reward. For they love what is immortal, ' " Those whose bodies alone are preg' nant with this principle of immortal' ity are attracted by women, seeking through the production of children / what they imagine to be happiness and immortality and an enduring remem' brance ; but they Whose souls are far 112 more pregnant than their bodies, con- ceive and produce that which is more suitable to the souL What is suitable to the soul / Intelligence and every other power and excellence of the mind ; of which all poets, arid all other artists who are creative and inventive, are the authors* The greatest and most admi' /i rable wisdom is that which regulates " the government of families and states, and which is called moderation and justice. Whosoever, therefore from his youth feels his soul prggnant with the conception of these excellences, is di- vine : and when due time arrives, de- sires to bring forth ; and wandering a bout, he seeks the beautiful in which he may propagate what he has con- ceived ; for there is no generation in that which is deformed ; he embraces those bodies which are beautiful rather than those which are deformed, i dience to the principle which is within him, which is ever seeking to perpet' uate itself. And if he meets, in conjunc- tion with loveliness of form, a beauti' ful, generous, and gentle soul, he env braces both at once, and immediately undertakes to educate this object of his love, and is inspired with an overflow^ ing persuasion to declare what is virtue, and what he ought to be who would attain to its possession, and what are the duties which it exacts. For, by the intercourse with, and as it were, the very touch of that which is beautiful, he brings forth and produces what he had formerly conceived ; and nourishes and educates that which is thus pro^ duced together with the object of his love, whose image, whether absent or present, is never divided from his mind. 114 So that those who are thus united are linked by a nobler community and a firmer love, as being the common par^ ents of a lovelier and more endearing progeny than the parents of other chil^ dren. And every one who considers what posterity Homer and Hesiod and the other great poets have left behind them, the sources of their own immor^ tal memory and renown, or what chil' dren of his soul Ly curgus has appointed to be the guardians, not only of Lace^ daemon, but of all Greece ; or what an illustrious progeny of laws Solon has produced, and how many admirable achievements, both among the Greeks and Barbarians, men have left as the pledges of that love which subsisted be^ tween them and the beautiful, would choose rather to be the parent of such children than those in a human shape. For divine honours have often been rendered to them on account of such children, but on account of those in human shape, never. '"Your own meditation, O Socrates, might perhaps have initiated you in all these things which I have already taught you on the subject of Love. But those perfect and sublime ends to which these are only the means, I know not that you would have been compe^ tent to discover. I will declare them, therefore, and will render them as in^ telligible as possible : do you mean- while strain all your attention to ti^oe ^ *xjii the obscure depth of the subject /He who aspires to love rightly, ought from his earliest youth to seek an intercourse with beautiful forms, and first to make a single form the object of his love, and therein to generate intellectual excel' 116 lences. He ought, then, to consider that beauty in whatever form it resides is the brother of that beauty which sub' sists in another form ; and if he ought to pursue that which is beautiful in form, it would be absurd to imagine that beauty is not one and the same thing in all forms, and would therefore remit much of his ardent preference to^ wards one, through his perception of. the multitude of claims upon his love. In addition, he would consider tEe beauty which is in souls more excel' lent than that which is in form. So that one endowed with an admirable soul, even though the flower of the form were withered, would suffice him as the object of his love and care, and the companion with whom he might seek and produce such conclusions as tend to the improvement of youth ; so that it might be led to observe the beauty and the conformity which there is in the observation of its duties and the laws, and to esteem little the mere beau- ty of the outward form. He would then conduct his pupil to science, so that he might look upon the loveliness of wisdom ; and that contemplating thus the universal beauty, no longer would he unworthily and meanly enslave himself to the attractions of one form in love, nor one subject of discipline or science, but would turn towards the wide ocean of intellectual beauty, and from the sight of the lovely and ma^ jestic forms which it contains, would abundantly bring forth his conceptions in philosophy ; until, strengthened and confirmed, he should at length stead' ily contemplate one science, which is the science of this universal beauty. 118 ' " Attempt, I entreat you, to mark what I say with as keen an observation as you can. He who has been disciplined to this point in Love, by contemplat- ing beautiful objects gradually, and in their order, now arriving at the end of all that concerns Love, on a sudden be- holds a beauty wonderful in its nature. This is it, O Socrates, for the sake of which all the former labours were en- dured. It is eternal, unproduced, inde- structible ; neither subject to increase nor decay: not, like other things, partly beautiful and partly deformed ; not at one time beautiful and at another time not ; not beautiful in relation to one thing and deformed in relation to an- other ; not here beautiful and there de- formed ; not beautiful in the estimation of one person and deformed in that of another ; nor can this supreme beauty 119 be figured to the imagination like a beautiful face, or beautiful hands, or any portion of the body, nor like any discourse, nor any science. Nor does it subsist in any other that lives or is, either in earth, or in heaven, or in any other place; but it is eternally uniform and consistent, and monoeidic with itself All other things are beautiful through a participation of it, with this condition, that although they are sub' ject to production and decay, it never becomes more or less, or endures any change. When anyone, ascending from a correct system of Love, begins to con^ template this supreme beauty, he al' ready touches the consummation of his labour. For such as discipline them^ selves upon this system, or are con^ ducted by another beginning to ascend through these transitory objects which I2O are beautiful, towards that which is beauty itself, proceeding as on steps from the love of one form to that of two, and from that of two to that of all forms which are beautiful ; and from beautiful forms to beautiful habits and institutions, and from institutions to beautiful doctrines; until, from the meditation of many doctrines, they ar- rive at that which is nothing else than the doctrine of the supreme beauty it' self, in the knowledge and contempla^ tion of which at length they repose. '"Such a life as this, my dear Socra- tes,^ exclaimed the stranger Prophetess, "spent in the contemplation of the beautiful, is the life for men to live ; which if you chance ever to experience, you will esteem far beyond gold and rich garments, and even those lovely persons whom you and many others 121 now gaze on with astonishment, and are prepared neither to eat nor drink so that you may behold and live for ever with these objects of your love ! What then shall we imagine to be the aspect of the supreme beauty itself, simple, pure, uncontaminated with the intermixture of human flesh and coL ours, and all other idle and unreal shapes attendant on mortality ; the di' vine, the original, the supreme, the ITKV noeidic beautiful itself? \Vhat must be the life of him who dwells with and gazes on that which it becomes us all to seek I Think you not that to him alone is accorded the prerogative of bringing forth, not images and shad' ows of virtue, for he is in contact not with a shadow but with reality ; with virtue itself, in the production and nourishment of which he becomes dear 122 to the Gods, and if such a privilege is conceded to any human being, himself immortal/LJ 'Such, O Phaedrus, and my other friends, was what Diotima said. And being persuaded by her words, I have since occupied myself in attempting to persuade others, that it is not easy to find a better assistant than Love in seeking to communicate immortality to our human natures* Wherefore I ex^ hort every one to honour Love ; I hold him in honour, and chiefly exercise my- self in amatory matters, and exhort others to do so ; and now and ever do I praise the power and excellence of Love, in the best manner that I can. Let this discourse, if it pleases you, Phaedrus, be considered as an encomi^ um of Love ; or call it by what other 11 f X name you will. 123 The whole assembly praised his dis- course, and Aristophanes was on the point of making some remarks on the allusion made by Socrates to him in a part of his discourse, when suddenly they heard a loud knocking at the door of the vestibule, and a clamour as of revellers, attended by a flute-player. ' Go, boys/ said Agathon, ' and see who is there : if they are any of our friends, call them in ; if not, say that we have already done drinking/ A minute afterwards they heard the voice of Al' cibiades in the vestibule excessively drunk and roaring out: ' \Vhere is Agathon? Lead me to Agathon I 1 The flute^player and some of his com*- panions then led him in, and placed him against the door-post, crowned with a thick crown of ivy and violets, and having a quantity of fillets on his 124 head. 'My friends/ he cried out, ' hail ! I am excessively drunk already, but 1 11 drink with you, if you will. If not, we will go away after having crown*- ed Agathon, for which purpose I came. I assure you that I could not come yes^ terday, but I am now here with these fillets round my temples, that from my own head I may crown his who, with your leave, is the most beautiful and wisest of men. Are you laughing at me because I am drunk ? Ay, I know what I say is true, whether you laugh or not. But tell me at once, whether I shall come in, or no. Will you drink with me?' Agathon and the whole party desired him to come in, and recline among them ; so he came in, led by his conv panions. He then unbound his fillets that he might crown Agathon, and 125 though Socrates was just before his eyes, he did not see him, but sat down by Agathon, between Socrates and him, for Socrates moved out of the way to make room for him,\Vhen he sat down, he embraced Agathon and crowned him ; and Agathon desired the slaves to untie his sandals, that he might make a third, and recline on the same couch, ' By all means/ said Alcibiades, 'but what third companion have we here i ' And at the same time turning round and seeing Socrates, he leaped up and cried out : ' O Hercules ! what have we here ? You, Socrates, lying in ambush for me wherever I go ! and meeting me just as you always do, when I least expected to see you ! And now, what are you come here for ? Why . have you chosen to recline exactly in this place, and not near Aristophanes, 126 or any one else who is or wishes to be ridiculous, but have contrived to take your place beside the most delightful person of the whole party?' 'Aga- thon/ said Socrates, ' see if you cannot j A defend me. I declare my friendship for this man is a bad business ; from the moment that I first began to know him I have never been permitted to con- verse with, or so much as to look upon any one else. If I do, he is so jealous and suspicious that he does the most ex- travagant things, and hardly refrains from beating me. I entreat you to pre- vent him from doing anything of that kind at present. Procure a reconcilia- tion : or, if he perseveres in attempting any violence, I entreat you to defend me/ 'Indeed/ said Alcibiades/I will not be reconciled to you ; I shall find another opportunity to punish you for 127 this. But now/ said he, addressing Ag- athon, 'lend me some of those fillets, that I may crown the wonderful head of this fellow, lest I incur the blame, that having crowned you, I neglected to crown him who conquers all men with his discourses, not yesterday alone, as you did, but ever/ Saying this he took the fillets, and hav^ ing bound the head of Socrates, and again having reclined, said: 'Come, my friends,you seem to be sober enough. You must not flinch, but drink, for that was your agreement with me be- fore I came in. I choose as president, until you have drunk enough my- self.^Come, Agathon, if you have got a great goblet, fetch it out. But no mat- ter, that wine cooler will do ; bring it, boy ! ' And observing that it held more than eight cups, he first drank it off, 128 and then ordered it to be filled for Soo rates, and said : ' Observe, my friends, I cannot invent any scheme against Socrates, for he will drink as much as any one desires him, and not be in the least drunk/ Socrates, after the boy had filled up, drank it off; and Eryxima^ chus said: * Shall we then have no conversation or singing over our cups, but drink down stupidly, just as if we were thirsty?' And Alcibiades said: ' Ah, Eryximachus, I did not see you before; hail, you excellent son of a wise and excellent father!' 'Hail to you also/ replied Eryximachus, 'but what shall we do I* 'Whatever you conv mand, for we ought to submit to your directions ; a physician is worth a hmv dred common men. Command us as you please/ ' Listen then/ said Eryxi' machus ; 'before you came in, each of 129 us had agreed to deliver as eloquent a discourse as he could in praise of Love, beginning at the right hand ; all the rest of us have fulfilled our engagement ; you have not spoken, and yet have drunk with us ; you ought to bear your part in the discussion ; and having done so, command what you please to Soc- rates, who shall have the privilege of doing so to his right-hand neighbour, and so on to the others/ ' Indeed, there appears some justice in your proposal, Eryximachus, though it is rather un- fair to induce a drunken man to set his discourse in competition with that of those who are sober. And, besides, did Socrates really persuade you that what he just said about me was true, or do you not know that matters are in fact exactly the reverse of his representa- tion ? For I seriously believe that, should 130 I praise in his presence, be he god or man, any other beside himself, he would not keep his hands off me. But I assure you, Socrates, I will praise no one be^ side yourself, in your presence/ ' Do so, then/ said Eryximachus ; 'praise Socrates if you please/ 'What! 'said Alcibiades, 'shall I attack him, and pun> ish him before you all ? ' ' What have you got into your head now/ said Soc^ rates ; are you going to expose me to ridicule, and to misrepresent me ? Or what are you going to do?' 'I will only speak the truth ; will you permit me on this condition t f 'I not only per' mit, but exhort you to say all the truth you know/ replied Socrates* ' I obey you willingly/ said Alcibiades ; ' and if I advance anything untrue, do you, if you please, interrupt me, and convict me of misrepresentation, for I would never willingly speak falsely. And bear with me if I do not relate things in their order, but just as I remember them, for it is not easy for a man in my present condition to enumerate systematical' ly all your singularities. ' I will begin the praise of Socrates by comparing him to a certain statue. Per^ haps he will think that this statue is introduced for the sake of ridicule, but I assure you that it is necessary for the illustration of truth. I assert, then, that Socrates is exactly like those Silenus^ es that sit in the sculptors' shops, and which are carved holding flutes or pipes, but which, when divided in two, are found to contain withinside the im^ ages of the gods. I assert that Socrates is like the satyr Marsyas. That your form and appearance are like these sat-' yrs, I think that even you will not ven> 132 ture to deny ; and how like you are to them in all other things, now hear. Are you not scornful and petulant ? If you deny this, I will bring witnesses. Are you not a piper, and far more wonder^ ful a one than he ? For Marsyas, and whoever now pipes the music that he taught, for that music which is of heaven, and described as being taught by Marsyas, enchants men through the power of the mouth. For if any musician, be he skilful or not, awak^ ens this music, it alone enables him to retain the minds of men, and from the divinity of its nature makes evi' dent those who are in want of the Gods and initiation. You differ only from Marsyas in this circumstance, that you effect without instruments, by mere words, all that he can do. For when we hear Pericles, or any other acconv plished orator, deliver a discourse, no one, as it were, cares anything about it. But when any one hears you, or even your words related by another, though ever so rude and unskilful a speaker, be that person a woman, man, or child, we are struck and retained, as it were, by the discourse clinging to our mind. ' If I was not afraid that I am a great deal too drunk, I would confirm to you by an oath the strange effects which I assure you I have suffered from his words, and suffer still; for when I hear him speak, my heart leaps up far more than the hearts of those who celebrate the Corybantic mysteries : my tears are poured out as he talks, a thing I have seen happen to many others be^ side myself I have heard Pericles and other excellent orators, and have been pleased with their discourses, but I suf- '34 fered nothing of this kind; nor was my soul ever on those occasions disturbed and filled with self-reproach, as if it were slavishly laid prostrate. But this Marsyas here has often affected me in the way I describe, until the life which I lead seemed hardly worth living. Do not deny it, Socrates ; for I well know that if even now I chose to listen to you, I could not resist, but should again suf- fer the same effects. For, my friends, he forces me to confess that while I my- self am still in want of many things, I neglect my own necessities, and at- tend to those of the Athenians. I stop my ears, therefore, as from the Syrens, and flee away as fast as possible, that I may not sit down beside him and grow old in listening to his talk. For this man has reduced me to feel the sentiment of shame, which I imagine no one would readily believe was in me ; he aloifie inspires me with remorse and awe^JFor I feel in his presence my in^ capacity of refuting what he says, or of refusing to do that which he directs ; but when I depart from him, the gh> ry which the multitude confers over^ whelms me. I escape, therefore, and hide myself from him, and when I see him I am overwhelmed with humilia^ tion, because I have neglected to do what I have confessed to him ought to be done ; and often and often have I wished that he were no longer to be seen among men* But if that were to happen, I well know that I should suf- fer far greater pain ; so that where I can turn, or what I can do with this man, I know not. All this have I and many others suffered from the pipings of this satyr. 136 'And observe how like he is to what I said, and what a wonderful power he possesses. Know that there is not one of you who is aware of the real nature of Socrates ; but since I have begun, I will make him plain to you. You ob- serve how passionately Socrates affects the intimacy of those who are beauti- ful, and how ignorant he professes him- self to be ; appearances in themselves excessively Silenic. This, my friends, is the external form with which, like one of the sculptured Sileni, he has clothed himself; for if you open him, you will find within admirable tem- perance and wisdom. For he cares not for mere beauty, but despises more than any one can imagine all external pps- sessions,whetheritbebeauty,orwealth, or glory, or any other thing for which the multitude felicitates the possessor. He esteems these things and us who honour them, as nothing, and lives a- mong men, making all the objects of their admiration the playthings of his irony. But I know not if any one of you have ever seen the divine images which are within, when he has been opened and is serious, I have seen them, and they are so supremely beautiful, so golden, so divine, and wonderful, that everything which Socrates com' mands surely ought to be obeyed, even like the voice of a God. 'At one time we were fellow-soldiers, and had our mess together in the camp before Potidsea. Socrates there over- came not only me, but every one be- side, in endurance of toils : when, as often happens in a campaign, we were reduced to few provisions, there were none who could sustain hunger like 138 Socrates ; and when we had plenty, he alone seemed to enjoy our military fare. He never drank much willingly, but when he was compelled, he con-' quered all even in that to which he was least accustomed; and what is most as^ tonishing, no person ever saw Socra^ tes drunk either then or at any other time. In the depth of winter (and the winters there are excessively rigid) he sustained calmly incredible hardships : and amongst other things, whilst the frost was intolerably severe, and no one went out of their tents, or if they went out, wrapt themselves up carefully, and put fleeces under their feet, and bound their legs with hairy skins, Socrates went out only with the same cloak on that he usually wore, and walked bare^ foot upon the ice ; more easily, indeed, than those who had sandalled them' 139 selves so delicately : so that the soldiers thought that he did it to mock their want of fortitude. It would indeed be worth while to commemorate all that this brave man did and endured in that expedition. In one instance he was seen early in the morning standing in one place wrapt in meditation ; and as he seemed not to be able to unravel the subject of his thoughts, he still con- tinued to stand as inquiring and dis- cussing within himself, and when noon came, the soldiers observed him, and said to one another " Socrates has been standing there thinking, ever since the morning/' At last some lonians came to the spot, and having supped, as it was summer, bringing their blank- ets, they lay down to sleep in the cool ; they observed that Socrates continued to stand there the whole night until 140 morning, and that, when the sun rose, he saluted it with a prayer and de^ parted. ' I ought not to omit what Socrates is in battle. For in that battle after which the generals decreed to me the prize of courage, Socrates alone of all men was the saviour of my life, standing by me when I had fallen and was wound' ed, and preserving both myself and my arms from the hands of the enemy. On that occasion I entreated the generals to decree the prize, as it w"as most due, to him. And this, O Socrates, you can^ not deny, that while the generals, wish' ing to conciliate a person of my rank, desired to give me the prize, you were far more earnestly desirous than the generals that this glory should be at' tributed not to yourself, but me. ' But to see Socrates when our army was 141 defeated and scattered in flight at lium, was a spectacle worthy to behold. On that occasion I was among the cav- alry, and he on foot, heavily armed. After the total rout of our troops, he and Laches retreated together; I came up by chance, and seeing them, bade them be of good cheer, for that I would not leave them. As I was on horseback, and therefore less occupied by a regard of my own situation, I could better observe than at Potidsea the beautiful spectacle exhibited by Socrates on this emergency. How superior was he to Laches in presence of mind and cour^ age ! Your representation of him on the stage, O Aristophanes, was not wholly unlike his real self on this occasion, for he walked and darted his regards around with a majestic composure, looking tranquilly both on his friends and 142 mies ; so that it was evident to every one, even from afar, that whoever should venture to attack him would encounter a desperate resistance. He and his companions thus departed in safety ; for those who are scattered in flight are pursued and killed, whilst men hesitate to touch those who ex^ hibit such a countenance as that of Socrates even in defeat. 'Many other and most wonderful qualities might well be praised in Soc^ rates ; but such as these might singly be attributed to others. But that which is unparalleled in Socrates is, that he is unlike and above comparison with all other men, whether those who have lived in ancient times, or those who exist now. For it may be conjectured, that Brasidas and many others are such as was Achilles. Pericles deserves conv H3 parison with Nestor and An tenor ; and other excellent persons of various times may, with probability, be drawn into comparison with each other. But to such a singular man as this, both hinv self and his discourses are so uncom^ mon, no one, should he seek, would find a parallel among the present or the past generations of mankind; un^ less they should say that he resembled those with whom I lately compared him, for, assuredly, he and his discourses are like nothing but the Sileni and the Satyrs* At first I forgot to make you observe how like his discourses are to those Satyrs when they are opened, for, if any one will listen to the talk of Soc^ rates, it will appear to him at first extremely ridiculous ; the phrases and expressions which he employs, fold a^ round his exterior the skin, as it were, 144 of a rude and wanton Satyr. He is al- ways talking about great market-asses, and brass-founders, and leather-cut- ters, and skin-dressers ; and this is his perpetual custom, so that any dull and unobservant person might easily laugh at his discourse. But if any one should see it opened, as it were, and get with- in the sense of his words, he would then find that they alone of all that enters into the mind of man to utter, had a profound and persuasive meaning, and that they were most divine ; and that they presented to the mind innumer- able images of every excellence, and that they tended towards objects of the highest moment, or rather towards all that he who seeks the possession of what is supremely beautiful and good need regard as essential to the accom- plishment of his ambition. 145 * These are the things, my friends, for which I praise Socrates/ Alcibiades having said this, the whole party burst into a laugh at his frank> ness, and Socrates said, * You seem to be sober enough, Alcibiades, else you would not have made such a circuit of words, only to hide the main design for which you made this long speech, and which, as it were carelessly, you just throw in at the last ; now, as if you had not said all this for the mere pur^ pose of dividing me and Agathon ? You think that I ought to be your friend, and to care for no one else. I have found you out ; it is evident enough for what design you invented all this Satyrical and Silenic drama. But, my dear Ag' athon, do not let his device succeed. I entreat you to permit no one to throw discord between us/ ' No doubt/ said 146 Agathon, 'he sate down between us only that he might divide us ; but this shall not assist his scheme, for I will come and sit near you/ 'Do so/ said Socrates, 'come, there is room for you by me. ' ' Oh Jupiter ! ' exclaimed Alci' biades, ' what I endure from that man ! He thinks to subdue every way ; but, at least, I pray you, let Agathon re^ main between us/ 'Impossible/ said Socrates, 'you have just praised me ; I ought to praise him sitting at my right hand* If Agathon is placed beside you, will he not praise me before I praise him } Now, my dear friend, allow the young man to receive what praise I can give him. I have a great desire to pronounce his encomium/ 'Quick, quick, Alcibiades/ said Agathon, ' I can^ not stay here, I must change my place, or Socrates will not praise me/ athon then arose to take his place near Socrates. He had no sooner reclined than there came in a number of revellers for some one who had gone out had left the door open and took their places on the vacant couches, and everything became full of confusion ; and no order being observed, every one was obliged to drink a great quantity of wine. Eryx- imachus, and Phasdrus, and some oth' ers, said Aristodemus, went home to bed ; that, for his part, he went to sleep on his couch, and slept long and sound' ly the nights were then long until the cock crew in the morning. When he awoke he found that some were still fast asleep, and others had gone home, and that Aristophanes, Agathon, and Socrates had alone stood it out, and were still drinking out of a great gob' 148 let which they passed round and round. Socrates was disputing between them. The beginning of their discussion Ar- istodemus said that he did not recoL lect, because he was asleep ; but it was terminated by Socrates forcing them to confess, that the same person is able to compose both tragedy and comedy, and that the foundations of the tragic and comic arts were essentially the same. They, rather convicted than con- vinced, went to sleep. Aristophanes first awoke, and then, it being broad daylight, Agathon. Socrates, having put them to sleep, went away, Aristo- demus following him, and coming to the Lyceum he washed himself, as he would have done anywhere else, and after having spent the day there in his accustomed manner, went home in the evening. 149 Printed at The Riverside Press for Houghton Mifflin Company Boston and New York* Mem viii. 440 copies. 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