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    "num": 14,
    "slug": "14-phaedrus",
    "title": "Phaedrus",
    "of": 24,
    "words": 22934,
    "text": "## Phaedrus\n\n\n#### by Plato\n\n#### translated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n##### New York, C. Scribner's Sons, [1871]\n\nPERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: SOCRATES; PHAEDRUS. Scene: Under a\nplane-tree, by the banks of the Ilissus.\n\nSocrates. My dear Phaedrus, whence come you, and whither are you\ngoing?\n\nPhaedrus. I come from Lysias the son of Cephalus, and I am going\nto take a walk outside the wall, for I have been sitting with him\nthe whole morning; and our common friend Acumenus tells me that it\nis much more refreshing to walk in the open air than to be shut up\nin a cloister.\n\nSoc. There he is right. Lysias then, I suppose, was in the town?\n\nPhaedr. Yes, he was staying with Epicrates, here at the house of\nMorychus; that house which is near the temple of Olympian Zeus.\n\nSoc. And how did he entertain you? Can I be wrong in supposing\nthat Lysias gave you a feast of discourse?\n\nPhaedr. You shall hear, if you can spare time to accompany me.\n\nSoc. And should I not deem the conversation of you and Lysias \"a\nthing of higher import,\" as I may say in the words of Pindar, \"than\nany business\"?\n\nPhaedr. Will you go on?\n\nSoc. And will you go on with the narration?\n\nPhaedr. My tale, Socrates, is one of your sort, for love was the\ntheme which occupied us -love after a fashion: Lysias has been writing\nabout a fair youth who was being tempted, but not by a lover; and this\nwas the point: he ingeniously proved that the non-lover should be\naccepted rather than the lover.\n\nSoc. O that is noble of him! I wish that he would say the poor man\nrather than the rich, and the old man rather than the young one;\nthen he would meet the case of me and of many a man; his words would\nbe quite refreshing, and he would be a public benefactor. For my part,\nI do so long to hear his speech, that if you walk all the way to\nMegara, and when you have reached the wall come back, as Herodicus\nrecommends, without going in, I will keep you company.\n\nPhaedr. What do you mean, my good Socrates? How can you imagine that\nmy unpractised memory can do justice to an elaborate work, which the\ngreatest rhetorician of the age spent a long time in composing.\nIndeed, I cannot; I would give a great deal if I could.\n\nSoc. I believe that I know Phaedrus about as well as I know\nmyself, and I am very sure that the speech of Lysias was repeated to\nhim, not once only, but again and again;-he insisted on hearing it\nmany times over and Lysias was very willing to gratify him; at last,\nwhen nothing else would do, he got hold of the book, and looked at\nwhat he most wanted to see,-this occupied him during the whole\nmorning; -and then when he was tired with sitting, he went out to take\na walk, not until, by the dog, as I believe, he had simply learned\nby heart the entire discourse, unless it was unusually long, and he\nwent to a place outside the wall that he might practise his lesson.\nThere he saw a certain lover of discourse who had a similar\nweakness;-he saw and rejoiced; now thought he, \"I shall have a partner\nin my revels.\" And he invited him to come and walk with him. But\nwhen the lover of discourse begged that he would repeat the tale, he\ngave himself airs and said, \"No I cannot,\" as if he were indisposed;\nalthough, if the hearer had refused, he would sooner or later have\nbeen compelled by him to listen whether he would or no. Therefore,\nPhaedrus, bid him do at once what he will soon do whether bidden or\nnot.\n\nPhaedr. I see that you will not let me off until I speak in some\nfashion or other; verily therefore my best plan is to speak as I\nbest can.\n\nSoc. A very true remark, that of yours.\n\nPhaedr. I will do as I say; but believe me, Socrates, I did not\nlearn the very words-O no; nevertheless I have a general notion of\nwhat he said, and will give you a summary of the points in which the\nlover differed from the non-lover. Let me begin at the beginning.\n\nSoc. Yes, my sweet one; but you must first of all show what you have\nin your left hand under your cloak, for that roll, as I suspect, is\nthe actual discourse. Now, much as I love you, I would not have you\nsuppose that I am going to have your memory exercised at my expense,\nif you have Lysias himself here.\n\nPhaedr. Enough; I see that I have no hope of practising my art\nupon you. But if I am to read, where would you please to sit?\n\nSoc. Let us turn aside and go by the Ilissus; we will sit down at\nsome quiet spot.\n\nPhaedr. I am fortunate in not having my sandals, and as you never\nhave any, I think that we may go along the brook and cool our feet\nin the water; this will be the easiest way, and at midday and in the\nsummer is far from being unpleasant.\n\nSoc. Lead on, and look out for a place in which we can sit down.\n\nPhaedr. Do you see the tallest plane-tree in the distance?\n\nSoc. Yes.\n\nPhaedr. There are shade and gentle breezes, and grass on which we\nmay either sit or lie down.\n\nSoc. Move forward.\n\nPhaedr. I should like to know, Socrates, whether the place is not\nsomewhere here at which Boreas is said to have carried off Orithyia\nfrom the banks of the Ilissus?\n\nSoc. Such is the tradition.\n\nPhaedr. And is this the exact spot? The little stream is\ndelightfully clear and bright; I can fancy that there might be maidens\nplaying near.\n\nSoc. I believe that the spot is not exactly here, but about a\nquarter of a mile lower down, where you cross to the temple of\nArtemis, and there is, I think, some sort of an altar of Boreas at the\nplace.\n\nPhaedr. I have never noticed it; but I beseech you to tell me,\nSocrates, do you believe this tale?\n\nSoc. The wise are doubtful, and I should not be singular if, like\nthem, I too doubted. I might have a rational explanation that Orithyia\nwas playing with Pharmacia, when a northern gust carried her over\nthe neighbouring rocks; and this being the manner of her death, she\nwas said to have been carried away by Boreas. There is a\ndiscrepancy, however, about the locality; according to another version\nof the story she was taken from Areopagus, and not from this place.\nNow I quite acknowledge that these allegories are very nice, but he is\nnot to be envied who has to invent them; much labour and ingenuity\nwill be required of him; and when he has once begun, he must go on and\nrehabilitate Hippocentaurs and chimeras dire. Gorgons and winged\nsteeds flow in apace, and numberless other inconceivable and\nportentous natures. And if he is sceptical about them, and would\nfain reduce them one after another to the rules of probability, this\nsort of crude philosophy will take up a great deal of time. Now I have\nno leisure for such enquiries; shall I tell you why? I must first know\nmyself, as the Delphian inscription says; to be curious about that\nwhich is not my concern, while I am still in ignorance of my own self,\nwould be ridiculous. And therefore I bid farewell to all this; the\ncommon opinion is enough for me. For, as I was saying, I want to\nknow not about this, but about myself: am I a monster more complicated\nand swollen with passion than the serpent Typho, or a creature of a\ngentler and simpler sort, to whom Nature has given a diviner and\nlowlier destiny? But let me ask you, friend: have we not reached the\nplane-tree to which you were conducting us?\n\nPhaedr. Yes, this is the tree.\n\nSoc. By Here, a fair resting-place, full of summer sounds and\nscents. Here is this lofty and spreading plane-tree, and the agnus\ncast us high and clustering, in the fullest blossom and the greatest\nfragrance; and the stream which flows beneath the plane-tree is\ndeliciously cold to the feet. Judging from the ornaments and images,\nthis must be a spot sacred to Achelous and the Nymphs. How\ndelightful is the breeze:-so very sweet; and there is a sound in the\nair shrill and summerlike which makes answer to the chorus of the\ncicadae. But the greatest charm of all is the grass, like a pillow\ngently sloping to the head. My dear Phaedrus, you have been an\nadmirable guide.\n\nPhaedr. What an incomprehensible being you are, Socrates: when you\nare in the country, as you say, you really are like some stranger\nwho is led about by a guide. Do you ever cross the border? I rather\nthink that you never venture even outside the gates.\n\nSoc. Very true, my good friend; and I hope that you will excuse me\nwhen you hear the reason, which is, that I am a lover of knowledge,\nand the men who dwell in the city are my teachers, and not the trees\nor the country. Though I do indeed believe that you have found a spell\nwith which to draw me out of the city into the country, like a\nhungry cow before whom a bough or a bunch of fruit is waved. For\nonly hold up before me in like manner a book, and you may lead me\nall round Attica, and over the wide world. And now having arrived, I\nintend to lie down, and do you choose any posture in which you can\nread best. Begin.\n\nPhaedr. Listen. You know how matters stand with me; and how, as I\nconceive, this affair may be arranged for the advantage of both of us.\nAnd I maintain that I ought not to fail in my suit, because I am not\nyour lover: for lovers repent of the kindnesses which they have\nshown when their passion ceases, but to the non-lovers who are free\nand not under any compulsion, no time of repentance ever comes; for\nthey confer their benefits according to the measure of their\nability, in the way which is most conducive to their own interest.\nThen again, lovers consider how by reason of their love they have\nneglected their own concerns and rendered service to others: and\nwhen to these benefits conferred they add on the troubles which they\nhave endured, they think that they have long ago made to the beloved a\nvery ample return. But the non-lover has no such tormenting\nrecollections; he has never neglected his affairs or quarrelled with\nhis relations; he has no troubles to add up or excuse to invent; and\nbeing well rid of all these evils, why should he not freely do what\nwill gratify the beloved?\n\nIf you say that the lover is more to be esteemed, because his love\nis thought to be greater; for he is willing to say and do what is\nhateful to other men, in order to please his beloved;-that, if true,\nis only a proof that he will prefer any future love to his present,\nand will injure his old love at the pleasure of the new. And how, in a\nmatter of such infinite importance, can a man be right in trusting\nhimself to one who is afflicted with a malady which no experienced\nperson would attempt to cure, for the patient himself admits that he\nis not in his right mind, and acknowledges that he is wrong in his\nmind, but says that he is unable to control himself? And if he came to\nhis right mind, would he ever imagine that the desires were good which\nhe conceived when in his wrong mind? Once more, there are many more\nnon-lovers than lovers; and if you choose the best of the lovers,\nyou will not have many to choose from; but if from the non-lovers, the\nchoice will be larger, and you will be far more likely to find among\nthem a person who is worthy of your friendship. If public opinion be\nyour dread, and you would avoid reproach, in all probability the\nlover, who is always thinking that other men are as emulous of him\nas he is of them, will boast to some one of his successes, and make\na show of them openly in the pride of his heart;-he wants others to\nknow that his labour has not been lost; but the non-lover is more\nhis own master, and is desirous of solid good, and not of the\nopinion of mankind. Again, the lover may be generally noted or seen\nfollowing the beloved (this is his regular occupation), and whenever\nthey are observed to exchange two words they are supposed to meet\nabout some affair of love either past or in contemplation; but when\nnon-lovers meet, no one asks the reason why, because people know\nthat talking to another is natural, whether friendship or mere\npleasure be the motive.\n\nOnce more, if you fear the fickleness of friendship, consider that\nin any other case a quarrel might be a mutual calamity; but now,\nwhen you have given up what is most precious to you, you will be the\ngreater loser, and therefore, you will have more reason in being\nafraid of the lover, for his vexations are many, and he is always\nfancying that every one is leagued against him. Wherefore also he\ndebars his beloved from society; he will not have you intimate with\nthe wealthy, lest they should exceed him in wealth, or with men of\neducation, lest they should be his superiors in understanding; and\nhe is equally afraid of anybody's influence who has any other\nadvantage over himself. If he can persuade you to break with them, you\nare left without friend in the world; or if, out of a regard to your\nown interest, you have more sense than to comply with his desire,\nyou will have to quarrel with him. But those who are non-lovers, and\nwhose success in love is the reward of their merit, will not be\njealous of the companions of their beloved, and will rather hate those\nwho refuse to be his associates, thinking that their favourite is\nslighted by the latter and benefited by the former; for more love than\nhatred may be expected to come to him out of his friendship with\nothers. Many lovers too have loved the person of a youth before they\nknew his character or his belongings; so that when their passion has\npassed away, there is no knowing whether they will continue to be\nhis friends; whereas, in the case of non-lovers who were always\nfriends, the friendship is not lessened by the favours granted; but\nthe recollection of these remains with them, and is an earnest of good\nthings to come.\n\nFurther, I say that you are likely to be improved by me, whereas the\nlover will spoil you. For they praise your words and actions in a\nwrong way; partly, because they are afraid of offending you, and also,\ntheir judgment is weakened by passion. Such are the feats which love\nexhibits; he makes things painful to the disappointed which give no\npain to others; he compels the successful lover to praise what ought\nnot to give him pleasure, and therefore the beloved is to be pitied\nrather than envied. But if you listen to me, in the first place, I, in\nmy intercourse with you, shall not merely regard present enjoyment,\nbut also future advantage, being not mastered by love, but my own\nmaster; nor for small causes taking violent dislikes, but even when\nthe cause is great, slowly laying up little wrath-unintentional\noffences I shall forgive, and intentional ones I shall try to prevent;\nand these are the marks of a friendship which will last.\n\nDo you think that a lover only can be a firm friend? reflect:-if\nthis were true, we should set small value on sons, or fathers, or\nmothers; nor should we ever have loyal friends, for our love of them\narises not from passion, but from other associations. Further, if we\nought to shower favours on those who are the most eager suitors,-on\nthat principle, we ought always to do good, not to the most\nvirtuous, but to the most needy; for they are the persons who will\nbe most relieved, and will therefore be the most grateful; and when\nyou make a feast you should invite not your friend, but the beggar and\nthe empty soul; for they will love you, and attend you, and come about\nyour doors, and will be the best pleased, and the most grateful, and\nwill invoke many a blessing on your head. Yet surely you ought not\nto be granting favours to those who besiege you with prayer, but to\nthose who are best able to reward you; nor to the lover only, but to\nthose who are worthy of love; nor to those who will enjoy the bloom of\nyour youth, but to those who will share their possessions with you\nin age; nor to those who, having succeeded, will glory in their\nsuccess to others, but to those who will be modest and tell no\ntales; nor to those who care about you for a moment only, but to those\nwho will continue your friends through life; nor to those who, when\ntheir passion is over, will pick a quarrel with you, but rather to\nthose who, when the charm of youth has left you, will show their own\nvirtue. Remember what I have said; and consider yet this further\npoint: friends admonish the lover under the idea that his way of\nlife is bad, but no one of his kindred ever yet censured the\nnon-lover, or thought that he was ill-advised about his own interests.\n\n\"Perhaps you will ask me whether I propose that you should indulge\nevery non-lover. To which I reply that not even the lover would advise\nyou to indulge all lovers, for the indiscriminate favour is less\nesteemed by the rational recipient, and less easily hidden by him\nwho would escape the censure of the world. Now love ought to be for\nthe advantage of both parties, and for the injury of neither.\n\n\"I believe that I have said enough; but if there is anything more\nwhich you desire or which in your opinion needs to be supplied, ask\nand I will answer.\"\n\nNow, Socrates, what do you think? Is not the discourse excellent,\nmore especially in the matter of the language?\n\nSoc. Yes, quite admirable; the effect on me was ravishing. And\nthis I owe to you, Phaedrus, for I observed you while reading to be in\nan ecstasy, and thinking that you are more experienced in these\nmatters than I am, I followed your example, and, like you, my divine\ndarling, I became inspired with a phrenzy.\n\nPhaedr. Indeed, you are pleased to be merry.\n\nSoc. Do you mean that I am not in earnest?\n\nPhaedr. Now don't talk in that way, Socrates, but let me have your\nreal opinion; I adjure you, by Zeus, the god of friendship, to tell me\nwhether you think that any Hellene could have said more or spoken\nbetter on the same subject.\n\nSoc. Well, but are you and I expected to praise the sentiments of\nthe author, or only the clearness, and roundness, and finish, and\ntournure of the language? As to the first I willingly submit to your\nbetter judgment, for I am not worthy to form an opinion, having only\nattended to the rhetorical manner; and I was doubting whether this\ncould have been defended even by Lysias himself; I thought, though I\nspeak under correction, that he repeated himself two or three times,\neither from want of words or from want of pains; and also, he appeared\nto me ostentatiously to exult in showing how well he could say the\nsame thing in two or three ways.\n\nPhaedr. Nonsense, Socrates; what you call repetition was the\nespecial merit of the speech; for he omitted no topic of which the\nsubject rightly allowed, and I do not think that any one could have\nspoken better or more exhaustively.\n\nSoc. There I cannot go along with you. Ancient sages, men and women,\nwho have spoken and written of these things, would rise up in judgment\nagainst me, if out of complaisance I assented to you.\n\nPhaedr. Who are they, and where did you hear anything better than\nthis?\n\nSoc. I am sure that I must have heard; but at this moment I do not\nremember from whom; perhaps from Sappho the fair, or Anacreon the\nwise; or, possibly, from a prose writer. Why do I say so? Why, because\nI perceive that my bosom is full, and that I could make another speech\nas good as that of Lysias, and different. Now I am certain that this\nis not an invention of my own, who am well aware that I know\nnothing, and therefore I can only infer that I have been filled\nthrough the cars, like a pitcher, from the waters of another, though I\nhave actually forgotten in my stupidity who was my informant.\n\nPhaedr. That is grand:-but never mind where you beard the\ndiscourse or from whom; let that be a mystery not to be divulged\neven at my earnest desire. Only, as you say, promise to make another\nand better oration, equal in length and entirely new, on the same\nsubject; and I, like the nine Archons, will promise to set up a golden\nimage at Delphi, not only of myself, but of you, and as large as life.\n\nSoc. You are a dear golden ass if you suppose me to mean that Lysias\nhas altogether missed the mark, and that I can make a speech from\nwhich all his arguments are to be excluded. The worst of authors\nwill say something which is to the point. Who, for example, could\nspeak on this thesis of yours without praising the discretion of the\nnon-lover and blaming the indiscretion of the lover? These are the\ncommonplaces of the subject which must come in (for what else is there\nto be said?) and must be allowed and excused; the only merit is in the\narrangement of them, for there can be none in the invention; but\nwhen you leave the commonplaces, then there may be some originality.\n\nPhaedr. I admit that there is reason in what you say, and I too will\nbe reasonable, and will allow you to start with the premiss that the\nlover is more disordered in his wits than the non-lover; if in what\nremains you make a longer and better speech than Lysias, and use other\narguments, then I say again, that a statue you shall have of beaten\ngold, and take your place by the colossal offerings of the Cypselids\nat Olympia.\n\nSoc. How profoundly in earnest is the lover, because to tease him\nI lay a finger upon his love! And so, Phaedrus, you really imagine\nthat I am going to improve upon the ingenuity of Lysias?\n\nPhaedr. There I have you as you had me, and you must just speak\n\"as you best can.\" Do not let us exchange \"tu quoque\" as in a farce,\nor compel me to say to you as you said to me, \"I know Socrates as well\nas I know myself, and he was wanting to, speak, but he gave himself\nairs.\" Rather I would have you consider that from this place we stir\nnot until you have unbosomed yourself of the speech; for here are we\nall alone, and I am stronger, remember, and younger than you-Wherefore\nperpend, and do not compel me to use violence.\n\nSoc. But, my sweet Phaedrus, how ridiculous it would be of me to\ncompete with Lysias in an extempore speech! He is a master in his\nart and I am an untaught man.\n\nPhaedr. You see how matters stand; and therefore let there be no\nmore pretences; for, indeed, I know the word that is irresistible.\n\nSoc. Then don't say it.\n\nPhaedr. Yes, but I will; and my word shall be an oath. \"I say, or\nrather swear\"-but what god will be witness of my oath?-\"By this\nplane-tree I swear, that unless you repeat the discourse here in the\nface of this very plane-tree, I will never tell you another; never let\nyou have word of another!\"\n\nSoc. Villain I am conquered; the poor lover of discourse has no more\nto say.\n\nPhaedr. Then why are you still at your tricks?\n\nSoc. I am not going to play tricks now that you have taken the oath,\nfor I cannot allow myself to be starved.\n\nPhaedr. Proceed.\n\nSoc. Shall I tell you what I will do?\n\nPhaedr. What?\n\nSoc. I will veil my face and gallop through the discourse as fast as\nI can, for if I see you I shall feel ashamed and not know what to say.\n\nPhaedr. Only go on and you may do anything else which you please.\n\nSoc. Come, O ye Muses, melodious, as ye are called, whether you have\nreceived this name from the character of your strains, or because\nthe Melians are a musical race, help, O help me in the tale which my\ngood friend here desires me to rehearse, in order that his friend whom\nhe always deemed wise may seem to him to be wiser than ever.\n\nOnce upon a time there was a fair boy, or, more properly speaking, a\nyouth; he was very fair and had a great many lovers; and there was one\nspecial cunning one, who had persuaded the youth that he did not\nlove him, but he really loved him all the same; and one day when he\nwas paying his addresses to him, he used this very argument-that he\nought to accept the non-lover rather than the lover; his words were as\nfollows:-\n\n\"All good counsel begins in the same way; a man should know what\nhe is advising about, or his counsel will all come to nought. But\npeople imagine that they know about the nature of things, when they\ndon't know about them, and, not having come to an understanding at\nfirst because they think that they know, they end, as might be\nexpected, in contradicting one another and themselves. Now you and I\nmust not be guilty of this fundamental error which we condemn in\nothers; but as our question is whether the lover or non-lover is to be\npreferred, let us first of all agree in defining the nature and\npower of love, and then, keeping our eyes upon the definition and to\nthis appealing, let us further enquire whether love brings advantage\nor disadvantage.\n\n\"Every one sees that love is a desire, and we know also that\nnon-lovers desire the beautiful and good. Now in what way is the lover\nto be distinguished from the non-lover? Let us note that in every\none of us there are two guiding and ruling principles which lead us\nwhither they will; one is the natural desire of pleasure, the other is\nan acquired opinion which aspires after the best; and these two are\nsometimes in harmony and then again at war, and sometimes the one,\nsometimes the other conquers. When opinion by the help of reason leads\nus to the best, the conquering principle is called temperance; but\nwhen desire, which is devoid of reason, rules in us and drags us to\npleasure, that power of misrule is called excess. Now excess has\nmany names, and many members, and many forms, and any of these forms\nwhen very marked gives a name, neither honourable nor creditable, to\nthe bearer of the name. The desire of eating, for example, which\ngets the better of the higher reason and the other desires, is\ncalled gluttony, and he who is possessed by it is called a glutton-I\nthe tyrannical desire of drink, which inclines the possessor of the\ndesire to drink, has a name which is only too obvious, and there can\nbe as little doubt by what name any other appetite of the same\nfamily would be called;-it will be the name of that which happens to\nbe eluminant. And now I think that you will perceive the drift of my\ndiscourse; but as every spoken word is in a manner plainer than the\nunspoken, I had better say further that the irrational desire which\novercomes the tendency of opinion towards right, and is led away to\nthe enjoyment of beauty, and especially of personal beauty, by the\ndesires which are her own kindred-that supreme desire, I say, which by\nleading conquers and by the force of passion is reinforced, from\nthis very force, receiving a name, is called love.\"\n\nAnd now, dear Phaedrus, I shall pause for an instant to ask\nwhether you do not think me, as I appear to myself, inspired?\n\nPhaedr. Yes, Socrates, you seem to have a very unusual flow of\nwords.\n\nSoc. Listen to me, then, in silence; for surely the place is holy;\nso that you must not wonder, if, as I proceed, I appear to be in a\ndivine fury, for already I am getting into dithyrambics.\n\nPhaedr. Nothing can be truer.\n\nSoc. The responsibility rests with you. But hear what follows, and\nPerhaps the fit may be averted; all is in their hands above. I will go\non talking to my youth. Listen:\n\nThus, my friend, we have declared and defined the nature of the\nsubject. Keeping the definition in view, let us now enquire what\nadvantage or disadvantage is likely to ensue from the lover or the\nnon-lover to him who accepts their advances.\n\nHe who is the victim of his passions and the slave of pleasure\nwill of course desire to make his beloved as agreeable to himself as\npossible. Now to him who has a mind discased anything is agreeable\nwhich is not opposed to him, but that which is equal or superior is\nhateful to him, and therefore the lover Will not brook any superiority\nor equality on the part of his beloved; he is always employed in\nreducing him to inferiority. And the ignorant is the inferior of the\nwise, the coward of the brave, the slow of speech of the speaker,\nthe dull of the clever. These, and not these only, are the mental\ndefects of the beloved;-defects which, when implanted by nature, are\nnecessarily a delight to the lover, and when not implanted, he must\ncontrive to implant them in him, if he would not be deprived of his\nfleeting joy. And therefore he cannot help being jealous, and will\ndebar his beloved from the advantages of society which would make a\nman of him, and especially from that society which would have given\nhim wisdom, and thereby he cannot fail to do him great harm. That is\nto say, in his excessive fear lest he should come to be despised in\nhis eyes he will be compelled to banish from him divine philosophy;\nand there is no greater injury which he can inflict upon him than\nthis. He will contrive that his beloved shall be wholly ignorant,\nand in everything shall look to him; he is to be the delight of the\nlover's heart, and a curse to himself. Verily, a lover is a profitable\nguardian and associate for him in all that relates to his mind.\n\nLet us next see how his master, whose law of life is pleasure and\nnot good, will keep and train the body of his servant. Will he not\nchoose a beloved who is delicate rather than sturdy and strong? One\nbrought up in shady bowers and not in the bright sun, a stranger to\nmanly exercises and the sweat of toil, accustomed only to a soft and\nluxurious diet, instead of the hues of health having the colours of\npaint and ornament, and the rest of a piece?-such a life as any one\ncan imagine and which I need not detail at length. But I may sum up\nall that I have to say in a word, and pass on. Such a person in war,\nor in any of the great crises of life, will be the anxiety of his\nfriends and also of his lover, and certainly not the terror of his\nenemies; which nobody can deny.\n\nAnd now let us tell what advantage or disadvantage the beloved\nwill receive from the guardianship and society of his lover in the\nmatter of his property; this is the next point to be considered. The\nlover will be the first to see what, indeed, will be sufficiently\nevident to all men, that he desires above all things to deprive his\nbeloved of his dearest and best and holiest possessions, father,\nmother, kindred, friends, of all whom he thinks may be hinderers or\nreprovers of their most sweet converse; he will even cast a jealous\neye upon his gold and silver or other property, because these make him\na less easy prey, and when caught less manageable; hence he is of\nnecessity displeased at his possession of them and rejoices at their\nloss; and he would like him to be wifeless, childless, homeless, as\nwell; and the longer the better, for the longer he is all this, the\nlonger he will enjoy him.\n\nThere are some soft of animals, such as flatterers, who are\ndangerous and, mischievous enough, and yet nature has mingled a\ntemporary pleasure and grace in their composition. You may say that\na courtesan is hurtful, and disapprove of such creatures and their\npractices, and yet for the time they are very pleasant. But the\nlover is not only hurtful to his love; he is also an extremely\ndisagreeable companion. The old proverb says that \"birds of a\nfeather flock together\"; I suppose that equality of years inclines\nthem to the same pleasures, and similarity begets friendship; yet\nyou may have more than enough even of this; and verily constraint is\nalways said to be grievous. Now the lover is not only unlike his\nbeloved, but he forces himself upon him. For he is old and his love is\nyoung, and neither day nor night will he leave him if he can help;\nnecessity and the sting of desire drive him on, and allure him with\nthe pleasure which he receives from seeing, hearing, touching,\nperceiving him in every way. And therefore he is delighted to fasten\nupon him and to minister to him. But what pleasure or consolation\ncan the beloved be receiving all this time? Must he not feel the\nextremity of disgust when he looks at an old shrivelled face and the\nremainder to match, which even in a description is disagreeable, and\nquite detestable when he is forced into daily contact with his\nlover; moreover he is jealously watched and guarded against everything\nand everybody, and has to hear misplaced and exaggerated praises of\nhimself, and censures equally inappropriate, which are intolerable\nwhen the man is sober, and, besides being intolerable, are published\nall over the world in all their indelicacy and wearisomeness when he\nis drunk.\n\nAnd not only while his love continues is he mischievous and\nunpleasant, but when his love ceases he becomes a perfidious enemy\nof him on whom he showered his oaths and prayers and promises, and yet\ncould hardly prevail upon him to tolerate the tedium of his company\neven from motives of interest. The hour of payment arrives, and now he\nis the servant of another master; instead of love and infatuation,\nwisdom and temperance are his bosom's lords; but the beloved has not\ndiscovered the change which has taken place in him, when he asks for a\nreturn and recalls to his recollection former sayings and doings; he\nbelieves himself to be speaking to the same person, and the other, not\nhaving the courage to confess the truth, and not knowing how to fulfil\nthe oaths and promises which he made when under the dominion of folly,\nand having now grown wise and temperate, does not want to do as he did\nor to be as he was before. And so he runs away and is constrained to\nbe a defaulter; the oyster-shell has fallen with the other side\nuppermost-he changes pursuit into flight, while the other is compelled\nto follow him with passion and imprecation not knowing that he ought\nnever from the first to have accepted a demented lover instead of a\nsensible non-lover; and that in making such a choice he was giving\nhimself up to a faithless, morose, envious, disagreeable being,\nhurtful to his estate, hurtful to his bodily health, and still more\nhurtful to the cultivation of his mind, than which there neither is\nnor ever will be anything more honoured in the eyes both of gods and\nmen. Consider this, fair youth, and know that in the friendship of the\nlover there is no real kindness; he has an appetite and wants to\nfeed upon you:\n\nAs wolves love lambs so lovers love their loves.\n\nBut I told you so, I am speaking in verse, and therefore I had\nbetter make an end; enough.\n\nPhaedr. I thought that you were only halfway and were going to\nmake a similar speech about all the advantages of accepting the\nnon-lover. Why do you not proceed?\n\nSoc. Does not your simplicity observe that I have got out of\ndithyrambics into heroics, when only uttering a censure on the\nlover? And if I am to add the praises of the non-lover, what will\nbecome of me? Do you not perceive that I am already overtaken by the\nNymphs to whom you have mischievously exposed me? And therefore will\nonly add that the non-lover has all the advantages in which the\nlover is accused of being deficient. And now I will say no more; there\nhas been enough of both of them. Leaving the tale to its fate, I\nwill cross the river and make the best of my way home, lest a worse\nthing be inflicted upon me by you.\n\nPhaedr. Not yet, Socrates; not until the heat of the day has passed;\ndo you not see that the hour is almost noon? there is the midday sun\nstanding still, as people say, in the meridian. Let us rather stay and\ntalk over what has been said, and then return in the cool.\n\nSoc. Your love of discourse, Phaedrus, is superhuman, simply\nmarvellous, and I do not believe that there is any one of your\ncontemporaries who has either made or in one way or another has\ncompelled others to make an equal number of speeches. I would except\nSimmias the Theban, but all the rest are far behind you. And now, I do\nverily believe that you have been the cause of another.\n\nPhaedr. That is good news. But what do you mean?\n\nSoc. I mean to say that as I was about to cross the stream the usual\nsign was given to me,-that sign which always forbids, but never\nbids, me to do anything which I am going to do; and I thought that I\nheard a voice saying in my car that I had been guilty of impiety, and.\nthat I must not go away until I had made an atonement. Now I am a\ndiviner, though not a very good one, but I have enough religion for my\nown use, as you might say of a bad writer-his writing is good enough\nfor him; and I am beginning to see that I was in error. O my friend,\nhow prophetic is the human soul! At the time I had a sort of\nmisgiving, and, like Ibycus, \"I was troubled; I feared that I might be\nbuying honour from men at the price of sinning against the gods.\"\nNow I recognize my error.\n\nPhaedr. What error?\n\nSoc. That was a dreadful speech which you brought with you, and\nyou made me utter one as bad.\n\nPhaedr. How so?\n\nSoc. It was foolish, I say,-to a certain extent, impious; can\nanything be more dreadful?\n\nPhaedr. Nothing, if the speech was really such as you describe.\n\nSoc. Well, and is not Eros the son of Aphrodite, and a god?\n\nPhaedr. So men say.\n\nSoc. But that was not acknowledged by Lysias in his speech, nor by\nyou in that other speech which you by a charm drew from my lips. For\nif love be, as he surely is, a divinity, he cannot be evil. Yet this\nwas the error of both the speeches. There was also a simplicity\nabout them which was refreshing; having no truth or honesty in them,\nnevertheless they pretended to be something, hoping to succeed in\ndeceiving the manikins of earth and gain celebrity among them.\nWherefore I must have a purgation. And I bethink me of an ancient\npurgation of mythological error which was devised, not by Homer, for\nhe never had the wit to discover why he was blind, but by Stesichorus,\nwho was a philosopher and knew the reason why; and therefore, when\nhe lost his eyes, for that was the penalty which was inflicted upon\nhim for reviling the lovely Helen, he at once purged himself. And\nthe purgation was a recantation, which began thus,-\n\nFalse is that word of mine-the truth is that thou didst not embark\nin ships, nor ever go to the walls of Troy;\n\nand when he had completed his poem, which is called \"the recantation,\"\nimmediately his sight returned to him. Now I will be wiser than either\nStesichorus or Homer, in that I am going to make my recantation for\nreviling love before I suffer; and this I will attempt, not as before,\nveiled and ashamed, but with forehead bold and bare.\n\nPhaedr. Nothing could be more agreeable to me than to hear you say\nso.\n\nSoc. Only think, my good Phaedrus, what an utter want of delicacy\nwas shown in the two discourses; I mean, in my own and in that which\nyou recited out of the book. Would not any one who was himself of a\nnoble and gentle nature, and who loved or ever had loved a nature like\nhis own, when we tell of the petty causes of lovers' jealousies, and\nof their exceeding animosities, and of the injuries which they do to\ntheir beloved, have imagined that our ideas of love were taken from\nsome haunt of sailors to which good manners were unknown-he would\ncertainly never have admitted the justice of our censure?\n\nPhaedr. I dare say not, Socrates.\n\nSoc. Therefore, because I blush at the thought of this person, and\nalso because I am afraid of Love himself, I desire to wash the brine\nout of my ears with water from the spring; and I would counsel\nLysias not to delay, but to write another discourse, which shall prove\nthat ceteris paribus the lover ought to be accepted rather than the\nnon-lover.\n\nPhaedr. Be assured that he shall. You shall speak the praises of the\nlover, and Lysias shall be compelled by me to write another\ndiscourse on the same theme.\n\nSoc. You will be true to your nature in that, and therefore I\nbelieve you.\n\nPhaedr. Speak, and fear not.\n\nSoc. But where is the fair youth whom I was addressing before, and\nwho ought to listen now; lest, if he hear me not, he should accept a\nnon-lover before he knows what he is doing?\n\nPhaedr. He is close at hand, and always at your service.\n\nSoc. Know then, fair youth, that the former discourse was the word\nof Phaedrus, the son of Vain Man, who dwells in the city of Myrrhina\n(Myrrhinusius). And this which I am about to utter is the\nrecantation of Stesichorus the son of Godly Man (Euphemus), who\ncomes from the town of Desire (Himera), and is to the following\neffect: \"I told a lie when I said\" that the beloved ought to accept\nthe non-lover when he might have the lover, because the one is sane,\nand the other mad. It might be so if madness were simply an evil;\nbut there is also a madness which is a divine gift, and the source\nof the chiefest blessings granted to men. For prophecy is a madness,\nand the prophetess at Delphi and the priestesses at Dodona when out of\ntheir senses have conferred great benefits on Hellas, both in public\nand private life, but when in their senses few or none. And I might\nalso tell you how the Sibyl and other inspired persons have given to\nmany an one many an intimation of the future which has saved them from\nfalling. But it would be tedious to speak of what every one knows.\n\nThere will be more reason in appealing to the ancient inventors of\nnames, who would never have connected prophecy (mantike) which\nforetells the future and is the noblest of arts, with madness\n(manike), or called them both by the same name, if they had deemed\nmadness to be a disgrace or dishonour;-they must have thought that\nthere was an inspired madness which was a noble thing; for the two\nwords, mantike and manike, are really the same, and the letter t is\nonly a modern and tasteless insertion. And this is confirmed by the\nname which was given by them to the rational investigation of\nfuturity, whether made by the help of birds or of other signs-this,\nfor as much as it is an art which supplies from the reasoning\nfaculty mind (nous) and information (istoria) to human thought\n(oiesis) they originally termed oionoistike, but the word has been\nlately altered and made sonorous by the modern introduction of the\nletter Omega (oionoistike and oionistike), and in proportion\nprophecy (mantike) is more perfect and august than augury, both in\nname and fact, in the same proportion, as the ancients testify, is\nmadness superior to a sane mind (sophrosune) for the one is only of\nhuman, but the other of divine origin. Again, where plagues and\nmightiest woes have bred in certain families, owing to some ancient\nblood-guiltiness, there madness has entered with holy prayers and\nrites, and by inspired utterances found a way of deliverance for those\nwho are in need; and he who has part in this gift, and is truly\npossessed and duly out of his mind, is by the use of purifications and\nmysteries made whole and except from evil, future as well as\npresent, and has a release from the calamity which was afflicting him.\nThe third kind is the madness of those who are possessed by the Muses;\nwhich taking hold of a delicate and virgin soul, and there inspiring\nfrenzy, awakens lyrical and all other numbers; with these adorning the\nmyriad actions of ancient heroes for the instruction of posterity. But\nhe who, having no touch of the Muses' madness in his soul, comes to\nthe door and thinks that he will get into the temple by the help of\nart-he, I say, and his poetry are not admitted; the sane man\ndisappears and is nowhere when he enters into rivalry with the madman.\n\nI might tell of many other noble deeds which have sprung from\ninspired madness. And therefore, let no one frighten or flutter us\nby saying that the temperate friend is to be chosen rather than the\ninspired, but let him further show that love is not sent by the gods\nfor any good to lover or beloved; if he can do so we will allow him to\ncarry off the palm. And we, on our part, will prove in answer to him\nthat the madness of love is the greatest of heaven's blessings, and\nthe proof shall be one which the wise will receive, and the witling\ndisbelieve. But first of all, let us view the affections and actions\nof the soul divine and human, and try to ascertain the truth about\nthem. The beginning of our proof is as follows:-\n\nThe soul through all her being is immortal, for that which is ever\nin motion is immortal; but that which moves another and is moved by\nanother, in ceasing to move ceases also to live. Only the self-moving,\nnever leaving self, never ceases to move, and is the fountain and\nbeginning of motion to all that moves besides. Now, the beginning is\nunbegotten, for that which is begotten has a beginning; but the\nbeginning is begotten of nothing, for if it were begotten of\nsomething, then the begotten would not come from a beginning. But if\nunbegotten, it must also be indestructible; for if beginning were\ndestroyed, there could be no beginning out of anything, nor anything\nout of a beginning; and all things must have a beginning. And\ntherefore the self-moving is the beginning of motion; and this can\nneither be destroyed nor begotten, else the whole heavens and all\ncreation would collapse and stand still, and never again have motion\nor birth. But if the self-moving is proved to be immortal, he who\naffirms that self-motion is the very idea and essence of the soul will\nnot be put to confusion. For the body which is moved from without is\nsoulless; but that which is moved from within has a soul, for such\nis the nature of the soul. But if this be true, must not the soul be\nthe self-moving, and therefore of necessity unbegotten and immortal?\nEnough of the soul's immortality.\n\nOf the nature of the soul, though her true form be ever a theme of\nlarge and more than mortal discourse, let me speak briefly, and in a\nfigure. And let the figure be composite-a pair of winged horses and\na charioteer. Now the winged horses and the charioteers of the gods\nare all of them noble and of noble descent, but those of other races\nare mixed; the human charioteer drives his in a pair; and one of\nthem is noble and of noble breed, and the other is ignoble and of\nignoble breed; and the driving of them of necessity gives a great deal\nof trouble to him. I will endeavour to explain to you in what way\nthe mortal differs from the immortal creature. The soul in her\ntotality has the care of inanimate being everywhere, and traverses the\nwhole heaven in divers forms appearing--when perfect and fully\nwinged she soars upward, and orders the whole world; whereas the\nimperfect soul, losing her wings and drooping in her flight at last\nsettles on the solid ground-there, finding a home, she receives an\nearthly frame which appears to be self-moved, but is really moved by\nher power; and this composition of soul and body is called a living\nand mortal creature. For immortal no such union can be reasonably\nbelieved to be; although fancy, not having seen nor surely known the\nnature of God, may imagine an immortal creature having both a body and\nalso a soul which are united throughout all time. Let that, however,\nbe as God wills, and be spoken of acceptably to him. And now let us\nask the reason why the soul loses her wings!\n\nThe wing is the corporeal element which is most akin to the\ndivine, and which by nature tends to soar aloft and carry that which\ngravitates downwards into the upper region, which is the habitation of\nthe gods. The divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and the like; and by\nthese the wing of the soul is nourished, and grows apace; but when fed\nupon evil and foulness and the opposite of good, wastes and falls\naway. Zeus, the mighty lord, holding the reins of a winged chariot,\nleads the way in heaven, ordering all and taking care of all; and\nthere follows him the array of gods and demigods, marshalled in eleven\nbands; Hestia alone abides at home in the house of heaven; of the rest\nthey who are reckoned among the princely twelve march in their\nappointed order. They see many blessed sights in the inner heaven, and\nthere are many ways to and fro, along which the blessed gods are\npassing, every one doing his own work; he may follow who will and can,\nfor jealousy has no place in the celestial choir. But when they go\nto banquet and festival, then they move up the steep to the top of the\nvault of heaven. The chariots of the gods in even poise, obeying the\nrein, glide rapidly; but the others labour, for the vicious steed goes\nheavily, weighing down the charioteer to the earth when his steed\nhas not been thoroughly trained:-and this is the hour of agony and\nextremest conflict for the soul. For the immortals, when they are at\nthe end of their course, go forth and stand upon the outside of\nheaven, and the revolution of the spheres carries them round, and they\nbehold the things beyond. But of the heaven which is above the\nheavens, what earthly poet ever did or ever will sing worthily? It\nis such as I will describe; for I must dare to speak the truth, when\ntruth is my theme. There abides the very being with which true\nknowledge is concerned; the colourless, formless, intangible\nessence, visible only to mind, the pilot of the soul. The divine\nintelligence, being nurtured upon mind and pure knowledge, and the\nintelligence of every soul which is capable of receiving the food\nproper to it, rejoices at beholding reality, and once more gazing upon\ntruth, is replenished and made glad, until the revolution of the\nworlds brings her round again to the same place. In the revolution she\nbeholds justice, and temperance, and knowledge absolute, not in the\nform of generation or of relation, which men call existence, but\nknowledge absolute in existence absolute; and beholding the other true\nexistences in like manner, and feasting upon them, she passes down\ninto the interior of the heavens and returns home; and there the\ncharioteer putting up his horses at the stall, gives them ambrosia\nto eat and nectar to drink.\n\nSuch is the life of the gods; but of other souls, that which follows\nGod best and is likest to him lifts the head of the charioteer into\nthe outer world, and is carried round in the revolution, troubled\nindeed by the steeds, and with difficulty beholding true being;\nwhile another only rises and falls, and sees, and again fails to see\nby reason of the unruliness of the steeds. The rest of the souls are\nalso longing after the upper world and they all follow, but not\nbeing strong enough they are carried round below the surface,\nplunging, treading on one another, each striving to be first; and\nthere is confusion and perspiration and the extremity of effort; and\nmany of them are lamed or have their wings broken through the\nill-driving of the charioteers; and all of them after a fruitless\ntoil, not having attained to the mysteries of true being, go away, and\nfeed upon opinion. The reason why the souls exhibit this exceeding\neagerness to behold the plain of truth is that pasturage is found\nthere, which is suited to the highest part of the soul; and the wing\non which the soul soars is nourished with this. And there is a law\nof Destiny, that the soul which attains any vision of truth in company\nwith a god is preserved from harm until the next period, and if\nattaining always is always unharmed. But when she is unable to follow,\nand fails to behold the truth, and through some ill-hap sinks\nbeneath the double load of forgetfulness and vice, and her wings\nfall from her and she drops to the ground, then the law ordains that\nthis soul shall at her first birth pass, not into any other animal,\nbut only into man; and the soul which has seen most of truth shall\ncome to the birth as a philosopher, or artist, or some musical and\nloving nature; that which has seen truth in the second degree shall be\nsome righteous king or warrior chief; the soul which is of the third\nclass shall be a politician, or economist, or trader; the fourth shall\nbe lover of gymnastic toils, or a physician; the fifth shall lead\nthe life of a prophet or hierophant; to the sixth the character of\npoet or some other imitative artist will be assigned; to the seventh\nthe life of an artisan or husbandman; to the eighth that of a\nsophist or demagogue; to the ninth that of a tyrant-all these are\nstates of probation, in which he who does righteously improves, and he\nwho does unrighteously, improves, and he who does unrighteously,\ndeteriorates his lot.\n\nTen thousand years must elapse before the soul of each one can\nreturn to the place from whence she came, for she cannot grow her\nwings in less; only the soul of a philosopher, guileless and true,\nor the soul of a lover, who is not devoid of philosophy, may acquire\nwings in the third of the recurring periods of a thousand years; he is\ndistinguished from the ordinary good man who gains wings in three\nthousand years:-and they who choose this life three times in\nsuccession have wings given them, and go away at the end of three\nthousand years. But the others receive judgment when they have\ncompleted their first life, and after the judgment they go, some of\nthem to the houses of correction which are under the earth, and are\npunished; others to some place in heaven whither they are lightly\nborne by justice, and there they live in a manner worthy of the life\nwhich they led here when in the form of men. And at the end of the\nfirst thousand years the good souls and also the evil souls both\ncome to draw lots and choose their second life, and they may take\nany which they please. The soul of a man may pass into the life of a\nbeast, or from the beast return again into the man. But the soul which\nhas never seen the truth will not pass into the human form. For a\nman must have intelligence of universals, and be able to proceed\nfrom the many particulars of sense to one conception of reason;-this\nis the recollection of those things which our soul once saw while\nfollowing God-when regardless of that which we now call being she\nraised her head up towards the true being. And therefore the mind of\nthe philosopher alone has wings; and this is just, for he is always,\naccording to the measure of his abilities, clinging in recollection to\nthose things in which God abides, and in beholding which He is what He\nis. And he who employs aright these memories is ever being initiated\ninto perfect mysteries and alone becomes truly perfect. But, as he\nforgets earthly interests and is rapt in the divine, the vulgar deem\nhim mad, and rebuke him; they do not see that he is inspired.\n\nThus far I have been speaking of the fourth and last kind of\nmadness, which is imputed to him who, when he sees the beauty of\nearth, is transported with the recollection of the true beauty; he\nwould like to fly away, but he cannot; he is like a bird fluttering\nand looking upward and careless of the world below; and he is\ntherefore thought to be mad. And I have shown this of all inspirations\nto be the noblest and highest and the offspring of the highest to\nhim who has or shares in it, and that he who loves the beautiful is\ncalled a lover because he partakes of it. For, as has been already\nsaid, every soul of man has in the way of nature beheld true being;\nthis was the condition of her passing into the form of man. But all\nsouls do not easily recall the things of the other world; they may\nhave seen them for a short time only, or they may have been\nunfortunate in their earthly lot, and, having had their hearts\nturned to unrighteousness through some corrupting influence, they\nmay have lost the memory of the holy things which once they saw. Few\nonly retain an adequate remembrance of them; and they, when they\nbehold here any image of that other world, are rapt in amazement;\nbut they are ignorant of what this rapture means, because they do\nnot clearly perceive. For there is no light of justice or temperance\nor any of the higher ideas which are precious to souls in the\nearthly copies of them: they are seen through a glass dimly; and there\nare few who, going to the images, behold in them the realities, and\nthese only with difficulty. There was a time when with the rest of the\nhappy band they saw beauty shining in brightness-we philosophers\nfollowing in the train of Zeus, others in company with other gods; and\nthen we beheld the beatific vision and were initiated into a mystery\nwhich may be truly called most blessed, celebrated by us in our\nstate of innocence, before we had any experience of evils to come,\nwhen we were admitted to the sight of apparitions innocent and\nsimple and calm and happy, which we beheld shining impure light,\npure ourselves and not yet enshrined in that living tomb which we\ncarry about, now that we are imprisoned in the body, like an oyster in\nhis shell. Let me linger over the memory of scenes which have passed\naway.\n\nBut of beauty, I repeat again that we saw her there shining in\ncompany with the celestial forms; and coming to earth we find her here\ntoo, shining in clearness through the clearest aperture of sense.\nFor sight is the most piercing of our bodily senses; though not by\nthat is wisdom seen; her loveliness would have been transporting if\nthere had been a visible image of her, and the other ideas, if they\nhad visible counterparts, would be equally lovely. But this is the\nprivilege of beauty, that being the loveliest she is also the most\npalpable to sight. Now he who is not newly initiated or who has become\ncorrupted, does not easily rise out of this world to the sight of true\nbeauty in the other; he looks only at her earthly namesake, and\ninstead of being awed at the sight of her, he is given over to\npleasure, and like a brutish beast he rushes on to enjoy and beget; he\nconsorts with wantonness, and is not afraid or ashamed of pursuing\npleasure in violation of nature. But he whose initiation is recent,\nand who has been the spectator of many glories in the other world,\nis amazed when he sees any one having a godlike face or form, which is\nthe expression of divine beauty; and at first a shudder runs through\nhim, and again the old awe steals over him; then looking upon the face\nof his beloved as of a god he reverences him, and if he were not\nafraid of being thought a downright madman, he would sacrifice to\nhis beloved as to the image of a god; then while he gazes on him there\nis a sort of reaction, and the shudder passes into an unusual heat and\nperspiration; for, as he receives the effluence of beauty through\nthe eyes, the wing moistens and he warms. And as he warms, the parts\nout of which the wing grew, and which had been hitherto closed and\nrigid, and had prevented the wing from shooting forth, are melted, and\nas nourishment streams upon him, the lower end of the wings begins\nto swell and grow from the root upwards; and the growth extends\nunder the whole soul-for once the whole was winged.\n\nDuring this process the whole soul is all in a state of ebullition\nand effervescence,-which may be compared to the irritation and\nuneasiness in the gums at the time of cutting teeth,-bubbles up, and\nhas a feeling of uneasiness and tickling; but when in like manner\nthe soul is beginning to grow wings, the beauty of the beloved meets\nher eye and she receives the sensible warm motion of particles which\nflow towards her, therefore called emotion (imeros), and is\nrefreshed and warmed by them, and then she ceases from her pain with\njoy. But when she is parted from her beloved and her moisture fails,\nthen the orifices of the passage out of which the wing shoots dry up\nand close, and intercept the germ of the wing; which, being shut up\nwith the emotion, throbbing as with the pulsations of an artery,\npricks the aperture which is nearest, until at length the entire\nsoul is pierced and maddened and pained, and at the recollection of\nbeauty is again delighted. And from both of them together the soul\nis oppressed at the strangeness of her condition, and is in a great\nstrait and excitement, and in her madness can neither sleep by night\nnor abide in her place by day. And wherever she thinks that she will\nbehold the beautiful one, thither in her desire she runs. And when she\nhas seen him, and bathed herself in the waters of beauty, her\nconstraint is loosened, and she is refreshed, and has no more pangs\nand pains; and this is the sweetest of all pleasures at the time,\nand is the reason why the soul of the lover will never forsake his\nbeautiful one, whom he esteems above all; he has forgotten mother\nand brethren and companions, and he thinks nothing of the neglect\nand loss of his property; the rules and proprieties of life, on\nwhich he formerly prided himself, he now despises, and is ready to\nsleep like a servant, wherever he is allowed, as near as he can to his\ndesired one, who is the object of his worship, and the physician who\ncan alone assuage the greatness of his pain. And this state, my dear\nimaginary youth to whom I am talking, is by men called love, and among\nthe gods has a name at which you, in your simplicity, may be\ninclined to mock; there are two lines in the apocryphal writings of\nHomer in which the name occurs. One of them is rather outrageous,\nand not altogether metrical. They are as follows:\n\nMortals call him fluttering love,\n\nBut the immortals call him winged one,\n\nBecause the growing of wings is a necessity to him.\n\nYou may believe this, but not unless you like. At any rate the loves\nof lovers and their causes are such as I have described.\n\nNow the lover who is taken to be the attendant of Zeus is better\nable to bear the winged god, and can endure a heavier burden; but\nthe attendants and companions of Ares, when under the influence of\nlove, if they fancy that they have been at all wronged, are ready to\nkill and put an end to themselves and their beloved. And he who\nfollows in the train of any other god, while he is unspoiled and the\nimpression lasts, honours and imitates him, as far as he is able;\nand after the manner of his god he behaves in his intercourse with his\nbeloved and with the rest of the world during the first period of\nhis earthly existence. Every one chooses his love from the ranks of\nbeauty according to his character, and this he makes his god, and\nfashions and adorns as a sort of image which he is to fall down and\nworship. The followers of Zeus desire that their beloved should have a\nsoul like him; and therefore they seek out some one of a philosophical\nand imperial nature, and when they have found him and loved him,\nthey do all they can to confirm such a nature in him, and if they have\nno experience of such a disposition hitherto, they learn of any one\nwho can teach them, and themselves follow in the same way. And they\nhave the less difficulty in finding the nature of their own god in\nthemselves, because they have been compelled to gaze intensely on him;\ntheir recollection clings to him, and they become possessed of him,\nand receive from him their character and disposition, so far as man\ncan participate in God. The qualities of their god they attribute to\nthe beloved, wherefore they love him all the more, and if, like the\nBacchic Nymphs, they draw inspiration from Zeus, they pour out their\nown fountain upon him, wanting to make him as like as possible to\ntheir own god. But those who are the followers of Here seek a royal\nlove, and when they have found him they do just the same with him; and\nin like manner the followers of Apollo, and of every other god walking\nin the ways of their god, seek a love who is to be made like him\nwhom they serve, and when they have found him, they themselves imitate\ntheir god, and persuade their love to do the same, and educate him\ninto the manner and nature of the god as far as they each can; for\nno feelings of envy or jealousy are entertained by them towards\ntheir beloved, but they do their utmost to create in him the\ngreatest likeness of themselves and of the god whom they honour.\nThus fair and blissful to the beloved is the desire of the inspired\nlover, and the initiation of which I speak into the mysteries of\ntrue love, if he be captured by the lover and their purpose is\neffected. Now the beloved is taken captive in the following manner:-\n\nAs I said at the beginning of this tale, I divided each soul into\nthree-two horses and a charioteer; and one of the horses was good\nand the other bad: the division may remain, but I have not yet\nexplained in what the goodness or badness of either consists, and to\nthat I will proceed. The right-hand horse is upright and cleanly made;\nhe has a lofty neck and an aquiline nose; his colour is white, and his\neyes dark; he is a lover of honour and modesty and temperance, and the\nfollower of true glory; he needs no touch of the whip, but is guided\nby word and admonition only. The other is a crooked lumbering\nanimal, put together anyhow; he has a short thick neck; he is\nflat-faced and of a dark colour, with grey eyes and blood-red\ncomplexion; the mate of insolence and pride, shag-eared and deaf,\nhardly yielding to whip and spur. Now when the charioteer beholds\nthe vision of love, and has his whole soul warmed through sense, and\nis full of the prickings and ticklings of desire, the obedient\nsteed, then as always under the government of shame, refrains from\nleaping on the beloved; but the other, heedless of the pricks and of\nthe blows of the whip, plunges and runs away, giving all manner of\ntrouble to his companion and the charioteer, whom he forces to\napproach the beloved and to remember the joys of love. They at first\nindignantly oppose him and will not be urged on to do terrible and\nunlawful deeds; but at last, when he persists in plaguing them, they\nyield and agree to do as he bids them.\n\nAnd now they are at the spot and behold the flashing beauty of the\nbeloved; which when the charioteer sees, his memory is carried to\nthe true beauty, whom he beholds in company with Modesty like an image\nplaced upon a holy pedestal. He sees her, but he is afraid and falls\nbackwards in adoration, and by his fall is compelled to pull back\nthe reins with such violence as to bring both the steeds on their\nhaunches, the one willing and unresisting, the unruly one very\nunwilling; and when they have gone back a little, the one is\novercome with shame and wonder, and his whole soul is bathed in\nperspiration; the other, when the pain is over which the bridle and\nthe fall had given him, having with difficulty taken breath, is full\nof wrath and reproaches, which he heaps upon the charioteer and his\nfellow-steed, for want of courage and manhood, declaring that they\nhave been false to their agreement and guilty of desertion. Again they\nrefuse, and again he urges them on, and will scarce yield to their\nprayer that he would wait until another time. When the appointed\nhour comes, they make as if they had forgotten, and he reminds them,\nfighting and neighing and dragging them on, until at length he, on the\nsame thoughts intent, forces them to draw near again. And when they\nare near he stoops his head and puts up his tail, and takes the bit in\nhis teeth. and pulls shamelessly. Then the charioteer is. worse off\nthan ever; he falls back like a racer at the barrier, and with a still\nmore violent wrench drags the bit out of the teeth of the wild steed\nand covers his abusive tongue and-jaws with blood, and forces his legs\nand haunches to the ground and punishes him sorely. And when this\nhas happened several times and the villain has ceased from his\nwanton way, he is tamed and humbled, and follows the will of the\ncharioteer, and when he sees the beautiful one he is ready to die of\nfear. And from that time forward the soul of the lover follows the\nbeloved in modesty and holy fear.\n\nAnd so the beloved who, like a god, has received every true and\nloyal service from his lover, not in pretence but in reality, being\nalso himself of a nature friendly to his admirer, if in former days he\nhas blushed to own his passion and turned away his lover, because\nhis youthful companions or others slanderously told him that he\nwould be disgraced, now as years advance, at the appointed age and\ntime, is led to receive him into communion. For fate which has\nordained that there shall be no friendship among the evil has also\nordained that there shall ever be friendship among the good. And the\nbeloved when he has received him into communion and intimacy, is quite\namazed at the good-will of the lover; he recognises that the\ninspired friend is worth all other friends or kinsmen; they have\nnothing of friendship in them worthy to be compared with his. And when\nhis feeling continues and he is nearer to him and embraces him, in\ngymnastic exercises and at other times of meeting, then the fountain\nof that stream, which Zeus when he was in love with Ganymede named\nDesire, overflows upon the lover, and some enters into his soul, and\nsome when he is filled flows out again; and as a breeze or an echo\nrebounds from the smooth rocks and returns whence it came, so does the\nstream of beauty, passing through the eyes which are the windows of\nthe soul, come back to the beautiful one; there arriving and\nquickening the passages of the wings, watering. them and inclining\nthem to grow, and filling the soul of the beloved also with love.\nAnd thus he loves, but he knows not what; he does not understand and\ncannot explain his own state; he appears to have caught the\ninfection of blindness from another; the lover is his mirror in whom\nhe is beholding himself, but he is not aware of this. When he is\nwith the lover, both cease from their pain, but when he is away then\nhe longs as he is longed for, and has love's image, love for love\n(Anteros) lodging in his breast, which he calls and believes to be not\nlove but friendship only, and his desire is as the desire of the\nother, but weaker; he wants to see him, touch him, kiss him, embrace\nhim, and probably not long afterwards his desire is accomplished. When\nthey meet, the wanton steed of the lover has a word to say to the\ncharioteer; he would like to have a little pleasure in return for many\npains, but the wanton steed of the beloved says not a word, for he\nis bursting with passion which he understands not;-he throws his\narms round the lover and embraces him as his dearest friend; and, when\nthey are side by side, he is not in it state in which he can refuse\nthe lover anything, if he ask him; although his fellow-steed and the\ncharioteer oppose him with the arguments of shame and reason.\n\nAfter this their happiness depends upon their self-control; if the\nbetter elements of the mind which lead to order and philosophy\nprevail, then they pass their life here in happiness and\nharmony-masters of themselves and orderly-enslaving the vicious and\nemancipating the virtuous elements of the soul; and when the end\ncomes, they are light and winged for flight, having conquered in one\nof the three heavenly or truly Olympian victories; nor can human\ndiscipline or divine inspiration confer any greater blessing on man\nthan this. If, on the other hand, they leave philosophy and lead the\nlower life of ambition, then probably, after wine or in some other\ncareless hour, the two wanton animals take the two souls when off\ntheir guard and bring them together, and they accomplish that desire\nof their hearts which to the many is bliss; and this having once\nenjoyed they continue to enjoy, yet rarely because they have not the\napproval of the whole soul. They too are dear, but not so dear to\none another as the others, either at the time of their love or\nafterwards. They consider that they have given and taken from each\nother the most sacred pledges, and they may not break them and fall\ninto enmity. At last they pass out of the body, unwinged, but eager to\nsoar, and thus obtain no mean reward of love and madness. For those\nwho have once begun the heavenward pilgrimage may not go down again to\ndarkness and the journey beneath the earth, but they live in light\nalways; happy companions in their pilgrimage, and when the time\ncomes at which they receive their wings they have the same plumage\nbecause of their love.\n\nThus great are the heavenly blessings which the friendship of a\nlover will confer upon you, my youth. Whereas the attachment of the\nnon-lover, which is alloyed with a worldly prudence and has worldly\nand niggardly ways of doling out benefits, will breed in your soul\nthose vulgar qualities which the populace applaud, will send you\nbowling round the earth during a period of nine thousand years, and\nleave, you a fool in the world below.\n\nAnd thus, dear Eros, I have made and paid my recantation, as well\nand as fairly as I could; more especially in the matter of the\npoetical figures which I was compelled to use, because Phaedrus\nwould have them. And now forgive the past and accept the present,\nand be gracious and merciful to me, and do not in thine anger\ndeprive me of sight, or take from me the art of love which thou hast\ngiven me, but grant that I may be yet more esteemed in the eyes of the\nfair. And if Phaedrus or I myself said anything rude in our first\nspeeches, blame Lysias, who is the father of the brat, and let us have\nno more of his progeny; bid him study philosophy, like his brother\nPolemarchus; and then his lover Phaedrus will no longer halt between\ntwo opinions, but will dedicate himself wholly to love and to\nphilosophical discourses.\n\nPhaedr. I join in the prayer, Socrates, and say with you, if this be\nfor my good, may your words come to pass. But why did you make your\nsecond oration so much finer than the first? I wonder why. And I begin\nto be afraid that I shall lose conceit of Lysias, and that he will\nappear tame in comparison, even if he be willing to put another as\nfine and as long as yours into the field, which I doubt. For quite\nlately one of your politicians was abusing him on this very account;\nand called him a \"speech writer\" again and again. So that a feeling of\npride may probably induce him to give up writing speeches.\n\nSoc. What a very amusing notion! But I think, my young man, that you\nare much mistaken in your friend if you imagine that he is\nfrightened at a little noise; and possibly, you think that his\nassailant was in earnest?\n\nPhaedr. I thought, Socrates, that he was. And you are aware that the\ngreatest and most influential statesmen are ashamed of writing\nspeeches and leaving them in a written form, lest they should be\ncalled Sophists by posterity.\n\nSoc. You seem to be unconscious, Phaedrus, that the \"sweet elbow\" of\nthe proverb is really the long arm of the Nile. And you appear to be\nequally unaware of the fact that this sweet elbow of theirs is also\na long arm. For there is nothing of which our great politicians are so\nfond as of writing speeches and bequeathing them to posterity. And\nthey add their admirers' names at the top of the writing, out of\ngratitude to them.\n\nPhaedr. What do you mean? I do not understand.\n\nSoc. Why, do you not know that when a politician writes, he begins\nwith the names of his approvers?\n\nPhaedr. How so?\n\nSoc. Why, he begins in this manner: \"Be it enacted by the senate,\nthe people, or both, on the motion of a certain person,\" who is our\nauthor; and so putting on a serious face, he proceeds to display his\nown wisdom to his admirers in what is often a long and tedious\ncomposition. Now what is that sort of thing but a regular piece of\nauthorship?\n\nPhaedr. True.\n\nSoc. And if the law is finally approved, then the author leaves\nthe theatre in high delight; but if the law is rejected and he is done\nout of his speech-making, and not thought good enough to write, then\nhe and his party are in mourning.\n\nPhaedr. Very true.\n\nSoc. So far are they from despising, or rather so highly do they\nvalue the practice of writing.\n\nPhaedr. No doubt.\n\nSoc. And when the king or orator has the power, as Lycurgus or Solon\nor Darius had, of attaining an immortality or authorship in a state,\nis he not thought by posterity, when they see his compositions, and\ndoes he not think himself, while he is yet alive, to be a god?\n\nPhaedr. Very true.\n\nSoc. Then do you think that any one of this class, however\nill-disposed, would reproach Lysias with being an author?\n\nPhaedr. Not upon your view; for according to you he would be casting\na slur upon his own favourite pursuit.\n\nSoc. Any one may see that there is no disgrace in the mere fact of\nwriting.\n\nPhaedr. Certainly not.\n\nSoc. The disgrace begins when a man writes not well, but badly.\n\nPhaedr. Clearly.\n\nSoc. And what is well and what is badly-need we ask Lysias, or any\nother poet or orator, who ever wrote or will write either a\npolitical or any other work, in metre or out of metre, poet or prose\nwriter, to teach us this?\n\nPhaedr. Need we? For what should a man live if not for the pleasures\nof discourse? Surely not for the sake of bodily pleasures, which\nalmost always have previous pain as a condition of them, and therefore\nare rightly called slavish.\n\nSoc. There is time enough. And I believe that the grasshoppers\nchirruping after their manner in the heat of the sun over our heads\nare talking to one another and looking down at us. What would they say\nif they saw that we, like the many, are not conversing, but slumbering\nat mid-day, lulled by their voices, too indolent to think? Would\nthey not have a right to laugh at us? They might imagine that we\nwere slaves, who, coming to rest at a place of resort of theirs,\nlike sheep lie asleep at noon around the well. But if they see us\ndiscoursing, and like Odysseus sailing past them, deaf to their\nsiren voices, they may perhaps, out of respect, give us of the gifts\nwhich they receive from the gods that they may impart them to men.\n\nPhaedr. What gifts do you mean? I never heard of any.\n\nSoc. A lover of music like yourself ought surely to have heard the\nstory of the grasshoppers, who are said to have been human beings in\nan age before the Muses. And when the Muses came and song appeared\nthey were ravished with delight; and singing always, never thought\nof eating and drinking, until at last in their forgetfulness they\ndied. And now they live again in the grasshoppers; and this is the\nreturn which the Muses make to them-they neither hunger, nor thirst,\nbut from the hour of their birth are always singing, and never\neating or drinking; and when they die they go and inform the Muses\nin heaven who honours them on earth. They win the love of\nTerpsichore for the dancers by their report of them; of Erato for\nthe lovers, and of the other Muses for those who do them honour,\naccording to the several ways of honouring them of Calliope the eldest\nMuse and of Urania who is next to her, for the philosophers, of\nwhose music the grasshoppers make report to them; for these are the\nMuses who are chiefly concerned with heaven and thought, divine as\nwell as human, and they have the sweetest utterance. For many reasons,\nthen, we ought always to talk and not to sleep at mid-day.\n\nPhaedr. Let us talk.\n\nSoc. Shall we discuss the rules of writing and speech as we were\nproposing?\n\nPhaedr. Very good.\n\nSoc. In good speaking should not the mind of the speaker know the\ntruth of the matter about which he is going to speak?\n\nPhaedr. And yet, Socrates, I have heard that he who would be an\norator has nothing to do with true justice, but only with that which\nis likely to be approved by the many who sit in judgment; nor with the\ntruly good or honourable, but only with opinion about them, and that\nfrom opinion comes persuasion, and not from the truth.\n\nSoc. The words of the wise are not to be set aside; for there is\nprobably something in them; and therefore the meaning of this saying\nis not hastily to be dismissed.\n\nPhaedr. Very true.\n\nSoc. Let us put the matter thus:-Suppose that I persuaded you to buy\na horse and go to the wars. Neither of us knew what a horse was\nlike, but I knew that you believed a horse to be of tame animals the\none which has the longest ears.\n\nPhaedr. That would be ridiculous.\n\nSoc. There is something more ridiculous coming:-Suppose, further,\nthat in sober earnest I, having persuaded you of this, went and\ncomposed a speech in honour of an ass, whom I entitled a horse\nbeginning: \"A noble animal and a most useful possession, especially in\nwar, and you may get on his back and fight, and he will carry\nbaggage or anything.\"\n\nPhaedr. How ridiculous!\n\nSoc. Ridiculous! Yes; but is not even a ridiculous friend better\nthan a cunning enemy?\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. And when the orator instead of putting an ass in the place of a\nhorse puts good for evil being himself as ignorant of their true\nnature as the city on which he imposes is ignorant; and having studied\nthe notions of the multitude, falsely persuades them not about \"the\nshadow of an ass,\" which he confounds with a horse, but about good\nwhich he confounds with evily-what will be the harvest which\nrhetoric will be likely to gather after the sowing of that seed?\n\nPhaedr. The reverse of good.\n\nSoc. But perhaps rhetoric has been getting too roughly handled by\nus, and she might answer: What amazing nonsense you are talking! As if\nI forced any man to learn to speak in ignorance of the truth! Whatever\nmy advice may be worth, I should have told him to arrive at the\ntruth first, and then come to me. At the same time I boldly assert\nthat mere knowledge of the truth will not give you the art of\npersuasion.\n\nPhaedr. There is reason in the lady's defence of herself.\n\nSoc. Quite true; if only the other arguments which remain to be\nbrought up bear her witness that she is an art at all. But I seem to\nhear them arraying themselves on the opposite side, declaring that she\nspeaks falsely, and that rhetoric is a mere routine and trick, not\nan art. Lo! a Spartan appears, and says that there never is nor ever\nwill be a real art of speaking which is divorced from the truth.\n\nPhaedr. And what are these arguments, Socrates? Bring them out\nthat we may examine them.\n\nSoc. Come out, fair children, and convince Phaedrus, who is the\nfather of similar beauties, that he will never be able to speak\nabout anything as he ought to speak unless he have a knowledge of\nphilosophy. And let Phaedrus answer you.\n\nPhaedr. Put the question.\n\nSoc. Is not rhetoric, taken generally, a universal art of enchanting\nthe mind by arguments; which is practised not only in courts and\npublic assemblies, but in private houses also, having to do with all\nmatters, great as well as small, good and bad alike, and is in all\nequally right, and equally to be esteemed-that is what you have heard?\n\nPhaedr. Nay, not exactly that; I should say rather that I have heard\nthe art confined to speaking and writing in lawsuits, and to\nspeaking in public assemblies-not extended farther.\n\nSoc. Then I suppose that you have only heard of the rhetoric of\nNestor and Odysseus, which they composed in their leisure hours when\nat Troy, and never of the rhetoric of Palamedes?\n\nPhaedr. No more than of Nestor and Odysseus, unless Gorgias is\nyour Nestor, and Thrasymachus or Theodorus your Odysseus.\n\nSoc. Perhaps that is my meaning. But let us leave them. And do you\ntell me, instead, what are plaintiff and defendant doing in a law\ncourt-are they not contending?\n\nPhaedr. Exactly so.\n\nSoc. About the just and unjust-that is the matter in dispute?\n\nPhaedr. Yes.\n\nSoc. And a professor of the art will make the same thing appear to\nthe same persons to be at one time just, at another time, if he is\nso inclined, to be unjust?\n\nPhaedr. Exactly.\n\nSoc. And when he speaks in the assembly, he will make the same\nthings seem good to the city at one time, and at another time the\nreverse of good?\n\nPhaedr. That is true.\n\nSoc. Have we not heard of the Eleatic Palamedes (Zeno), who has an\nart of speaking by which he makes the same things appear to his\nhearers like and unlike, one and many, at rest and in motion?\n\nPhaedr. Very true.\n\nSoc. The art of disputation, then, is not confined to the courts and\nthe assembly, but is one and the same in every use of language; this\nis the art, if there be such an art, which is able to find a\nlikeness of everything to which a likeness can be found, and draws\ninto the light of day the likenesses and disguises which are used by\nothers?\n\nPhaedr. How do you mean?\n\nSoc. Let me put the matter thus: When will there be more chance of\ndeception-when the difference is large or small?\n\nPhaedr. When the difference is small.\n\nSoc. And you will be less likely to be discovered in passing by\ndegrees into the other extreme than when you go all at once?\n\nPhaedr. Of course.\n\nSoc. He, then, who would. deceive others, and not be deceived,\nmust exactly know the real likenesses and differences of things?\n\nPhaedr. He must.\n\nSoc. And if he is ignorant of the true nature of any subject, how\ncan he detect the greater or less degree of likeness in other things\nto that of which by the hypothesis he is ignorant?\n\nPhaedr. He cannot.\n\nSoc. And when men are deceived and their notions are at variance\nwith realities, it is clear that the error slips in through\nresemblances?\n\nPhaedr. Yes, that is the way.\n\nSoc. Then he who would be a master of the art must understand the\nreal nature of everything; or he will never know either how to make\nthe gradual departure from truth into the opposite of truth which is\neffected by the help of resemblances, or how to avoid it?\n\nPhaedr. He will not.\n\nSoc. He then, who being ignorant of the truth aims at appearances,\nwill only attain an art of rhetoric which is ridiculous and is not\nan art at all?\n\nPhaedr. That may be expected.\n\nSoc. Shall I propose that we look for examples of art and want of\nart, according to our notion of them, in the speech of Lysias which\nyou have in your hand, and in my own speech?\n\nPhaedr. Nothing could be better; and indeed I think that our\nprevious argument has been too abstract and-wanting in illustrations.\n\nSoc. Yes; and the two speeches happen to afford a very good\nexample of the way in which the speaker who knows the truth may,\nwithout any serious purpose, steal away the hearts of his hearers.\nThis piece of good-fortune I attribute to the local deities; and\nperhaps, the prophets of the Muses who are singing over our heads\nmay have imparted their inspiration to me. For I do not imagine that I\nhave any rhetorical art of my own.\n\nPhaedr. Granted; if you will only please to get on.\n\nSoc. Suppose that you read me the first words of Lysias' speech.\n\nPhaedr. \"You know how matters stand with me, and how, as I conceive,\nthey might be arranged for our common interest; and I maintain that\nI ought not to fail in my suit, because I am not your lover. For\nlovers repent-\"\n\nSoc. Enough:-Now, shall I point out the rhetorical error of those\nwords?\n\nPhaedr. Yes.\n\nSoc. Every one is aware that about some things we are agreed,\nwhereas about other things we differ.\n\nPhaedr. I think that I understand you; but will you explain\nyourself?\n\nSoc. When any one speaks of iron and silver, is not the same thing\npresent in the minds of all?\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. But when any one speaks of justice and goodness we part company\nand are at odds with one another and with ourselves?\n\nPhaedr. Precisely.\n\nSoc. Then in some things we agree, but not in others?\n\nPhaedr. That is true.\n\nSoc. In which are we more likely to be deceived, and in which has\nrhetoric the greater power?\n\nPhaedr. Clearly, in the uncertain class.\n\nSoc. Then the rhetorician ought to make a regular division, and\nacquire a distinct notion of both classes, as well of that in which\nthe many err, as of that in which they do not err?\n\nPhaedr. He who made such a distinction would have an excellent\nprinciple.\n\nSoc. Yes; and in the next place he must have a keen eye for the\nobservation of particulars in speaking, and not make a mistake about\nthe class to which they are to be referred.\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. Now to which class does love belong-to the debatable or to\nthe undisputed class?\n\nPhaedr. To the debatable, clearly; for if not, do you think that\nlove would have allowed you to say as you did, that he is an evil both\nto the lover and the beloved, and also the greatest possible good?\n\nSoc. Capital. But will you tell me whether I defined love at the\nbeginning of my speech? for, having been in an ecstasy, I cannot\nwell remember.\n\nPhaedr. Yes, indeed; that you did, and no mistake.\n\nSoc. Then I perceive that the Nymphs of Achelous and Pan the son\nof Hermes, who inspired me, were far better rhetoricians than Lysias\nthe son of Cephalus. Alas! how inferior to them he is! But perhaps I\nam mistaken; and Lysias at the commencement of his lover's speech\ndid insist on our supposing love to be something or other which he\nfancied him to be, and according to this model he fashioned and framed\nthe remainder of his discourse. Suppose we read his beginning over\nagain:\n\nPhaedr. If you please; but you will not find what you want.\n\nSoc, Read, that I may have his exact words.\n\nPhaedr. \"You know how matters stand with and how, as I conceive,\nthey might be arranged for our common interest; and I maintain I ought\nnot to fail in my suit because I am not your lover, for lovers\nrepent of the kindnesses which they have shown, when their love is\nover.\"\n\nSoc. Here he appears to have done just the reverse of what he ought;\nfor he has begun at the end, and is swimming on his back through the\nflood to the place of starting. His address to the fair youth begins\nwhere the lover would have ended. Am I not right, sweet Phaedrus?\n\nPhaedr. Yes, indeed, Socrates; he does begin at the end.\n\nSoc. Then as to the other topics-are they not thrown down anyhow? Is\nthere any principle in them? Why should the next topic follow next\nin order, or any other topic? I cannot help fancying in my ignorance\nthat he wrote off boldly just what came into his head, but I dare\nsay that you would recognize a rhetorical necessity in the\nsuccession of the several parts of the composition?\n\nPhaedr. You have too good an opinion of me if you think that I\nhave any such insight into his principles of composition.\n\nSoc. At any rate, you will allow that every discourse ought to be\na living creature, having a body of its own and a head and feet; there\nshould be a middle, beginning, and end, adapted to one another and\nto the whole?\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. Can this be said of the discourse of Lysias? See whether you\ncan find any more connexion in his words than in the epitaph which\nis said by some to have been inscribed on the grave of Midas the\nPhrygian.\n\nPhaedr. What is there remarkable in the epitaph?\n\nSoc. It is as follows:-\n\nI am a maiden of bronze and lie on the tomb of Midas;\n\nSo long as water flows and tall trees grow,\n\nSo long here on this spot by his sad tomb abiding,\n\nI shall declare to passers-by that Midas sleeps below.\n\nNow in this rhyme whether a line comes first or comes last, as you\nwill perceive, makes no difference.\n\nPhaedr. You are making fun of that oration of ours.\n\nSoc. Well, I will say no more about your friend's speech lest I\nshould give offence to you; although I think that it might furnish\nmany other examples of what a man ought rather to avoid. But I will\nproceed to the other speech, which, as I think, is also suggestive\nto students of rhetoric.\n\nPhaedr. In what way?\n\nSoc. The two speeches, as you may remember, were unlike-I the one\nargued that the lover and the other that the non-lover ought to be\naccepted.\n\nPhaedr. And right manfully.\n\nSoc. You should rather say \"madly\"; and madness was the argument\nof them, for, as I said, \"love is a madness.\"\n\nPhaedr. Yes.\n\nSoc. And of madness there were two kinds; one produced by human\ninfirmity, the other was a divine release of the soul from the yoke of\ncustom and convention.\n\nPhaedr. True.\n\nSoc. The divine madness was subdivided into four kinds, prophetic,\ninitiatory, poetic, erotic, having four gods presiding over them;\nthe first was the inspiration of Apollo, the second that of\nDionysus, the third that of the Muses, the fourth that of Aphrodite\nand Eros. In the description of the last kind of madness, which was\nalso said to be the best, we spoke of the affection of love in a\nfigure, into which we introduced a tolerably credible and possibly\ntrue though partly erring myth, which was also a hymn in honour of\nLove, who is your lord and also mine, Phaedrus, and the guardian of\nfair children, and to him we sung the hymn in measured and solemn\nstrain.\n\nPhaedr. I know that I had great pleasure in listening to you.\n\nSoc. Let us take this instance and note how the transition was\nmade from blame to praise.\n\nPhaedr. What do you mean?\n\nSoc. I mean to say that the composition was mostly playful. Yet in\nthese chance fancies of the hour were involved two principles of which\nwe should be too glad to have a clearer description if art could\ngive us one.\n\nPhaedr. What are they?\n\nSoc. First, the comprehension of scattered particulars in one\nidea; as in our definition of love, which whether true or false\ncertainly gave clearness and consistency to the discourse, the speaker\nshould define his several notions and so make his meaning clear.\n\nPhaedr. What is the other principle, Socrates?\n\nSoc. The second principle is that of division into species according\nto the natural formation, where the joint is, not breaking any part as\na bad carver might. Just as our two discourses, alike assumed, first\nof all, a single form of unreason; and then, as the body which from\nbeing one becomes double and may be divided into a left side and right\nside, each having parts right and left of the same name-after this\nmanner the speaker proceeded to divide the parts of the left side\nand did not desist until he found in them an evil or left-handed\nlove which he justly reviled; and the other discourse leading us to\nthe madness which lay on the right side, found another love, also\nhaving the same name, but divine, which the speaker held up before\nus and applauded and affirmed to be the author of the greatest\nbenefits.\n\nPhaedr. Most true.\n\nSoc. I am myself a great lover of these processes of division and\ngeneralization; they help me to speak and to think. And if I find\nany man who is able to see \"a One and Many\" in nature, him I follow,\nand \"walk in his footsteps as if he were a god.\" And those who have\nthis art, I have hitherto been in the habit of calling\ndialecticians; but God knows whether the name is right or not. And I\nshould like to know what name you would give to your or to Lysias'\ndisciples, and whether this may not be that famous art of rhetoric\nwhich Thrasymachus and others teach and practise? Skilful speakers\nthey are, and impart their skill to any who is willing to make kings\nof them and to bring gifts to them.\n\nPhaedr. Yes, they are royal men; but their art is not the same\nwith the art of those whom you call, and rightly, in my opinion,\ndialecticians:-Still we are in the dark about rhetoric.\n\nSoc. What do you mean? The remains of it, if there be anything\nremaining which can be brought under rules of art, must be a fine\nthing; and, at any rate, is not to be despised by you and me. But\nhow much is left?\n\nPhaedr. There is a great deal surely to be found in books of\nrhetoric?\n\nSoc. Yes; thank you for reminding me:-There is the exordium, showing\nhow the speech should begin, if I remember rightly; that is what you\nmean-the niceties of the art?\n\nPhaedr. Yes.\n\nSoc. Then follows the statement of facts, and upon that witnesses;\nthirdly, proofs; fourthly, probabilities are to come; the great\nByzantian word-maker also speaks, if I am not mistaken, of\nconfirmation and further confirmation.\n\nPhaedr. You mean the excellent Theodorus.\n\nSoc. Yes; and he tells how refutation or further refutation is to be\nmanaged, whether in accusation or defence. I ought also to mention the\nillustrious Parian, Evenus, who first invented insinuations and\nindirect praises; and also indirect censures, which according to\nsome he put into verse to help the memory. But shall I \"to dumb\nforgetfulness consign\" Tisias and Gorgias, who are not ignorant that\nprobability is superior to truth, and who by: force of argument make\nthe little appear great and the great little, disguise the new in\nold fashions and the old in new fashions, and have discovered forms\nfor everything, either short or going on to infinity. I remember\nProdicus laughing when I told him of this; he said that he had himself\ndiscovered the true rule of art, which was to be neither long nor\nshort, but of a convenient length.\n\nPhaedr. Well done, Prodicus!\n\nSoc. Then there is Hippias the Elean stranger, who probably agrees\nwith him.\n\nPhaedr. Yes.\n\nSoc. And there is also Polus, who has treasuries of diplasiology,\nand gnomology, and eikonology, and who teaches in them the names of\nwhich Licymnius made him a present; they were to give a polish.\n\nPhaedr. Had not Protagoras something of the same sort?\n\nSoc. Yes, rules of correct diction and many other fine precepts; for\nthe \"sorrows of a poor old man,\" or any other pathetic case, no one is\nbetter than the Chalcedonian giant; he can put a whole company of\npeople into a passion and out of one again by his mighty magic, and is\nfirst-rate at inventing or disposing of any sort of calumny on any\ngrounds or none. All of them agree in asserting that a speech should\nend in a recapitulation, though they do not all agree to use the\nsame word.\n\nPhaedr. You mean that there should be a summing up of the\narguments in order to remind the hearers of them.\n\nSoc. I have now said all that I have to say of the art of\nrhetoric: have you anything to add?\n\nPhaedr. Not much; nothing very important.\n\nSoc. Leave the unimportant and let us bring the really important\nquestion into the light of day, which is: What power has this art of\nrhetoric, and when?\n\nPhaedr. A very great power in public meetings.\n\nSoc. It has. But I should like to know whether you have the same\nfeeling as I have about the rhetoricians? To me there seem to be a\ngreat many holes in their web.\n\nPhaedr. Give an example.\n\nSoc. I will. Suppose a person to come to your friend Eryximachus, or\nto his father Acumenus, and to say to him: \"I know how to apply\ndrugs which shall have either a heating or a cooling effect, and I can\ngive a vomit and also a purge, and all that sort of thing; and knowing\nall this, as I do, I claim to be a physician and to make physicians by\nimparting this knowledge to others,\"-what do you suppose that they\nwould say?\n\nPhaedr. They would be sure to ask him whether he knew \"to whom\" he\nwould give his medicines, and \"when,\" and \"how much.\"\n\nSoc. And suppose that he were to reply: \"No; I know nothing of all\nthat; I expect the patient who consults me to be able to do these\nthings for himself\"?\n\nPhaedr. They would say in reply that he is a madman or pedant who\nfancies that he is a physician because he has read something in a\nbook, or has stumbled on a prescription or two, although he has no\nreal understanding of the art of medicine.\n\nSoc. And suppose a person were to come to Sophocles or Euripides and\nsay that he knows how to make a very long speech about a small matter,\nand a short speech about a great matter, and also a sorrowful\nspeech, or a terrible, or threatening speech, or any other kind of\nspeech, and in teaching this fancies that he is teaching the art of\ntragedy-?\n\nPhaedr. They too would surely laugh at him if he fancies that\ntragedy is anything but the arranging of these elements in a manner\nwhich will be suitable to one another and to the whole.\n\nSoc. But I do not suppose that they would be rude or abusive to him:\nWould they not treat him as a musician would a man who thinks that\nhe is a harmonist because he knows how to pitch the highest and lowest\nnotes; happening to meet such an one he would not say to him savagely,\n\"Fool, you are mad!\" But like a musician, in a gentle and harmonious\ntone of voice, he would answer: \"My good friend, he who would be a\nharmonist must certainly know this, and yet he may understand\nnothing of harmony if he has not got beyond your stage of knowledge,\nfor you only know the preliminaries of harmony and not harmony\nitself.\"\n\nPhaedr. Very true.\n\nSoc. And will not Sophocles say to the display of the would-be\ntragedian, that this is not tragedy but the preliminaries of\ntragedy? and will not Acumenus say the same of medicine to the\nwould-be physician?\n\nPhaedr. Quite true.\n\nSoc. And if Adrastus the mellifluous or Pericles heard of these\nwonderful arts, brachylogies and eikonologies and all the hard names\nwhich we have been endeavouring to draw into the light of day, what\nwould they say? Instead of losing temper and applying\nuncomplimentary epithets, as you and I have been doing, to the authors\nof such an imaginary art, their superior wisdom would rather censure\nus, as well as them. \"Have a little patience, Phaedrus and Socrates,\nthey would say; you should not be in such a passion with those who\nfrom some want of dialectical skill are unable to define the nature of\nrhetoric, and consequently suppose that they have found the art in the\npreliminary conditions of it, and when these have been taught by\nthem to others, fancy that the whole art of rhetoric has been taught\nby them; but as to using the several instruments of the art\neffectively, or making the composition a whole,-an application of it\nsuch as this is they regard as an easy thing which their disciples may\nmake for themselves.\"\n\nPhaedr. I quite admit, Socrates, that the art of rhetoric which\nthese men teach and of which they write is such as you\ndescribe-there I agree with you. But I still want to know where and\nhow the true art of rhetoric and persuasion is to be acquired.\n\nSoc. The perfection which is required of the finished orator is,\nor rather must be, like the perfection of anything else; partly\ngiven by nature, but may also be assisted by art. If you have the\nnatural power and add to it knowledge and practice, you will be a\ndistinguished speaker; if you fall short in either of these, you\nwill be to that extent defective. But the art, as far as there is an\nart, of rhetoric does not lie in the direction of Lysias or\nThrasymachus.\n\nPhaedr. In what direction then?\n\nSoc. I conceive Pericles to have been the most accomplished of\nrhetoricians.\n\nPhaedr. What of that?\n\nSoc. All the great arts require discussion and high speculation\nabout the truths of nature; hence come loftiness of thought and\ncompleteness of execution. And this, as I conceive, was the quality\nwhich, in addition to his natural gifts, Pericles acquired from his\nintercourse with Anaxagoras whom he happened to know. He was thus\nimbued with the higher philosophy, and attained the knowledge of\nMind and the negative of Mind, which were favourite themes of\nAnaxagoras, and applied what suited his purpose to the art of\nspeaking.\n\nPhaedr. Explain.\n\nSoc. Rhetoric is like medicine.\n\nPhaedr. How so?\n\nSoc. Why, because medicine has to define the nature of the body\nand rhetoric of the soul-if we would proceed, not empirically but\nscientifically, in the one case to impart health and strength by\ngiving medicine and food in the other to implant the conviction or\nvirtue which you desire, by the right application of words and\ntraining.\n\nPhaedr. There, Socrates, I suspect that you are right.\n\nSoc. And do you think that you can know the nature of the soul\nintelligently without knowing the nature of the whole?\n\nPhaedr. Hippocrates the Asclepiad says that the nature even of the\nbody can only be understood as a whole.\n\nSoc. Yes, friend, and he was right:-still, we ought not to be\ncontent with the name of Hippocrates, but to examine and see whether\nhis argument agrees with his conception of nature.\n\nPhaedr. I agree.\n\nSoc. Then consider what truth as well as Hippocrates says about this\nor about any other nature. Ought we not to consider first whether that\nwhich we wish to learn and to teach is a simple or multiform thing,\nand if simple, then to enquire what power it has of acting or being\nacted upon in relation to other things, and if multiform, then to\nnumber the forms; and see first in the case of one of them, and then\nin. case of all of them, what is that power of acting or being acted\nupon which makes each and all of them to be what they are?\n\nPhaedr. You may very likely be right, Socrates.\n\nSoc. The method which proceeds without analysis is like the\ngroping of a blind man. Yet, surely, he who is an artist ought not\nto admit of a comparison with the blind, or deaf. The rhetorician, who\nteaches his pupil to speak scientifically, will particularly set forth\nthe nature of that being to which he addresses his speeches; and this,\nI conceive, to be the soul.\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. His whole effort is directed to the soul; for in that he\nseeks to produce conviction.\n\nPhaedr. Yes.\n\nSoc. Then clearly, Thrasymachus or any one else who teaches rhetoric\nin earnest will give an exact description of the nature of the soul;\nwhich will enable us to see whether she be single and same, or, like\nthe body, multiform. That is what we should call showing the nature of\nthe soul.\n\nPhaedr. Exactly.\n\nSoc. He will explain, secondly, the mode in which she acts or is\nacted upon.\n\nPhaedr. True.\n\nSoc. Thirdly, having classified men and speeches, and their kinds\nand affections, and adapted them to one another, he will tell the\nreasons of his arrangement, and show why one soul is persuaded by a\nparticular form of argument, and another not.\n\nPhaedr. You have hit upon a very good way.\n\nSoc. Yes, that is the true and only way in which any subject can\nbe set forth or treated by rules of art, whether in speaking or\nwriting. But the writers of the present day, at whose feet you have\nsat, craftily, conceal the nature of the soul which they know quite\nwell. Nor, until they adopt our method of reading and writing, can\nwe admit that they write by rules of art?\n\nPhaedr. What is our method?\n\nSoc. I cannot give you the exact details; but I should like to\ntell you generally, as far as is in my power, how a man ought to\nproceed according to rules of art.\n\nPhaedr. Let me hear.\n\nSoc. Oratory is the art of enchanting the soul, and therefore he who\nwould be an orator has to learn the differences of human souls-they\nare so many and of such a nature, and from them come the differences\nbetween man and man. Having proceeded thus far in his analysis, he\nwill next divide speeches into their different classes:-\"Such and such\npersons,\" he will say, are affected by this or that kind of speech\nin this or that way,\" and he will tell you why. The pupil must have\na good theoretical notion of them first, and then he must have\nexperience of them in actual life, and be able to follow them with all\nhis senses about him, or he will never get beyond the precepts of\nhis masters. But when he understands what persons are persuaded by\nwhat arguments, and sees the person about whom he was speaking in\nthe abstract actually before him, and knows that it is he, and can say\nto himself, \"This is the man or this is the character who ought to\nhave a certain argument applied to him in order to convince him of a\ncertain opinion\"; -he who knows all this, and knows also when he\nshould speak and when he should refrain, and when he should use\npithy sayings, pathetic appeals, sensational effects, and all the\nother modes of speech which he has learned;-when, I say, he knows\nthe times and seasons of all these things, then, and not till then, he\nis a perfect master of his art; but if he fail in any of these points,\nwhether in speaking or teaching or writing them, and yet declares that\nhe speaks by rules of art, he who says \"I don't believe you\" has the\nbetter of him. Well, the teacher will say, is this, and Socrates, your\naccount of the so-called art of rhetoric, or am I to look for another?\n\nPhaedr. He must take this, Socrates for there is no possibility of\nanother, and yet the creation of such an art is not easy.\n\nSoc. Very true; and therefore let us consider this matter in every\nlight, and see whether we cannot find a shorter and easier road; there\nis no use in taking a long rough round-about way if there be a shorter\nand easier one. And I wish that you would try and remember whether you\nhave heard from Lysias or any one else anything which might be of\nservice to us.\n\nPhaedr. If trying would avail, then I might; but at the moment I can\nthink of nothing.\n\nSoc. Suppose I tell you something which somebody who knows told me.\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. May not \"the wolf,\" as the proverb says, claim a hearing\"?\n\nPhaedr. Do you say what can be said for him.\n\nSoc. He will argue that is no use in putting a solemn face on\nthese matters, or in going round and round, until you arrive at\nfirst principles; for, as I said at first, when the question is of\njustice and good, or is a question in which men are concerned who\nare just and good, either by nature or habit, he who would be a\nskilful rhetorician has; no need of truth-for that in courts of law\nmen literally care nothing about truth, but only about conviction: and\nthis is based on probability, to which who would be a skilful orator\nshould therefore give his whole attention. And they say also that\nthere are cases in which the actual facts, if they are improbable,\nought to be withheld, and only the probabilities should be told either\nin accusation or defence, and that always in speaking, the orator\nshould keep probability in view, and say good-bye to the truth. And\nthe observance, of this principle throughout a speech furnishes the\nwhole art.\n\nPhaedr. That is what the professors of rhetoric do actually say,\nSocrates. I have not forgotten that we have quite briefly touched upon\nthis matter already; with them the point is all-important.\n\nSoc. I dare say that you are familiar with Tisias. Does he not\ndefine probability to be that which the many think?\n\nPhaedr. Certainly, he does.\n\nSoc. I believe that he has a clever and ingenious case of this\nsort:-He supposes a feeble and valiant man to have assaulted a\nstrong and cowardly one, and to have robbed him of his coat or of\nsomething or other; he is brought into court, and then Tisias says\nthat both parties should tell lies: the coward should say that he\nwas assaulted by more men than one; the other should prove that they\nwere alone, and should argue thus: \"How could a weak man like me\nhave assaulted a strong man like him?\" The complainant will not like\nto confess his own cowardice, and will therefore invent some other lie\nwhich his adversary will thus gain an opportunity of refuting. And\nthere are other devices of the same kind which have a place in the\nsystem. Am I not right, Phaedrus?\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. Bless me, what a wonderfully mysterious art is this which\nTisias or some other gentleman, in whatever name or country he\nrejoices, has discovered. Shall we say a word to him or not?\n\nPhaedr. What shall we say to him?\n\nSoc. Let us tell him that, before he appeared, you and I were saying\nthat the probability of which he speaks was engendered in the minds of\nthe many by the likeness of the truth, and we had just been\naffirming that he who knew the truth would always know best how to\ndiscover the resemblances of the truth. If he has anything else to say\nabout the art of speaking we should like to hear him; but if not, we\nare satisfied with our own view, that unless a man estimates the\nvarious characters of his heaters and is able to divide all things\ninto classes and to comprehend them under single ideas he will never\nbe a skilful rhetorician even within the limits of human power. And\nthis skill he will not attain without a great deal of trouble, which a\ngood man ought to undergo, not for the sake of speaking and acting\nbefore men, but in order that he may be able to say what is acceptable\nto God and always to act acceptably to Him as far as in him lies;\nfor there is a saying of wiser men than ourselves, that a man of sense\nshould not try to please his fellow-servants (at least this should not\nbe his first object) but his good and noble masters; and therefore\nif the way is long and circuitous, marvel not at this, for, where\nthe end is great, there we may take the longer road, but not for\nlesser ends such as yours. Truly, the argument may say, Tisias, that\nif you do not mind going so far, rhetoric has a fair beginning here.\n\nPhaedr. I think, Socrates, that this is admirable, if only\npracticable.\n\nSoc. But even to fail in an honourable object is honourable.\n\nPhaedr. True.\n\nSoc. Enough appears to have been said by us of a true and false\nart of speaking.\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. But there is something yet to be said of propriety and\nimpropriety of writing.\n\nPhaedr. Yes.\n\nSoc. Do you know how you can speak or act about rhetoric in a manner\nwhich will be acceptable to God?\n\nPhaedr. No, indeed. Do you?\n\nSoc. I have heard a tradition of the ancients, whether true or not\nthey only know; although if we had found the truth ourselves, do you\nthink that we should care much about the opinions of men?\n\nPhaedr. Your question needs no answer; but I wish that you would\ntell me what you say that you have heard.\n\nSoc. At the Egyptian city of Naucratis, there was a famous old\ngod, whose name was Theuth; the bird which is called the Ibis is\nsacred to him, and he was the inventor of many arts, such as\narithmetic and calculation and geometry and astronomy and draughts and\ndice, but his great discovery was the use of letters. Now in those\ndays the god Thamus was the king of the whole country of Egypt; and he\ndwelt in that great city of Upper Egypt which the Hellenes call\nEgyptian Thebes, and the god himself is called by them Ammon. To him\ncame Theuth and showed his inventions, desiring that the other\nEgyptians might be allowed to have the benefit of them; he enumerated\nthem, and Thamus enquired about their several uses, and praised some\nof them and censured others, as he approved or disapproved of them. It\nwould take a long time to repeat all that Thamus said to Theuth in\npraise or blame of the various arts. But when they came to letters,\nThis, said Theuth, will make the Egyptians wiser and give them\nbetter memories; it is a specific both for the memory and for the wit.\nThamus replied: O most ingenious Theuth, the parent or inventor of\nan art is not always the best judge of the utility or inutility of his\nown inventions to the users of them. And in this instance, you who are\nthe father of letters, from a paternal love of your own children\nhave been led to attribute to them a quality which they cannot have;\nfor this discovery of yours will create forgetfulness in the learners'\nsouls, because they will not use their memories; they will trust to\nthe external written characters and not remember of themselves. The\nspecific which you have discovered is an aid not to memory, but to\nreminiscence, and you give your disciples not truth, but only the\nsemblance of truth; they will be hearers of many things and will\nhave learned nothing; they will appear to be omniscient and will\ngenerally know nothing; they will be tiresome company, having the show\nof wisdom without the reality.\n\nPhaedr. Yes, Socrates, you can easily invent tales of Egypt, or of\nany other country.\n\nSoc. There was a tradition in the temple of Dodona that oaks first\ngave prophetic utterances. The men of old, unlike in their\nsimplicity to young philosophy, deemed that if they heard the truth\neven from \"oak or rock,\" it was enough for them; whereas you seem to\nconsider not whether a thing is or is not true, but who the speaker is\nand from what country the tale comes.\n\nPhaedr. I acknowledge the justice of your rebuke; and I think that\nthe Theban is right in his view about letters.\n\nSoc. He would be a very simple person, and quite a stranger to the\noracles of Thamus or Ammon, who should leave in writing or receive\nin writing any art under the idea that the written word would be\nintelligible or certain; or who deemed that writing was at all\nbetter than knowledge and recollection of the same matters?\n\nPhaedr. That is most true.\n\nSoc. I cannot help feeling, Phaedrus, that writing is\nunfortunately like painting; for the creations of the painter have the\nattitude of life, and yet if you ask them a question they preserve a\nsolemn silence. And the same may be said of speeches. You would\nimagine that they had intelligence, but if you want to know anything\nand put a question to one of them, the speaker always gives one\nunvarying answer. And when they have been once written down they are\ntumbled about anywhere among those who may or may not understand them,\nand know not to whom they should reply, to whom not: and, if they\nare maltreated or abused, they have no parent to protect them; and\nthey cannot protect or defend themselves.\n\nPhaedr. That again is most true.\n\nSoc. Is there not another kind of word or speech far better than\nthis, and having far greater power-a son of the same family, but\nlawfully begotten?\n\nPhaedr. Whom do you mean, and what is his origin?\n\nSoc. I mean an intelligent word graven in the soul of the learner,\nwhich can defend itself, and knows when to speak and when to be\nsilent.\n\nPhaedr. You mean the living word of knowledge which has a soul,\nand of which written word is properly no more than an image?\n\nSoc. Yes, of course that is what I mean. And now may I be allowed to\nask you a question: Would a husbandman, who is a man of sense, take\nthe seeds, which he values and which he wishes to bear fruit, and in\nsober seriousness plant them during the heat of summer, in some garden\nof Adonis, that he may rejoice when he sees them in eight days\nappearing in beauty? at least he would do so, if at all, only for\nthe sake of amusement and pastime. But when he is in earnest he sows\nin fitting soil, and practises husbandry, and is satisfied if in eight\nmonths the seeds which he has sown arrive at perfection?\n\nPhaedr. Yes, Socrates, that will be his way when he is in earnest;\nhe will do the other, as you say, only in play.\n\nSoc. And can we suppose that he who knows the just and good and\nhonourable has less understanding, than the husbandman, about his\nown seeds?\n\nPhaedr. Certainly not.\n\nSoc. Then he will not seriously incline to \"write\" his thoughts\n\"in water\" with pen and ink, sowing words which can neither speak\nfor themselves nor teach the truth adequately to others?\n\nPhaedr. No, that is not likely.\n\nSoc. No, that is not likely-in the garden of letters he will sow and\nplant, but only for the sake of recreation and amusement; he will\nwrite them down as memorials to be treasured against the forgetfulness\nof old age, by himself, or by any other old man who is treading the\nsame path. He will rejoice in beholding their tender growth; and while\nothers are refreshing their souls with banqueting and the like, this\nwill be the pastime in which his days are spent.\n\nPhaedr. A pastime, Socrates, as noble as the other is ignoble, the\npastime of a man who can be amused by serious talk, and can\ndiscourse merrily about justice and the like.\n\nSoc. True, Phaedrus. But nobler far is the serious pursuit of the\ndialectician, who, finding a congenial soul, by the help of science\nsows and plants therein words which are able to help themselves and\nhim who planted them, and are not unfruitful, but have in them a\nseed which others brought up in different soils render immortal,\nmaking the possessors of it happy to the utmost extent of human\nhappiness.\n\nPhaedr. Far nobler, certainly.\n\nSoc. And now, Phaedrus, having agreed upon the premises we decide\nabout the conclusion.\n\nPhaedr. About what conclusion?\n\nSoc. About Lysias, whom we censured, and his art of writing, and his\ndiscourses, and the rhetorical skill or want of skill which was\nshown in them-these are the questions which we sought to determine,\nand they brought us to this point. And I think that we are now\npretty well informed about the nature of art and its opposite.\n\nPhaedr. Yes, I think with you; but I wish that you would repeat what\nwas said.\n\nSoc. Until a man knows the truth of the several particulars of which\nhe is writing or speaking, and is able to define them as they are, and\nhaving defined them again to divide them until they can be no longer\ndivided, and until in like manner he is able to discern the nature\nof the soul, and discover the different modes of discourse which are\nadapted to different natures, and to arrange and dispose them in\nsuch a way that the simple form of speech may be addressed to the\nsimpler nature, and the complex and composite to the more complex\nnature-until he has accomplished all this, he will be unable to handle\narguments according to rules of art, as far as their nature allows\nthem to be subjected to art, either for the purpose of teaching or\npersuading;-such is the view which is implied in the whole preceding\nargument.\n\nPhaedr. Yes, that was our view, certainly.\n\nSoc. Secondly, as to the censure which was passed on the speaking or\nwriting of discourses, and how they might be rightly or wrongly\ncensured-did not our previous argument show?-\n\nPhaedr. Show what?\n\nSoc. That whether Lysias or any other writer that ever was or will\nbe, whether private man or statesman, proposes laws and so becomes the\nauthor of a political treatise, fancying that there is any great\ncertainty and clearness in his performance, the fact of his so writing\nis only a disgrace to him, whatever men may say. For not to know the\nnature of justice and injustice, and good and evil, and not to be able\nto distinguish the dream from the reality, cannot in truth be\notherwise than disgraceful to him, even though he have the applause of\nthe whole world.\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. But he who thinks that in the written word there is necessarily\nmuch which is not serious, and that neither poetry nor prose, spoken\nor written, is of any great value, if, like the compositions of the\nrhapsodes, they are only recited in order to be believed, and not with\nany view to criticism or instruction; and who thinks that even the\nbest of writings are but a reminiscence of what we know, and that only\nin principles of justice and goodness and nobility taught and\ncommunicated orally for the sake of instruction and graven in the\nsoul, which is the true way of writing, is there clearness and\nperfection and seriousness, and that such principles are a man's own\nand his legitimate offspring;-being, in the first place, the word\nwhich he finds in his own bosom; secondly, the brethren and\ndescendants and relations of his others;-and who cares for them and no\nothers-this is the right sort of man; and you and I, Phaedrus, would\npray that we may become like him.\n\nPhaedr. That is most assuredly my desire and prayer.\n\nSoc. And now the play is played out; and of rhetoric enough. Go\nand tell Lysias that to the fountain and school of the Nymphs we\nwent down, and were bidden by them to convey a message to him and to\nother composers of speeches-to Homer and other writers of poems,\nwhether set to music or not; and to Solon and others who have composed\nwritings in the form of political discourses which they would term\nlaws-to all of them we are to say that if their compositions are based\non knowledge of the truth, and they can defend or prove them, when\nthey are put to the test, by spoken arguments, which leave their\nwritings poor in comparison of them, then they are to be called, not\nonly poets, orators, legislators, but are worthy of a higher name,\nbefitting the serious pursuit of their life.\n\nPhaedr. What name would you assign to them?\n\nSoc. Wise, I may not call them; for that is a great name which\nbelongs to God alone,-lovers of wisdom or philosophers is their modest\nand befitting title.\n\nPhaedr. Very suitable.\n\nSoc. And he who cannot rise above his own compilations and\ncompositions, which he has been long patching, and piecing, adding\nsome and taking away some, may be justly called poet or speech-maker\nor law-maker.\n\nPhaedr. Certainly.\n\nSoc. Now go and tell this to your companion.\n\nPhaedr. But there is also a friend of yours who ought not to be\nforgotten.\n\nSoc. Who is he?\n\nPhaedr. Isocrates the fair:-What message will you send to him, and\nhow shall we describe him?\n\nSoc. Isocrates is still young, Phaedrus; but I am willing to\nhazard a prophecy concerning him.\n\nPhaedr. What would you prophesy?\n\nSoc. I think that he has a genius which soars above the orations\nof Lysias, and that his character is cast in a finer mould. My\nimpression of him is that he will marvelously improve as he grows\nolder, and that all former rhetoricians will be as children in\ncomparison of him. And I believe that he will not be satisfied with\nrhetoric, but that there is in him a divine inspiration which will\nlead him to things higher still. For he has an element of philosophy\nin his nature. This is the message of the gods dwelling in this place,\nand which I will myself deliver to Isocrates, who is my delight; and\ndo you give the other to Lysias, who is yours.\n\nPhaedr. I will; and now as the heat is abated let us depart.\n\nSoc. Should we not offer up a prayer first of all to the local\ndeities?\n\nPhaedr. By all means.\n\nSoc. Beloved Pan, and all ye other gods who haunt this place, give\nme beauty in the inward soul; and may the outward and inward man be at\none. May I reckon the wise to be the wealthy, and may I have such a\nquantity of gold as a temperate man and he only can bear and\ncarry.-Anything more? The prayer, I think, is enough for me.\n\nPhaedr. Ask the same for me, for friends should have all things in\ncommon.\n\nSoc. Let us go.\n\n-THE END-",
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