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  "chapter": {
    "num": 15,
    "slug": "15-symposium",
    "title": "Symposium",
    "of": 24,
    "words": 22043,
    "text": "## Symposium\n\n\n#### 360 BC\n\n#### translated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n##### New York, C. Scribner's sons [1871]\n\nPERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: APOLLODORUS, who repeats to his companion\nthe dialogue which he had heard from Aristodemus, and had already once\nnarrated to Glaucon; PHAEDRUS; PAUSANIAS; ERYXIMACHUS; ARISTOPHANES;\nAGATHON; SOCRATES; ALCIBIADES; A TROOP OF REVELLERS. Scene: The\nHouse of Agathon.\n\nConcerning the things about which you ask to be informed I believe\nthat I am not ill-prepared with an answer. For the day before\nyesterday I was coming from my own home at Phalerum to the city, and\none of my acquaintance, who had caught a sight of me from behind,\nhind, out playfully in the distance, said: Apollodorus, O thou\nPhalerian man, halt! So I did as I was bid; and then he said, I was\nlooking for you, Apollodorus, only just now, that I might ask you\nabout the speeches in praise of love, which were delivered by\nSocrates, Alcibiades, and others, at Agathon's supper. Phoenix, the\nson of Philip, told another person who told me of them; his\nnarrative was very indistinct, but he said that you knew, and I wish\nthat you would give me an account of them. Who, if not you, should\nbe the reporter of the words of your friend? And first tell me, he\nsaid, were you present at this meeting?\n\nYour informant, Glaucon, I said, must have been very indistinct\nindeed, if you imagine that the occasion was recent; or that I could\nhave been of the party.\n\nWhy, yes, he replied, I thought so.\n\nImpossible: I said. Are you ignorant that for many years Agathon has\nnot resided at Athens; and not three have elapsed since I became\nacquainted with Socrates, and have made it my daily business to know\nall that he says and does. There was a time when I was running about\nthe world, fancying myself to be well employed, but I was really a\nmost wretched thing, no better than you are now. I thought that I\nought to do anything rather than be a philosopher.\n\nWell, he said, jesting apart, tell me when the meeting occurred.\n\nIn our boyhood, I replied, when Agathon won the prize with his first\ntragedy, on the day after that on which he and his chorus offered\nthe sacrifice of victory.\n\nThen it must have been a long while ago, he said; and who told\nyou-did Socrates?\n\nNo indeed, I replied, but the same person who told Phoenix;-he was a\nlittle fellow, who never wore any shoes Aristodemus, of the deme of\nCydathenaeum. He had been at Agathon's feast; and I think that in\nthose days there was no one who was a more devoted admirer of\nSocrates. Moreover, I have asked Socrates about the truth of some\nparts of his narrative, and he confirmed them. Then, said Glaucon, let\nus have the tale over again; is not the road to Athens just made for\nconversation? And so we walked, and talked of the discourses on\nlove; and therefore, as I said at first, I am not ill-prepared to\ncomply with your request, and will have another rehearsal of them if\nyou like. For to speak or to hear others speak of philosophy always\ngives me the greatest pleasure, to say nothing of the profit. But when\nI hear another strain, especially that of you rich men and traders,\nsuch conversation displeases me; and I pity you who are my companions,\nbecause you think that you are doing something when in reality you are\ndoing nothing. And I dare say that you pity me in return, whom you\nregard as an unhappy creature, and very probably you are right. But\nI certainly know of you what you only think of me-there is the\ndifference.\n\nCompanion. I see, Apollodorus, that you are just the same-always\nspeaking evil of yourself, and of others; and I do believe that you\npity all mankind, with the exception of Socrates, yourself first of\nall, true in this to your old name, which, however deserved I know how\nyou acquired, of Apollodorus the madman; for you are always raging\nagainst yourself and everybody but Socrates.\n\nApollodorus. Yes, friend, and the reason why I am said to be mad,\nand out of my wits, is just because I have these notions of myself and\nyou; no other evidence is required.\n\nCom. No more of that, Apollodorus; but let me renew my request\nthat you would repeat the conversation.\n\nApoll. Well, the tale of love was on this wise:-But perhaps I had\nbetter begin at the beginning, and endeavour to give you the exact\nwords of Aristodemus:\n\nHe said that he met Socrates fresh from the bath and sandalled;\nand as the sight of the sandals was unusual, he asked him whither he\nwas going that he had been converted into such a beau:-\n\nTo a banquet at Agathon's, he replied, whose invitation to his\nsacrifice of victory I refused yesterday, fearing a crowd, but\npromising that I would come to-day instead; and so I have put on my\nfinery, because he is such a fine man. What say you to going with me\nunasked?\n\nI will do as you bid me, I replied.\n\nFollow then, he said, and let us demolish the proverb:\n\nTo the feasts of inferior men the good unbidden go;\n\ninstead of which our proverb will run:-\n\nTo the feasts of the good the good unbidden go;\n\nand this alteration may be supported by the authority of Homer\nhimself, who not only demolishes but literally outrages the proverb.\nFor, after picturing Agamemnon as the most valiant of men, he makes\nMenelaus, who is but a fainthearted warrior, come unbidden to the\nbanquet of Agamemnon, who is feasting and offering sacrifices, not the\nbetter to the worse, but the worse to the better.\n\nI rather fear, Socrates, said Aristodemus, lest this may still be my\ncase; and that, like Menelaus in Homer, I shall be the inferior\nperson, who\n\nTo the leasts of the wise unbidden goes.\n\nBut I shall say that I was bidden of you, and then you will have to\nmake an excuse.\n\nTwo going together,\n\nhe replied, in Homeric fashion, one or other of them may invent an\nexcuse by the way.\n\nThis was the style of their conversation as they went along.\nSocrates dropped behind in a fit of abstraction, and desired\nAristodemus, who was waiting, to go on before him. When he reached the\nhouse of Agathon he found the doors wide open, and a comical thing\nhappened. A servant coming out met him, and led him at once into the\nbanqueting-hall in which the guests were reclining, for the banquet\nwas about to begin. Welcome, Aristodemus, said Agathon, as soon as\nhe appeared-you are just in time to sup with us; if you come on any\nother matter put it off, and make one of us, as I was looking for\nyou yesterday and meant to have asked you, if I could have found\nyou. But what have you done with Socrates?\n\nI turned round, but Socrates was nowhere to be seen; and I had to\nexplain that he had been with me a moment before, and that I came by\nhis invitation to the supper.\n\nYou were quite right in coming, said Agathon; but where is he\nhimself?\n\nHe was behind me just now, as I entered, he said, and I cannot think\nwhat has become of him.\n\nGo and look for him, boy, said Agathon, and bring him in; and do\nyou, Aristodemus, meanwhile take the place by Eryximachus.\n\nThe servant then assisted him to wash, and he lay down, and\npresently another servant came in and reported that our friend\nSocrates had retired into the portico of the neighbouring house.\n\"There he is fixed,\" said he, \"and when I call to him he will not\nstir.\"\n\nHow strange, said Agathon; then you must call him again, and keep\ncalling him.\n\nLet him alone, said my informant; he has a way of stopping\nanywhere and losing himself without any reason. I believe that he will\nsoon appear; do not therefore disturb him.\n\nWell, if you think so, I will leave him, said Agathon. And then,\nturning to the servants, he added, \"Let us have supper without waiting\nfor him. Serve up whatever you please, for there; is no one to give\nyou orders; hitherto I have never left you to yourselves. But on\nthis occasion imagine that you art our hosts, and that I and the\ncompany are your guests; treat us well, and then we shall commend\nyou.\" After this, supper was served, but still no-Socrates; and during\nthe meal Agathon several times expressed a wish to send for him, but\nAristodemus objected; and at last when the feast was about half\nover-for the fit, as usual, was not of long duration-Socrates entered;\nAgathon, who was reclining alone at the end of the table, begged\nthat he would take the place next to him; that \"I may touch you,\" he\nsaid, \"and have the benefit of that wise thought which came into\nyour mind in the portico, and is now in your possession; for I am\ncertain that you would not have come away until you had found what you\nsought.\"\n\nHow I wish, said Socrates, taking his place as he was desired,\nthat wisdom could be infused by touch, out of the fuller the emptier\nman, as water runs through wool out of a fuller cup into an emptier\none; if that were so, how greatly should I value the privilege of\nreclining at your side! For you would have filled me full with a\nstream of wisdom plenteous and fair; whereas my own is of a very\nmean and questionable sort, no better than a dream. But yours is\nbright and full of promise, and was manifested forth in all the\nsplendour of youth the day before yesterday, in the presence of more\nthan thirty thousand Hellenes.\n\nYou are mocking, Socrates, said Agathon, and ere long you and I will\nhave to determine who bears off the palm of wisdom-of this Dionysus\nshall be the judge; but at present you are better occupied with\nsupper.\n\nSocrates took his place on the couch, and supped with the rest;\nand then libations were offered, and after a hymn had been sung to the\ngod, and there had been the usual ceremonies, they were about to\ncommence drinking, when Pausanias said, And now, my friends, how can\nwe drink with least injury to ourselves? I can assure you that I\nfeel severely the effect of yesterday's potations, and must have\ntime to recover; and I suspect that most of you are in the same\npredicament, for you were of the party yesterday. Consider then: How\ncan the drinking be made easiest?\n\nI entirely agree, said Aristophanes, that we should, by all means,\navoid hard drinking, for I was myself one of those who were\nyesterday drowned in drink.\n\nI think that you are right, said Eryximachus, the son of Acumenus;\nbut I should still like to hear one other person speak: Is Agathon\nable to drink hard?\n\nI am not equal to it, said Agathon.\n\nThen, the Eryximachus, the weak heads like myself, Aristodemus,\nPhaedrus, and others who never can drink, are fortunate in finding\nthat the stronger ones are not in a drinking mood. (I do not include\nSocrates, who is able either to drink or to abstain, and will not\nmind, whichever we do.) Well, as of none of the company seem\ndisposed to drink much, I may be forgiven for saying, as a\nphysician, that drinking deep is a bad practice, which I never follow,\nif I can help, and certainly do not recommend to another, least of all\nto any one who still feels the effects of yesterday's carouse.\n\nI always do what you advise, and especially what you prescribe as\na physician, rejoined Phaedrus the Myrrhinusian, and the rest of the\ncompany, if they are wise, will do the same.\n\nIt was agreed that drinking was not to be the order of the day,\nbut that they were all to drink only so much as they pleased.\n\nThen, said Eryximachus, as you are all agreed that drinking is to be\nvoluntary, and that there is to be no compulsion, I move, in the\nnext place, that the flute-girl, who has just made her appearance,\nbe told to go away and play to herself, or, if she likes, to the women\nwho are within. To-day let us have conversation instead; and, if you\nwill allow me, I will tell you what sort of conversation. This\nproposal having been accepted, Eryximachus proceeded as follows:-\n\nI will begin, he said, after the manner of Melanippe in Euripides,\n\nNot mine the word\n\nwhich I am about to speak, but that of Phaedrus. For often he says\nto me in an indignant tone: \"What a strange thing it is,\nEryximachus, that, whereas other gods have poems and hymns made in\ntheir honour, the great and glorious god, Love, has no encomiast among\nall the poets who are so many. There are the worthy sophists too-the\nexcellent Prodicus for example, who have descanted in prose on the\nvirtues of Heracles and other heroes; and, what is still more\nextraordinary, I have met with a philosophical work in which the\nutility of salt has been made the theme of an eloquent discourse;\nand many other like things have had a like honour bestowed upon\nthem. And only to think that there should have been an eager\ninterest created about them, and yet that to this day no one has\never dared worthily to hymn Love's praises! So entirely has this great\ndeity been neglected.\" Now in this Phaedrus seems to me to be quite\nright, and therefore I want to offer him a contribution; also I\nthink that at the present moment we who are here assembled cannot do\nbetter than honour the. god Love. If you agree with me, there will\nbe no lack of conversation; for I mean to propose that each of us in\nturn, going from left to right, shall make a speech in honour of Love.\nLet him give us the best which he can; and Phaedrus, because he is\nsitting first on the left hand, and because he is the father of the\nthought, shall begin.\n\nNo one will vote against you, Eryximachus, said Socrates. How can\nI oppose your motion, who profess to understand nothing but matters of\nlove; nor, I presume, will Agathon and Pausanias; and there can be\nno doubt of Aristophanes, whose whole concern is with Dionysus and\nAphrodite; nor will any one disagree of those whom I, see around me.\nThe proposal, as I am aware, may seem rather hard upon us whose\nplace is last; but we shall be contented if we hear some good speeches\nfirst. Let Phaedrus begin the praise of Love, and good luck to him.\nAll the company expressed their assent, and desired him to do as\nSocrates bade him.\n\nAristodemus did not recollect all that was said, nor do I\nrecollect all that he related to me; but I will tell you what I\nthought most worthy of remembrance, and what the chief speakers said.\n\nPhaedrus began by affirming that love is a mighty god, and wonderful\namong gods and men, but especially wonderful in his birth. For he is\nthe eldest of the gods, which is an honour to him; and a proof of\nhis claim to this honour is, that of his parents there is no memorial;\nneither poet nor prose-writer has ever affirmed that he had any. As\nHesiod says:\n\nFirst Chaos came, and then broad-bosomed Earth,\n\nThe everlasting seat of all that is,\n\nAnd Love.\n\nIn other words, after Chaos, the Earth and Love, these two, came\ninto being. Also Parmenides sings of Generation:\n\nFirst in the train of gods, he fashioned Love.\n\nAnd Acusilaus agrees with Hesiod. Thus numerous are the witnesses\nwho acknowledge Love to be the eldest of the gods. And not only is\nhe the eldest, he is also the source of the greatest benefits to us.\nFor I know not any greater blessing to a young man who is beginning\nlife than a virtuous lover or to the lover than a beloved youth. For\nthe principle which ought to be the guide of men who would nobly\nlive at principle, I say, neither kindred, nor honour, nor wealth, nor\nany other motive is able to implant so well as love. Of what am I\nspeaking? Of the sense of honour and dishonour, without which\nneither states nor individuals ever do any good or great work. And I\nsay that a lover who is detected in doing any dishonourable act, or\nsubmitting through cowardice when any dishonour is done to him by\nanother, will be more pained at being detected by his beloved than\nat being seen by his father, or by his companions, or by any one else.\nThe beloved too, when he is found in any disgraceful situation, has\nthe same feeling about his lover. And if there were only some way of\ncontriving that a state or an army should be made up of lovers and\ntheir loves, they would be the very best governors of their own\ncity, abstaining from all dishonour, and emulating one another in\nhonour; and when fighting at each other's side, although a mere\nhandful, they would overcome the world. For what lover would not\nchoose rather to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either\nwhen abandoning his post or throwing away his arms? He would be\nready to die a thousand deaths rather than endure this. Or who would\ndesert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger? The veriest\ncoward would become an inspired hero, equal to the bravest, at such\na time; Love would inspire him. That courage which, as Homer says, the\ngod breathes into the souls of some heroes, Love of his own nature\ninfuses into the lover.\n\nLove will make men dare to die for their beloved-love alone; and\nwomen as well as men. Of this, Alcestis, the daughter of Pelias, is\na monument to all Hellas; for she was willing to lay down her life\non behalf of her husband, when no one else would, although he had a\nfather and mother; but the tenderness of her love so far exceeded\ntheirs, that she made them seem to be strangers in blood to their\nown son, and in name only related to him; and so noble did this action\nof hers appear to the gods, as well as to men, that among the many who\nhave done virtuously she is one of the very few to whom, in admiration\nof her noble action, they have granted the privilege of returning\nalive to earth; such exceeding honour is paid by the gods to the\ndevotion and virtue of love. But Orpheus, the son of Oeagrus, the\nharper, they sent empty away, and presented to him an apparition\nonly of her whom he sought, but herself they would not give up,\nbecause he showed no spirit; he was only a harp-player, and did\nnot-dare like Alcestis to die for love, but was contriving how he\nmight enter hades alive; moreover, they afterwards caused him to\nsuffer death at the hands of women, as the punishment of his\ncowardliness. Very different was the reward of the true love of\nAchilles towards his lover Patroclus-his lover and not his love (the\nnotion that Patroclus was the beloved one is a foolish error into\nwhich Aeschylus has fallen, for Achilles was surely the fairer of\nthe two, fairer also than all the other heroes; and, as Homer\ninforms us, he was still beardless, and younger far). And greatly as\nthe gods honour the virtue of love, still the return of love on the\npart of the beloved to the lover is more admired and valued and\nrewarded by them, for the lover is more divine; because he is inspired\nby God. Now Achilles was quite aware, for he had been told by his\nmother, that he might avoid death and return home, and live to a\ngood old age, if he abstained from slaying Hector. Nevertheless he\ngave his life to revenge his friend, and dared to die, not only in his\ndefence, but after he was dead Wherefore the gods honoured him even\nabove Alcestis, and sent him to the Islands of the Blest. These are my\nreasons for affirming that Love is the eldest and noblest and\nmightiest of the gods; and the chiefest author and giver of virtue\nin life, and of happiness after death.\n\nThis, or something like this, was the speech of Phaedrus; and some\nother speeches followed which Aristodemus did not remember; the next\nwhich he repeated was that of Pausanias. Phaedrus, he said, the\nargument has not been set before us, I think, quite in the right\nform;-we should not be called upon to praise Love in such an\nindiscriminate manner. If there were only one Love, then what you said\nwould be well enough; but since there are more Loves than\none,-should have begun by determining which of them was to be the\ntheme of our praises. I will amend this defect; and first of all I\nwould tell you which Love is deserving of praise, and then try to hymn\nthe praiseworthy one in a manner worthy of him. For we all know that\nLove is inseparable from Aphrodite, and if there were only one\nAphrodite there would be only one Love; but as there are two goddesses\nthere must be two Loves.\n\nAnd am I not right in asserting that there are two goddesses? The\nelder one, having no mother, who is called the heavenly\nAphrodite-she is the daughter of Uranus; the younger, who is the\ndaughter of Zeus and Dione-her we call common; and the Love who is her\nfellow-worker is rightly named common, as the other love is called\nheavenly. All the gods ought to have praise given to them, but not\nwithout distinction of their natures; and therefore I must try to\ndistinguish the characters of the two Loves. Now actions vary\naccording to the manner of their performance. Take, for example,\nthat which we are now doing, drinking, singing and talking these\nactions are not in themselves either good or evil, but they turn out\nin this or that way according to the mode of performing them; and when\nwell done they are good, and when wrongly done they are evil; and in\nlike manner not every love, but only that which has a noble purpose,\nis noble and worthy of praise. The Love who is the offspring of the\ncommon Aphrodite is essentially common, and has no discrimination,\nbeing such as the meaner sort of men feel, and is apt to be of women\nas well as of youths, and is of the body rather than of the soul-the\nmost foolish beings are the objects of this love which desires only to\ngain an end, but never thinks of accomplishing the end nobly, and\ntherefore does good and evil quite indiscriminately. The goddess who\nis his mother is far younger than the other, and she was born of the\nunion of the male and female, and partakes of both.\n\nBut the offspring of the heavenly Aphrodite is derived from a mother\nin whose birth the female has no part,-she is from the male only; this\nis that love which is of youths, and the goddess being older, there is\nnothing of wantonness in her. Those who are inspired by this love turn\nto the male, and delight in him who is the more valiant and\nintelligent nature; any one may recognise the pure enthusiasts in\nthe very character of their attachments. For they love not boys, but\nintelligent, beings whose reason is beginning to be developed, much\nabout the time at which their beards begin to grow. And in choosing\nyoung men to be their companions, they mean to be faithful to them,\nand pass their whole life in company with them, not to take them in\ntheir inexperience, and deceive them, and play the fool with them,\nor run away from one to another of them. But the love of young boys\nshould be forbidden by law, because their future is uncertain; they\nmay turn out good or bad, either in body or soul, and much noble\nenthusiasm may be thrown away upon them; in this matter the good are a\nlaw to themselves, and the coarser sort of lovers ought to be\nrestrained by force; as we restrain or attempt to restrain them from\nfixing their affections on women of free birth. These are the\npersons who bring a reproach on love; and some have been led to deny\nthe lawfulness of such attachments because they see the impropriety\nand evil of them; for surely nothing that is decorously and lawfully\ndone can justly be censured.\n\nNow here and in Lacedaemon the rules about love are perplexing,\nbut in most cities they are simple and easily intelligible; in Elis\nand Boeotia, and in countries having no gifts of eloquence, they are\nvery straightforward; the law is simply in favour of these connexions,\nand no one, whether young or old, has anything to say to their\ndiscredit; the reason being, as I suppose, that they are men of few\nwords in those parts, and therefore the lovers do not like the trouble\nof pleading their suit. In Ionia and other places, and generally in\ncountries which are subject to the barbarians, the custom is held to\nbe dishonourable; loves of youths share the evil repute in which\nphilosophy and gymnastics are held because they are inimical to\ntyranny; for the interests of rulers require that their subjects\nshould be poor in spirit and that there should be no strong bond of\nfriendship or society among them, which love, above all other motives,\nis likely to inspire, as our Athenian tyrants-learned by experience;\nfor the love of Aristogeiton and the constancy of Harmodius had\nstrength which undid their power. And, therefore, the ill-repute\ninto which these attachments have fallen is to be ascribed to the evil\ncondition of those who make them to be ill-reputed; that is to say, to\nthe self-seeking of the governors and the cowardice of the governed;\non the other hand, the indiscriminate honour which is given to them in\nsome countries is attributable to the laziness of those who hold\nthis opinion of them. In our own country a far better principle\nprevails, but, as I was saying, the explanation of it is rather\nperplexing. For, observe that open loves are held to be more\nhonourable than secret ones, and that the love of the noblest and\nhighest, even if their persons are less beautiful than others, is\nespecially honourable.\n\nConsider, too, how great is the encouragement which all the world\ngives to the lover; neither is he supposed to be doing anything\ndishonourable; but if he succeeds he is praised, and if he fail he\nis blamed. And in the pursuit of his love the custom of mankind allows\nhim to do many strange things, which philosophy would bitterly censure\nif they were done from any motive of interest, or wish for office or\npower. He may pray, and entreat, and supplicate, and swear, and lie on\na mat at the door, and endure a slavery worse than that of any\nslave-in any other case friends and enemies would be equally ready\nto prevent him, but now there is no friend who will be ashamed of\nhim and admonish him, and no enemy will charge him with meanness or\nflattery; the actions of a lover have a grace which ennobles them; and\ncustom has decided that they are highly commendable and that there\nno loss of character in them; and, what is strangest of all, he only\nmay swear and forswear himself (so men say), and the gods will forgive\nhis transgression, for there is no such thing as a lover's oath.\nSuch is the entire liberty which gods and men have allowed the\nlover, according to the custom which prevails in our part of the\nworld. From this point of view a man fairly argues in Athens to love\nand to be loved is held to be a very honourable thing. But when\nparents forbid their sons to talk with their lovers, and place them\nunder a tutor's care, who is appointed to see to these things, and\ntheir companions and equals cast in their teeth anything of the sort\nwhich they may observe, and their elders refuse to silence the\nreprovers and do not rebuke them-any one who reflects on all this\nwill, on the contrary, think that we hold these practices to be most\ndisgraceful. But, as I was saying at first, the truth as I imagine is,\nthat whether such practices are honourable or whether they are\ndishonourable is not a simple question; they are honourable to him who\nfollows them honourably, dishonourable to him who follows them\ndishonourably. There is dishonour in yielding to the evil, or in an\nevil manner; but there is honour in yielding to the good, or in an\nhonourable manner.\n\nEvil is the vulgar lover who loves the body rather than the soul,\ninasmuch as he is not even stable, because he loves a thing which is\nin itself unstable, and therefore when the bloom of youth which he was\ndesiring is over, he takes wing and flies away, in spite of all his\nwords and promises; whereas the love of the noble disposition is\nlife-long, for it becomes one with the everlasting. The custom of\nour country would have both of them proven well and truly, and would\nhave us yield to the one sort of lover and avoid the other, and\ntherefore encourages some to pursue, and others to fly; testing both\nthe lover and beloved in contests and trials, until they show to which\nof the two classes they respectively belong. And this is the reason\nwhy, in the first place, a hasty attachment is held to be\ndishonourable, because time is the true test of this as of most\nother things; and secondly there is a dishonour in being overcome by\nthe love of money, or of wealth, or of political power, whether a\nman is frightened into surrender by the loss of them, or, having\nexperienced the benefits of money and political corruption, is\nunable to rise above the seductions of them. For none of these\nthings are of a permanent or lasting nature; not to mention that no\ngenerous friendship ever sprang from them. There remains, then, only\none way of honourable attachment which custom allows in the beloved,\nand this is the way of virtue; for as we admitted that any service\nwhich the lover does to him is not to be accounted flattery or a\ndishonour to himself, so the beloved has one way only of voluntary\nservice which is not dishonourable, and this is virtuous service.\n\nFor we have a custom, and according to our custom any one who does\nservice to another under the idea that he will be improved by him\neither in wisdom, or, in some other particular of virtue-such a\nvoluntary service, I say, is not to be regarded as a dishonour, and is\nnot open to the charge of flattery. And these two customs, one the\nlove of youth, and the other the practice of philosophy and virtue\nin general, ought to meet in one, and then the beloved may\nhonourably indulge the lover. For when the lover and beloved come\ntogether, having each of them a law, and the lover thinks that he is\nright in doing any service which he can to his gracious loving one;\nand the other that he is right in showing any kindness which he can to\nhim who is making him wise and good; the one capable of\ncommunicating wisdom and virtue, the other seeking to acquire them\nwith a view to education and wisdom, when the two laws of love are\nfulfilled and meet in one-then, and then only, may the beloved yield\nwith honour to the lover. Nor when love is of this disinterested\nsort is there any disgrace in being deceived, but in every other\ncase there is equal disgrace in being or not being deceived. For he\nwho is gracious to his lover under the impression that he is rich, and\nis disappointed of his gains because he turns out to be poor, is\ndisgraced all the same: for he has done his best to show that he would\ngive himself up to any one's \"uses base\" for the sake of money; but\nthis is not honourable. And on the same principle he who gives himself\nto a lover because he is a good man, and in the hope that he will be\nimproved by his company, shows himself to be virtuous, even though the\nobject of his affection turn out to be a villain, and to have no\nvirtue; and if he is deceived he has committed a noble error. For he\nhas proved that for his part he will do anything for anybody with a\nview to virtue and improvement, than which there can be nothing\nnobler. Thus noble in every case is the acceptance of another for\nthe sake of virtue. This is that love which is the love of the\nheavenly godess, and is heavenly, and of great price to individuals\nand cities, making the lover and the beloved alike eager in the work\nof their own improvement. But all other loves are the offspring of the\nother, who is the common goddess. To you, Phaedrus, I offer this my\ncontribution in praise of love, which is as good as I could make\nextempore.\n\nPausanias came to a pause-this is the balanced way in which I have\nbeen taught by the wise to speak; and Aristodemus said that the turn\nof Aristophanes was next, but either he had eaten too much, or from\nsome other cause he had the hiccough, and was obliged to change\nturns with Eryximachus the physician, who was reclining on the couch\nbelow him. Eryximachus, he said, you ought either to stop my hiccough,\nor to speak in my turn until I have left off.\n\nI will do both, said Eryximachus: I will speak in your turn, and\ndo you speak in mine; and while I am speaking let me recommend you\nto hold your breath, and if after you have done so for some time the\nhiccough is no better, then gargle with a little water; and if it\nstill continues, tickle your nose with something and sneeze; and if\nyou sneeze once or twice, even the most violent hiccough is sure to\ngo. I will do as you prescribe, said Aristophanes, and now get on.\n\nEryximachus spoke as follows: Seeing that Pausanias made a fair\nbeginning, and but a lame ending, I must endeavour to supply his\ndeficiency. I think that he has rightly distinguished two kinds of\nlove. But my art further informs me that the double love is not merely\nan affection of the soul of man towards the fair, or towards anything,\nbut is to be found in the bodies of all animals and in productions\nof the earth, and I may say in all that is; such is the conclusion\nwhich I seem to have gathered from my own art of medicine, whence I\nlearn how great and wonderful and universal is the deity of love,\nwhose empire extends over all things, divine as well as human. And\nfrom medicine I would begin that I may do honour to my art. There\nare in the human body these two kinds of love, which are confessedly\ndifferent and unlike, and being unlike, they have loves and desires\nwhich are unlike; and the desire of the healthy is one, and the desire\nof the diseased is another; and as Pausanias was just now saying\nthat to indulge good men is honourable, and bad men\ndishonourable:-so too in the body the good and healthy elements are to\nbe indulged, and the bad elements and the elements of disease are\nnot to be indulged, but discouraged. And this is what the physician\nhas to do, and in this the art of medicine consists: for medicine\nmay be regarded generally as the knowledge of the loves and desires of\nthe body, and how to satisfy them or not; and the best physician is he\nwho is able to separate fair love from foul, or to convert one into\nthe other; and he who knows how to eradicate and how to implant\nlove, whichever is required, and can reconcile the most hostile\nelements in the constitution and make them loving friends, is\nskilful practitioner. Now the: most hostile are the most opposite,\nsuch as hot and cold, bitter and sweet, moist and dry, and the like.\nAnd my ancestor, Asclepius, knowing how-to implant friendship and\naccord in these elements, was the creator of our art, as our friends\nthe poets here tell us, and I believe them; and not only medicine in\nevery branch but the arts of gymnastic and husbandry are under his\ndominion.\n\nAny one who pays the least attention to the subject will also\nperceive that in music there is the same reconciliation of\nopposites; and I suppose that this must have been the meaning, of\nHeracleitus, although, his words are not accurate, for he says that is\nunited by disunion, like the harmony-of bow and the lyre. Now there is\nan absurdity saying that harmony is discord or is composed of elements\nwhich are still in a state of discord. But what he probably meant was,\nthat, harmony is composed of differing notes of higher or lower\npitch which disagreed once, but are now reconciled by the art of\nmusic; for if the higher and lower notes still disagreed, there\ncould be there could be no harmony-clearly not. For harmony is a\nsymphony, and symphony is an agreement; but an agreement of\ndisagreements while they disagree there cannot be; you cannot\nharmonize that which disagrees. In like manner rhythm is compounded of\nelements short and long, once differing and now-in accord; which\naccordance, as in the former instance, medicine, so in all these other\ncases, music implants, making love and unison to grow up among them;\nand thus music, too, is concerned with the principles of love in their\napplication to harmony and rhythm. Again, in the essential nature of\nharmony and rhythm there is no difficulty in discerning love which has\nnot yet become double. But when you want to use them in actual life,\neither in the composition of songs or in the correct performance of\nairs or metres composed already, which latter is called education,\nthen the difficulty begins, and the good artist is needed. Then the\nold tale has to be repeated of fair and heavenly love -the love of\nUrania the fair and heavenly muse, and of the duty of accepting the\ntemperate, and those who are as yet intemperate only that they may\nbecome temperate, and of preserving their love; and again, of the\nvulgar Polyhymnia, who must be used with circumspection that the\npleasure be enjoyed, but may not generate licentiousness; just as in\nmy own art it is a great matter so to regulate the desires of the\nepicure that he may gratify his tastes without the attendant evil of\ndisease. Whence I infer that in music, in medicine, in all other\nthings human as which as divine, both loves ought to be noted as far\nas may be, for they are both present.\n\nThe course of the seasons is also full of both these principles; and\nwhen, as I was saying, the elements of hot and cold, moist and dry,\nattain the harmonious love of one another and blend in temperance\nand harmony, they bring to men, animals, and plants health and plenty,\nand do them no harm; whereas the wanton love, getting the upper hand\nand affecting the seasons of the year, is very destructive and\ninjurious, being the source of pestilence, and bringing many other\nkinds of diseases on animals and plants; for hoar-frost and hail and\nblight spring from the excesses and disorders of these elements of\nlove, which to know in relation to the revolutions of the heavenly\nbodies and the seasons of the year is termed astronomy. Furthermore\nall sacrifices and the whole province of divination, which is the\nart of communion between gods and men-these, I say, are concerned with\nthe preservation of the good and the cure of the evil love. For all\nmanner of impiety is likely to ensue if, instead of accepting and\nhonouring and reverencing the harmonious love in all his actions, a\nman honours the other love, whether in his feelings towards gods or\nparents, towards the living or the dead. Wherefore the business of\ndivination is to see to these loves and to heal them, and divination\nis the peacemaker of gods and men, working by a knowledge of the\nreligious or irreligious tendencies which exist in human loves. Such\nis the great and mighty, or rather omnipotent force of love in\ngeneral. And the love, more especially, which is concerned with the\ngood, and which is perfected in company with temperance and justice,\nwhether among gods or men, has the greatest power, and is the source\nof all our happiness and harmony, and makes us friends with the gods\nwho are above us, and with one another. I dare say that I too have\nomitted several things which might be said in praise of Love, but this\nwas not intentional, and you, Aristophanes, may now supply the\nomission or take some other line of commendation; for I perceive\nthat you are rid of the hiccough.\n\nYes, said Aristophanes, who followed, the hiccough is gone; not,\nhowever, until I applied the sneezing; and I wonder whether the\nharmony of the body has a love of such noises and ticklings, for I\nno sooner applied the sneezing than I was cured.\n\nEryximachus said: Beware, friend Aristophanes, although you are\ngoing to speak, you are making fun of me; and I shall have to watch\nand see whether I cannot have a laugh at your expense, when you\nmight speak in peace.\n\nYou are right, said Aristophanes, laughing. I will unsay my words;\nbut do you please not to watch me, as I fear that in the speech\nwhich I am about to make, instead of others laughing with me, which is\nto the manner born of our muse and would be all the better, I shall\nonly be laughed at by them.\n\nDo you expect to shoot your bolt and escape, Aristophanes? Well,\nperhaps if you are very careful and bear in mind that you will be\ncalled to account, I may be induced to let you off.\n\nAristophanes professed to open another vein of discourse; he had a\nmind to praise Love in another way, unlike that either of Pausanias or\nEryximachus. Mankind; he said, judging by their neglect of him, have\nnever, as I think, at all understood the power of Love. For if they\nhad understood him they would surely have built noble temples and\naltars, and offered solemn sacrifices in his honour; but this is not\ndone, and most certainly ought to be done: since of all the gods he is\nthe best friend of men, the helper and the healer of the ills which\nare the great impediment to the happiness of the race. I will try to\ndescribe his power to you, and you shall teach the rest of the world\nwhat I am teaching you. In the first place, let me treat of the nature\nof man and what has happened to it; for the original human nature\nwas not like the present, but different. The sexes were not two as\nthey are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman,\nand the union of the two, having a name corresponding to this double\nnature, which had once a real existence, but is now lost, and the word\n\"Androgynous\" is only preserved as a term of reproach. In the second\nplace, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a\ncircle; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two\nfaces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike;\nalso four ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. He\ncould walk upright as men now do, backwards or forwards as he pleased,\nand he could also roll over and over at a great pace, turning on his\nfour hands and four feet, eight in all, like tumblers going over and\nover with their legs in the air; this was when he wanted to run\nfast. Now the sexes were three, and such as I have described them;\nbecause the sun, moon, and earth are three;-and the man was originally\nthe child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the\nmoon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and\nmoved round and round: like their parents. Terrible was their might\nand strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they\nmade an attack upon the gods; of them is told the tale of Otys and\nEphialtes who, as Homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would have\nlaid hands upon the gods. Doubt reigned in the celestial councils.\nShould they kill them and annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as\nthey had done the giants, then there would be an end of the sacrifices\nand worship which men offered to them; but, on the other hand, the\ngods could not suffer their insolence to be unrestrained.\n\nAt last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way.\nHe said: \"Methinks I have a plan which will humble their pride and\nimprove their manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut\nthem in two and then they will be diminished in strength and increased\nin numbers; this will have the advantage of making them more\nprofitable to us. They shall walk upright on two legs, and if they\ncontinue insolent and will not be quiet, I will split them again and\nthey shall hop about on a single leg.\" He spoke and cut men in two,\nlike a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, or as you might divide\nan egg with a hair; and as he cut them one after another, he bade\nApollo give the face and the half of the neck a turn in order that the\nman might contemplate the section of himself: he would thus learn a\nlesson of humility. Apollo was also bidden to heal their wounds and\ncompose their forms. So he gave a turn to the face and pulled the skin\nfrom the sides all over that which in our language is called the\nbelly, like the purses which draw in, and he made one mouth at the\ncentre, which he fastened in a knot (the same which is called the\nnavel); he also moulded the breast and took out most of the\nwrinkles, much as a shoemaker might smooth leather upon a last; he\nleft a few, however, in the region of the belly and navel, as a\nmemorial of the primeval state. After the division the two parts of\nman, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their\narms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow\ninto one, they were on the point of dying from hunger and\nself-neglect, because they did not like to do anything apart; and when\none of the halves died and the other survived, the survivor sought\nanother mate, man or woman as we call them, being the sections of\nentire men or women, and clung to that. They were being destroyed,\nwhen Zeus in pity of them invented a new plan: he turned the parts\nof generation round to the front, for this had not been always their\nposition and they sowed the seed no longer as hitherto like\ngrasshoppers in the ground, but in one another; and after the\ntransposition the male generated in the female in order that by the\nmutual embraces of man and woman they might breed, and the race\nmight continue; or if man came to man they might be satisfied, and\nrest, and go their ways to the business of life: so ancient is the\ndesire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original\nnature, making one of two, and healing the state of man.\n\nEach of us when separated, having one side only, like a flat fish,\nis but the indenture of a man, and he is always looking for his\nother half. Men who are a section of that double nature which was once\ncalled Androgynous are lovers of women; adulterers are generally of\nthis breed, and also adulterous women who lust after men: the women\nwho are a section of the woman do not care for men, but have female\nattachments; the female companions are of this sort. But they who\nare a section of the male follow the male, and while they are young,\nbeing slices of the original man, they hang about men and embrace\nthem, and they are themselves the best of boys and youths, because\nthey have the most manly nature. Some indeed assert that they are\nshameless, but this is not true; for they do not act thus from any\nwant of shame, but because they are valiant and manly, and have a\nmanly countenance, and they embrace that which is like them. And these\nwhen they grow up become our statesmen, and these only, which is a\ngreat proof of the truth of what I am saving. When they reach\nmanhood they are loves of youth, and are not naturally inclined to\nmarry or beget children,-if at all, they do so only in obedience to\nthe law; but they are satisfied if they may be allowed to live with\none another unwedded; and such a nature is prone to love and ready\nto return love, always embracing that which is akin to him. And when\none of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself,\nwhether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair\nare lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and\nwould not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a\nmoment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together;\nyet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the\nintense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not\nappear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something\nelse which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and\nof which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment. Suppose\nHephaestus, with his instruments, to come to the pair who are lying\nside, by side and to say to them, \"What do you people want of one\nanother?\" they would be unable to explain. And suppose further, that\nwhen he saw their perplexity he said: \"Do you desire to be wholly one;\nalways day and night to be in one another's company? for if this is\nwhat you desire, I am ready to melt you into one and let you grow\ntogether, so that being two you shall become one, and while you live a\ncommon life as if you were a single man, and after your death in the\nworld below still be one departed soul instead of two-I ask whether\nthis is what you lovingly desire, and whether you are satisfied to\nattain this?\"-there is not a man of them who when he heard the\nproposal would deny or would not acknowledge that this meeting and\nmelting into one another, this becoming one instead of two, was the\nvery expression of his ancient need. And the reason is that human\nnature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and\npursuit of the whole is called love. There was a time, I say, when\nwe were one, but now because of the wickedness of mankind God has\ndispersed us, as the Arcadians were dispersed into villages by the\nLacedaemonians. And if we are not obedient to the gods, there is a\ndanger that we shall be split up again and go about in\nbasso-relievo, like the profile figures having only half a nose\nwhich are sculptured on monuments, and that we shall be like tallies.\n\nWherefore let us exhort all men to piety, that we may avoid evil,\nand obtain the good, of which Love is to us the lord and minister; and\nlet no one oppose him-he is the enemy of the gods who oppose him.\nFor if we are friends of the God and at peace with him we shall find\nour own true loves, which rarely happens in this world at present. I\nam serious, and therefore I must beg Eryximachus not to make fun or to\nfind any allusion in what I am saying to Pausanias and Agathon, who,\nas I suspect, are both of the manly nature, and belong to the class\nwhich I have been describing. But my words have a wider\napplication-they include men and women everywhere; and I believe\nthat if our loves were perfectly accomplished, and each one\nreturning to his primeval nature had his original true love, then\nour race would be happy. And if this would be best of all, the best in\nthe next degree and under present circumstances must be the nearest\napproach to such an union; and that will be the attainment of a\ncongenial love. Wherefore, if we would praise him who has given to\nus the benefit, we must praise the god Love, who is our greatest\nbenefactor, both leading us in this life back to our own nature, and\ngiving us high hopes for the future, for he promises that if we are\npious, he will restore us to our original state, and heal us and\nmake us happy and blessed. This, Eryximachus, is my discourse of love,\nwhich, although different to yours, I must beg you to leave unassailed\nby the shafts of your ridicule, in order that each may have his\nturn; each, or rather either, for Agathon and Socrates are the only\nones left.\n\nIndeed, I am not going to attack you, said Eryximachus, for I\nthought your speech charming, and did I not know that Agathon and\nSocrates are masters in the art of love, I should be really afraid\nthat they would have nothing to say, after the world of things which\nhave been said already. But, for all that, I am not without hopes.\n\nSocrates said: You played your part well, Eryximachus; but if you\nwere as I am now, or rather as I shall be when Agathon has spoken, you\nwould, indeed, be in a great strait.\n\nYou want to cast a spell over me, Socrates, said Agathon, in the\nhope that I may be disconcerted at the expectation raised among the\naudience that I shall speak well.\n\nI should be strangely forgetful, Agathon replied Socrates, of the\ncourage and magnanimity which you showed when your own compositions\nwere about to be exhibited, and you came upon the stage with the\nactors and faced the vast theatre altogether undismayed, if I\nthought that your nerves could be fluttered at a small party of\nfriends.\n\nDo you think, Socrates, said Agathon, that my head is so full of the\ntheatre as not to know how much more formidable to a man of sense a\nfew good judges are than many fools?\n\nNay, replied Socrates, I should be very wrong in attributing to you,\nAgathon, that or any other want of refinement. And I am quite aware\nthat if you happened to meet with any whom you thought wise, you would\ncare for their opinion much more than for that of the many. But then\nwe, having been a part of the foolish many in the theatre, cannot be\nregarded as the select wise; though I know that if you chanced to be\nin the presence, not of one of ourselves, but of some really wise man,\nyou would be ashamed of disgracing yourself before him-would you not?\n\nYes, said Agathon.\n\nBut before the many you would not be ashamed, if you thought that\nyou were doing something disgraceful in their presence?\n\nHere Phaedrus interrupted them, saying: not answer him, my dear\nAgathon; for if he can only get a partner with whom he can talk,\nespecially a good-looking one, he will no longer care about the\ncompletion of our plan. Now I love to hear him talk; but just at\npresent I must not forget the encomium on Love which I ought to\nreceive from him and from every one. When you and he have paid your\ntribute to the god, then you may talk.\n\nVery good, Phaedrus, said Agathon; I see no reason why I should\nnot proceed with my speech, as I shall have many other opportunities\nof conversing with Socrates. Let me say first how I ought to speak,\nand then speak:-\n\nThe previous speakers, instead of praising the god Love, or\nunfolding his nature, appear to have congratulated mankind on the\nbenefits which he confers upon them. But I would rather praise the god\nfirst, and then speak of his gifts; this is always the right way of\npraising everything. May I say without impiety or offence, that of all\nthe blessed gods he is the most blessed because he is the fairest\nand best? And he is the fairest: for, in the first place, he is the\nyoungest, and of his youth he is himself the witness, fleeing out of\nthe way of age, who is swift enough, swifter truly than most of us\nlike:-Love hates him and will not come near him; but youth and love\nlive and move together-like to like, as the proverb says. Many\nthings were said by Phaedrus about Love in which I agree with him; but\nI cannot agree that he is older than Iapetus and Kronos:-not so; I\nmaintain him to be the youngest of the gods, and youthful ever. The\nancient doings among the gods of which Hesiod and Parmenides spoke, if\nthe tradition of them be true, were done of Necessity and not Love;\nhad Love been in those days, there would have been no chaining or\nmutilation of the gods, or other violence, but peace and sweetness, as\nthere is now in heaven, since the rule of Love began.\n\nLove is young and also tender; he ought to have a poet like Homer to\ndescribe his tenderness, as Homer says of Ate, that she is a goddess\nand tender:\n\nHer feet are tender, for she sets her steps,\n\nNot on the ground but on the heads of men:\n\nherein is an excellent proof of her tenderness that,-she walks not\nupon the hard but upon the soft. Let us adduce a similar proof of\nthe tenderness of Love; for he walks not upon the earth, nor yet\nupon skulls of men, which are not so very soft, but in the hearts\nand souls of both god, and men, which are of all things the softest:\nin them he walks and dwells and makes his home. Not in every soul\nwithout exception, for Where there is hardness he departs, where there\nis softness there he dwells; and nestling always with his feet and\nin all manner of ways in the softest of soft places, how can he be\nother than the softest of all things? Of a truth he is the tenderest\nas well as the youngest, and also he is of flexile form; for if he\nwere hard and without flexure he could not enfold all things, or\nwind his way into and out of every soul of man undiscovered. And a\nproof of his flexibility and symmetry of form is his grace, which is\nuniversally admitted to be in an especial manner the attribute of\nLove; ungrace and love are always at war with one another. The\nfairness of his complexion is revealed by his habitation among the\nflowers; for he dwells not amid bloomless or fading beauties,\nwhether of body or soul or aught else, but in the place of flowers and\nscents, there he sits and abides. Concerning the beauty of the god I\nhave said enough; and yet there remains much more which I might say.\nOf his virtue I have now to speak: his greatest glory is that he can\nneither do nor suffer wrong to or from any god or any man; for he\nsuffers not by force if he suffers; force comes not near him,\nneither when he acts does he act by force. For all men in all things\nserve him of their own free will, and where there is voluntary\nagreement, there, as the laws which are the lords of the city say,\nis justice. And not only is he just but exceedingly temperate, for\nTemperance is the acknowledged ruler of the pleasures and desires, and\nno pleasure ever masters Love; he is their master and they are his\nservants; and if he conquers them he must be temperate indeed. As to\ncourage, even the God of War is no match for him; he is the captive\nand Love is the lord, for love, the love of Aphrodite, masters him, as\nthe tale runs; and the master is stronger than the servant. And if\nhe conquers the bravest of all others, he must be himself the bravest.\n\nOf his courage and justice and temperance I have spoken, but I\nhave yet to speak of his wisdom-and according to the measure of my\nability I must try to do my best. In the first place he is a poet (and\nhere, like Eryximachus, I magnify my art), and he is also the source\nof poesy in others, which he could not be if he were not himself a\npoet. And at the touch of him every one becomes a poet, even though he\nhad no music in him before; this also is a proof that Love is a good\npoet and accomplished in all the fine arts; for no one can give to\nanother that which he has not himself, or teach that of which he has\nno knowledge. Who will deny that the creation of the animals is his\ndoing? Are they not all the works his wisdom, born and begotten of\nhim? And as to the artists, do we not know that he only of them whom\nlove inspires has the light of fame?-he whom Love touches riot walks\nin darkness. The arts of medicine and archery and divination were\ndiscovered by Apollo, under the guidance of love and desire; so that\nhe too is a disciple of Love. Also the melody of the Muses, the\nmetallurgy of Hephaestus, the weaving of Athene, the empire of Zeus\nover gods and men, are all due to Love, who was the inventor of\nthem. And so Love set in order the empire of the gods-the love of\nbeauty, as is evident, for with deformity Love has no concern. In\nthe days of old, as I began by saying, dreadful deeds were done\namong the gods, for they were ruled by Necessity; but now since the\nbirth of Love, and from the Love of the beautiful, has sprung every\ngood in heaven and earth. Therefore, Phaedrus, I say of Love that he\nis the fairest and best in himself, and the cause of what is fairest\nand best in all other things. And there comes into my mind a line of\npoetry in which he is said to be the god who\n\nGives peace on earth and calms the stormy deep,\n\nWho stills the winds and bids the sufferer sleep.\n\nThis is he who empties men of disaffection and fills them with\naffection, who makes them to meet together at banquets such as\nthese: in sacrifices, feasts, dances, he is our lord-who sends\ncourtesy and sends away discourtesy, who gives kindness ever and never\ngives unkindness; the friend of the good, the wonder of the wise,\nthe amazement of the gods; desired by those who have no part in him,\nand precious to those who have the better part in him; parent of\ndelicacy, luxury, desire, fondness, softness, grace; regardful of\nthe good, regardless of the evil: in every word, work, wish,\nfear-saviour, pilot, comrade, helper; glory of gods and men, leader\nbest and brightest: in whose footsteps let every man follow, sweetly\nsinging in his honour and joining in that sweet strain with which love\ncharms the souls of gods and men. Such is the speech, Phaedrus,\nhalf-playful, yet having a certain measure of seriousness, which,\naccording to my ability, I dedicate to the god.\n\nWhen Agathon had done speaking, Aristodemus said that there was a\ngeneral cheer; the young man was thought to have spoken in a manner\nworthy of himself, and of the god. And Socrates, looking at\nEryximachus, said: Tell me, son of Acumenus, was there not reason in\nmy fears? and was I not a true prophet when I said that Agathon\nwould make a wonderful oration, and that I should be in a strait?\n\nThe part of the prophecy which concerns Agathon, replied\nEryximachus, appears to me to be true; but, not the other part-that\nyou will be in a strait.\n\nWhy, my dear friend, said Socrates, must not I or any one be in a\nstrait who has to speak after he has heard such a rich and varied\ndiscourse? I am especially struck with the beauty of the concluding\nwords-who could listen to them without amazement? When I reflected\non the immeasurable inferiority of my own powers, I was ready to run\naway for shame, if there had been a possibility of escape. For I was\nreminded of Gorgias, and at the end of his speech I fancied that\nAgathon was shaking at me the Gorginian or Gorgonian head of the great\nmaster of rhetoric, which was simply to turn me and my speech, into\nstone, as Homer says, and strike me dumb. And then I perceived how\nfoolish I had been in consenting to take my turn with you in\npraising love, and saying that I too was a master of the art, when I\nreally had no conception how anything ought to be praised. For in my\nsimplicity I imagined that the topics of praise should be true, and\nthat this being presupposed, out of the true the speaker was to choose\nthe best and set them forth in the best manner. And I felt quite\nproud, thinking that I knew the nature of true praise, and should\nspeak well. Whereas I now see that the intention was to attribute to\nLove every species of greatness and glory, whether really belonging to\nhim not, without regard to truth or falsehood-that was no matter;\nfor the original, proposal seems to have been not that each of you\nshould really praise Love, but only that you should appear to praise\nhim. And so you attribute to Love every imaginable form of praise\nwhich can be gathered anywhere; and you say that \"he is all this,\" and\n\"the cause of all that,\" making him appear the fairest and best of all\nto those who know him not, for you cannot impose upon those who know\nhim. And a noble and solemn hymn of praise have you rehearsed. But\nas I misunderstood the nature of the praise when I said that I would\ntake my turn, I must beg to be absolved from the promise which I\nmade in ignorance, and which (as Euripides would say) was a promise of\nthe lips and not of the mind. Farewell then to such a strain: for I do\nnot praise in that way; no, indeed, I cannot. But if you like to\nhere the truth about love, I am ready to speak in my own manner,\nthough I will not make myself ridiculous by entering into any\nrivalry with you. Say then, Phaedrus, whether you would like, to\nhave the truth about love, spoken in any words and in any order\nwhich may happen to come into my mind at the time. Will that be\nagreeable to you?\n\nAristodemus said that Phaedrus and the company bid him speak in\nany manner which he thought best. Then, he added, let me have your\npermission first to ask Agathon a few more questions, in order that\nI may take his admissions as the premisses of my discourse.\n\nI grant the permission, said Phaedrus: put your questions.\nSocrates then proceeded as follows:-\n\nIn the magnificent oration which you have just uttered, I think that\nyou were right, my dear Agathon, in proposing to speak of the nature\nof Love first and afterwards of his works-that is a way of beginning\nwhich I very much approve. And as you have spoken so eloquently of his\nnature, may I ask you further, Whether love is the love of something\nor of nothing? And here I must explain myself: I do not want you to\nsay that love is the love of a father or the love of a mother-that\nwould be ridiculous; but to answer as you would, if I asked is a\nfather a father of something? to which you would find no difficulty in\nreplying, of a son or daughter: and the answer would be right.\n\nVery true, said Agathon.\n\nAnd you would say the same of a mother?\n\nHe assented.\n\nYet let me ask you one more question in order to illustrate my\nmeaning: Is not a brother to be regarded essentially as a brother of\nsomething?\n\nCertainly, he replied.\n\nThat is, of a brother or sister?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nAnd now, said Socrates, I will ask about Love:-Is Love of\nsomething or of nothing?\n\nOf something, surely, he replied.\n\nKeep in mind what this is, and tell me what I want to know-whether\nLove desires that of which love is.\n\nYes, surely.\n\nAnd does he possess, or does he not possess, that which he loves and\ndesires?\n\nProbably not, I should say.\n\nNay, replied Socrates, I would have you consider whether\n\"necessarily\" is not rather the word. The inference that he who\ndesires something is in want of something, and that he who desires\nnothing is in want of nothing, is in my judgment, Agathon absolutely\nand necessarily true. What do you think?\n\nI agree with you, said Agathon.\n\nVery good. Would he who is great, desire to be great, or he who is\nstrong, desire to be strong?\n\nThat would be inconsistent with our previous admissions.\n\nTrue. For he who is anything cannot want to be that which he is?\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd yet, added Socrates, if a man being strong desired to be strong,\nor being swift desired to be swift, or being healthy desired to be\nhealthy, in that case he might be thought to desire something which he\nalready has or is. I give the example in order that we may avoid\nmisconception. For the possessors of these qualities, Agathon, must be\nsupposed to have their respective advantages at the time, whether they\nchoose or not; and who can desire that which he has? Therefore when\na person says, I am well and wish to be well, or I am rich and wish to\nbe rich, and I desire simply to have what I have-to him we shall\nreply: \"You, my friend, having wealth and health and strength, want to\nhave the continuance of them; for at this moment, whether you choose\nor no, you have them. And when you say, I desire that which I have and\nnothing else, is not your meaning that you want to have what you now\nhave in the future? \"He must agree with us-must he not?\n\nHe must, replied Agathon.\n\nThen, said Socrates, he desires that what he has at present may be\npreserved to him in the future, which is equivalent to saying that\nhe desires something which is non-existent to him, and which as yet he\nhas not got.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nThen he and every one who desires, desires that which he has not\nalready, and which is future and not present, and which he has not,\nand is not, and of which he is in want;-these are the sort of things\nwhich love and desire seek?\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nThen now, said Socrates, let us recapitulate the argument. First, is\nnot love of something, and of something too which is wanting to a man?\n\nYes, he replied.\n\nRemember further what you said in your speech, or if you do not\nremember I will remind you: you said that the love of the beautiful\nset in order the empire of the gods, for that of deformed things there\nis no love-did you not say something of that kind?\n\nYes, said Agathon.\n\nYes, my friend, and the remark was a just one. And if this is\ntrue, Love is the love of beauty and not of deformity?\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd the admission has been already made that Love is of something\nwhich a man wants and has not?\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nThen Love wants and has not beauty?\n\nCertainly, he replied.\n\nAnd would you call that beautiful which wants and does not possess\nbeauty?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nThen would you still say that love is beautiful?\n\nAgathon replied: I fear that I did not understand what I was saying.\n\nYou made a very good speech, Agathon, replied Socrates; but there is\nyet one small question which I would fain ask:-Is not the good also\nthe beautiful?\n\nYes.\n\nThen in wanting the beautiful, love wants also the good?\n\nI cannot refute you, Socrates, said Agathon:-Let us assume that what\nyou say is true.\n\nSay rather, beloved Agathon, that you cannot refute the truth; for\nSocrates is easily refuted.\n\nAnd now, taking my leave of you, I would rehearse a tale of love\nwhich I heard from Diotima of Mantineia, a woman wise in this and in\nmany other kinds of knowledge, who in the days of old, when the\nAthenians offered sacrifice before the coming of the plague, delayed\nthe disease ten years. She was my instructress in the art of love, and\nI shall repeat to you what she said to me, beginning with the\nadmissions made by Agathon, which are nearly if not quite the same\nwhich I made to the wise woman when she questioned me-I think that\nthis will be the easiest way, and I shall take both parts myself as\nwell as I can. As you, Agathon, suggested, I must speak first of the\nbeing and nature of Love, and then of his works. First I said to her\nin nearly the same words which he used to me, that Love was a mighty\ngod, and likewise fair and she proved to me as I proved to him that,\nby my own showing, Love was neither fair nor good. \"What do you\nmean, Diotima,\" I said, \"is love then evil and foul?\" \"Hush,\" she\ncried; \"must that be foul which is not fair?\" \"Certainly,\" I said.\n\"And is that which is not wise, ignorant? do you not see that there is\na mean between wisdom and ignorance?\" \"And what may that be?\" I\nsaid. \"Right opinion,\" she replied; \"which, as you know, being\nincapable of giving a reason, is not knowledge (for how can\nknowledge be devoid of reason? nor again, ignorance, for neither can\nignorance attain the truth), but is clearly something which is a\nmean between ignorance and wisdom.\" \"Quite true,\" I replied. \"Do not\nthen insist,\" she said, \"that what is not fair is of necessity foul,\nor what is not good evil; or infer that because love is not fair and\ngood he is therefore foul and evil; for he is in a mean between them.\"\n\"Well,\" I said, \"Love is surely admitted by all to be a great god.\"\n\"By those who know or by those who do not know?\" \"By all.\" \"And how,\nSocrates,\" she said with a smile, \"can Love be acknowledged to be a\ngreat god by those who say that he is not a god at all?\" \"And who\nare they?\" I said. \"You and I are two of them,\" she replied. \"How\ncan that be?\" I said. \"It is quite intelligible,\" she replied; \"for\nyou yourself would acknowledge that the gods are happy and fair of\ncourse you would-would to say that any god was not?\" \"Certainly\nnot,\" I replied. \"And you mean by the happy, those who are the\npossessors of things good or fair?\" \"Yes.\" \"And you admitted that\nLove, because he was in want, desires those good and fair things of\nwhich he is in want?\" \"Yes, I did.\" \"But how can he be a god who has\nno portion in what is either good or fair?\" \"Impossible.\" \"Then you\nsee that you also deny the divinity of Love.\"\n\n\"What then is Love?\" I asked; \"Is he mortal?\" \"No.\" \"What then?\" \"As\nin the former instance, he is neither mortal nor immortal, but in a\nmean between the two.\" \"What is he, Diotima?\" \"He is a great spirit\n(daimon), and like all spirits he is intermediate between the divine\nand the mortal.\" \"And what,\" I said, \"is his power?\" \"He\ninterprets,\" she replied, \"between gods and men, conveying and\ntaking across to the gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and to\nmen the commands and replies of the gods; he is the mediator who spans\nthe chasm which divides them, and therefore in him all is bound\ntogether, and through him the arts of the prophet and the priest,\ntheir sacrifices and mysteries and charms, and all, prophecy and\nincantation, find their way. For God mingles not with man; but through\nLove. all the intercourse, and converse of god with man, whether awake\nor asleep, is carried on. The wisdom which understands this is\nspiritual; all other wisdom, such as that of arts and handicrafts,\nis mean and vulgar. Now these spirits or intermediate powers are\nmany and diverse, and one of them is Love. \"And who,\" I said, \"was his\nfather, and who his mother?\" \"The tale,\" she said, \"will take time;\nnevertheless I will tell you. On the birthday of Aphrodite there was a\nfeast of the gods, at which the god Poros or Plenty, who is the son of\nMetis or Discretion, was one of the guests. When the feast was over,\nPenia or Poverty, as the manner is on such occasions, came about the\ndoors to beg. Now Plenty who was the worse for nectar (there was no\nwine in those days), went into the garden of Zeus and fell into a\nheavy sleep, and Poverty considering her own straitened circumstances,\nplotted to have a child by him, and accordingly she lay down at his\nside and conceived love, who partly because he is naturally a lover of\nthe beautiful, and because Aphrodite is herself beautiful, and also\nbecause he was born on her birthday, is her follower and attendant.\nAnd as his parentage is, so also are his fortunes. In the first\nplace he is always poor, and anything but tender and fair, as the many\nimagine him; and he is rough and squalid, and has no shoes, nor a\nhouse to dwell in; on the bare earth exposed he lies under the open\nheaven, in-the streets, or at the doors of houses, taking his rest;\nand like his mother he is always in distress. Like his father too,\nwhom he also partly resembles, he is always plotting against the\nfair and good; he is bold, enterprising, strong, a mighty hunter,\nalways weaving some intrigue or other, keen in the pursuit of\nwisdom, fertile in resources; a philosopher at all times, terrible\nas an enchanter, sorcerer, sophist. He is by nature neither mortal nor\nimmortal, but alive and flourishing at one moment when he is in\nplenty, and dead at another moment, and again alive by reason of his\nfather's nature. But that which is always flowing in is always flowing\nout, and so he is never in want and never in wealth; and, further,\nhe is in a mean between ignorance and knowledge. The truth of the\nmatter is this: No god is a philosopher. or seeker after wisdom, for\nhe is wise already; nor does any man who is wise seek after wisdom.\nNeither do the ignorant seek after Wisdom. For herein is the evil of\nignorance, that he who is neither good nor wise is nevertheless\nsatisfied with himself: he has no desire for that of which he feels no\nwant.\" \"But-who then, Diotima,\" I said, \"are the lovers of wisdom,\nif they are neither the wise nor the foolish?\" \"A child may answer\nthat question,\" she replied; \"they are those who are in a mean between\nthe two; Love is one of them. For wisdom is a most beautiful thing,\nand Love is of the beautiful; and therefore Love is also a\nphilosopher: or lover of wisdom, and being a lover of wisdom is in a\nmean between the wise and the ignorant. And of this too his birth is\nthe cause; for his father is wealthy and wise, and his mother poor and\nfoolish. Such, my dear Socrates, is the nature of the spirit Love. The\nerror in your conception of him was very natural, and as I imagine\nfrom what you say, has arisen out of a confusion of love and the\nbeloved, which made you think that love was all beautiful. For the\nbeloved is the truly beautiful, and delicate, and perfect, and\nblessed; but the principle of love is of another nature, and is such\nas I have described.\"\n\nI said, \"O thou stranger woman, thou sayest well; but, assuming Love\nto be such as you say, what is the use of him to men?\" \"That,\nSocrates,\" she replied, \"I will attempt to unfold: of his nature and\nbirth I have already spoken; and you acknowledge that love is of the\nbeautiful. But some one will say: Of the beautiful in what, Socrates\nand Diotima?-or rather let me put the question more dearly, and ask:\nWhen a man loves the beautiful, what does he desire?\" I answered her\n\"That the beautiful may be his.\" \"Still,\" she said, \"the answer\nsuggests a further question: What is given by the possession of\nbeauty?\" \"To what you have asked,\" I replied, \"I have no answer\nready.\" \"Then,\" she said, \"Let me put the word 'good' in the place\nof the beautiful, and repeat the question once more: If he who loves\ngood, what is it then that he loves? \"The possession of the good,\" I\nsaid. \"And what does he gain who possesses the good?\" \"Happiness,\" I\nreplied; \"there is less difficulty in answering that question.\" \"Yes,\"\nshe said, \"the happy are made happy by the acquisition of good things.\nNor is there any need to ask why a man desires happiness; the answer\nis already final.\" \"You are right.\" I said. \"And is this wish and this\ndesire common to all? and do all men always desire their own good,\nor only some men?-what say you?\" \"All men,\" I replied; \"the desire\nis common to all.\" \"Why, then,\" she rejoined, \"are not all men,\nSocrates, said to love, but only some them? whereas you say that all\nmen are always loving the same things.\" \"I myself wonder,\" I said,-why\nthis is.\" \"There is nothing to wonder at,\" she replied; \"the reason is\nthat one part of love is separated off and receives the name of the\nwhole, but the other parts have other names.\" \"Give an\nillustration,\" I said. She answered me as follows: \"There is poetry,\nwhich, as you know, is complex; and manifold. All creation or\npassage of non-being into being is poetry or making, and the processes\nof all art are creative; and the masters of arts are all poets or\nmakers.\" \"Very true.\" \"Still,\" she said, \"you know that they are not\ncalled poets, but have other names; only that portion of the art which\nis separated off from the rest, and is concerned with music and metre,\nis termed poetry, and they who possess poetry in this sense of the\nword are called poets.\" \"Very true,\" I said. \"And the same holds of\nlove. For you may say generally that all desire of good and\nhappiness is only the great and subtle power of love; but they who are\ndrawn towards him by any other path, whether the path of\nmoney-making or gymnastics or philosophy, are not called lovers -the\nname of the whole is appropriated to those whose affection takes one\nform only-they alone are said to love, or to be lovers.\" \"I dare say,\"\nI replied, \"that you are right.\" \"Yes,\" she added, \"and you hear\npeople say that lovers are seeking for their other half; but I say\nthat they are seeking neither for the half of themselves, nor for\nthe whole, unless the half or the whole be also a good. And they\nwill cut off their own hands and feet and cast them away, if they\nare evil; for they love not what is their own, unless perchance\nthere be some one who calls what belongs to him the good, and what\nbelongs to another the evil. For there is nothing which men love but\nthe good. Is there anything?\" \"Certainly, I should say, that there\nis nothing.\" \"Then,\" she said, \"the simple truth is, that men love the\ngood.\" \"Yes,\" I said. \"To which must be added that they love the\npossession of the good? \"Yes, that must be added.\" \"And not only the\npossession, but the everlasting possession of the good?\" \"That must be\nadded too.\" \"Then love,\" she said, \"may be described generally as\nthe love of the everlasting possession of the good?\" \"That is most\ntrue.\"\n\n\"Then if this be the nature of love, can you tell me further,\" she\nsaid, \"what is the manner of the pursuit? what are they doing who show\nall this eagerness and heat which is called love? and what is the\nobject which they have in view? Answer me.\" \"Nay, Diotima,\" I replied,\n\"if I had known, I should not have wondered at your wisdom, neither\nshould I have come to learn from you about this very matter.\"\n\"Well,\" she said, \"I will teach you:-The object which they have in\nview is birth in beauty, whether of body or, soul.\" \"I do not\nunderstand you,\" I said; \"the oracle requires an explanation.\" \"I will\nmake my meaning dearer,\" she replied. \"I mean to say, that all men are\nbringing to the birth in their bodies and in their souls. There is a\ncertain age at which human nature is desirous of\nprocreation-procreation which must be in beauty and not in\ndeformity; and this procreation is the union of man and woman, and\nis a divine thing; for conception and generation are an immortal\nprinciple in the mortal creature, and in the inharmonious they can\nnever be. But the deformed is always inharmonious with the divine, and\nthe beautiful harmonious. Beauty, then, is the destiny or goddess of\nparturition who presides at birth, and therefore, when approaching\nbeauty, the conceiving power is propitious, and diffusive, and benign,\nand begets and bears fruit: at the sight of ugliness she frowns and\ncontracts and has a sense of pain, and turns away, and shrivels up,\nand not without a pang refrains from conception. And this is the\nreason why, when the hour of conception arrives, and the teeming\nnature is full, there is such a flutter and ecstasy about beauty whose\napproach is the alleviation of the pain of travail. For love,\nSocrates, is not, as you imagine, the love of the beautiful only.\"\n\"What then?\" \"The love of generation and of birth in beauty.\" \"Yes,\" I\nsaid. \"Yes, indeed,\" she replied. \"But why of generation?\" \"Because to\nthe mortal creature, generation is a sort of eternity and\nimmortality,\" she replied; \"and if, as has been already admitted, love\nis of the everlasting possession of the good, all men will necessarily\ndesire immortality together with good: Wherefore love is of\nimmortality.\"\n\nAll this she taught me at various times when she spoke of love.\nAnd I remember her once saying to me, \"What is the cause, Socrates, of\nlove, and the attendant desire? See you not how all animals, birds, as\nwell as beasts, in their desire of procreation, are in agony when they\ntake the infection of love, which begins with the desire of union;\nwhereto is added the care of offspring, on whose behalf the weakest\nare ready to battle against the strongest even to the uttermost, and\nto die for them, and will, let themselves be tormented with hunger\nor suffer anything in order to maintain their young. Man may be\nsupposed to act thus from reason; but why should animals have these\npassionate feelings? Can you tell me why?\" Again I replied that I\ndid not know. She said to me: \"And do you expect ever to become a\nmaster in the art of love, if you do not know this?\" \"But I have\ntold you already, Diotima, that my ignorance is the reason why I\ncome to you; for I am conscious that I want a teacher; tell me then\nthe cause of this and of the other mysteries of love.\" \"Marvel not,\"\nshe said, \"if you believe that love is of the immortal, as we have\nseveral times acknowledged; for here again, and on the same\nprinciple too, the mortal nature is seeking as far as is possible to\nbe everlasting and immortal: and this is only to be attained by\ngeneration, because generation always leaves behind a new existence in\nthe place of the old. Nay even in the life, of the same individual\nthere is succession and not absolute unity: a man is called the\nsame, and yet in the short interval which elapses between youth and\nage, and in which every animal is said to have life and identity, he\nis undergoing a perpetual process of loss and reparation-hair,\nflesh, bones, blood, and the whole body are always changing. Which\nis true not only of the body, but also of the soul, whose habits,\ntempers, opinions, desires, pleasures, pains, fears, never remain\nthe same in any one of us, but are always coming and going; and\nequally true of knowledge, and what is still more surprising to us\nmortals, not only do the sciences in general spring up and decay, so\nthat in respect of them we are never the same; but each of them\nindividually experiences a like change. For what is implied in the\nword 'recollection,' but the departure of knowledge, which is ever\nbeing forgotten, and is renewed and preserved by recollection, and\nappears to be the same although in reality new, according to that\nlaw of succession by which all mortal things are preserved, not\nabsolutely the same, but by substitution, the old worn-out mortality\nleaving another new and similar existence behind unlike the divine,\nwhich is always the same and not another? And in this way, Socrates,\nthe mortal body, or mortal anything, partakes of immortality; but\nthe immortal in another way. Marvel not then at the love which all men\nhave of their offspring; for that universal love and interest is for\nthe sake of immortality.\"\n\nI was astonished at her words, and said: \"Is this really true, O\nthou wise Diotima?\" And she answered with all the authority of an\naccomplished sophist: \"Of that, Socrates, you may be assured;-think\nonly of the ambition of men, and you will wonder at the\nsenselessness of their ways, unless you consider how they are\nstirred by the love of an immortality of fame. They are ready to run\nall risks greater far than they would have for their children, and\nto spend money and undergo any sort of toil, and even to die, for\nthe sake of leaving behind them a name which shall be eternal. Do\nyou imagine that Alcestis would have died to save Admetus, or Achilles\nto avenge Patroclus, or your own Codrus in order to preserve the\nkingdom for his sons, if they had not imagined that the memory of\ntheir virtues, which still survives among us, would be immortal? Nay,\"\nshe said, \"I am persuaded that all men do all things, and the better\nthey are the more they do them, in hope of the glorious fame of\nimmortal virtue; for they desire the immortal.\n\n\"Those who are pregnant in the body only, betake themselves to women\nand beget children-this is the character of their love; their\noffspring, as they hope, will preserve their memory and giving them\nthe blessedness and immortality which they desire in the future. But\nsouls which are pregnant-for there certainly are men who are more\ncreative in their souls than in their bodies conceive that which is\nproper for the soul to conceive or contain. And what are these\nconceptions?-wisdom and virtue in general. And such creators are poets\nand all artists who are deserving of the name inventor. But the\ngreatest and fairest sort of wisdom by far is that which is\nconcerned with the ordering of states and families, and which is\ncalled temperance and justice. And he who in youth has the seed of\nthese implanted in him and is himself inspired, when he comes to\nmaturity desires to beget and generate. He wanders about seeking\nbeauty that he may beget offspring-for in deformity he will beget\nnothing-and naturally embraces the beautiful rather than the\ndeformed body; above all when he finds fair and noble and\nwell-nurtured soul, he embraces the two in one person, and to such\nan one he is full of speech about virtue and the nature and pursuits\nof a good man; and he tries to educate him; and at the touch of the\nbeautiful which is ever present to his memory, even when absent, he\nbrings forth that which he had conceived long before, and in company\nwith him tends that which he brings forth; and they are married by a\nfar nearer tie and have a closer friendship than those who beget\nmortal children, for the children who are their common offspring are\nfairer and more immortal. Who, when he thinks of Homer and Hesiod\nand other great poets, would not rather have their children than\nordinary human ones? Who would not emulate them in the creation of\nchildren such as theirs, which have preserved their memory and given\nthem everlasting glory? Or who would not have such children as\nLycurgus left behind him to be the saviours, not only of Lacedaemon,\nbut of Hellas, as one may say? There is Solon, too, who is the revered\nfather of Athenian laws; and many others there are in many other\nplaces, both among hellenes and barbarians, who have given to the\nworld many noble works, and have been the parents of virtue of every\nkind; and many temples have been raised in their honour for the sake\nof children such as theirs; which were never raised in honour of any\none, for the sake of his mortal children.\n\n\"These are the lesser mysteries of love, into which even you,\nSocrates, may enter; to the greater and more hidden ones which are the\ncrown of these, and to which, if you pursue them in a right spirit,\nthey will lead, I know not whether you will be able to attain. But I\nwill do my utmost to inform you, and do you follow if you can. For\nhe who would proceed aright in this matter should begin in youth to\nvisit beautiful forms; and first, if he be guided by his instructor\naright, to love one such form only-out of that he should create fair\nthoughts; and soon he will of himself perceive that the beauty of\none form is akin to the beauty of another; and then if beauty of\nform in general is his pursuit, how foolish would he be not to\nrecognize that the beauty in every form is and the same! And when he\nperceives this he will abate his violent love of the one, which he\nwill despise and deem a small thing, and will become a lover of all\nbeautiful forms; in the next stage he will consider that the beauty of\nthe mind is more honourable than the beauty of the outward form. So\nthat if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will be\ncontent to love and tend him, and will search out and bring to the\nbirth thoughts which may improve the young, until he is compelled to\ncontemplate and see the beauty of institutions and laws, and to\nunderstand that the beauty of them all is of one family, and that\npersonal beauty is a trifle; and after laws and institutions he will\ngo on to the sciences, that he may see their beauty, being not like\na servant in love with the beauty of one youth or man or\ninstitution, himself a slave mean and narrow-minded, but drawing\ntowards and contemplating the vast sea of beauty, he will create\nmany fair and noble thoughts and notions in boundless love of\nwisdom; until on that shore he grows and waxes strong, and at last the\nvision is revealed to him of a single science, which is the science of\nbeauty everywhere. To this I will proceed; please to give me your very\nbest attention:\n\n\"He who has been instructed thus far in the things of love, and\nwho has learned to see the beautiful in due order and succession, when\nhe comes toward the end will suddenly perceive a nature of wondrous\nbeauty (and this, Socrates, is the final cause of all our former\ntoils)-a nature which in the first place is everlasting, not growing\nand decaying, or waxing and waning; secondly, not fair in one point of\nview and foul in another, or at one time or in one relation or at\none place fair, at another time or in another relation or at another\nplace foul, as if fair to some and-foul to others, or in the\nlikeness of a face or hands or any other part of the bodily frame,\nor in any form of speech or knowledge, or existing in any other being,\nas for example, in an animal, or in heaven or in earth, or in any\nother place; but beauty absolute, separate, simple, and everlasting,\nwhich without diminution and without increase, or any change, is\nimparted to the ever-growing and perishing beauties of all other\nthings. He who from these ascending under the influence of true\nlove, begins to perceive that beauty, is not far from the end. And the\ntrue order of going, or being led by another, to the things of love,\nis to begin from the beauties of earth and mount upwards for the\nsake of that other beauty, using these as steps only, and from one\ngoing on to two, and from two to all fair forms, and from fair forms\nto fair practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, until from\nfair notions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at\nlast knows what the essence of beauty is. This, my dear Socrates,\"\nsaid the stranger of Mantineia, \"is that life above all others which\nman should live, in the contemplation of beauty absolute; a beauty\nwhich if you once beheld, you would see not to be after the measure of\ngold, and garments, and fair boys and youths, whose presence now\nentrances you; and you and many a one would be content to live\nseeing them only and conversing with them without meat or drink, if\nthat were possible-you only want to look at them and to be with\nthem. But what if man had eyes to see the true beauty-the divine\nbeauty, I mean, pure and dear and unalloyed, not clogged with the\npollutions of mortality and all the colours and vanities of human\nlife-thither looking, and holding converse with the true beauty simple\nand divine? Remember how in that communion only, beholding beauty with\nthe eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth, not images\nof beauty, but realities (for he has hold not of an image but of a\nreality), and bringing forth and nourishing true virtue to become\nthe friend of God and be immortal, if mortal man may. Would that be an\nignoble life?\"\n\nSuch, Phaedrus-and I speak not only to you, but to all of you-were\nthe words of Diotima; and I am persuaded of their truth. And being\npersuaded of them, I try to persuade others, that in the attainment of\nthis end human nature will not easily find a helper better than\nlove: And therefore, also, I say that every man ought to honour him as\nI myself honour him, and walk in his ways, and exhort others to do the\nsame, and praise the power and spirit of love according to the measure\nof my ability now and ever.\n\nThe words which I have spoken, you, Phaedrus, may call an encomium\nof love, or anything else which you please.\n\nWhen Socrates had done speaking, the company applauded, and\nAristophanes was beginning to say something in answer to the\nallusion which Socrates had made to his own speech, when suddenly\nthere was a great knocking at the door of the house, as of\nrevellers, and the sound of a flute-girl was heard. Agathon told the\nattendants to go and see who were the intruders. \"If they are\nfriends of ours,\" he said, \"invite them in, but if not, say that the\ndrinking is over.\" A little while afterwards they heard the voice of\nAlcibiades resounding in the court; he was in a great state of\nintoxication and kept roaring and shouting \"Where is Agathon? Lead\nme to Agathon,\" and at length, supported by the flute-girl and some of\nhis attendants, he found his way to them. \"Hail, friends,\" he said,\nappearing-at the door crown, with a massive garland of ivy and\nviolets, his head flowing with ribands. \"Will you have a very\ndrunken man as a companion of your revels? Or shall I crown Agathon,\nwhich was my intention in coming, and go away? For I was unable to\ncome yesterday, and therefore I am here to-day, carrying on my head\nthese ribands, that taking them from my own head, I may crown the head\nof this fairest and wisest of men, as I may be allowed to call him.\nWill you laugh at me because I am drunk? Yet I know very well that I\nam speaking the truth, although you may laugh. But first tell me; if I\ncome in shall we have the understanding of which I spoke? Will you\ndrink with me or not?\"\n\nThe company were vociferous in begging that he would take his\nplace among them, and Agathon specially invited him. Thereupon he\nwas led in by the people who were with him; and as he was being led,\nintending to crown Agathon, he took the ribands from his own head\nand held them in front of his eyes; he was thus prevented from\nseeing Socrates, who made way for him, and Alcibiades took the\nvacant place between Agathon and Socrates, and in taking the place\nhe embraced Agathon and crowned him. Take off his sandals, said\nAgathon, and let him make a third on the same couch.\n\nBy all means; but who makes the third partner in our revels? said\nAlcibiades, turning round and starting up as he caught sight of\nSocrates. By Heracles, he said, what is this? here is Socrates\nalways lying in wait for me, and always, as his way is, coming out\nat all sorts of unsuspected places: and now, what have you to say\nfor yourself, and why are you lying here, where I perceive that you\nhave contrived to find a place, not by a joker or lover of jokes, like\nAristophanes, but by the fairest of the company?\n\nSocrates turned to Agathon and said: I must ask you to protect me,\nAgathon; for the passion of this man has grown quite a serious\nmatter to me. Since I became his admirer I have never been allowed\nto speak to any other fair one, or so much as to look at them. If I\ndo, he goes wild with envy and jealousy, and not only abuses me but\ncan hardly keep his hands off me, and at this moment he may do me some\nharm. Please to see to this, and either reconcile me to him, or, if he\nattempts violence, protect me, as I am in bodily fear of his mad and\npassionate attempts.\n\nThere can never be reconciliation between you and me, said\nAlcibiades; but for the present I will defer your chastisement. And\nI must beg you, Agathoron, to give me back some of the ribands that\nI may crown the marvellous head of this universal despot-I would not\nhave him complain of me for crowning you, and neglecting him, who in\nconversation is the conqueror of all mankind; and this not only\nonce, as you were the day before yesterday, but always. Whereupon,\ntaking some of the ribands, he crowned Socrates, and again reclined.\n\nThen he said: You seem, my friends, to be sober, which is a thing\nnot to be endured; you must drink-for that was the agreement under\nwhich I was admitted-and I elect myself master of the feast until\nyou are well drunk. Let us have a large goblet, Agathon, or rather, he\nsaid, addressing the attendant, bring me that wine-cooler. The\nwine-cooler which had caught his eye was a vessel holding more than\ntwo quarts-this he filled and emptied, and bade the attendant fill\nit again for Socrates. Observe, my friends, said Alcibiades, that this\ningenious trick of mine will have no effect on Socrates, for he can\ndrink any quantity of wine and not be at all nearer being drunk.\nSocrates drank the cup which the attendant filled for him.\n\nEryximachus said! What is this Alcibiades? Are we to have neither\nconversation nor singing over our cups; but simply to drink as if we\nwere thirsty?\n\nAlcibiades replied: Hail, worthy son of a most wise and worthy sire!\n\nThe same to you, said Eryximachus; but what shall we do?\n\nThat I leave to you, said Alcibiades.\n\nThe wise physician skilled our wounds to heal\n\nshall prescribe and we will obey. What do you want?\n\nWell, said Eryximachus, before you appeared we had passed a\nresolution that each one of us in turn should make a speech in\npraise of love, and as good a one as he could: the turn was passed\nround from left to right; and as all of us have spoken, and you have\nnot spoken but have well drunken, you ought to speak, and then\nimpose upon Socrates any task which you please, and he on his right\nhand neighbour, and so on.\n\nThat is good, Eryximachus, said Alcibiades; and yet the\ncomparison, of a drunken man's speech with those of sober men is\nhardly fair; and I should like to know, sweet friend, whether you\nreally believe-what Socrates was just now saying; for I can assure you\nthat the very reverse is the fact, and that if I praise any one but\nhimself in his presence, whether God or man, he will hardly keep his\nhands off me.\n\nFor shame, said Socrates.\n\nHold your tongue, said Alcibiades, for by Poseidon, there is no\none else whom I will praise when you are-of the company.\n\nWell then, said Eryximachus, if you like praise Socrates.\n\nWhat do you think, Eryximachus-? said Alcibiades: shall I attack\nhim: and inflict the punishment before you all?\n\nWhat are you about? said Socrates; are you going to raise a laugh at\nmy expense? Is that the meaning of your praise?\n\nI am going to speak the truth, if you will permit me.\n\nI not only permit, but exhort you to speak the truth.\n\nThen I will begin at once, said Alcibiades, and if I say anything\nwhich is not true, you may interrupt me if you will, and say \"that\nis a lie,\" though my intention is to speak the truth. But you must not\nwonder if I speak any how as things come into my mind; for the\nfluent and orderly enumeration of all your singularities is not a task\nwhich is easy to a man in my condition.\n\nAnd now, my boys, I shall praise Socrates in a figure which will\nappear to him to be a caricature, and yet I speak, not to make fun\nof him, but only for the truth's sake. I say, that he is exactly\nlike the busts of Silenus, which are set up in the statuaries,\nshops, holding pipes and flutes in their mouths; and they are made\nto open in the middle, and have images of gods inside them. I say also\nthat hit is like Marsyas the satyr. You yourself will not deny,\nSocrates, that your face is like that of a satyr. Aye, and there is\na resemblance in other points too. For example, you are a bully, as\nI can prove by witnesses, if you will not confess. And are you not a\nflute-player? That you are, and a performer far more wonderful than\nMarsyas. He indeed with instruments used to charm the souls of men\nby the powers of his breath, and the players of his music do so still:\nfor the melodies of Olympus are derived from Marsyas who taught\nthem, and these, whether they are played by a great master or by a\nmiserable flute-girl, have a power which no others have; they alone\npossess the soul and reveal the wants of those who have need of gods\nand mysteries, because they are divine. But you produce the same\neffect with your words only, and do not require the flute; that is the\ndifference between you and him. When we hear any other speaker, even\nvery good one, he produces absolutely no effect upon us, or not\nmuch, whereas the mere fragments of you and your words, even at\nsecond-hand, and however imperfectly repeated, amaze and possess the\nsouls of every man, woman, and child who comes within hearing of them.\nAnd if I were not, afraid that you would think me hopelessly drunk,\nI would have sworn as well as spoken to the influence which they\nhave always had and still have over me. For my heart leaps within me\nmore than that of any Corybantian reveller, and my eyes rain tears\nwhen I hear them. And I observe that many others are affected in the\nsame manner. I have heard Pericles and other great orators, and I\nthought that they spoke well, but I never had any similar feeling;\nmy soul was not stirred by them, nor was I angry at the thought of\nmy own slavish state. But this Marsyas has often brought me to such\npass, that I have felt as if I could hardly endure the life which I am\nleading (this, Socrates, you will admit); and I am conscious that if I\ndid not shut my ears against him, and fly as from the voice of the\nsiren, my fate would be like that of others,-he would transfix me, and\nI should grow old sitting at his feet. For he makes me confess that\nI ought not to live as I do, neglecting the wants of my own soul,\nand busying myself with the concerns of the Athenians; therefore I\nhold my ears and tear myself away from him. And he is the only\nperson who ever made me ashamed, which you might think not to be in my\nnature, and there is no one else who does the same. For I know that\nI cannot answer him or say that I ought not to do as he bids, but when\nI leave his presence the love of popularity gets the better of me. And\ntherefore I run away and fly from him, and when I see him I am ashamed\nof what I have confessed to him. Many a time have I wished that he\nwere dead, and yet I know that I should be much more sorry than\nglad, if he were to die: so that am at my wit's end.\n\nAnd this is what I and many others have suffered, from the\nflute-playing of this satyr. Yet hear me once more while I show you\nhow exact the image is, and. how marvellous his power. For let me tell\nyou; none of you know him; but I will reveal him to you; having begun,\nI must go on. See you how fond he is of the fair? He is always with\nthem and is always being smitten by them, and then again he knows\nnothing and is ignorant of all thing such is the appearance which he\nputs on. Is he not like a Silenus in this? To be sure he is: his outer\nmask is the carved head of the Silenus; but, O my companions in drink,\nwhen he is opened, what temperance there is residing within! Know\nyou that beauty and wealth and honour, at which the many wonder, are\nof no account with him, and are utterly despised by him: he regards\nnot at all the persons who are gifted with them; mankind are nothing\nto him; all his life is spent in mocking and flouting at them. But\nwhen I opened him, and looked within at his serious purpose, I saw\nin him divine and golden images of such fascinating beauty that I\nwas ready to do in a moment whatever Socrates commanded: they may have\nescaped the observation of others, but I saw them. Now I fancied\nthat he was seriously enamoured of my beauty, and I thought that I\nshould therefore have a grand opportunity of hearing him tell what\nhe knew, for I had a wonderful opinion of the attractions of my youth.\nIn the prosecution of this design, when I next went to him, I sent\naway the attendant who usually accompanied me (I will confess the\nwhole truth, and beg you to listen; and if I speak falsely, do you,\nSocrates, expose the falsehood). Well, he and I were alone together,\nand I thought that when there was nobody with us, I should hear him\nspeak the language which lovers use to their loves when they are by\nthemselves, and I was delighted. Nothing of the sort; he conversed\nas usual, and spent the day with me and then went away. Afterwards I\nchallenged him to the palaestra; and he wrestled and closed with me,\nseveral times when there was no one present; I fancied that I might\nsucceed in this manner. Not a bit; I made no way with him. Lastly,\nas I had failed hitherto, I thought that I must take stronger measures\nand attack him boldly, and, as I had begun, not give him up, but see\nhow matters stood between him and me. So I invited him to sup with me,\njust as if he were a fair youth, and I a designing lover. He was not\neasily persuaded to come; he did, however, after a while accept the\ninvitation, and when he came the first time, he wanted to go away at\nonce as soon as supper was over, and I had not the face to detain him.\nThe second time, still in pursuance of my design, after we had supped,\nI went on conversing far into the night, and when he wanted to go\naway, I pretended that the hour was late and that he had much better\nremain. So he lay down on the couch next to me, the same on which he\nhad supped, and there was no one but ourselves sleeping in the\napartment. All this may be told without shame to any one. But what\nfollows I could hardly tell you if I were sober. Yet as the proverb\nsays, \"In vino veritas,\" whether with boys, or without them; and\ntherefore I must speak. Nor, again, should I be justified in\nconcealing the lofty actions of Socrates when I come to praise him.\nMoreover I have felt the serpent's sting; and he who has suffered,\nas they say, is willing to tell his fellow-sufferers only, as they\nalone will be likely to understand him, and will not be extreme in\njudging of the sayings or doings which have been wrung from his agony.\nFor I have been bitten by a more than viper's tooth; I have known in\nmy soul, or in my heart, or in some other part, that worst of pangs,\nmore violent in ingenuous youth than any serpent's tooth, the pang\nof philosophy, which will make a man say or do anything. And you\nwhom I see around me, Phaedrus and Agathon and Eryximachus and\nPausanias and Aristodemus and Aristophanes, all of you, and I need not\nsay Socrates himself, have had experience of the same madness and\npassion in your longing after wisdom. Therefore listen and excuse my\ndoings then and my sayings now. But let the attendants and other\nprofane and unmannered persons close up the doors of their ears.\n\nWhen the lamp was put out and the servants had gone away, I\nthought that I must be plain with him and have no more ambiguity. So I\ngave him a shake, and I said: \"Socrates, are you asleep?\" \"No,\" he\nsaid. \"Do you know what I am meditating? \"What are you meditating?\" he\nsaid. \"I think,\" I replied, \"that of all the lovers whom I have ever\nhad you are the only one who is worthy of me, and you appear to be too\nmodest to speak. Now I feel that I should be a fool to refuse you this\nor any other favour, and therefore I come to lay at your feet all that\nI have and all that my friends have, in the hope that you will\nassist me in the way of virtue, which I desire above all things, and\nin which I believe that you can help me better than any one else.\nAnd I should certainly have more reason to be ashamed of what wise men\nwould say if I were to refuse a favour to such as you, than of what\nthe world who are mostly fools, would say of me if I granted it.\" To\nthese words he replied in the ironical manner which is so\ncharacteristic of him: \"Alcibiades, my friend, you have indeed an\nelevated aim if what you say is true, and if there really is in me any\npower by which you may become better; truly you must see in me some\nrare beauty of a kind infinitely higher than any which I see in you.\nAnd therefore, if you mean to share with me and to exchange beauty for\nbeauty, you will have greatly the advantage of me; you will gain\ntrue beauty in return for appearance-like Diomede, gold in exchange\nfor brass. But look again, sweet friend, and see whether you are not\ndeceived in me. The mind begins to grow critical when the bodily eye\nfails, and it will be a long time before you get old.\" Hearing this, I\nsaid: \"I have told you my purpose, which is quite serious, and do\nyou consider what you think best for you and me.\" \"That is good,\" he\nsaid; \"at some other time then we will consider and act as seems\nbest about this and about other matters.\" Whereupon, I fancied that\nwas smitten, and that the words which I had uttered like arrows had\nwounded him, and so without waiting to hear more I got up, and\nthrowing my coat about him crept under his threadbare cloak, as the\ntime of year was winter, and there I lay during the whole night having\nthis wonderful monster in my arms. This again, Socrates, will not be\ndenied by you. And yet, notwithstanding all, he was so superior to\nmy solicitations, so contemptuous and derisive and disdainful of my\nbeauty-which really, as I fancied, had some attractions-hear, O\njudges; for judges you shall be of the haughty virtue of\nSocrates-nothing more happened, but in the morning when I awoke (let\nall the gods and goddesses be my witnesses) I arose as from the\ncouch of a father or an elder brother.\n\nWhat do you suppose must have been my feelings, after this\nrejection, at the thought of my own dishonour? And yet I could not\nhelp wondering at his natural temperance and self-restraint and\nmanliness. I never imagined that I could have met with a man such as\nhe is in wisdom and endurance. And therefore I could not be angry with\nhim or renounce his company, any more than I could hope to win him.\nFor I well knew that if Ajax could not be wounded by steel, much\nless he by money; and my only chance of captivating him by my personal\nattractions had faded. So I was at my wit's end; no one was ever\nmore hopelessly enslaved by another. All this happened before he and I\nwent on the expedition to Potidaea; there we messed together, and I\nhad the opportunity of observing his extraordinary power of sustaining\nfatigue. His endurance was simply marvellous when, being cut off\nfrom our supplies, we were compelled to go without food-on such\noccasions, which often happen in time of war, he was superior not only\nto me but to everybody; there was no one to be compared to him. Yet at\na festival he was the only person who had any real powers of\nenjoyment; though not willing to drink, he could if compelled beat\nus all at that,-wonderful to relate! no human being had ever seen\nSocrates drunk; and his powers, if I am not mistaken, will be tested\nbefore long. His fortitude in enduring cold was also surprising. There\nwas a severe frost, for the winter in that region is really\ntremendous, and everybody else either remained indoors, or if they\nwent out had on an amazing quantity of clothes, and were well shod,\nand had their feet swathed in felt and fleeces: in the midst of\nthis, Socrates with his bare feet on the ice and in his ordinary dress\nmarched better than the other soldiers who had shoes, and they\nlooked daggers at him because he seemed to despise them.\n\nI have told you one tale, and now I must tell you another, which\nis worth hearing, 'Of the doings and sufferings of the enduring\nman', while he was on the expedition. One morning he was thinking\nabout something which he could not resolve; he would not give it up,\nbut continued thinking from early dawn until noon-there he stood fixed\nin thought; and at noon attention was drawn to him, and the rumour ran\nthrough the wondering crowd that Socrates had been standing and\nthinking about something ever since the break of day. At last, in\nthe evening after supper, some Ionians out of curiosity (I should\nexplain that this was not in winter but in summer), brought out\ntheir mats and slept in the open air that they might watch him and see\nwhether he would stand all night. There he stood until the following\nmorning; and with the return of light he offered up a prayer to the\nsun, and went his way. I will also tell, if you please-and indeed I am\nbound to tell of his courage in battle; for who but he saved my\nlife? Now this was the engagement in which I received the prize of\nvalour: for I was wounded and he would not leave me, but he rescued me\nand my arms; and he ought to have received the prize of valour which\nthe generals wanted to confer on me partly on account of my rank,\nand I told them so, (this, again Socrates will not impeach or deny),\nbut he was more eager than the generals that I and not he should\nhave the prize. There was another occasion on which his behaviour\nwas very remarkable-in the flight of the army after the battle of\nDelium, where he served among the heavy-armed-I had a better\nopportunity of seeing him than at Potidaea, for I was myself on\nhorseback, and therefore comparatively out of danger. He and Laches\nwere retreating, for the troops were in flight, and I met them and\ntold them not to be discouraged, and promised to remain with them; and\nthere you might see him, Aristophanes, as you describe, just as he\nis in the streets of Athens, stalking like a and rolling his eyes,\ncalmly contemplating enemies as well as friends, and making very\nintelligible to anybody, even from a distance, that whoever attacked\nhim would be likely to meet with a stout resistance; and in this way\nhe and his companion escaped-for this is the sort of man who is\nnever touched in war; those only are pursued who are running away\nheadlong. I particularly observed how superior he was to Laches in\npresence of mind. Many are the marvels which I might narrate in praise\nof Socrates; most of his ways might perhaps be paralleled in another\nman, but his absolute unlikeness to any human being that is or ever\nhas been is perfectly astonishing. You may imagine Brasidas and others\nto have been like Achilles; or you may imagine Nestor and Antenor to\nhave been like Perides; and the same may be said of other famous\nmen, but of this strange being you will never be able to find any\nlikeness, however remote, either among men who now are or who ever\nhave been-other than that which I have already suggested of Silenus\nand the satyrs; and they represent in a figure not only himself, but\nhis words. For, although I forgot to mention this to you before, his\nwords are like the images of Silenus which open; they are ridiculous\nwhen you first hear them; he clothes himself in language that is\nlike the skin of the wanton satyr-for his talk is of pack-asses and\nsmiths and cobblers and curriers, and he is always repeating the\nsame things in the same words, so that any ignorant or inexperienced\nperson might feel disposed to laugh at him; but he who opens the\nbust and sees what is within will find that they are the only words\nwhich have a meaning in them, and also the most divine, abounding in\nfair images of virtue, and of the widest comprehension, or rather\nextending to the whole duty of a good and honourable man.\n\nThis, friends, is my praise of Socrates. I have added my blame of\nhim for his ill-treatment of me; and he has ill-treated not only me,\nbut Charmides the son of Glaucon, and Euthydemus the son of Diocles,\nand many others in the same way-beginning as their lover he has\nended by making them pay their addresses to him. Wherefore I say to\nyou, Agathon, \"Be no deceived by him; learn from me: and take warning,\nand do not be a fool and learn by experience, as the proverb says.\"\n\nWhen Alcibiades had finished, there was a laugh at his\noutspokenness; for he seemed to be still in love with Socrates. You\nare sober, Alcibiades, said Socrates, or you would never have gone\nso far about to hide the purpose of your satyr's praises, for all this\nlong story is only an ingenious circumlocution, of which the point\ncomes in by the way at the end; you want to get up a quarrel between\nme and Agathon, and your notion-is that I ought to love you and nobody\nelse, and that you and you only ought to love Agathon. But the plot of\nthis Satyric or Silenic drama has been detected, and you must not\nallow him, Agathon, to set us at variance.\n\nI believe you are right, said Agathon, and I am disposed to think\nthat his intention in placing himself between you and me was only to\ndivide us; but he shall gain nothing by that move; for I will go and\nlie on the couch next to you.\n\nYes, yes, replied Socrates, by all means come here and lie on the\ncouch below me.\n\nAlas, said Alcibiades, how I am fooled by this man; he is determined\nto get the better of me at every turn. I do beseech you, allow Agathon\nto lie between us.\n\nCertainly not, said Socrates, as you praised me, and I in turn ought\nto praise my neighbour on the right, he will be out of order in\npraising me again when he ought rather to be praised by me, and I must\nentreat you to consent to this, and not be jealous, for I have a great\ndesire to praise the youth.\n\nHurrah! cried Agathon, I will rise instantly, that I may be\npraised by Socrates.\n\nThe usual way, said Alcibiades; where Socrates is, no one else has\nany chance with the fair; and now how readily has he invented a\nspecious reason for attracting Agathon to himself.\n\nAgathon arose in order that he might take his place on the couch\nby Socrates, when suddenly a band of revellers entered, and spoiled\nthe order of the banquet. Some one who was going out having left the\ndoor open, they had found their way in, and made themselves at home;\ngreat confusion ensued, and every one was compelled to drink large\nquantities of wine. Aristodemus said that Eryximachus, Phaedrus, and\nothers went away-he himself fell asleep, and as the nights were long\ntook a good rest: he was awakened towards daybreak by a crowing of\ncocks, and when he awoke, the others were either asleep, or had gone\naway; there remained only Socrates, Aristophanes, and Agathon, who\nwere drinking out of a large goblet which they passed round, and\nSocrates was discoursing to them. Aristodemus was only half awake, and\nhe did not hear the beginning of the discourse; the chief thing\nwhich he remembered was Socrates compelling the other two to\nacknowledge that the genius of comedy was the same with that of\ntragedy, and that the true artist in tragedy was an artist in comedy\nalso. To this they were constrained to assent, being drowsy, and not\nquite following the argument. And first of all Aristophanes dropped\noff, then, when the day was already dawning, Agathon. Socrates, having\nlaid them to sleep, rose to depart; Aristodemus, as his manner was,\nfollowing him. At the Lyceum he took a bath, and passed the day as\nusual. In the evening he retired to rest at his own home.\n\n-THE END-",
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