{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_1636/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_1636","id":"gutenberg_1636","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1636","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Classical literature","Love -- Early works to 1800","Lysias","Rhetoric -- Early works to 1800","Rhetoric, Ancient","Socrates, 470 BC-399 BC","Soul -- Early works to 1800"],"text":"Produced by Sue Asscher\n\n\n\n\n\nPHAEDRUS\n\nBy Plato\n\n\nTranslated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nThe Phaedrus is closely connected with the Symposium, and may be\nregarded either as introducing or following it. The two Dialogues\ntogether contain the whole philosophy of Plato on the nature of love,\nwhich in the Republic and in the later writings of Plato is only\nintroduced playfully or as a figure of speech. But in the Phaedrus and\nSymposium love and philosophy join hands, and one is an aspect of the\nother. The spiritual and emotional part is elevated into the ideal, to\nwhich in the Symposium mankind are described as looking forward, and\nwhich in the Phaedrus, as well as in the Phaedo, they are seeking to\nrecover from a former state of existence. Whether the subject of the\nDialogue is love or rhetoric, or the union of the two, or the relation\nof philosophy to love and to art in general, and to the human soul, will\nbe hereafter considered. And perhaps we may arrive at some conclusion\nsuch as the following--that the dialogue is not strictly confined to a\nsingle subject, but passes from one to another with the natural freedom\nof conversation.\n\nPhaedrus has been spending the morning with Lysias, the celebrated\nrhetorician, and is going to refresh himself by taking a walk outside\nthe wall, when he is met by Socrates, who professes that he will not\nleave him until he has delivered up the speech with which Lysias\nhas regaled him, and which he is carrying about in his mind, or more\nprobably in a book hidden under his cloak, and is intending to study\nas he walks. The imputation is not denied, and the two agree to direct\ntheir steps out of the public way along the stream of the Ilissus\ntowards a plane-tree which is seen in the distance. There, lying down\namidst pleasant sounds and scents, they will read the speech of Lysias.\nThe country is a novelty to Socrates, who never goes out of the town;\nand hence he is full of admiration for the beauties of nature, which he\nseems to be drinking in for the first time.\n\nAs they are on their way, Phaedrus asks the opinion of Socrates\nrespecting the local tradition of Boreas and Oreithyia. Socrates, after\na satirical allusion to the 'rationalizers' of his day, replies that he\nhas no time for these 'nice' interpretations of mythology, and he pities\nanyone who has. When you once begin there is no end of them, and they\nspring from an uncritical philosophy after all. 'The proper study of\nmankind is man;' and he is a far more complex and wonderful being than\nthe serpent Typho. Socrates as yet does not know himself; and why should\nhe care to know about unearthly monsters? Engaged in such conversation,\nthey arrive at the plane-tree; when they have found a convenient\nresting-place, Phaedrus pulls out the speech and reads:--\n\nThe speech consists of a foolish paradox which is to the effect that the\nnon-lover ought to be accepted rather than the lover--because he is more\nrational, more agreeable, more enduring, less suspicious, less hurtful,\nless boastful, less engrossing, and because there are more of them, and\nfor a great many other reasons which are equally unmeaning. Phaedrus is\ncaptivated with the beauty of the periods, and wants to make Socrates\nsay that nothing was or ever could be written better. Socrates does not\nthink much of the matter, but then he has only attended to the form, and\nin that he has detected several repetitions and other marks of haste. He\ncannot agree with Phaedrus in the extreme value which he sets upon this\nperformance, because he is afraid of doing injustice to Anacreon and\nSappho and other great writers, and is almost inclined to think that he\nhimself, or rather some power residing within him, could make a speech\nbetter than that of Lysias on the same theme, and also different from\nhis, if he may be allowed the use of a few commonplaces which all\nspeakers must equally employ.\n\nPhaedrus is delighted at the prospect of having another speech, and\npromises that he will set up a golden statue of Socrates at Delphi,\nif he keeps his word. Some raillery ensues, and at length Socrates,\nconquered by the threat that he shall never again hear a speech of\nLysias unless he fulfils his promise, veils his face and begins.\n\nFirst, invoking the Muses and assuming ironically the person of the\nnon-lover (who is a lover all the same), he will enquire into the nature\nand power of love. For this is a necessary preliminary to the other\nquestion--How is the non-lover to be distinguished from the lover? In\nall of us there are two principles--a better and a worse--reason and\ndesire, which are generally at war with one another; and the victory\nof the rational is called temperance, and the victory of the irrational\nintemperance or excess. The latter takes many forms and has many bad\nnames--gluttony, drunkenness, and the like. But of all the irrational\ndesires or excesses the greatest is that which is led away by desires\nof a kindred nature to the enjoyment of personal beauty. And this is the\nmaster power of love.\n\nHere Socrates fancies that he detects in himself an unusual flow\nof eloquence--this newly-found gift he can only attribute to the\ninspiration of the place, which appears to be dedicated to the nymphs.\nStarting again from the philosophical basis which has been laid down, he\nproceeds to show how many advantages the non-lover has over the lover.\nThe one encourages softness and effeminacy and exclusiveness; he cannot\nendure any superiority in his beloved; he will train him in luxury, he\nwill keep him out of society, he will deprive him of parents, friends,\nmoney, knowledge, and of every other good, that he may have him all to\nhimself. Then again his ways are not ways of pleasantness; he is mighty\ndisagreeable; 'crabbed age and youth cannot live together.' At every\nhour of the night and day he is intruding upon him; there is the\nsame old withered face and the remainder to match--and he is always\nrepeating, in season or out of season, the praises or dispraises of his\nbeloved, which are bad enough when he is sober, and published all over\nthe world when he is drunk. At length his love ceases; he is converted\ninto an enemy, and the spectacle may be seen of the lover running away\nfrom the beloved, who pursues him with vain reproaches, and demands\nhis reward which the other refuses to pay. Too late the beloved learns,\nafter all his pains and disagreeables, that 'As wolves love lambs so\nlovers love their loves.' (Compare Char.) Here is the end; the 'other'\nor 'non-lover' part of the speech had better be understood, for if in\nthe censure of the lover Socrates has broken out in verse, what will\nhe not do in his praise of the non-lover? He has said his say and is\npreparing to go away.\n\nPhaedrus begs him to remain, at any rate until the heat of noon has\npassed; he would like to have a little more conversation before they go.\nSocrates, who has risen, recognizes the oracular sign which forbids him\nto depart until he has done penance. His conscious has been awakened,\nand like Stesichorus when he had reviled the lovely Helen he will sing\na palinode for having blasphemed the majesty of love. His palinode takes\nthe form of a myth.\n\nSocrates begins his tale with a glorification of madness, which he\ndivides into four kinds: first, there is the art of divination or\nprophecy--this, in a vein similar to that pervading the Cratylus and\nIo, he connects with madness by an etymological explanation (mantike,\nmanike--compare oionoistike, oionistike, ''tis all one reckoning, save\nthe phrase is a little variations'); secondly, there is the art of\npurification by mysteries; thirdly, poetry or the inspiration of the\nMuses (compare Ion), without which no man can enter their temple. All\nthis shows that madness is one of heaven's blessings, and may sometimes\nbe a great deal better than sense. There is also a fourth kind of\nmadness--that of love--which cannot be explained without enquiring into\nthe nature of the soul.\n\nAll soul is immortal, for she is the source of all motion both in\nherself and in others. Her form may be described in a figure as a\ncomposite nature made up of a charioteer and a pair of winged steeds.\nThe steeds of the gods are immortal, but ours are one mortal and the\nother immortal. The immortal soul soars upwards into the heavens, but\nthe mortal drops her plumes and settles upon the earth.\n\nNow the use of the wing is to rise and carry the downward element into\nthe upper world--there to behold beauty, wisdom, goodness, and the other\nthings of God by which the soul is nourished. On a certain day Zeus the\nlord of heaven goes forth in a winged chariot; and an array of gods\nand demi-gods and of human souls in their train, follows him. There are\nglorious and blessed sights in the interior of heaven, and he who will\nmay freely behold them. The great vision of all is seen at the feast of\nthe gods, when they ascend the heights of the empyrean--all but Hestia,\nwho is left at home to keep house. The chariots of the gods glide\nreadily upwards and stand upon the outside; the revolution of the\nspheres carries them round, and they have a vision of the world beyond.\nBut the others labour in vain; for the mortal steed, if he has not been\nproperly trained, keeps them down and sinks them towards the earth. Of\nthe world which is beyond the heavens, who can tell? There is an essence\nformless, colourless, intangible, perceived by the mind only, dwelling\nin the region of true knowledge. The divine mind in her revolution\nenjoys this fair prospect, and beholds justice, temperance, and\nknowledge in their everlasting essence. When fulfilled with the sight\nof them she returns home, and the charioteer puts up the horses in their\nstable, and gives them ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink. This is the\nlife of the gods; the human soul tries to reach the same heights, but\nhardly succeeds; and sometimes the head of the charioteer rises above,\nand sometimes sinks below, the fair vision, and he is at last obliged,\nafter much contention, to turn away and leave the plain of truth. But if\nthe soul has followed in the train of her god and once beheld truth she\nis preserved from harm, and is carried round in the next revolution of\nthe spheres; and if always following, and always seeing the truth, is\nthen for ever unharmed. If, however, she drops her wings and falls to\nthe earth, then she takes the form of man, and the soul which has seen\nmost of the truth passes into a philosopher or lover; that which has\nseen truth in the second degree, into a king or warrior; the third, into\na householder or money-maker; the fourth, into a gymnast; the fifth,\ninto a prophet or mystic; the sixth, into a poet or imitator; the\nseventh, into a husbandman or craftsman; the eighth, into a sophist or\ndemagogue; the ninth, into a tyrant. All these are states of probation,\nwherein he who lives righteously is improved, and he who lives\nunrighteously deteriorates. After death comes the judgment; the bad\ndepart to houses of correction under the earth, the good to places\nof joy in heaven. When a thousand years have elapsed the souls meet\ntogether and choose the lives which they will lead for another period of\nexistence. The soul which three times in succession has chosen the life\nof a philosopher or of a lover who is not without philosophy receives\nher wings at the close of the third millennium; the remainder have to\ncomplete a cycle of ten thousand years before their wings are restored\nto them. Each time there is full liberty of choice. The soul of a man\nmay descend into a beast, and return again into the form of man. But the\nform of man will only be taken by the soul which has once seen truth and\nacquired some conception of the universal:--this is the recollection of\nthe knowledge which she attained when in the company of the Gods. And\nmen in general recall only with difficulty the things of another world,\nbut the mind of the philosopher has a better remembrance of them. For\nwhen he beholds the visible beauty of earth his enraptured soul passes\nin thought to those glorious sights of justice and wisdom and temperance\nand truth which she once gazed upon in heaven. Then she celebrated holy\nmysteries and beheld blessed apparitions shining in pure light, herself\npure, and not as yet entombed in the body. And still, like a bird eager\nto quit its cage, she flutters and looks upwards, and is therefore\ndeemed mad. Such a recollection of past days she receives through sight,\nthe keenest of our senses, because beauty, alone of the ideas, has any\nrepresentation on earth: wisdom is invisible to mortal eyes. But the\ncorrupted nature, blindly excited by this vision of beauty, rushes on\nto enjoy, and would fain wallow like a brute beast in sensual pleasures.\nWhereas the true mystic, who has seen the many sights of bliss, when he\nbeholds a god-like form or face is amazed with delight, and if he were\nnot afraid of being thought mad he would fall down and worship. Then\nthe stiffened wing begins to relax and grow again; desire which has\nbeen imprisoned pours over the soul of the lover; the germ of the wing\nunfolds, and stings, and pangs of birth, like the cutting of teeth, are\neverywhere felt. (Compare Symp.) Father and mother, and goods and laws\nand proprieties are nothing to him; his beloved is his physician, who\ncan alone cure his pain. An apocryphal sacred writer says that the power\nwhich thus works in him is by mortals called love, but the immortals\ncall him dove, or the winged one, in order to represent the force of\nhis wings--such at any rate is his nature. Now the characters of lovers\ndepend upon the god whom they followed in the other world; and they\nchoose their loves in this world accordingly. The followers of Ares\nare fierce and violent; those of Zeus seek out some philosophical and\nimperial nature; the attendants of Here find a royal love; and in like\nmanner the followers of every god seek a love who is like their god; and\nto him they communicate the nature which they have received from their\ngod. The manner in which they take their love is as follows:--\n\nI told you about the charioteer and his two steeds, the one a noble\nanimal who is guided by word and admonition only, the other an\nill-looking villain who will hardly yield to blow or spur. Together all\nthree, who are a figure of the soul, approach the vision of love. And\nnow a fierce conflict begins. The ill-conditioned steed rushes on to\nenjoy, but the charioteer, who beholds the beloved with awe, falls back\nin adoration, and forces both the steeds on their haunches; again the\nevil steed rushes forwards and pulls shamelessly. The conflict grows\nmore and more severe; and at last the charioteer, throwing himself\nbackwards, forces the bit out of the clenched teeth of the brute, and\npulling harder than ever at the reins, covers his tongue and jaws with\nblood, and forces him to rest his legs and haunches with pain upon the\nground. When this has happened several times, the villain is tamed and\nhumbled, and from that time forward the soul of the lover follows the\nbeloved in modesty and holy fear. And now their bliss is consummated;\nthe same image of love dwells in the breast of either, and if they have\nself-control, they pass their lives in the greatest happiness which is\nattainable by man--they continue masters of themselves, and conquer in\none of the three heavenly victories. But if they choose the lower\nlife of ambition they may still have a happy destiny, though inferior,\nbecause they have not the approval of the whole soul. At last they leave\nthe body and proceed on their pilgrim's progress, and those who have\nonce begun can never go back. When the time comes they receive their\nwings and fly away, and the lovers have the same wings.\n\nSocrates concludes:--\n\nThese are the blessings of love, and thus have I made my recantation in\nfiner language than before: I did so in order to please Phaedrus. If I\nsaid what was wrong at first, please to attribute my error to Lysias,\nwho ought to study philosophy instead of rhetoric, and then he will not\nmislead his disciple Phaedrus.\n\nPhaedrus is afraid that he will lose conceit of Lysias, and that Lysias\nwill be out of conceit with himself, and leave off making speeches,\nfor the politicians have been deriding him. Socrates is of opinion that\nthere is small danger of this; the politicians are themselves the\ngreat rhetoricians of the age, who desire to attain immortality by the\nauthorship of laws. And therefore there is nothing with which they can\nreproach Lysias in being a writer; but there may be disgrace in being a\nbad one.\n\nAnd what is good or bad writing or speaking? While the sun is hot in the\nsky above us, let us ask that question: since by rational conversation\nman lives, and not by the indulgence of bodily pleasures. And the\ngrasshoppers who are chirruping around may carry our words to the\nMuses, who are their patronesses; for the grasshoppers were human beings\nthemselves in a world before the Muses, and when the Muses came they\ndied of hunger for the love of song. And they carry to them in heaven\nthe report of those who honour them on earth.\n\nThe first rule of good speaking is to know and speak the truth; as a\nSpartan proverb says, 'true art is truth'; whereas rhetoric is an art of\nenchantment, which makes things appear good and evil, like and unlike,\nas the speaker pleases. Its use is not confined, as people commonly\nsuppose, to arguments in the law courts and speeches in the assembly;\nit is rather a part of the art of disputation, under which are included\nboth the rules of Gorgias and the eristic of Zeno. But it is not wholly\ndevoid of truth. Superior knowledge enables us to deceive another by the\nhelp of resemblances, and to escape from such a deception when employed\nagainst ourselves. We see therefore that even in rhetoric an element of\ntruth is required. For if we do not know the truth, we can neither make\nthe gradual departures from truth by which men are most easily deceived,\nnor guard ourselves against deception.\n\nSocrates then proposes that they shall use the two speeches as\nillustrations of the art of rhetoric; first distinguishing between the\ndebatable and undisputed class of subjects. In the debatable class there\nought to be a definition of all disputed matters. But there was no such\ndefinition in the speech of Lysias; nor is there any order or connection\nin his words any more than in a nursery rhyme. With this he compares the\nregular divisions of the other speech, which was his own (and yet not\nhis own, for the local deities must have inspired him). Although only a\nplayful composition, it will be found to embody two principles: first,\nthat of synthesis or the comprehension of parts in a whole; secondly,\nanalysis, or the resolution of the whole into parts. These are the\nprocesses of division and generalization which are so dear to the\ndialectician, that king of men. They are effected by dialectic, and\nnot by rhetoric, of which the remains are but scanty after order and\narrangement have been subtracted. There is nothing left but a heap\nof 'ologies' and other technical terms invented by Polus, Theodorus,\nEvenus, Tisias, Gorgias, and others, who have rules for everything, and\nwho teach how to be short or long at pleasure. Prodicus showed his good\nsense when he said that there was a better thing than either to be short\nor long, which was to be of convenient length.\n\nStill, notwithstanding the absurdities of Polus and others, rhetoric has\ngreat power in public assemblies. This power, however, is not given by\nany technical rules, but is the gift of genius. The real art is always\nbeing confused by rhetoricians with the preliminaries of the art. The\nperfection of oratory is like the perfection of anything else; natural\npower must be aided by art. But the art is not that which is taught in\nthe schools of rhetoric; it is nearer akin to philosophy. Pericles, for\ninstance, who was the most accomplished of all speakers, derived his\neloquence not from rhetoric but from the philosophy of nature which\nhe learnt of Anaxagoras. True rhetoric is like medicine, and the\nrhetorician has to consider the natures of men's souls as the physician\nconsiders the natures of their bodies. Such and such persons are to be\naffected in this way, such and such others in that; and he must know the\ntimes and the seasons for saying this or that. This is not an easy task,\nand this, if there be such an art, is the art of rhetoric.\n\nI know that there are some professors of the art who maintain\nprobability to be stronger than truth. But we maintain that probability\nis engendered by likeness of the truth which can only be attained by\nthe knowledge of it, and that the aim of the good man should not be to\nplease or persuade his fellow-servants, but to please his good masters\nwho are the gods. Rhetoric has a fair beginning in this.\n\nEnough of the art of speaking; let us now proceed to consider the true\nuse of writing. There is an old Egyptian tale of Theuth, the inventor of\nwriting, showing his invention to the god Thamus, who told him that he\nwould only spoil men's memories and take away their understandings. From\nthis tale, of which young Athens will probably make fun, may be gathered\nthe lesson that writing is inferior to speech. For it is like a picture,\nwhich can give no answer to a question, and has only a deceitful\nlikeness of a living creature. It has no power of adaptation, but uses\nthe same words for all. It is not a legitimate son of knowledge, but a\nbastard, and when an attack is made upon this bastard neither parent\nnor anyone else is there to defend it. The husbandman will not seriously\nincline to sow his seed in such a hot-bed or garden of Adonis; he will\nrather sow in the natural soil of the human soul which has depth of\nearth; and he will anticipate the inner growth of the mind, by writing\nonly, if at all, as a remedy against old age. The natural process will\nbe far nobler, and will bring forth fruit in the minds of others as well\nas in his own.\n\nThe conclusion of the whole matter is just this,--that until a man knows\nthe truth, and the manner of adapting the truth to the natures of other\nmen, he cannot be a good orator; also, that the living is better than\nthe written word, and that the principles of justice and truth when\ndelivered by word of mouth are the legitimate offspring of a man's own\nbosom, and their lawful descendants take up their abode in others.\nSuch an orator as he is who is possessed of them, you and I would fain\nbecome. And to all composers in the world, poets, orators, legislators,\nwe hereby announce that if their compositions are based upon these\nprinciples, then they are not only poets, orators, legislators, but\nphilosophers. All others are mere flatterers and putters together of\nwords. This is the message which Phaedrus undertakes to carry to Lysias\nfrom the local deities, and Socrates himself will carry a similar\nmessage to his favourite Isocrates, whose future distinction as a great\nrhetorician he prophesies. The heat of the day has passed, and after\noffering up a prayer to Pan and the nymphs, Socrates and Phaedrus\ndepart.\n\nThere are two principal controversies which have been raised about the\nPhaedrus; the first relates to the subject, the second to the date of\nthe Dialogue.\n\nThere seems to be a notion that the work of a great artist like Plato\ncannot fail in unity, and that the unity of a dialogue requires a single\nsubject. But the conception of unity really applies in very different\ndegrees and ways to different kinds of art; to a statue, for example,\nfar more than to any kind of literary composition, and to some species\nof literature far more than to others. Nor does the dialogue appear\nto be a style of composition in which the requirement of unity is most\nstringent; nor should the idea of unity derived from one sort of art\nbe hastily transferred to another. The double titles of several of the\nPlatonic Dialogues are a further proof that the severer rule was not\nobserved by Plato. The Republic is divided between the search after\njustice and the construction of the ideal state; the Parmenides between\nthe criticism of the Platonic ideas and of the Eleatic one or being;\nthe Gorgias between the art of speaking and the nature of the good;\nthe Sophist between the detection of the Sophist and the correlation\nof ideas. The Theaetetus, the Politicus, and the Philebus have also\ndigressions which are but remotely connected with the main subject.\n\nThus the comparison of Plato's other writings, as well as the reason of\nthe thing, lead us to the conclusion that we must not expect to find one\nidea pervading a whole work, but one, two, or more, as the invention\nof the writer may suggest, or his fancy wander. If each dialogue were\nconfined to the development of a single idea, this would appear on the\nface of the dialogue, nor could any controversy be raised as to whether\nthe Phaedrus treated of love or rhetoric. But the truth is that Plato\nsubjects himself to no rule of this sort. Like every great artist he\ngives unity of form to the different and apparently distracting topics\nwhich he brings together. He works freely and is not to be supposed to\nhave arranged every part of the dialogue before he begins to write.\nHe fastens or weaves together the frame of his discourse loosely and\nimperfectly, and which is the warp and which is the woof cannot always\nbe determined.\n\nThe subjects of the Phaedrus (exclusive of the short introductory\npassage about mythology which is suggested by the local tradition) are\nfirst the false or conventional art of rhetoric; secondly, love or the\ninspiration of beauty and knowledge, which is described as madness;\nthirdly, dialectic or the art of composition and division; fourthly, the\ntrue rhetoric, which is based upon dialectic, and is neither the art of\npersuasion nor knowledge of the truth alone, but the art of persuasion\nfounded on knowledge of truth and knowledge of character; fifthly, the\nsuperiority of the spoken over the written word. The continuous thread\nwhich appears and reappears throughout is rhetoric; this is the ground\ninto which the rest of the Dialogue is worked, in parts embroidered with\nfine words which are not in Socrates' manner, as he says, 'in order to\nplease Phaedrus.' The speech of Lysias which has thrown Phaedrus into an\necstacy is adduced as an example of the false rhetoric; the first speech\nof Socrates, though an improvement, partakes of the same character; his\nsecond speech, which is full of that higher element said to have been\nlearned of Anaxagoras by Pericles, and which in the midst of poetry does\nnot forget order, is an illustration of the higher or true rhetoric.\nThis higher rhetoric is based upon dialectic, and dialectic is a sort\nof inspiration akin to love (compare Symp.); in these two aspects of\nphilosophy the technicalities of rhetoric are absorbed. And so the\nexample becomes also the deeper theme of discourse. The true knowledge\nof things in heaven and earth is based upon enthusiasm or love of\nthe ideas going before us and ever present to us in this world and in\nanother; and the true order of speech or writing proceeds accordingly.\nLove, again, has three degrees: first, of interested love corresponding\nto the conventionalities of rhetoric; secondly, of disinterested or\nmad love, fixed on objects of sense, and answering, perhaps, to poetry;\nthirdly, of disinterested love directed towards the unseen, answering\nto dialectic or the science of the ideas. Lastly, the art of rhetoric\nin the lower sense is found to rest on a knowledge of the natures and\ncharacters of men, which Socrates at the commencement of the Dialogue\nhas described as his own peculiar study.\n\nThus amid discord a harmony begins to appear; there are many links of\nconnection which are not visible at first sight. At the same time the\nPhaedrus, although one of the most beautiful of the Platonic Dialogues,\nis also more irregular than any other. For insight into the world, for\nsustained irony, for depth of thought, there is no Dialogue superior,\nor perhaps equal to it. Nevertheless the form of the work has tended to\nobscure some of Plato's higher aims.\n\nThe first speech is composed 'in that balanced style in which the wise\nlove to talk' (Symp.). The characteristics of rhetoric are insipidity,\nmannerism, and monotonous parallelism of clauses. There is more rhythm\nthan reason; the creative power of imagination is wanting.\n\n''Tis Greece, but living Greece no more.'\n\nPlato has seized by anticipation the spirit which hung over Greek\nliterature for a thousand years afterwards. Yet doubtless there were\nsome who, like Phaedrus, felt a delight in the harmonious cadence and\nthe pedantic reasoning of the rhetoricians newly imported from Sicily,\nwhich had ceased to be awakened in them by really great works, such as\nthe odes of Anacreon or Sappho or the orations of Pericles. That the\nfirst speech was really written by Lysias is improbable. Like the poem\nof Solon, or the story of Thamus and Theuth, or the funeral oration of\nAspasia (if genuine), or the pretence of Socrates in the Cratylus that\nhis knowledge of philology is derived from Euthyphro, the invention\nis really due to the imagination of Plato, and may be compared to the\nparodies of the Sophists in the Protagoras. Numerous fictions of this\nsort occur in the Dialogues, and the gravity of Plato has sometimes\nimposed upon his commentators. The introduction of a considerable\nwriting of another would seem not to be in keeping with a great work of\nart, and has no parallel elsewhere.\n\nIn the second speech Socrates is exhibited as beating the rhetoricians\nat their own weapons; he 'an unpractised man and they masters of the\nart.' True to his character, he must, however, profess that the speech\nwhich he makes is not his own, for he knows nothing of himself. (Compare\nSymp.) Regarded as a rhetorical exercise, the superiority of his speech\nseems to consist chiefly in a better arrangement of the topics; he\nbegins with a definition of love, and he gives weight to his words by\ngoing back to general maxims; a lesser merit is the greater liveliness\nof Socrates, which hurries him into verse and relieves the monotony of\nthe style.\n\nBut Plato had doubtless a higher purpose than to exhibit Socrates as the\nrival or superior of the Athenian rhetoricians. Even in the speech of\nLysias there is a germ of truth, and this is further developed in the\nparallel oration of Socrates. First, passionate love is overthrown by\nthe sophistical or interested, and then both yield to that higher view\nof love which is afterwards revealed to us. The extreme of commonplace\nis contrasted with the most ideal and imaginative of speculations.\nSocrates, half in jest and to satisfy his own wild humour, takes the\ndisguise of Lysias, but he is also in profound earnest and in a deeper\nvein of irony than usual. Having improvised his own speech, which is\nbased upon the model of the preceding, he condemns them both. Yet the\ncondemnation is not to be taken seriously, for he is evidently trying\nto express an aspect of the truth. To understand him, we must make\nabstraction of morality and of the Greek manner of regarding the\nrelation of the sexes. In this, as in his other discussions about love,\nwhat Plato says of the loves of men must be transferred to the loves\nof women before we can attach any serious meaning to his words. Had he\nlived in our times he would have made the transposition himself. But\nseeing in his own age the impossibility of woman being the intellectual\nhelpmate or friend of man (except in the rare instances of a Diotima\nor an Aspasia), seeing that, even as to personal beauty, her place was\ntaken by young mankind instead of womankind, he tries to work out the\nproblem of love without regard to the distinctions of nature. And full\nof the evils which he recognized as flowing from the spurious form of\nlove, he proceeds with a deep meaning, though partly in joke, to show\nthat the 'non-lover's' love is better than the 'lover's.'\n\nWe may raise the same question in another form: Is marriage preferable\nwith or without love? 'Among ourselves,' as we may say, a little\nparodying the words of Pausanias in the Symposium, 'there would be\none answer to this question: the practice and feeling of some foreign\ncountries appears to be more doubtful.' Suppose a modern Socrates,\nin defiance of the received notions of society and the sentimental\nliterature of the day, alone against all the writers and readers of\nnovels, to suggest this enquiry, would not the younger 'part of the\nworld be ready to take off its coat and run at him might and main?'\n(Republic.) Yet, if like Peisthetaerus in Aristophanes, he could\npersuade the 'birds' to hear him, retiring a little behind a rampart,\nnot of pots and dishes, but of unreadable books, he might have something\nto say for himself. Might he not argue, 'that a rational being should\nnot follow the dictates of passion in the most important act of his or\nher life'? Who would willingly enter into a contract at first sight,\nalmost without thought, against the advice and opinion of his friends,\nat a time when he acknowledges that he is not in his right mind? And yet\nthey are praised by the authors of romances, who reject the warnings of\ntheir friends or parents, rather than those who listen to them in such\nmatters. Two inexperienced persons, ignorant of the world and of one\nanother, how can they be said to choose?--they draw lots, whence also\nthe saying, 'marriage is a lottery.' Then he would describe their way of\nlife after marriage; how they monopolize one another's affections to\nthe exclusion of friends and relations: how they pass their days in\nunmeaning fondness or trivial conversation; how the inferior of the\ntwo drags the other down to his or her level; how the cares of a family\n'breed meanness in their souls.' In the fulfilment of military or public\nduties, they are not helpers but hinderers of one another: they cannot\nundertake any noble enterprise, such as makes the names of men and women\nfamous, from domestic considerations. Too late their eyes are opened;\nthey were taken unawares and desire to part company. Better, he would\nsay, a 'little love at the beginning,' for heaven might have increased\nit; but now their foolish fondness has changed into mutual dislike. In\nthe days of their honeymoon they never understood that they must provide\nagainst offences, that they must have interests, that they must learn\nthe art of living as well as loving. Our misogamist will not appeal to\nAnacreon or Sappho for a confirmation of his view, but to the universal\nexperience of mankind. How much nobler, in conclusion, he will say, is\nfriendship, which does not receive unmeaning praises from novelists and\npoets, is not exacting or exclusive, is not impaired by familiarity, is\nmuch less expensive, is not so likely to take offence, seldom changes,\nand may be dissolved from time to time without the assistance of the\ncourts. Besides, he will remark that there is a much greater choice of\nfriends than of wives--you may have more of them and they will be far\nmore improving to your mind. They will not keep you dawdling at home, or\ndancing attendance upon them; or withdraw you from the great world and\nstirring scenes of life and action which would make a man of you.\n\nIn such a manner, turning the seamy side outwards, a modern Socrates\nmight describe the evils of married and domestic life. They are evils\nwhich mankind in general have agreed to conceal, partly because they are\ncompensated by greater goods. Socrates or Archilochus would soon have\nto sing a palinode for the injustice done to lovely Helen, or some\nmisfortune worse than blindness might be fall them. Then they would take\nup their parable again and say:--that there were two loves, a higher and\na lower, holy and unholy, a love of the mind and a love of the body.\n\n     'Let me not to the marriage of true minds\n     Admit impediments.  Love is not love\n     Which alters when it alteration finds.\n\n               .....\n\n     Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks\n     Within his bending sickle's compass come;\n     Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,\n     But bears it out even to the edge of doom.'\n\nBut this true love of the mind cannot exist between two souls, until\nthey are purified from the grossness of earthly passion: they must pass\nthrough a time of trial and conflict first; in the language of religion\nthey must be converted or born again. Then they would see the world\ntransformed into a scene of heavenly beauty; a divine idea would\naccompany them in all their thoughts and actions. Something too of the\nrecollections of childhood might float about them still; they might\nregain that old simplicity which had been theirs in other days at their\nfirst entrance on life. And although their love of one another was ever\npresent to them, they would acknowledge also a higher love of duty and\nof God, which united them. And their happiness would depend upon their\npreserving in them this principle--not losing the ideals of justice and\nholiness and truth, but renewing them at the fountain of light. When\nthey have attained to this exalted state, let them marry (something too\nmay be conceded to the animal nature of man): or live together in holy\nand innocent friendship. The poet might describe in eloquent words\nthe nature of such a union; how after many struggles the true love was\nfound: how the two passed their lives together in the service of God and\nman; how their characters were reflected upon one another, and seemed\nto grow more like year by year; how they read in one another's eyes the\nthoughts, wishes, actions of the other; how they saw each other in God;\nhow in a figure they grew wings like doves, and were 'ready to fly away\ntogether and be at rest.' And lastly, he might tell how, after a time\nat no long intervals, first one and then the other fell asleep, and\n'appeared to the unwise' to die, but were reunited in another state of\nbeing, in which they saw justice and holiness and truth, not according\nto the imperfect copies of them which are found in this world, but\njustice absolute in existence absolute, and so of the rest. And they\nwould hold converse not only with each other, but with blessed souls\neverywhere; and would be employed in the service of God, every soul\nfulfilling his own nature and character, and would see into the wonders\nof earth and heaven, and trace the works of creation to their author.\n\nSo, partly in jest but also 'with a certain degree of seriousness,'\nwe may appropriate to ourselves the words of Plato. The use of such a\nparody, though very imperfect, is to transfer his thoughts to our sphere\nof religion and feeling, to bring him nearer to us and us to him. Like\nthe Scriptures, Plato admits of endless applications, if we allow for\nthe difference of times and manners; and we lose the better half of\nhim when we regard his Dialogues merely as literary compositions. Any\nancient work which is worth reading has a practical and speculative as\nwell as a literary interest. And in Plato, more than in any other Greek\nwriter, the local and transitory is inextricably blended with what is\nspiritual and eternal. Socrates is necessarily ironical; for he has to\nwithdraw from the received opinions and beliefs of mankind. We cannot\nseparate the transitory from the permanent; nor can we translate the\nlanguage of irony into that of plain reflection and common sense. But we\ncan imagine the mind of Socrates in another age and country; and we can\ninterpret him by analogy with reference to the errors and prejudices\nwhich prevail among ourselves. To return to the Phaedrus:--\n\nBoth speeches are strongly condemned by Socrates as sinful and\nblasphemous towards the god Love, and as worthy only of some haunt of\nsailors to which good manners were unknown. The meaning of this and\nother wild language to the same effect, which is introduced by way of\ncontrast to the formality of the two speeches (Socrates has a sense of\nrelief when he has escaped from the trammels of rhetoric), seems to\nbe that the two speeches proceed upon the supposition that love is\nand ought to be interested, and that no such thing as a real or\ndisinterested passion, which would be at the same time lasting, could\nbe conceived. 'But did I call this \"love\"? O God, forgive my blasphemy.\nThis is not love. Rather it is the love of the world. But there is\nanother kingdom of love, a kingdom not of this world, divine, eternal.\nAnd this other love I will now show you in a mystery.'\n\nThen follows the famous myth, which is a sort of parable, and like other\nparables ought not to receive too minute an interpretation. In all such\nallegories there is a great deal which is merely ornamental, and the\ninterpreter has to separate the important from the unimportant. Socrates\nhimself has given the right clue when, in using his own discourse\nafterwards as the text for his examination of rhetoric, he characterizes\nit as a 'partly true and tolerably credible mythus,' in which amid\npoetical figures, order and arrangement were not forgotten.\n\nThe soul is described in magnificent language as the self-moved and the\nsource of motion in all other things. This is the philosophical theme or\nproem of the whole. But ideas must be given through something, and under\nthe pretext that to realize the true nature of the soul would be not\nonly tedious but impossible, we at once pass on to describe the souls\nof gods as well as men under the figure of two winged steeds and a\ncharioteer. No connection is traced between the soul as the great motive\npower and the triple soul which is thus imaged. There is no difficulty\nin seeing that the charioteer represents the reason, or that the black\nhorse is the symbol of the sensual or concupiscent element of human\nnature. The white horse also represents rational impulse, but the\ndescription, 'a lover of honour and modesty and temperance, and a\nfollower of true glory,' though similar, does not at once recall the\n'spirit' (thumos) of the Republic. The two steeds really correspond in a\nfigure more nearly to the appetitive and moral or semi-rational soul\nof Aristotle. And thus, for the first time perhaps in the history\nof philosophy, we have represented to us the threefold division of\npsychology. The image of the charioteer and the steeds has been compared\nwith a similar image which occurs in the verses of Parmenides; but it\nis important to remark that the horses of Parmenides have no allegorical\nmeaning, and that the poet is only describing his own approach in a\nchariot to the regions of light and the house of the goddess of truth.\n\nThe triple soul has had a previous existence, in which following in\nthe train of some god, from whom she derived her character, she beheld\npartially and imperfectly the vision of absolute truth. All her\nafter existence, passed in many forms of men and animals, is spent in\nregaining this. The stages of the conflict are many and various; and\nshe is sorely let and hindered by the animal desires of the inferior or\nconcupiscent steed. Again and again she beholds the flashing beauty of\nthe beloved. But before that vision can be finally enjoyed the animal\ndesires must be subjected.\n\nThe moral or spiritual element in man is represented by the immortal\nsteed which, like thumos in the Republic, always sides with the reason.\nBoth are dragged out of their course by the furious impulses of desire.\nIn the end something is conceded to the desires, after they have been\nfinally humbled and overpowered. And yet the way of philosophy, or\nperfect love of the unseen, is total abstinence from bodily delights.\n'But all men cannot receive this saying': in the lower life of ambition\nthey may be taken off their guard and stoop to folly unawares, and then,\nalthough they do not attain to the highest bliss, yet if they have once\nconquered they may be happy enough.\n\nThe language of the Meno and the Phaedo as well as of the Phaedrus\nseems to show that at one time of his life Plato was quite serious in\nmaintaining a former state of existence. His mission was to realize the\nabstract; in that, all good and truth, all the hopes of this and another\nlife seemed to centre. To him abstractions, as we call them, were\nanother kind of knowledge--an inner and unseen world, which seemed\nto exist far more truly than the fleeting objects of sense which were\nwithout him. When we are once able to imagine the intense power which\nabstract ideas exercised over the mind of Plato, we see that there was\nno more difficulty to him in realizing the eternal existence of them\nand of the human minds which were associated with them, in the past and\nfuture than in the present. The difficulty was not how they could exist,\nbut how they could fail to exist. In the attempt to regain this 'saving'\nknowledge of the ideas, the sense was found to be as great an enemy as\nthe desires; and hence two things which to us seem quite distinct are\ninextricably blended in the representation of Plato.\n\nThus far we may believe that Plato was serious in his conception of the\nsoul as a motive power, in his reminiscence of a former state of being,\nin his elevation of the reason over sense and passion, and perhaps in\nhis doctrine of transmigration. Was he equally serious in the rest? For\nexample, are we to attribute his tripartite division of the soul to the\ngods? Or is this merely assigned to them by way of parallelism with men?\nThe latter is the more probable; for the horses of the gods are both\nwhite, i.e. their every impulse is in harmony with reason; their\ndualism, on the other hand, only carries out the figure of the chariot.\nIs he serious, again, in regarding love as 'a madness'? That seems to\narise out of the antithesis to the former conception of love. At the\nsame time he appears to intimate here, as in the Ion, Apology, Meno,\nand elsewhere, that there is a faculty in man, whether to be termed in\nmodern language genius, or inspiration, or imagination, or idealism,\nor communion with God, which cannot be reduced to rule and measure.\nPerhaps, too, he is ironically repeating the common language of mankind\nabout philosophy, and is turning their jest into a sort of earnest.\n(Compare Phaedo, Symp.) Or is he serious in holding that each soul bears\nthe character of a god? He may have had no other account to give of\nthe differences of human characters to which he afterwards refers. Or,\nagain, in his absurd derivation of mantike and oionistike and imeros\n(compare Cratylus)? It is characteristic of the irony of Socrates to\nmix up sense and nonsense in such a way that no exact line can be drawn\nbetween them. And allegory helps to increase this sort of confusion.\n\nAs is often the case in the parables and prophecies of Scripture, the\nmeaning is allowed to break through the figure, and the details are not\nalways consistent. When the charioteers and their steeds stand upon the\ndome of heaven they behold the intangible invisible essences which\nare not objects of sight. This is because the force of language can\nno further go. Nor can we dwell much on the circumstance, that at the\ncompletion of ten thousand years all are to return to the place from\nwhence they came; because he represents their return as dependent on\ntheir own good conduct in the successive stages of existence. Nor again\ncan we attribute anything to the accidental inference which would also\nfollow, that even a tyrant may live righteously in the condition of life\nto which fate has called him ('he aiblins might, I dinna ken'). But\nto suppose this would be at variance with Plato himself and with Greek\nnotions generally. He is much more serious in distinguishing men from\nanimals by their recognition of the universal which they have known in\na former state, and in denying that this gift of reason can ever be\nobliterated or lost. In the language of some modern theologians he might\nbe said to maintain the 'final perseverance' of those who have entered\non their pilgrim's progress. Other intimations of a 'metaphysic' or\n'theology' of the future may also be discerned in him: (1) The moderate\npredestinarianism which here, as in the Republic, acknowledges the\nelement of chance in human life, and yet asserts the freedom and\nresponsibility of man; (2) The recognition of a moral as well as an\nintellectual principle in man under the image of an immortal steed; (3)\nThe notion that the divine nature exists by the contemplation of\nideas of virtue and justice--or, in other words, the assertion of the\nessentially moral nature of God; (4) Again, there is the hint that human\nlife is a life of aspiration only, and that the true ideal is not to\nbe found in art; (5) There occurs the first trace of the distinction\nbetween necessary and contingent matter; (6) The conception of the soul\nitself as the motive power and reason of the universe.\n\nThe conception of the philosopher, or the philosopher and lover in one,\nas a sort of madman, may be compared with the Republic and Theaetetus,\nin both of which the philosopher is regarded as a stranger and monster\nupon the earth. The whole myth, like the other myths of Plato, describes\nin a figure things which are beyond the range of human faculties, or\ninaccessible to the knowledge of the age. That philosophy should be\nrepresented as the inspiration of love is a conception that has already\nbecome familiar to us in the Symposium, and is the expression partly of\nPlato's enthusiasm for the idea, and is also an indication of the real\npower exercised by the passion of friendship over the mind of the Greek.\nThe master in the art of love knew that there was a mystery in these\nfeelings and their associations, and especially in the contrast of\nthe sensible and permanent which is afforded by them; and he sought\nto explain this, as he explained universal ideas, by a reference to a\nformer state of existence. The capriciousness of love is also derived\nby him from an attachment to some god in a former world. The singular\nremark that the beloved is more affected than the lover at the final\nconsummation of their love, seems likewise to hint at a psychological\ntruth.\n\nIt is difficult to exhaust the meanings of a work like the Phaedrus,\nwhich indicates so much more than it expresses; and is full of\ninconsistencies and ambiguities which were not perceived by Plato\nhimself. For example, when he is speaking of the soul does he mean the\nhuman or the divine soul? and are they both equally self-moving and\nconstructed on the same threefold principle? We should certainly be\ndisposed to reply that the self-motive is to be attributed to God only;\nand on the other hand that the appetitive and passionate elements have\nno place in His nature. So we should infer from the reason of the thing,\nbut there is no indication in Plato's own writings that this was his\nmeaning. Or, again, when he explains the different characters of men\nby referring them back to the nature of the God whom they served in a\nformer state of existence, we are inclined to ask whether he is serious:\nIs he not rather using a mythological figure, here as elsewhere, to draw\na veil over things which are beyond the limits of mortal knowledge? Once\nmore, in speaking of beauty is he really thinking of some external form\nsuch as might have been expressed in the works of Phidias or Praxiteles;\nand not rather of an imaginary beauty, of a sort which extinguishes\nrather than stimulates vulgar love,--a heavenly beauty like that which\nflashed from time to time before the eyes of Dante or Bunyan? Surely\nthe latter. But it would be idle to reconcile all the details of the\npassage: it is a picture, not a system, and a picture which is for the\ngreater part an allegory, and an allegory which allows the meaning to\ncome through. The image of the charioteer and his steeds is placed side\nby side with the absolute forms of justice, temperance, and the like,\nwhich are abstract ideas only, and which are seen with the eye of the\nsoul in her heavenly journey. The first impression of such a passage, in\nwhich no attempt is made to separate the substance from the form, is far\ntruer than an elaborate philosophical analysis.\n\nIt is too often forgotten that the whole of the second discourse of\nSocrates is only an allegory, or figure of speech. For this reason, it\nis unnecessary to enquire whether the love of which Plato speaks is\nthe love of men or of women. It is really a general idea which includes\nboth, and in which the sensual element, though not wholly eradicated, is\nreduced to order and measure. We must not attribute a meaning to\nevery fanciful detail. Nor is there any need to call up revolting\nassociations, which as a matter of good taste should be banished, and\nwhich were far enough away from the mind of Plato. These and similar\npassages should be interpreted by the Laws. Nor is there anything in the\nSymposium, or in the Charmides, in reality inconsistent with the sterner\nrule which Plato lays down in the Laws. At the same time it is not to be\ndenied that love and philosophy are described by Socrates in figures\nof speech which would not be used in Christian times; or that nameless\nvices were prevalent at Athens and in other Greek cities; or that\nfriendships between men were a more sacred tie, and had a more important\nsocial and educational influence than among ourselves. (See note on\nSymposium.)\n\nIn the Phaedrus, as well as in the Symposium, there are two kinds of\nlove, a lower and a higher, the one answering to the natural wants of\nthe animal, the other rising above them and contemplating with religious\nawe the forms of justice, temperance, holiness, yet finding them\nalso 'too dazzling bright for mortal eye,' and shrinking from them\nin amazement. The opposition between these two kinds of love may be\ncompared to the opposition between the flesh and the spirit in the\nEpistles of St. Paul. It would be unmeaning to suppose that Plato, in\ndescribing the spiritual combat, in which the rational soul is\nfinally victor and master of both the steeds, condescends to allow any\nindulgence of unnatural lusts.\n\nTwo other thoughts about love are suggested by this passage. First of\nall, love is represented here, as in the Symposium, as one of the great\npowers of nature, which takes many forms and two principal ones, having\na predominant influence over the lives of men. And these two, though\nopposed, are not absolutely separated the one from the other. Plato,\nwith his great knowledge of human nature, was well aware how easily\none is transformed into the other, or how soon the noble but fleeting\naspiration may return into the nature of the animal, while the\nlower instinct which is latent always remains. The intermediate\nsentimentalism, which has exercised so great an influence on the\nliterature of modern Europe, had no place in the classical times of\nHellas; the higher love, of which Plato speaks, is the subject, not of\npoetry or fiction, but of philosophy.\n\nSecondly, there seems to be indicated a natural yearning of the human\nmind that the great ideas of justice, temperance, wisdom, should be\nexpressed in some form of visible beauty, like the absolute purity and\ngoodness which Christian art has sought to realize in the person of\nthe Madonna. But although human nature has often attempted to represent\noutwardly what can be only 'spiritually discerned,' men feel that in\npictures and images, whether painted or carved, or described in words\nonly, we have not the substance but the shadow of the truth which is in\nheaven. There is no reason to suppose that in the fairest works of Greek\nart, Plato ever conceived himself to behold an image, however faint, of\nideal truths. 'Not in that way was wisdom seen.'\n\nWe may now pass on to the second part of the Dialogue, which is a\ncriticism on the first. Rhetoric is assailed on various grounds: first,\nas desiring to persuade, without a knowledge of the truth; and secondly,\nas ignoring the distinction between certain and probable matter. The\nthree speeches are then passed in review: the first of them has no\ndefinition of the nature of love, and no order in the topics (being in\nthese respects far inferior to the second); while the third of them is\nfound (though a fancy of the hour) to be framed upon real dialectical\nprinciples. But dialectic is not rhetoric; nothing on that subject is to\nbe found in the endless treatises of rhetoric, however prolific in hard\nnames. When Plato has sufficiently put them to the test of ridicule he\ntouches, as with the point of a needle, the real error, which is the\nconfusion of preliminary knowledge with creative power. No attainments\nwill provide the speaker with genius; and the sort of attainments which\ncan alone be of any value are the higher philosophy and the power of\npsychological analysis, which is given by dialectic, but not by the\nrules of the rhetoricians.\n\nIn this latter portion of the Dialogue there are many texts which may\nhelp us to speak and to think. The names dialectic and rhetoric are\npassing out of use; we hardly examine seriously into their nature and\nlimits, and probably the arts both of speaking and of conversation have\nbeen unduly neglected by us. But the mind of Socrates pierces through\nthe differences of times and countries into the essential nature of man;\nand his words apply equally to the modern world and to the Athenians of\nold. Would he not have asked of us, or rather is he not asking of us,\nWhether we have ceased to prefer appearances to reality? Let us take\na survey of the professions to which he refers and try them by his\nstandard. Is not all literature passing into criticism, just as Athenian\nliterature in the age of Plato was degenerating into sophistry and\nrhetoric? We can discourse and write about poems and paintings, but we\nseem to have lost the gift of creating them. Can we wonder that few\nof them 'come sweetly from nature,' while ten thousand reviewers (mala\nmurioi) are engaged in dissecting them? Young men, like Phaedrus, are\nenamoured of their own literary clique and have but a feeble sympathy\nwith the master-minds of former ages. They recognize 'a POETICAL\nnecessity in the writings of their favourite author, even when he boldly\nwrote off just what came in his head.' They are beginning to think that\nArt is enough, just at the time when Art is about to disappear from the\nworld. And would not a great painter, such as Michael Angelo, or a great\npoet, such as Shakespeare, returning to earth, 'courteously rebuke'\nus--would he not say that we are putting 'in the place of Art the\npreliminaries of Art,' confusing Art the expression of mind and truth\nwith Art the composition of colours and forms; and perhaps he might\nmore severely chastise some of us for trying to invent 'a new shudder'\ninstead of bringing to the birth living and healthy creations? These he\nwould regard as the signs of an age wanting in original power.\n\nTurning from literature and the arts to law and politics, again we fall\nunder the lash of Socrates. For do we not often make 'the worse appear\nthe better cause;' and do not 'both parties sometimes agree to tell\nlies'? Is not pleading 'an art of speaking unconnected with the truth'?\nThere is another text of Socrates which must not be forgotten in\nrelation to this subject. In the endless maze of English law is there\nany 'dividing the whole into parts or reuniting the parts into a\nwhole'--any semblance of an organized being 'having hands and feet and\nother members'? Instead of a system there is the Chaos of Anaxagoras\n(omou panta chremata) and no Mind or Order. Then again in the noble\nart of politics, who thinks of first principles and of true ideas?\nWe avowedly follow not the truth but the will of the many (compare\nRepublic). Is not legislation too a sort of literary effort, and might\nnot statesmanship be described as the 'art of enchanting' the house?\nWhile there are some politicians who have no knowledge of the truth, but\nonly of what is likely to be approved by 'the many who sit in judgment,'\nthere are others who can give no form to their ideal, neither having\nlearned 'the art of persuasion,' nor having any insight into the\n'characters of men.' Once more, has not medical science become a\nprofessional routine, which many 'practise without being able to say\nwho were their instructors'--the application of a few drugs taken from\na book instead of a life-long study of the natures and constitutions of\nhuman beings? Do we see as clearly as Hippocrates 'that the nature of\nthe body can only be understood as a whole'? (Compare Charm.) And are\nnot they held to be the wisest physicians who have the greatest distrust\nof their art? What would Socrates think of our newspapers, of our\ntheology? Perhaps he would be afraid to speak of them;--the one vox\npopuli, the other vox Dei, he might hesitate to attack them; or he might\ntrace a fanciful connexion between them, and ask doubtfully, whether\nthey are not equally inspired? He would remark that we are always\nsearching for a belief and deploring our unbelief, seeming to prefer\npopular opinions unverified and contradictory to unpopular truths which\nare assured to us by the most certain proofs: that our preachers are\nin the habit of praising God 'without regard to truth and falsehood,\nattributing to Him every species of greatness and glory, saying that He\nis all this and the cause of all that, in order that we may exhibit Him\nas the fairest and best of all' (Symp.) without any consideration of\nHis real nature and character or of the laws by which He governs the\nworld--seeking for a 'private judgment' and not for the truth or 'God's\njudgment.' What would he say of the Church, which we praise in like\nmanner, 'meaning ourselves,' without regard to history or experience?\nMight he not ask, whether we 'care more for the truth of religion, or\nfor the speaker and the country from which the truth comes'? or, whether\nthe 'select wise' are not 'the many' after all? (Symp.) So we may fill\nup the sketch of Socrates, lest, as Phaedrus says, the argument should\nbe too 'abstract and barren of illustrations.' (Compare Symp., Apol.,\nEuthyphro.)\n\nHe next proceeds with enthusiasm to define the royal art of dialectic as\nthe power of dividing a whole into parts, and of uniting the parts in a\nwhole, and which may also be regarded (compare Soph.) as the process of\nthe mind talking with herself. The latter view has probably led Plato\nto the paradox that speech is superior to writing, in which he may seem\nalso to be doing an injustice to himself. For the two cannot be fairly\ncompared in the manner which Plato suggests. The contrast of the living\nand dead word, and the example of Socrates, which he has represented\nin the form of the Dialogue, seem to have misled him. For speech and\nwriting have really different functions; the one is more transitory,\nmore diffuse, more elastic and capable of adaptation to moods and times;\nthe other is more permanent, more concentrated, and is uttered not to\nthis or that person or audience, but to all the world. In the Politicus\nthe paradox is carried further; the mind or will of the king is\npreferred to the written law; he is supposed to be the Law personified,\nthe ideal made Life.\n\nYet in both these statements there is also contained a truth; they may\nbe compared with one another, and also with the other famous paradox,\nthat 'knowledge cannot be taught.' Socrates means to say, that what is\ntruly written is written in the soul, just as what is truly taught grows\nup in the soul from within and is not forced upon it from without. When\nplanted in a congenial soil the little seed becomes a tree, and 'the\nbirds of the air build their nests in the branches.' There is an echo\nof this in the prayer at the end of the Dialogue, 'Give me beauty in\nthe inward soul, and may the inward and outward man be at one.' We may\nfurther compare the words of St. Paul, 'Written not on tables of stone,\nbut on fleshly tables of the heart;' and again, 'Ye are my epistles\nknown and read of all men.' There may be a use in writing as a\npreservative against the forgetfulness of old age, but to live is higher\nfar, to be ourselves the book, or the epistle, the truth embodied in a\nperson, the Word made flesh. Something like this we may believe to have\npassed before Plato's mind when he affirmed that speech was superior to\nwriting. So in other ages, weary of literature and criticism, of making\nmany books, of writing articles in reviews, some have desired to live\nmore closely in communion with their fellow-men, to speak heart to\nheart, to speak and act only, and not to write, following the example of\nSocrates and of Christ...\n\nSome other touches of inimitable grace and art and of the deepest wisdom\nmay be also noted; such as the prayer or 'collect' which has just been\ncited, 'Give me beauty,' etc.; or 'the great name which belongs to God\nalone;' or 'the saying of wiser men than ourselves that a man of sense\nshould try to please not his fellow-servants, but his good and noble\nmasters,' like St. Paul again; or the description of the 'heavenly\noriginals'...\n\nThe chief criteria for determining the date of the Dialogue are (1) the\nages of Lysias and Isocrates; (2) the character of the work.\n\nLysias was born in the year 458; Isocrates in the year 436, about seven\nyears before the birth of Plato. The first of the two great rhetoricians\nis described as in the zenith of his fame; the second is still young and\nfull of promise. Now it is argued that this must have been written in\nthe youth of Isocrates, when the promise was not yet fulfilled. And thus\nwe should have to assign the Dialogue to a year not later than 406,\nwhen Isocrates was thirty and Plato twenty-three years of age, and while\nSocrates himself was still alive.\n\nThose who argue in this way seem not to reflect how easily Plato\ncan 'invent Egyptians or anything else,' and how careless he is of\nhistorical truth or probability. Who would suspect that the wise\nCritias, the virtuous Charmides, had ended their lives among the\nthirty tyrants? Who would imagine that Lysias, who is here assailed\nby Socrates, is the son of his old friend Cephalus? Or that Isocrates\nhimself is the enemy of Plato and his school? No arguments can be drawn\nfrom the appropriateness or inappropriateness of the characters of\nPlato. (Else, perhaps, it might be further argued that, judging from\ntheir extant remains, insipid rhetoric is far more characteristic of\nIsocrates than of Lysias.) But Plato makes use of names which have\noften hardly any connection with the historical characters to whom they\nbelong. In this instance the comparative favour shown to Isocrates may\npossibly be accounted for by the circumstance of his belonging to the\naristocratical, as Lysias to the democratical party.\n\nFew persons will be inclined to suppose, in the superficial manner\nof some ancient critics, that a dialogue which treats of love must\nnecessarily have been written in youth. As little weight can be attached\nto the argument that Plato must have visited Egypt before he wrote the\nstory of Theuth and Thamus. For there is no real proof that he ever went\nto Egypt; and even if he did, he might have known or invented Egyptian\ntraditions before he went there. The late date of the Phaedrus will have\nto be established by other arguments than these: the maturity of the\nthought, the perfection of the style, the insight, the relation to the\nother Platonic Dialogues, seem to contradict the notion that it could\nhave been the work of a youth of twenty or twenty-three years of age.\nThe cosmological notion of the mind as the primum mobile, and the\nadmission of impulse into the immortal nature, also afford grounds for\nassigning a later date. (Compare Tim., Soph., Laws.) Add to this that\nthe picture of Socrates, though in some lesser particulars,--e.g. his\ngoing without sandals, his habit of remaining within the walls,\nhis emphatic declaration that his study is human nature,--an exact\nresemblance, is in the main the Platonic and not the real Socrates. Can\nwe suppose 'the young man to have told such lies' about his master\nwhile he was still alive? Moreover, when two Dialogues are so closely\nconnected as the Phaedrus and Symposium, there is great improbability in\nsupposing that one of them was written at least twenty years after the\nother. The conclusion seems to be, that the Dialogue was written at\nsome comparatively late but unknown period of Plato's life, after he had\ndeserted the purely Socratic point of view, but before he had entered\non the more abstract speculations of the Sophist or the Philebus. Taking\ninto account the divisions of the soul, the doctrine of transmigration,\nthe contemplative nature of the philosophic life, and the character\nof the style, we shall not be far wrong in placing the Phaedrus in the\nneighbourhood of the Republic; remarking only that allowance must be\nmade for the poetical element in the Phaedrus, which, while falling\nshort of the Republic in definite philosophic results, seems to have\nglimpses of a truth beyond.\n\nTwo short passages, which are unconnected with the main subject of the\nDialogue, may seem to merit a more particular notice: (1) the locus\nclassicus about mythology; (2) the tale of the grasshoppers.\n\nThe first passage is remarkable as showing that Plato was entirely\nfree from what may be termed the Euhemerism of his age. For there were\nEuhemerists in Hellas long before Euhemerus. Early philosophers, like\nAnaxagoras and Metrodorus, had found in Homer and mythology hidden\nmeanings. Plato, with a truer instinct, rejects these attractive\ninterpretations; he regards the inventor of them as 'unfortunate;' and\nthey draw a man off from the knowledge of himself. There is a latent\ncriticism, and also a poetical sense in Plato, which enable him to\ndiscard them, and yet in another way to make use of poetry and mythology\nas a vehicle of thought and feeling. What would he have said of the\ndiscovery of Christian doctrines in these old Greek legends? While\nacknowledging that such interpretations are 'very nice,' would he not\nhave remarked that they are found in all sacred literatures? They cannot\nbe tested by any criterion of truth, or used to establish any truth;\nthey add nothing to the sum of human knowledge; they are--what we\nplease, and if employed as 'peacemakers' between the new and old are\nliable to serious misconstruction, as he elsewhere remarks (Republic).\nAnd therefore he would have 'bid Farewell to them; the study of them\nwould take up too much of his time; and he has not as yet learned the\ntrue nature of religion.' The 'sophistical' interest of Phaedrus, the\nlittle touch about the two versions of the story, the ironical manner in\nwhich these explanations are set aside--'the common opinion about them\nis enough for me'--the allusion to the serpent Typho may be noted in\npassing; also the general agreement between the tone of this speech and\nthe remark of Socrates which follows afterwards, 'I am a diviner, but a\npoor one.'\n\nThe tale of the grasshoppers is naturally suggested by the surrounding\nscene. They are also the representatives of the Athenians as children\nof the soil. Under the image of the lively chirruping grasshoppers who\ninform the Muses in heaven about those who honour them on earth, Plato\nintends to represent an Athenian audience (tettigessin eoikotes). The\nstory is introduced, apparently, to mark a change of subject, and also,\nlike several other allusions which occur in the course of the Dialogue,\nin order to preserve the scene in the recollection of the reader.\n\n*****\n\nNo one can duly appreciate the dialogues of Plato, especially the\nPhaedrus, Symposium, and portions of the Republic, who has not a\nsympathy with mysticism. To the uninitiated, as he would himself\nhave acknowledged, they will appear to be the dreams of a poet who\nis disguised as a philosopher. There is a twofold difficulty in\napprehending this aspect of the Platonic writings. First, we do not\nimmediately realize that under the marble exterior of Greek literature\nwas concealed a soul thrilling with spiritual emotion. Secondly, the\nforms or figures which the Platonic philosophy assumes, are not like the\nimages of the prophet Isaiah, or of the Apocalypse, familiar to us in\nthe days of our youth. By mysticism we mean, not the extravagance of\nan erring fancy, but the concentration of reason in feeling, the\nenthusiastic love of the good, the true, the one, the sense of the\ninfinity of knowledge and of the marvel of the human faculties. When\nfeeding upon such thoughts the 'wing of the soul' is renewed and\ngains strength; she is raised above 'the manikins of earth' and their\nopinions, waiting in wonder to know, and working with reverence to find\nout what God in this or in another life may reveal to her.\n\n\nON THE DECLINE OF GREEK LITERATURE.\n\nOne of the main purposes of Plato in the Phaedrus is to satirize\nRhetoric, or rather the Professors of Rhetoric who swarmed at Athens in\nthe fourth century before Christ. As in the opening of the Dialogue he\nridicules the interpreters of mythology; as in the Protagoras he mocks\nat the Sophists; as in the Euthydemus he makes fun of the word-splitting\nEristics; as in the Cratylus he ridicules the fancies of Etymologers;\nas in the Meno and Gorgias and some other dialogues he makes reflections\nand casts sly imputation upon the higher classes at Athens; so in\nthe Phaedrus, chiefly in the latter part, he aims his shafts at the\nrhetoricians. The profession of rhetoric was the greatest and most\npopular in Athens, necessary 'to a man's salvation,' or at any rate to\nhis attainment of wealth or power; but Plato finds nothing wholesome\nor genuine in the purpose of it. It is a veritable 'sham,' having no\nrelation to fact, or to truth of any kind. It is antipathetic to him not\nonly as a philosopher, but also as a great writer. He cannot abide the\ntricks of the rhetoricians, or the pedantries and mannerisms which they\nintroduce into speech and writing. He sees clearly how far removed they\nare from the ways of simplicity and truth, and how ignorant of the very\nelements of the art which they are professing to teach. The thing which\nis most necessary of all, the knowledge of human nature, is hardly if\nat all considered by them. The true rules of composition, which are\nvery few, are not to be found in their voluminous systems. Their\npretentiousness, their omniscience, their large fortunes, their\nimpatience of argument, their indifference to first principles, their\nstupidity, their progresses through Hellas accompanied by a troop\nof their disciples--these things were very distasteful to Plato, who\nesteemed genius far above art, and was quite sensible of the interval\nwhich separated them (Phaedrus). It is the interval which separates\nSophists and rhetoricians from ancient famous men and women such as\nHomer and Hesiod, Anacreon and Sappho, Aeschylus and Sophocles; and the\nPlatonic Socrates is afraid that, if he approves the former, he will be\ndisowned by the latter. The spirit of rhetoric was soon to overspread\nall Hellas; and Plato with prophetic insight may have seen, from afar,\nthe great literary waste or dead level, or interminable marsh, in which\nGreek literature was soon to disappear. A similar vision of the decline\nof the Greek drama and of the contrast of the old literature and the\nnew was present to the mind of Aristophanes after the death of the three\ngreat tragedians (Frogs). After about a hundred, or at most two hundred\nyears if we exclude Homer, the genius of Hellas had ceased to flower or\nblossom. The dreary waste which follows, beginning with the Alexandrian\nwriters and even before them in the platitudes of Isocrates and his\nschool, spreads over much more than a thousand years. And from this\ndecline the Greek language and literature, unlike the Latin, which has\ncome to life in new forms and been developed into the great European\nlanguages, never recovered.\n\nThis monotony of literature, without merit, without genius and without\ncharacter, is a phenomenon which deserves more attention than it has\nhitherto received; it is a phenomenon unique in the literary history\nof the world. How could there have been so much cultivation, so much\ndiligence in writing, and so little mind or real creative power? Why\ndid a thousand years invent nothing better than Sibylline books,\nOrphic poems, Byzantine imitations of classical histories, Christian\nreproductions of Greek plays, novels like the silly and obscene romances\nof Longus and Heliodorus, innumerable forged epistles, a great many\nepigrams, biographies of the meanest and most meagre description, a sham\nphilosophy which was the bastard progeny of the union between Hellas\nand the East? Only in Plutarch, in Lucian, in Longinus, in the Roman\nemperors Marcus Aurelius and Julian, in some of the Christian fathers\nare there any traces of good sense or originality, or any power of\narousing the interest of later ages. And when new books ceased to be\nwritten, why did hosts of grammarians and interpreters flock in, who\nnever attain to any sound notion either of grammar or interpretation?\nWhy did the physical sciences never arrive at any true knowledge or make\nany real progress? Why did poetry droop and languish? Why did history\ndegenerate into fable? Why did words lose their power of expression?\nWhy were ages of external greatness and magnificence attended by all the\nsigns of decay in the human mind which are possible?\n\nTo these questions many answers may be given, which if not the true\ncauses, are at least to be reckoned among the symptoms of the decline.\nThere is the want of method in physical science, the want of criticism\nin history, the want of simplicity or delicacy in poetry, the want of\npolitical freedom, which is the true atmosphere of public speaking, in\noratory. The ways of life were luxurious and commonplace. Philosophy had\nbecome extravagant, eclectic, abstract, devoid of any real content. At\nlength it ceased to exist. It had spread words like plaster over the\nwhole field of knowledge. It had grown ascetic on one side, mystical\non the other. Neither of these tendencies was favourable to literature.\nThere was no sense of beauty either in language or in art. The Greek\nworld became vacant, barbaric, oriental. No one had anything new to say,\nor any conviction of truth. The age had no remembrance of the past, no\npower of understanding what other ages thought and felt. The Catholic\nfaith had degenerated into dogma and controversy. For more than\na thousand years not a single writer of first-rate, or even of\nsecond-rate, reputation has a place in the innumerable rolls of Greek\nliterature.\n\nIf we seek to go deeper, we can still only describe the outward nature\nof the clouds or darkness which were spread over the heavens during so\nmany ages without relief or light. We may say that this, like several\nother long periods in the history of the human race, was destitute,\nor deprived of the moral qualities which are the root of literary\nexcellence. It had no life or aspiration, no national or political\nforce, no desire for consistency, no love of knowledge for its own sake.\nIt did not attempt to pierce the mists which surrounded it. It did not\npropose to itself to go forward and scale the heights of knowledge, but\nto go backwards and seek at the beginning what can only be found towards\nthe end. It was lost in doubt and ignorance. It rested upon tradition\nand authority. It had none of the higher play of fancy which creates\npoetry; and where there is no true poetry, neither can there be any\ngood prose. It had no great characters, and therefore it had no great\nwriters. It was incapable of distinguishing between words and things. It\nwas so hopelessly below the ancient standard of classical Greek art and\nliterature that it had no power of understanding or of valuing them. It\nis doubtful whether any Greek author was justly appreciated in antiquity\nexcept by his own contemporaries; and this neglect of the great authors\nof the past led to the disappearance of the larger part of them, while\nthe Greek fathers were mostly preserved. There is no reason to suppose\nthat, in the century before the taking of Constantinople, much more was\nin existence than the scholars of the Renaissance carried away with them\nto Italy.\n\nThe character of Greek literature sank lower as time went on. It\nconsisted more and more of compilations, of scholia, of extracts, of\ncommentaries, forgeries, imitations. The commentator or interpreter had\nno conception of his author as a whole, and very little of the context\nof any passage which he was explaining. The least things were preferred\nby him to the greatest. The question of a reading, or a grammatical\nform, or an accent, or the uses of a word, took the place of the aim or\nsubject of the book. He had no sense of the beauties of an author, and\nvery little light is thrown by him on real difficulties. He interprets\npast ages by his own. The greatest classical writers are the least\nappreciated by him. This seems to be the reason why so many of them have\nperished, why the lyric poets have almost wholly disappeared; why, out\nof the eighty or ninety tragedies of Aeschylus and Sophocles, only seven\nof each had been preserved.\n\nSuch an age of sciolism and scholasticism may possibly once more get\nthe better of the literary world. There are those who prophesy that the\nsigns of such a day are again appearing among us, and that at the end\nof the present century no writer of the first class will be still alive.\nThey think that the Muse of Literature may transfer herself to other\ncountries less dried up or worn out than our own. They seem to see the\nwithering effect of criticism on original genius. No one can doubt that\nsuch a decay or decline of literature and of art seriously affects\nthe manners and character of a nation. It takes away half the joys and\nrefinements of life; it increases its dulness and grossness. Hence it\nbecomes a matter of great interest to consider how, if at all, such a\ndegeneracy may be averted. Is there any elixir which can restore life\nand youth to the literature of a nation, or at any rate which can\nprevent it becoming unmanned and enfeebled?\n\nFirst there is the progress of education. It is possible, and even\nprobable, that the extension of the means of knowledge over a wider\narea and to persons living under new conditions may lead to many new\ncombinations of thought and language. But, as yet, experience does\nnot favour the realization of such a hope or promise. It may be truly\nanswered that at present the training of teachers and the methods of\neducation are very imperfect, and therefore that we cannot judge of the\nfuture by the present. When more of our youth are trained in the best\nliteratures, and in the best parts of them, their minds may be expected\nto have a larger growth. They will have more interests, more thoughts,\nmore material for conversation; they will have a higher standard and\nbegin to think for themselves. The number of persons who will have the\nopportunity of receiving the highest education through the cheap press,\nand by the help of high schools and colleges, may increase tenfold. It\nis likely that in every thousand persons there is at least one who is\nfar above the average in natural capacity, but the seed which is in him\ndies for want of cultivation. It has never had any stimulus to grow,\nor any field in which to blossom and produce fruit. Here is a great\nreservoir or treasure-house of human intelligence out of which new\nwaters may flow and cover the earth. If at any time the great men of\nthe world should die out, and originality or genius appear to suffer\na partial eclipse, there is a boundless hope in the multitude of\nintelligences for future generations. They may bring gifts to men such\nas the world has never received before. They may begin at a higher point\nand yet take with them all the results of the past. The co-operation of\nmany may have effects not less striking, though different in character\nfrom those which the creative genius of a single man, such as Bacon or\nNewton, formerly produced. There is also great hope to be derived, not\nmerely from the extension of education over a wider area, but from the\ncontinuance of it during many generations. Educated parents will have\nchildren fit to receive education; and these again will grow up under\ncircumstances far more favourable to the growth of intelligence than any\nwhich have hitherto existed in our own or in former ages.\n\nEven if we were to suppose no more men of genius to be produced, the\ngreat writers of ancient or of modern times will remain to furnish\nabundant materials of education to the coming generation. Now that\nevery nation holds communication with every other, we may truly say in\na fuller sense than formerly that 'the thoughts of men are widened\nwith the process of the suns.' They will not be 'cribbed, cabined, and\nconfined' within a province or an island. The East will provide elements\nof culture to the West as well as the West to the East. The religions\nand literatures of the world will be open books, which he who wills may\nread. The human race may not be always ground down by bodily toil, but\nmay have greater leisure for the improvement of the mind. The increasing\nsense of the greatness and infinity of nature will tend to awaken in men\nlarger and more liberal thoughts. The love of mankind may be the source\nof a greater development of literature than nationality has ever been.\nThere may be a greater freedom from prejudice and party; we may better\nunderstand the whereabouts of truth, and therefore there may be more\nsuccess and fewer failures in the search for it. Lastly, in the coming\nages we shall carry with us the recollection of the past, in which\nare necessarily contained many seeds of revival and renaissance in the\nfuture. So far is the world from becoming exhausted, so groundless is\nthe fear that literature will ever die out.\n\n\n\n\nPHAEDRUS\n\n\nPERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates, Phaedrus.\n\nSCENE: Under a plane-tree, by the banks of the Ilissus.\n\n\nSOCRATES: My dear Phaedrus, whence come you, and whither are you going?\n\nPHAEDRUS: I come from Lysias the son of Cephalus, and I am going to\ntake a walk outside the wall, for I have been sitting with him the whole\nmorning; and our common friend Acumenus tells me that it is much more\nrefreshing to walk in the open air than to be shut up in a cloister.\n\nSOCRATES: There he is right. Lysias then, I suppose, was in the town?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, he was staying with Epicrates, here at the house of\nMorychus; that house which is near the temple of Olympian Zeus.\n\nSOCRATES: And how did he entertain you? Can I be wrong in supposing that\nLysias gave you a feast of discourse?\n\nPHAEDRUS: You shall hear, if you can spare time to accompany me.\n\nSOCRATES: And should I not deem the conversation of you and Lysias 'a\nthing of higher import,' as I may say in the words of Pindar, 'than any\nbusiness'?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Will you go on?\n\nSOCRATES: And will you go on with the narration?\n\nPHAEDRUS: My tale, Socrates, is one of your sort, for love was the theme\nwhich occupied us--love after a fashion: Lysias has been writing about\na fair youth who was being tempted, but not by a lover; and this was\nthe point: he ingeniously proved that the non-lover should be accepted\nrather than the lover.\n\nSOCRATES: O that is noble of him! I wish that he would say the poor man\nrather than the rich, and the old man rather than the young one;--then\nhe would meet the case of me and of many a man; his words would be quite\nrefreshing, and he would be a public benefactor. For my part, I do so\nlong to hear his speech, that if you walk all the way to Megara, and\nwhen you have reached the wall come back, as Herodicus recommends,\nwithout going in, I will keep you company.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What do you mean, my good Socrates? How can you imagine that\nmy unpractised memory can do justice to an elaborate work, which the\ngreatest rhetorician of the age spent a long time in composing. Indeed,\nI cannot; I would give a great deal if I could.\n\nSOCRATES: I believe that I know Phaedrus about as well as I know myself,\nand I am very sure that the speech of Lysias was repeated to him, not\nonce only, but again and again;--he insisted on hearing it many times\nover and Lysias was very willing to gratify him; at last, when nothing\nelse would do, he got hold of the book, and looked at what he most\nwanted to see,--this occupied him during the whole morning;--and then\nwhen he was tired with sitting, he went out to take a walk, not until,\nby the dog, as I believe, he had simply learned by heart the entire\ndiscourse, unless it was unusually long, and he went to a place outside\nthe wall that he might practise his lesson. There he saw a certain\nlover of discourse who had a similar weakness;--he saw and rejoiced; now\nthought he, 'I shall have a partner in my revels.' And he invited him to\ncome and walk with him. But when the lover of discourse begged that he\nwould repeat the tale, he gave himself airs and said, 'No I cannot,'\nas if he were indisposed; although, if the hearer had refused, he would\nsooner or later have been compelled by him to listen whether he would or\nno. Therefore, Phaedrus, bid him do at once what he will soon do whether\nbidden or not.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I see that you will not let me off until I speak in some\nfashion or other; verily therefore my best plan is to speak as I best\ncan.\n\nSOCRATES: A very true remark, that of yours.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I will do as I say; but believe me, Socrates, I did not learn\nthe very words--O no; nevertheless I have a general notion of what\nhe said, and will give you a summary of the points in which the lover\ndiffered from the non-lover. Let me begin at the beginning.\n\nSOCRATES: Yes, my sweet one; but you must first of all show what you\nhave in your left hand under your cloak, for that roll, as I suspect,\nis the actual discourse. Now, much as I love you, I would not have you\nsuppose that I am going to have your memory exercised at my expense, if\nyou have Lysias himself here.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Enough; I see that I have no hope of practising my art upon\nyou. But if I am to read, where would you please to sit?\n\nSOCRATES: Let us turn aside and go by the Ilissus; we will sit down at\nsome quiet spot.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I am fortunate in not having my sandals, and as you never have\nany, I think that we may go along the brook and cool our feet in the\nwater; this will be the easiest way, and at midday and in the summer is\nfar from being unpleasant.\n\nSOCRATES: Lead on, and look out for a place in which we can sit down.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Do you see the tallest plane-tree in the distance?\n\nSOCRATES: Yes.\n\nPHAEDRUS: There are shade and gentle breezes, and grass on which we may\neither sit or lie down.\n\nSOCRATES: Move forward.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I should like to know, Socrates, whether the place is not\nsomewhere here at which Boreas is said to have carried off Orithyia from\nthe banks of the Ilissus?\n\nSOCRATES: Such is the tradition.\n\nPHAEDRUS: And is this the exact spot? The little stream is delightfully\nclear and bright; I can fancy that there might be maidens playing near.\n\nSOCRATES: I believe that the spot is not exactly here, but about a\nquarter of a mile lower down, where you cross to the temple of Artemis,\nand there is, I think, some sort of an altar of Boreas at the place.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I have never noticed it; but I beseech you to tell me,\nSocrates, do you believe this tale?\n\nSOCRATES: The wise are doubtful, and I should not be singular if, like\nthem, I too doubted. I might have a rational explanation that Orithyia\nwas playing with Pharmacia, when a northern gust carried her over the\nneighbouring rocks; and this being the manner of her death, she was said\nto have been carried away by Boreas. There is a discrepancy, however,\nabout the locality; according to another version of the story she was\ntaken from Areopagus, and not from this place. Now I quite acknowledge\nthat these allegories are very nice, but he is not to be envied who has\nto invent them; much labour and ingenuity will be required of him; and\nwhen he has once begun, he must go on and rehabilitate Hippocentaurs and\nchimeras dire. Gorgons and winged steeds flow in apace, and numberless\nother inconceivable and portentous natures. And if he is sceptical\nabout them, and would fain reduce them one after another to the rules of\nprobability, this sort of crude philosophy will take up a great deal of\ntime. Now I have no leisure for such enquiries; shall I tell you why? I\nmust first know myself, as the Delphian inscription says; to be curious\nabout that which is not my concern, while I am still in ignorance of my\nown self, would be ridiculous. And therefore I bid farewell to all this;\nthe common opinion is enough for me. For, as I was saying, I want to\nknow not about this, but about myself: am I a monster more complicated\nand swollen with passion than the serpent Typho, or a creature of a\ngentler and simpler sort, to whom Nature has given a diviner and lowlier\ndestiny? But let me ask you, friend: have we not reached the plane-tree\nto which you were conducting us?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, this is the tree.\n\nSOCRATES: By Here, a fair resting-place, full of summer sounds and\nscents. Here is this lofty and spreading plane-tree, and the agnus\ncastus high and clustering, in the fullest blossom and the greatest\nfragrance; and the stream which flows beneath the plane-tree is\ndeliciously cold to the feet. Judging from the ornaments and images,\nthis must be a spot sacred to Achelous and the Nymphs. How delightful is\nthe breeze:--so very sweet; and there is a sound in the air shrill and\nsummerlike which makes answer to the chorus of the cicadae. But the\ngreatest charm of all is the grass, like a pillow gently sloping to the\nhead. My dear Phaedrus, you have been an admirable guide.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What an incomprehensible being you are, Socrates: when you are\nin the country, as you say, you really are like some stranger who is led\nabout by a guide. Do you ever cross the border? I rather think that you\nnever venture even outside the gates.\n\nSOCRATES: Very true, my good friend; and I hope that you will excuse me\nwhen you hear the reason, which is, that I am a lover of knowledge, and\nthe men who dwell in the city are my teachers, and not the trees or the\ncountry. Though I do indeed believe that you have found a spell with\nwhich to draw me out of the city into the country, like a hungry cow\nbefore whom a bough or a bunch of fruit is waved. For only hold up\nbefore me in like manner a book, and you may lead me all round Attica,\nand over the wide world. And now having arrived, I intend to lie down,\nand do you choose any posture in which you can read best. Begin.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Listen. You know how matters stand with me; and how, as I\nconceive, this affair may be arranged for the advantage of both of us.\nAnd I maintain that I ought not to fail in my suit, because I am not\nyour lover: for lovers repent of the kindnesses which they have shown\nwhen their passion ceases, but to the non-lovers who are free and not\nunder any compulsion, no time of repentance ever comes; for they confer\ntheir benefits according to the measure of their ability, in the way\nwhich is most conducive to their own interest. Then again, lovers\nconsider how by reason of their love they have neglected their own\nconcerns and rendered service to others: and when to these benefits\nconferred they add on the troubles which they have endured, they think\nthat they have long ago made to the beloved a very ample return. But the\nnon-lover has no such tormenting recollections; he has never neglected\nhis affairs or quarrelled with his relations; he has no troubles to\nadd up or excuses to invent; and being well rid of all these evils, why\nshould he not freely do what will gratify the beloved? If you say that\nthe lover is more to be esteemed, because his love is thought to be\ngreater; for he is willing to say and do what is hateful to other men,\nin order to please his beloved;--that, if true, is only a proof that he\nwill prefer any future love to his present, and will injure his old\nlove at the pleasure of the new. And how, in a matter of such infinite\nimportance, can a man be right in trusting himself to one who is\nafflicted with a malady which no experienced person would attempt to\ncure, for the patient himself admits that he is not in his right mind,\nand acknowledges that he is wrong in his mind, but says that he is\nunable to control himself? And if he came to his right mind, would he\never imagine that the desires were good which he conceived when in his\nwrong mind? Once more, there are many more non-lovers than lovers; and\nif you choose the best of the lovers, you will not have many to choose\nfrom; but if from the non-lovers, the choice will be larger, and you\nwill be far more likely to find among them a person who is worthy of\nyour friendship. If public opinion be your dread, and you would avoid\nreproach, in all probability the lover, who is always thinking that\nother men are as emulous of him as he is of them, will boast to some\none of his successes, and make a show of them openly in the pride of his\nheart;--he wants others to know that his labour has not been lost; but\nthe non-lover is more his own master, and is desirous of solid good, and\nnot of the opinion of mankind. Again, the lover may be generally noted\nor seen following the beloved (this is his regular occupation), and\nwhenever they are observed to exchange two words they are supposed to\nmeet about some affair of love either past or in contemplation; but when\nnon-lovers meet, no one asks the reason why, because people know that\ntalking to another is natural, whether friendship or mere pleasure\nbe the motive. Once more, if you fear the fickleness of friendship,\nconsider that in any other case a quarrel might be a mutual calamity;\nbut now, when you have given up what is most precious to you, you will\nbe the greater loser, and therefore, you will have more reason in\nbeing afraid of the lover, for his vexations are many, and he is always\nfancying that every one is leagued against him. Wherefore also he\ndebars his beloved from society; he will not have you intimate with\nthe wealthy, lest they should exceed him in wealth, or with men of\neducation, lest they should be his superiors in understanding; and he is\nequally afraid of anybody's influence who has any other advantage over\nhimself. If he can persuade you to break with them, you are left without\na friend in the world; or if, out of a regard to your own interest, you\nhave more sense than to comply with his desire, you will have to quarrel\nwith him. But those who are non-lovers, and whose success in love is the\nreward of their merit, will not be jealous of the companions of their\nbeloved, and will rather hate those who refuse to be his associates,\nthinking that their favourite is slighted by the latter and benefited by\nthe former; for more love than hatred may be expected to come to him out\nof his friendship with others. Many lovers too have loved the person of\na youth before they knew his character or his belongings; so that when\ntheir passion has passed away, there is no knowing whether they will\ncontinue to be his friends; whereas, in the case of non-lovers who were\nalways friends, the friendship is not lessened by the favours granted;\nbut the recollection of these remains with them, and is an earnest of\ngood things to come.\n\nFurther, I say that you are likely to be improved by me, whereas the\nlover will spoil you. For they praise your words and actions in a wrong\nway; partly, because they are afraid of offending you, and also, their\njudgment is weakened by passion. Such are the feats which love exhibits;\nhe makes things painful to the disappointed which give no pain to\nothers; he compels the successful lover to praise what ought not to\ngive him pleasure, and therefore the beloved is to be pitied rather\nthan envied. But if you listen to me, in the first place, I, in my\nintercourse with you, shall not merely regard present enjoyment, but\nalso future advantage, being not mastered by love, but my own master;\nnor for small causes taking violent dislikes, but even when the cause\nis great, slowly laying up little wrath--unintentional offences I shall\nforgive, and intentional ones I shall try to prevent; and these are the\nmarks of a friendship which will last.\n\nDo you think that a lover only can be a firm friend? reflect:--if this\nwere true, we should set small value on sons, or fathers, or mothers;\nnor should we ever have loyal friends, for our love of them arises\nnot from passion, but from other associations. Further, if we ought\nto shower favours on those who are the most eager suitors,--on that\nprinciple, we ought always to do good, not to the most virtuous, but to\nthe most needy; for they are the persons who will be most relieved,\nand will therefore be the most grateful; and when you make a feast you\nshould invite not your friend, but the beggar and the empty soul; for\nthey will love you, and attend you, and come about your doors, and\nwill be the best pleased, and the most grateful, and will invoke many a\nblessing on your head. Yet surely you ought not to be granting favours\nto those who besiege you with prayer, but to those who are best able to\nreward you; nor to the lover only, but to those who are worthy of love;\nnor to those who will enjoy the bloom of your youth, but to those who\nwill share their possessions with you in age; nor to those who, having\nsucceeded, will glory in their success to others, but to those who\nwill be modest and tell no tales; nor to those who care about you for a\nmoment only, but to those who will continue your friends through life;\nnor to those who, when their passion is over, will pick a quarrel with\nyou, but rather to those who, when the charm of youth has left you, will\nshow their own virtue. Remember what I have said; and consider yet this\nfurther point: friends admonish the lover under the idea that his way of\nlife is bad, but no one of his kindred ever yet censured the non-lover,\nor thought that he was ill-advised about his own interests.\n\n'Perhaps you will ask me whether I propose that you should indulge every\nnon-lover. To which I reply that not even the lover would advise you to\nindulge all lovers, for the indiscriminate favour is less esteemed by\nthe rational recipient, and less easily hidden by him who would escape\nthe censure of the world. Now love ought to be for the advantage of both\nparties, and for the injury of neither.\n\n'I believe that I have said enough; but if there is anything more which\nyou desire or which in your opinion needs to be supplied, ask and I will\nanswer.'\n\nNow, Socrates, what do you think? Is not the discourse excellent, more\nespecially in the matter of the language?\n\nSOCRATES: Yes, quite admirable; the effect on me was ravishing. And this\nI owe to you, Phaedrus, for I observed you while reading to be in an\necstasy, and thinking that you are more experienced in these matters\nthan I am, I followed your example, and, like you, my divine darling, I\nbecame inspired with a phrenzy.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Indeed, you are pleased to be merry.\n\nSOCRATES: Do you mean that I am not in earnest?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Now don't talk in that way, Socrates, but let me have your\nreal opinion; I adjure you, by Zeus, the god of friendship, to tell me\nwhether you think that any Hellene could have said more or spoken better\non the same subject.\n\nSOCRATES: Well, but are you and I expected to praise the sentiments\nof the author, or only the clearness, and roundness, and finish, and\ntournure of the language? As to the first I willingly submit to your\nbetter judgment, for I am not worthy to form an opinion, having only\nattended to the rhetorical manner; and I was doubting whether this could\nhave been defended even by Lysias himself; I thought, though I speak\nunder correction, that he repeated himself two or three times, either\nfrom want of words or from want of pains; and also, he appeared to me\nostentatiously to exult in showing how well he could say the same thing\nin two or three ways.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Nonsense, Socrates; what you call repetition was the especial\nmerit of the speech; for he omitted no topic of which the subject\nrightly allowed, and I do not think that any one could have spoken\nbetter or more exhaustively.\n\nSOCRATES: There I cannot go along with you. Ancient sages, men and\nwomen, who have spoken and written of these things, would rise up in\njudgment against me, if out of complaisance I assented to you.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Who are they, and where did you hear anything better than\nthis?\n\nSOCRATES: I am sure that I must have heard; but at this moment I do not\nremember from whom; perhaps from Sappho the fair, or Anacreon the wise;\nor, possibly, from a prose writer. Why do I say so? Why, because I\nperceive that my bosom is full, and that I could make another speech as\ngood as that of Lysias, and different. Now I am certain that this is\nnot an invention of my own, who am well aware that I know nothing, and\ntherefore I can only infer that I have been filled through the ears,\nlike a pitcher, from the waters of another, though I have actually\nforgotten in my stupidity who was my informant.\n\nPHAEDRUS: That is grand:--but never mind where you heard the discourse\nor from whom; let that be a mystery not to be divulged even at my\nearnest desire. Only, as you say, promise to make another and better\noration, equal in length and entirely new, on the same subject; and I,\nlike the nine Archons, will promise to set up a golden image at Delphi,\nnot only of myself, but of you, and as large as life.\n\nSOCRATES: You are a dear golden ass if you suppose me to mean that\nLysias has altogether missed the mark, and that I can make a speech from\nwhich all his arguments are to be excluded. The worst of authors will\nsay something which is to the point. Who, for example, could speak on\nthis thesis of yours without praising the discretion of the non-lover\nand blaming the indiscretion of the lover? These are the commonplaces of\nthe subject which must come in (for what else is there to be said?) and\nmust be allowed and excused; the only merit is in the arrangement of\nthem, for there can be none in the invention; but when you leave the\ncommonplaces, then there may be some originality.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I admit that there is reason in what you say, and I too will\nbe reasonable, and will allow you to start with the premiss that the\nlover is more disordered in his wits than the non-lover; if in what\nremains you make a longer and better speech than Lysias, and use other\narguments, then I say again, that a statue you shall have of beaten\ngold, and take your place by the colossal offerings of the Cypselids at\nOlympia.\n\nSOCRATES: How profoundly in earnest is the lover, because to tease him I\nlay a finger upon his love! And so, Phaedrus, you really imagine that I\nam going to improve upon the ingenuity of Lysias?\n\nPHAEDRUS: There I have you as you had me, and you must just speak 'as\nyou best can.' Do not let us exchange 'tu quoque' as in a farce, or\ncompel me to say to you as you said to me, 'I know Socrates as well as\nI know myself, and he was wanting to speak, but he gave himself airs.'\nRather I would have you consider that from this place we stir not until\nyou have unbosomed yourself of the speech; for here are we all alone,\nand I am stronger, remember, and younger than you:--Wherefore perpend,\nand do not compel me to use violence.\n\nSOCRATES: But, my sweet Phaedrus, how ridiculous it would be of me to\ncompete with Lysias in an extempore speech! He is a master in his art\nand I am an untaught man.\n\nPHAEDRUS: You see how matters stand; and therefore let there be no more\npretences; for, indeed, I know the word that is irresistible.\n\nSOCRATES: Then don't say it.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, but I will; and my word shall be an oath. 'I say, or\nrather swear'--but what god will be witness of my oath?--'By this\nplane-tree I swear, that unless you repeat the discourse here in the\nface of this very plane-tree, I will never tell you another; never let\nyou have word of another!'\n\nSOCRATES: Villain! I am conquered; the poor lover of discourse has no\nmore to say.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Then why are you still at your tricks?\n\nSOCRATES: I am not going to play tricks now that you have taken the\noath, for I cannot allow myself to be starved.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Proceed.\n\nSOCRATES: Shall I tell you what I will do?\n\nPHAEDRUS: What?\n\nSOCRATES: I will veil my face and gallop through the discourse as fast\nas I can, for if I see you I shall feel ashamed and not know what to\nsay.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Only go on and you may do anything else which you please.\n\nSOCRATES: Come, O ye Muses, melodious, as ye are called, whether you\nhave received this name from the character of your strains, or because\nthe Melians are a musical race, help, O help me in the tale which my\ngood friend here desires me to rehearse, in order that his friend whom\nhe always deemed wise may seem to him to be wiser than ever.\n\nOnce upon a time there was a fair boy, or, more properly speaking, a\nyouth; he was very fair and had a great many lovers; and there was one\nspecial cunning one, who had persuaded the youth that he did not love\nhim, but he really loved him all the same; and one day when he was\npaying his addresses to him, he used this very argument--that he\nought to accept the non-lover rather than the lover; his words were as\nfollows:--\n\n'All good counsel begins in the same way; a man should know what he\nis advising about, or his counsel will all come to nought. But people\nimagine that they know about the nature of things, when they don't know\nabout them, and, not having come to an understanding at first\nbecause they think that they know, they end, as might be expected, in\ncontradicting one another and themselves. Now you and I must not be\nguilty of this fundamental error which we condemn in others; but as our\nquestion is whether the lover or non-lover is to be preferred, let us\nfirst of all agree in defining the nature and power of love, and then,\nkeeping our eyes upon the definition and to this appealing, let us\nfurther enquire whether love brings advantage or disadvantage.\n\n'Every one sees that love is a desire, and we know also that non-lovers\ndesire the beautiful and good. Now in what way is the lover to be\ndistinguished from the non-lover? Let us note that in every one of us\nthere are two guiding and ruling principles which lead us whither they\nwill; one is the natural desire of pleasure, the other is an acquired\nopinion which aspires after the best; and these two are sometimes in\nharmony and then again at war, and sometimes the one, sometimes the\nother conquers. When opinion by the help of reason leads us to the best,\nthe conquering principle is called temperance; but when desire, which\nis devoid of reason, rules in us and drags us to pleasure, that power of\nmisrule is called excess. Now excess has many names, and many members,\nand many forms, and any of these forms when very marked gives a name,\nneither honourable nor creditable, to the bearer of the name. The desire\nof eating, for example, which gets the better of the higher reason and\nthe other desires, is called gluttony, and he who is possessed by it\nis called a glutton; the tyrannical desire of drink, which inclines the\npossessor of the desire to drink, has a name which is only too obvious,\nand there can be as little doubt by what name any other appetite of the\nsame family would be called;--it will be the name of that which happens\nto be dominant. And now I think that you will perceive the drift of\nmy discourse; but as every spoken word is in a manner plainer than the\nunspoken, I had better say further that the irrational desire which\novercomes the tendency of opinion towards right, and is led away to the\nenjoyment of beauty, and especially of personal beauty, by the desires\nwhich are her own kindred--that supreme desire, I say, which by leading\nconquers and by the force of passion is reinforced, from this very\nforce, receiving a name, is called love (erromenos eros).'\n\nAnd now, dear Phaedrus, I shall pause for an instant to ask whether you\ndo not think me, as I appear to myself, inspired?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, Socrates, you seem to have a very unusual flow of words.\n\nSOCRATES: Listen to me, then, in silence; for surely the place is holy;\nso that you must not wonder, if, as I proceed, I appear to be in a\ndivine fury, for already I am getting into dithyrambics.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Nothing can be truer.\n\nSOCRATES: The responsibility rests with you. But hear what follows, and\nperhaps the fit may be averted; all is in their hands above. I will go\non talking to my youth. Listen:--\n\nThus, my friend, we have declared and defined the nature of the subject.\nKeeping the definition in view, let us now enquire what advantage or\ndisadvantage is likely to ensue from the lover or the non-lover to him\nwho accepts their advances.\n\nHe who is the victim of his passions and the slave of pleasure will of\ncourse desire to make his beloved as agreeable to himself as possible.\nNow to him who has a mind diseased anything is agreeable which is not\nopposed to him, but that which is equal or superior is hateful to him,\nand therefore the lover will not brook any superiority or equality\non the part of his beloved; he is always employed in reducing him to\ninferiority. And the ignorant is the inferior of the wise, the coward\nof the brave, the slow of speech of the speaker, the dull of the\nclever. These, and not these only, are the mental defects of the\nbeloved;--defects which, when implanted by nature, are necessarily\na delight to the lover, and when not implanted, he must contrive to\nimplant them in him, if he would not be deprived of his fleeting joy.\nAnd therefore he cannot help being jealous, and will debar his beloved\nfrom the advantages of society which would make a man of him, and\nespecially from that society which would have given him wisdom, and\nthereby he cannot fail to do him great harm. That is to say, in his\nexcessive fear lest he should come to be despised in his eyes he will be\ncompelled to banish from him divine philosophy; and there is no greater\ninjury which he can inflict upon him than this. He will contrive that\nhis beloved shall be wholly ignorant, and in everything shall look\nto him; he is to be the delight of the lover's heart, and a curse to\nhimself. Verily, a lover is a profitable guardian and associate for him\nin all that relates to his mind.\n\nLet us next see how his master, whose law of life is pleasure and not\ngood, will keep and train the body of his servant. Will he not choose a\nbeloved who is delicate rather than sturdy and strong? One brought up\nin shady bowers and not in the bright sun, a stranger to manly exercises\nand the sweat of toil, accustomed only to a soft and luxurious diet,\ninstead of the hues of health having the colours of paint and ornament,\nand the rest of a piece?--such a life as any one can imagine and which I\nneed not detail at length. But I may sum up all that I have to say in a\nword, and pass on. Such a person in war, or in any of the great crises\nof life, will be the anxiety of his friends and also of his lover, and\ncertainly not the terror of his enemies; which nobody can deny.\n\nAnd now let us tell what advantage or disadvantage the beloved will\nreceive from the guardianship and society of his lover in the matter of\nhis property; this is the next point to be considered. The lover will be\nthe first to see what, indeed, will be sufficiently evident to all men,\nthat he desires above all things to deprive his beloved of his dearest\nand best and holiest possessions, father, mother, kindred, friends, of\nall whom he thinks may be hinderers or reprovers of their most sweet\nconverse; he will even cast a jealous eye upon his gold and silver or\nother property, because these make him a less easy prey, and when caught\nless manageable; hence he is of necessity displeased at his possession\nof them and rejoices at their loss; and he would like him to be\nwifeless, childless, homeless, as well; and the longer the better, for\nthe longer he is all this, the longer he will enjoy him.\n\nThere are some sort of animals, such as flatterers, who are dangerous\nand mischievous enough, and yet nature has mingled a temporary pleasure\nand grace in their composition. You may say that a courtesan is hurtful,\nand disapprove of such creatures and their practices, and yet for the\ntime they are very pleasant. But the lover is not only hurtful to his\nlove; he is also an extremely disagreeable companion. The old proverb\nsays that 'birds of a feather flock together'; I suppose that equality\nof years inclines them to the same pleasures, and similarity begets\nfriendship; yet you may have more than enough even of this; and verily\nconstraint is always said to be grievous. Now the lover is not only\nunlike his beloved, but he forces himself upon him. For he is old and\nhis love is young, and neither day nor night will he leave him if he\ncan help; necessity and the sting of desire drive him on, and allure\nhim with the pleasure which he receives from seeing, hearing, touching,\nperceiving him in every way. And therefore he is delighted to fasten\nupon him and to minister to him. But what pleasure or consolation can\nthe beloved be receiving all this time? Must he not feel the extremity\nof disgust when he looks at an old shrivelled face and the remainder to\nmatch, which even in a description is disagreeable, and quite detestable\nwhen he is forced into daily contact with his lover; moreover he is\njealously watched and guarded against everything and everybody, and\nhas to hear misplaced and exaggerated praises of himself, and censures\nequally inappropriate, which are intolerable when the man is sober, and,\nbesides being intolerable, are published all over the world in all their\nindelicacy and wearisomeness when he is drunk.\n\nAnd not only while his love continues is he mischievous and unpleasant,\nbut when his love ceases he becomes a perfidious enemy of him on whom\nhe showered his oaths and prayers and promises, and yet could hardly\nprevail upon him to tolerate the tedium of his company even from motives\nof interest. The hour of payment arrives, and now he is the servant of\nanother master; instead of love and infatuation, wisdom and temperance\nare his bosom's lords; but the beloved has not discovered the change\nwhich has taken place in him, when he asks for a return and recalls to\nhis recollection former sayings and doings; he believes himself to be\nspeaking to the same person, and the other, not having the courage to\nconfess the truth, and not knowing how to fulfil the oaths and promises\nwhich he made when under the dominion of folly, and having now grown\nwise and temperate, does not want to do as he did or to be as he was\nbefore. And so he runs away and is constrained to be a defaulter; the\noyster-shell (In allusion to a game in which two parties fled or pursued\naccording as an oyster-shell which was thrown into the air fell with\nthe dark or light side uppermost.) has fallen with the other side\nuppermost--he changes pursuit into flight, while the other is compelled\nto follow him with passion and imprecation, not knowing that he ought\nnever from the first to have accepted a demented lover instead of a\nsensible non-lover; and that in making such a choice he was giving\nhimself up to a faithless, morose, envious, disagreeable being, hurtful\nto his estate, hurtful to his bodily health, and still more hurtful to\nthe cultivation of his mind, than which there neither is nor ever will\nbe anything more honoured in the eyes both of gods and men. Consider\nthis, fair youth, and know that in the friendship of the lover there is\nno real kindness; he has an appetite and wants to feed upon you:\n\n'As wolves love lambs so lovers love their loves.'\n\nBut I told you so, I am speaking in verse, and therefore I had better\nmake an end; enough.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I thought that you were only half-way and were going to make a\nsimilar speech about all the advantages of accepting the non-lover. Why\ndo you not proceed?\n\nSOCRATES: Does not your simplicity observe that I have got out of\ndithyrambics into heroics, when only uttering a censure on the lover?\nAnd if I am to add the praises of the non-lover what will become of me?\nDo you not perceive that I am already overtaken by the Nymphs to whom\nyou have mischievously exposed me? And therefore I will only add that\nthe non-lover has all the advantages in which the lover is accused of\nbeing deficient. And now I will say no more; there has been enough of\nboth of them. Leaving the tale to its fate, I will cross the river and\nmake the best of my way home, lest a worse thing be inflicted upon me by\nyou.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Not yet, Socrates; not until the heat of the day has passed;\ndo you not see that the hour is almost noon? there is the midday sun\nstanding still, as people say, in the meridian. Let us rather stay and\ntalk over what has been said, and then return in the cool.\n\nSOCRATES: Your love of discourse, Phaedrus, is superhuman, simply\nmarvellous, and I do not believe that there is any one of your\ncontemporaries who has either made or in one way or another has\ncompelled others to make an equal number of speeches. I would except\nSimmias the Theban, but all the rest are far behind you. And now I do\nverily believe that you have been the cause of another.\n\nPHAEDRUS: That is good news. But what do you mean?\n\nSOCRATES: I mean to say that as I was about to cross the stream the\nusual sign was given to me,--that sign which always forbids, but never\nbids, me to do anything which I am going to do; and I thought that I\nheard a voice saying in my ear that I had been guilty of impiety,\nand that I must not go away until I had made an atonement. Now I am a\ndiviner, though not a very good one, but I have enough religion for my\nown use, as you might say of a bad writer--his writing is good enough\nfor him; and I am beginning to see that I was in error. O my friend, how\nprophetic is the human soul! At the time I had a sort of misgiving, and,\nlike Ibycus, 'I was troubled; I feared that I might be buying honour\nfrom men at the price of sinning against the gods.' Now I recognize my\nerror.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What error?\n\nSOCRATES: That was a dreadful speech which you brought with you, and you\nmade me utter one as bad.\n\nPHAEDRUS: How so?\n\nSOCRATES: It was foolish, I say,--to a certain extent, impious; can\nanything be more dreadful?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Nothing, if the speech was really such as you describe.\n\nSOCRATES: Well, and is not Eros the son of Aphrodite, and a god?\n\nPHAEDRUS: So men say.\n\nSOCRATES: But that was not acknowledged by Lysias in his speech, nor by\nyou in that other speech which you by a charm drew from my lips. For if\nlove be, as he surely is, a divinity, he cannot be evil. Yet this was\nthe error of both the speeches. There was also a simplicity about them\nwhich was refreshing; having no truth or honesty in them, nevertheless\nthey pretended to be something, hoping to succeed in deceiving the\nmanikins of earth and gain celebrity among them. Wherefore I must have\na purgation. And I bethink me of an ancient purgation of mythological\nerror which was devised, not by Homer, for he never had the wit to\ndiscover why he was blind, but by Stesichorus, who was a philosopher and\nknew the reason why; and therefore, when he lost his eyes, for that was\nthe penalty which was inflicted upon him for reviling the lovely Helen,\nhe at once purged himself. And the purgation was a recantation, which\nbegan thus,--\n\n 'False is that word of mine--the truth is that thou didst not embark in\n ships, nor ever go to the walls of Troy;'\n\nand when he had completed his poem, which is called 'the recantation,'\nimmediately his sight returned to him. Now I will be wiser than either\nStesichorus or Homer, in that I am going to make my recantation for\nreviling love before I suffer; and this I will attempt, not as before,\nveiled and ashamed, but with forehead bold and bare.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Nothing could be more agreeable to me than to hear you say so.\n\nSOCRATES: Only think, my good Phaedrus, what an utter want of delicacy\nwas shown in the two discourses; I mean, in my own and in that which you\nrecited out of the book. Would not any one who was himself of a noble\nand gentle nature, and who loved or ever had loved a nature like his\nown, when we tell of the petty causes of lovers' jealousies, and of\ntheir exceeding animosities, and of the injuries which they do to their\nbeloved, have imagined that our ideas of love were taken from some haunt\nof sailors to which good manners were unknown--he would certainly never\nhave admitted the justice of our censure?\n\nPHAEDRUS: I dare say not, Socrates.\n\nSOCRATES: Therefore, because I blush at the thought of this person, and\nalso because I am afraid of Love himself, I desire to wash the brine out\nof my ears with water from the spring; and I would counsel Lysias not to\ndelay, but to write another discourse, which shall prove that 'ceteris\nparibus' the lover ought to be accepted rather than the non-lover.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Be assured that he shall. You shall speak the praises of the\nlover, and Lysias shall be compelled by me to write another discourse on\nthe same theme.\n\nSOCRATES: You will be true to your nature in that, and therefore I\nbelieve you.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Speak, and fear not.\n\nSOCRATES: But where is the fair youth whom I was addressing before, and\nwho ought to listen now; lest, if he hear me not, he should accept a\nnon-lover before he knows what he is doing?\n\nPHAEDRUS: He is close at hand, and always at your service.\n\nSOCRATES: Know then, fair youth, that the former discourse was the word\nof Phaedrus, the son of Vain Man, who dwells in the city of Myrrhina\n(Myrrhinusius). And this which I am about to utter is the recantation of\nStesichorus the son of Godly Man (Euphemus), who comes from the town of\nDesire (Himera), and is to the following effect: 'I told a lie when I\nsaid' that the beloved ought to accept the non-lover when he might have\nthe lover, because the one is sane, and the other mad. It might be so\nif madness were simply an evil; but there is also a madness which is a\ndivine gift, and the source of the chiefest blessings granted to\nmen. For prophecy is a madness, and the prophetess at Delphi and the\npriestesses at Dodona when out of their senses have conferred great\nbenefits on Hellas, both in public and private life, but when in their\nsenses few or none. And I might also tell you how the Sibyl and other\ninspired persons have given to many an one many an intimation of the\nfuture which has saved them from falling. But it would be tedious to\nspeak of what every one knows.\n\nThere will be more reason in appealing to the ancient inventors of names\n(compare Cratylus), who would never have connected prophecy (mantike)\nwhich foretells the future and is the noblest of arts, with madness\n(manike), or called them both by the same name, if they had deemed\nmadness to be a disgrace or dishonour;--they must have thought that\nthere was an inspired madness which was a noble thing; for the two\nwords, mantike and manike, are really the same, and the letter tau is\nonly a modern and tasteless insertion. And this is confirmed by the\nname which was given by them to the rational investigation of futurity,\nwhether made by the help of birds or of other signs--this, for as much\nas it is an art which supplies from the reasoning faculty mind (nous)\nand information (istoria) to human thought (oiesis) they originally\ntermed oionoistike, but the word has been lately altered and made\nsonorous by the modern introduction of the letter Omega (oionoistike and\noionistike), and in proportion as prophecy (mantike) is more perfect and\naugust than augury, both in name and fact, in the same proportion, as\nthe ancients testify, is madness superior to a sane mind (sophrosune)\nfor the one is only of human, but the other of divine origin. Again,\nwhere plagues and mightiest woes have bred in certain families, owing\nto some ancient blood-guiltiness, there madness has entered with holy\nprayers and rites, and by inspired utterances found a way of deliverance\nfor those who are in need; and he who has part in this gift, and is\ntruly possessed and duly out of his mind, is by the use of purifications\nand mysteries made whole and exempt from evil, future as well as\npresent, and has a release from the calamity which was afflicting him.\nThe third kind is the madness of those who are possessed by the Muses;\nwhich taking hold of a delicate and virgin soul, and there inspiring\nfrenzy, awakens lyrical and all other numbers; with these adorning the\nmyriad actions of ancient heroes for the instruction of posterity. But\nhe who, having no touch of the Muses' madness in his soul, comes to the\ndoor and thinks that he will get into the temple by the help of art--he,\nI say, and his poetry are not admitted; the sane man disappears and is\nnowhere when he enters into rivalry with the madman.\n\nI might tell of many other noble deeds which have sprung from inspired\nmadness. And therefore, let no one frighten or flutter us by saying that\nthe temperate friend is to be chosen rather than the inspired, but let\nhim further show that love is not sent by the gods for any good to lover\nor beloved; if he can do so we will allow him to carry off the palm. And\nwe, on our part, will prove in answer to him that the madness of love is\nthe greatest of heaven's blessings, and the proof shall be one which the\nwise will receive, and the witling disbelieve. But first of all, let us\nview the affections and actions of the soul divine and human, and try\nto ascertain the truth about them. The beginning of our proof is as\nfollows:--\n\n(Translated by Cic. Tus. Quaest.) The soul through all her being is\nimmortal, for that which is ever in motion is immortal; but that which\nmoves another and is moved by another, in ceasing to move ceases also to\nlive. Only the self-moving, never leaving self, never ceases to move,\nand is the fountain and beginning of motion to all that moves besides.\nNow, the beginning is unbegotten, for that which is begotten has a\nbeginning; but the beginning is begotten of nothing, for if it were\nbegotten of something, then the begotten would not come from a\nbeginning. But if unbegotten, it must also be indestructible; for if\nbeginning were destroyed, there could be no beginning out of anything,\nnor anything out of a beginning; and all things must have a beginning.\nAnd therefore the self-moving is the beginning of motion; and this can\nneither be destroyed nor begotten, else the whole heavens and all\ncreation would collapse and stand still, and never again have motion or\nbirth. But if the self-moving is proved to be immortal, he who affirms\nthat self-motion is the very idea and essence of the soul will not be\nput to confusion. For the body which is moved from without is soulless;\nbut that which is moved from within has a soul, for such is the nature\nof the soul. But if this be true, must not the soul be the self-moving,\nand therefore of necessity unbegotten and immortal? Enough of the soul's\nimmortality.\n\nOf the nature of the soul, though her true form be ever a theme of large\nand more than mortal discourse, let me speak briefly, and in a\nfigure. And let the figure be composite--a pair of winged horses and a\ncharioteer. Now the winged horses and the charioteers of the gods are\nall of them noble and of noble descent, but those of other races are\nmixed; the human charioteer drives his in a pair; and one of them is\nnoble and of noble breed, and the other is ignoble and of ignoble breed;\nand the driving of them of necessity gives a great deal of trouble to\nhim. I will endeavour to explain to you in what way the mortal differs\nfrom the immortal creature. The soul in her totality has the care of\ninanimate being everywhere, and traverses the whole heaven in divers\nforms appearing--when perfect and fully winged she soars upward, and\norders the whole world; whereas the imperfect soul, losing her wings\nand drooping in her flight at last settles on the solid ground--there,\nfinding a home, she receives an earthly frame which appears to be\nself-moved, but is really moved by her power; and this composition of\nsoul and body is called a living and mortal creature. For immortal no\nsuch union can be reasonably believed to be; although fancy, not\nhaving seen nor surely known the nature of God, may imagine an immortal\ncreature having both a body and also a soul which are united throughout\nall time. Let that, however, be as God wills, and be spoken of\nacceptably to him. And now let us ask the reason why the soul loses her\nwings!\n\nThe wing is the corporeal element which is most akin to the divine,\nand which by nature tends to soar aloft and carry that which gravitates\ndownwards into the upper region, which is the habitation of the gods.\nThe divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and the like; and by these the\nwing of the soul is nourished, and grows apace; but when fed upon evil\nand foulness and the opposite of good, wastes and falls away. Zeus, the\nmighty lord, holding the reins of a winged chariot, leads the way in\nheaven, ordering all and taking care of all; and there follows him the\narray of gods and demi-gods, marshalled in eleven bands; Hestia alone\nabides at home in the house of heaven; of the rest they who are reckoned\namong the princely twelve march in their appointed order. They see many\nblessed sights in the inner heaven, and there are many ways to and fro,\nalong which the blessed gods are passing, every one doing his own\nwork; he may follow who will and can, for jealousy has no place in the\ncelestial choir. But when they go to banquet and festival, then they\nmove up the steep to the top of the vault of heaven. The chariots of\nthe gods in even poise, obeying the rein, glide rapidly; but the others\nlabour, for the vicious steed goes heavily, weighing down the charioteer\nto the earth when his steed has not been thoroughly trained:--and\nthis is the hour of agony and extremest conflict for the soul. For the\nimmortals, when they are at the end of their course, go forth and stand\nupon the outside of heaven, and the revolution of the spheres carries\nthem round, and they behold the things beyond. But of the heaven which\nis above the heavens, what earthly poet ever did or ever will sing\nworthily? It is such as I will describe; for I must dare to speak the\ntruth, when truth is my theme. There abides the very being with which\ntrue knowledge is concerned; the colourless, formless, intangible\nessence, visible only to mind, the pilot of the soul. The divine\nintelligence, being nurtured upon mind and pure knowledge, and the\nintelligence of every soul which is capable of receiving the food proper\nto it, rejoices at beholding reality, and once more gazing upon truth,\nis replenished and made glad, until the revolution of the worlds\nbrings her round again to the same place. In the revolution she beholds\njustice, and temperance, and knowledge absolute, not in the form of\ngeneration or of relation, which men call existence, but knowledge\nabsolute in existence absolute; and beholding the other true existences\nin like manner, and feasting upon them, she passes down into the\ninterior of the heavens and returns home; and there the charioteer\nputting up his horses at the stall, gives them ambrosia to eat and\nnectar to drink.\n\nSuch is the life of the gods; but of other souls, that which follows\nGod best and is likest to him lifts the head of the charioteer into the\nouter world, and is carried round in the revolution, troubled indeed by\nthe steeds, and with difficulty beholding true being; while another\nonly rises and falls, and sees, and again fails to see by reason of the\nunruliness of the steeds. The rest of the souls are also longing after\nthe upper world and they all follow, but not being strong enough they\nare carried round below the surface, plunging, treading on one another,\neach striving to be first; and there is confusion and perspiration and\nthe extremity of effort; and many of them are lamed or have their wings\nbroken through the ill-driving of the charioteers; and all of them after\na fruitless toil, not having attained to the mysteries of true being,\ngo away, and feed upon opinion. The reason why the souls exhibit this\nexceeding eagerness to behold the plain of truth is that pasturage is\nfound there, which is suited to the highest part of the soul; and the\nwing on which the soul soars is nourished with this. And there is a law\nof Destiny, that the soul which attains any vision of truth in company\nwith a god is preserved from harm until the next period, and if\nattaining always is always unharmed. But when she is unable to follow,\nand fails to behold the truth, and through some ill-hap sinks beneath\nthe double load of forgetfulness and vice, and her wings fall from her\nand she drops to the ground, then the law ordains that this soul shall\nat her first birth pass, not into any other animal, but only into man;\nand the soul which has seen most of truth shall come to the birth as a\nphilosopher, or artist, or some musical and loving nature; that which\nhas seen truth in the second degree shall be some righteous king\nor warrior chief; the soul which is of the third class shall be a\npolitician, or economist, or trader; the fourth shall be a lover of\ngymnastic toils, or a physician; the fifth shall lead the life of a\nprophet or hierophant; to the sixth the character of poet or some other\nimitative artist will be assigned; to the seventh the life of an artisan\nor husbandman; to the eighth that of a sophist or demagogue; to the\nninth that of a tyrant--all these are states of probation, in which\nhe who does righteously improves, and he who does unrighteously,\ndeteriorates his lot.\n\nTen thousand years must elapse before the soul of each one can return to\nthe place from whence she came, for she cannot grow her wings in less;\nonly the soul of a philosopher, guileless and true, or the soul of a\nlover, who is not devoid of philosophy, may acquire wings in the third\nof the recurring periods of a thousand years; he is distinguished from\nthe ordinary good man who gains wings in three thousand years:--and they\nwho choose this life three times in succession have wings given them,\nand go away at the end of three thousand years. But the others (The\nphilosopher alone is not subject to judgment (krisis), for he has never\nlost the vision of truth.) receive judgment when they have completed\ntheir first life, and after the judgment they go, some of them to the\nhouses of correction which are under the earth, and are punished; others\nto some place in heaven whither they are lightly borne by justice, and\nthere they live in a manner worthy of the life which they led here when\nin the form of men. And at the end of the first thousand years the good\nsouls and also the evil souls both come to draw lots and choose their\nsecond life, and they may take any which they please. The soul of a man\nmay pass into the life of a beast, or from the beast return again into\nthe man. But the soul which has never seen the truth will not pass into\nthe human form. For a man must have intelligence of universals, and be\nable to proceed from the many particulars of sense to one conception of\nreason;--this is the recollection of those things which our soul once\nsaw while following God--when regardless of that which we now call being\nshe raised her head up towards the true being. And therefore the mind\nof the philosopher alone has wings; and this is just, for he is always,\naccording to the measure of his abilities, clinging in recollection to\nthose things in which God abides, and in beholding which He is what He\nis. And he who employs aright these memories is ever being initiated\ninto perfect mysteries and alone becomes truly perfect. But, as he\nforgets earthly interests and is rapt in the divine, the vulgar deem him\nmad, and rebuke him; they do not see that he is inspired.\n\nThus far I have been speaking of the fourth and last kind of madness,\nwhich is imputed to him who, when he sees the beauty of earth, is\ntransported with the recollection of the true beauty; he would like to\nfly away, but he cannot; he is like a bird fluttering and looking upward\nand careless of the world below; and he is therefore thought to be mad.\nAnd I have shown this of all inspirations to be the noblest and highest\nand the offspring of the highest to him who has or shares in it, and\nthat he who loves the beautiful is called a lover because he partakes of\nit. For, as has been already said, every soul of man has in the way of\nnature beheld true being; this was the condition of her passing into the\nform of man. But all souls do not easily recall the things of the other\nworld; they may have seen them for a short time only, or they may have\nbeen unfortunate in their earthly lot, and, having had their hearts\nturned to unrighteousness through some corrupting influence, they may\nhave lost the memory of the holy things which once they saw. Few only\nretain an adequate remembrance of them; and they, when they behold\nhere any image of that other world, are rapt in amazement; but they\nare ignorant of what this rapture means, because they do not clearly\nperceive. For there is no light of justice or temperance or any of the\nhigher ideas which are precious to souls in the earthly copies of them:\nthey are seen through a glass dimly; and there are few who, going to the\nimages, behold in them the realities, and these only with difficulty.\nThere was a time when with the rest of the happy band they saw beauty\nshining in brightness,--we philosophers following in the train of Zeus,\nothers in company with other gods; and then we beheld the beatific\nvision and were initiated into a mystery which may be truly called most\nblessed, celebrated by us in our state of innocence, before we had\nany experience of evils to come, when we were admitted to the sight\nof apparitions innocent and simple and calm and happy, which we beheld\nshining in pure light, pure ourselves and not yet enshrined in that\nliving tomb which we carry about, now that we are imprisoned in the\nbody, like an oyster in his shell. Let me linger over the memory of\nscenes which have passed away.\n\nBut of beauty, I repeat again that we saw her there shining in company\nwith the celestial forms; and coming to earth we find her here too,\nshining in clearness through the clearest aperture of sense. For sight\nis the most piercing of our bodily senses; though not by that is wisdom\nseen; her loveliness would have been transporting if there had been\na visible image of her, and the other ideas, if they had visible\ncounterparts, would be equally lovely. But this is the privilege of\nbeauty, that being the loveliest she is also the most palpable to sight.\nNow he who is not newly initiated or who has become corrupted, does not\neasily rise out of this world to the sight of true beauty in the other;\nhe looks only at her earthly namesake, and instead of being awed at the\nsight of her, he is given over to pleasure, and like a brutish beast he\nrushes on to enjoy and beget; he consorts with wantonness, and is not\nafraid or ashamed of pursuing pleasure in violation of nature. But\nhe whose initiation is recent, and who has been the spectator of many\nglories in the other world, is amazed when he sees any one having a\ngodlike face or form, which is the expression of divine beauty; and at\nfirst a shudder runs through him, and again the old awe steals over him;\nthen looking upon the face of his beloved as of a god he reverences him,\nand if he were not afraid of being thought a downright madman, he would\nsacrifice to his beloved as to the image of a god; then while he gazes\non him there is a sort of reaction, and the shudder passes into an\nunusual heat and perspiration; for, as he receives the effluence of\nbeauty through the eyes, the wing moistens and he warms. And as he\nwarms, the parts out of which the wing grew, and which had been hitherto\nclosed and rigid, and had prevented the wing from shooting forth, are\nmelted, and as nourishment streams upon him, the lower end of the wing\nbegins to swell and grow from the root upwards; and the growth extends\nunder the whole soul--for once the whole was winged. During this process\nthe whole soul is all in a state of ebullition and effervescence,--which\nmay be compared to the irritation and uneasiness in the gums at the\ntime of cutting teeth,--bubbles up, and has a feeling of uneasiness and\ntickling; but when in like manner the soul is beginning to grow wings,\nthe beauty of the beloved meets her eye and she receives the sensible\nwarm motion of particles which flow towards her, therefore called\nemotion (imeros), and is refreshed and warmed by them, and then she\nceases from her pain with joy. But when she is parted from her beloved\nand her moisture fails, then the orifices of the passage out of which\nthe wing shoots dry up and close, and intercept the germ of the wing;\nwhich, being shut up with the emotion, throbbing as with the pulsations\nof an artery, pricks the aperture which is nearest, until at length the\nentire soul is pierced and maddened and pained, and at the recollection\nof beauty is again delighted. And from both of them together the soul is\noppressed at the strangeness of her condition, and is in a great strait\nand excitement, and in her madness can neither sleep by night nor abide\nin her place by day. And wherever she thinks that she will behold the\nbeautiful one, thither in her desire she runs. And when she has seen\nhim, and bathed herself in the waters of beauty, her constraint is\nloosened, and she is refreshed, and has no more pangs and pains; and\nthis is the sweetest of all pleasures at the time, and is the reason\nwhy the soul of the lover will never forsake his beautiful one, whom he\nesteems above all; he has forgotten mother and brethren and companions,\nand he thinks nothing of the neglect and loss of his property; the rules\nand proprieties of life, on which he formerly prided himself, he now\ndespises, and is ready to sleep like a servant, wherever he is allowed,\nas near as he can to his desired one, who is the object of his worship,\nand the physician who can alone assuage the greatness of his pain. And\nthis state, my dear imaginary youth to whom I am talking, is by men\ncalled love, and among the gods has a name at which you, in your\nsimplicity, may be inclined to mock; there are two lines in the\napocryphal writings of Homer in which the name occurs. One of them is\nrather outrageous, and not altogether metrical. They are as follows:\n\n'Mortals call him fluttering love, But the immortals call him winged\none, Because the growing of wings (Or, reading pterothoiton, 'the\nmovement of wings.') is a necessity to him.'\n\nYou may believe this, but not unless you like. At any rate the loves of\nlovers and their causes are such as I have described.\n\nNow the lover who is taken to be the attendant of Zeus is better able to\nbear the winged god, and can endure a heavier burden; but the attendants\nand companions of Ares, when under the influence of love, if they fancy\nthat they have been at all wronged, are ready to kill and put an end\nto themselves and their beloved. And he who follows in the train of any\nother god, while he is unspoiled and the impression lasts, honours and\nimitates him, as far as he is able; and after the manner of his God he\nbehaves in his intercourse with his beloved and with the rest of the\nworld during the first period of his earthly existence. Every one\nchooses his love from the ranks of beauty according to his character,\nand this he makes his god, and fashions and adorns as a sort of image\nwhich he is to fall down and worship. The followers of Zeus desire that\ntheir beloved should have a soul like him; and therefore they seek out\nsome one of a philosophical and imperial nature, and when they have\nfound him and loved him, they do all they can to confirm such a nature\nin him, and if they have no experience of such a disposition hitherto,\nthey learn of any one who can teach them, and themselves follow in the\nsame way. And they have the less difficulty in finding the nature of\ntheir own god in themselves, because they have been compelled to gaze\nintensely on him; their recollection clings to him, and they become\npossessed of him, and receive from him their character and disposition,\nso far as man can participate in God. The qualities of their god they\nattribute to the beloved, wherefore they love him all the more, and if,\nlike the Bacchic Nymphs, they draw inspiration from Zeus, they pour out\ntheir own fountain upon him, wanting to make him as like as possible\nto their own god. But those who are the followers of Here seek a royal\nlove, and when they have found him they do just the same with him; and\nin like manner the followers of Apollo, and of every other god walking\nin the ways of their god, seek a love who is to be made like him whom\nthey serve, and when they have found him, they themselves imitate their\ngod, and persuade their love to do the same, and educate him into the\nmanner and nature of the god as far as they each can; for no feelings of\nenvy or jealousy are entertained by them towards their beloved, but they\ndo their utmost to create in him the greatest likeness of themselves and\nof the god whom they honour. Thus fair and blissful to the beloved is\nthe desire of the inspired lover, and the initiation of which I speak\ninto the mysteries of true love, if he be captured by the lover and\ntheir purpose is effected. Now the beloved is taken captive in the\nfollowing manner:--\n\nAs I said at the beginning of this tale, I divided each soul into\nthree--two horses and a charioteer; and one of the horses was good and\nthe other bad: the division may remain, but I have not yet explained in\nwhat the goodness or badness of either consists, and to that I will\nnow proceed. The right-hand horse is upright and cleanly made; he has a\nlofty neck and an aquiline nose; his colour is white, and his eyes dark;\nhe is a lover of honour and modesty and temperance, and the follower\nof true glory; he needs no touch of the whip, but is guided by word and\nadmonition only. The other is a crooked lumbering animal, put together\nanyhow; he has a short thick neck; he is flat-faced and of a dark\ncolour, with grey eyes and blood-red complexion (Or with grey and\nblood-shot eyes.); the mate of insolence and pride, shag-eared and deaf,\nhardly yielding to whip and spur. Now when the charioteer beholds the\nvision of love, and has his whole soul warmed through sense, and is full\nof the prickings and ticklings of desire, the obedient steed, then\nas always under the government of shame, refrains from leaping on the\nbeloved; but the other, heedless of the pricks and of the blows of\nthe whip, plunges and runs away, giving all manner of trouble to his\ncompanion and the charioteer, whom he forces to approach the beloved and\nto remember the joys of love. They at first indignantly oppose him and\nwill not be urged on to do terrible and unlawful deeds; but at last,\nwhen he persists in plaguing them, they yield and agree to do as he bids\nthem. And now they are at the spot and behold the flashing beauty of the\nbeloved; which when the charioteer sees, his memory is carried to the\ntrue beauty, whom he beholds in company with Modesty like an image\nplaced upon a holy pedestal. He sees her, but he is afraid and falls\nbackwards in adoration, and by his fall is compelled to pull back the\nreins with such violence as to bring both the steeds on their haunches,\nthe one willing and unresisting, the unruly one very unwilling; and when\nthey have gone back a little, the one is overcome with shame and wonder,\nand his whole soul is bathed in perspiration; the other, when the\npain is over which the bridle and the fall had given him, having with\ndifficulty taken breath, is full of wrath and reproaches, which he\nheaps upon the charioteer and his fellow-steed, for want of courage\nand manhood, declaring that they have been false to their agreement and\nguilty of desertion. Again they refuse, and again he urges them on, and\nwill scarce yield to their prayer that he would wait until another time.\nWhen the appointed hour comes, they make as if they had forgotten, and\nhe reminds them, fighting and neighing and dragging them on, until at\nlength he on the same thoughts intent, forces them to draw near again.\nAnd when they are near he stoops his head and puts up his tail, and\ntakes the bit in his teeth and pulls shamelessly. Then the charioteer is\nworse off than ever; he falls back like a racer at the barrier, and with\na still more violent wrench drags the bit out of the teeth of the wild\nsteed and covers his abusive tongue and jaws with blood, and forces his\nlegs and haunches to the ground and punishes him sorely. And when this\nhas happened several times and the villain has ceased from his wanton\nway, he is tamed and humbled, and follows the will of the charioteer,\nand when he sees the beautiful one he is ready to die of fear. And from\nthat time forward the soul of the lover follows the beloved in modesty\nand holy fear.\n\nAnd so the beloved who, like a god, has received every true and loyal\nservice from his lover, not in pretence but in reality, being also\nhimself of a nature friendly to his admirer, if in former days he\nhas blushed to own his passion and turned away his lover, because his\nyouthful companions or others slanderously told him that he would be\ndisgraced, now as years advance, at the appointed age and time, is led\nto receive him into communion. For fate which has ordained that there\nshall be no friendship among the evil has also ordained that there shall\never be friendship among the good. And the beloved when he has received\nhim into communion and intimacy, is quite amazed at the good-will of the\nlover; he recognises that the inspired friend is worth all other\nfriends or kinsmen; they have nothing of friendship in them worthy to be\ncompared with his. And when this feeling continues and he is nearer\nto him and embraces him, in gymnastic exercises and at other times of\nmeeting, then the fountain of that stream, which Zeus when he was in\nlove with Ganymede named Desire, overflows upon the lover, and some\nenters into his soul, and some when he is filled flows out again; and as\na breeze or an echo rebounds from the smooth rocks and returns whence it\ncame, so does the stream of beauty, passing through the eyes which are\nthe windows of the soul, come back to the beautiful one; there arriving\nand quickening the passages of the wings, watering them and inclining\nthem to grow, and filling the soul of the beloved also with love. And\nthus he loves, but he knows not what; he does not understand and cannot\nexplain his own state; he appears to have caught the infection of\nblindness from another; the lover is his mirror in whom he is beholding\nhimself, but he is not aware of this. When he is with the lover, both\ncease from their pain, but when he is away then he longs as he is\nlonged for, and has love's image, love for love (Anteros) lodging in his\nbreast, which he calls and believes to be not love but friendship only,\nand his desire is as the desire of the other, but weaker; he wants\nto see him, touch him, kiss him, embrace him, and probably not long\nafterwards his desire is accomplished. When they meet, the wanton steed\nof the lover has a word to say to the charioteer; he would like to have\na little pleasure in return for many pains, but the wanton steed of\nthe beloved says not a word, for he is bursting with passion which he\nunderstands not;--he throws his arms round the lover and embraces him\nas his dearest friend; and, when they are side by side, he is not in a\nstate in which he can refuse the lover anything, if he ask him; although\nhis fellow-steed and the charioteer oppose him with the arguments\nof shame and reason. After this their happiness depends upon their\nself-control; if the better elements of the mind which lead to order\nand philosophy prevail, then they pass their life here in happiness and\nharmony--masters of themselves and orderly--enslaving the vicious and\nemancipating the virtuous elements of the soul; and when the end comes,\nthey are light and winged for flight, having conquered in one of the\nthree heavenly or truly Olympian victories; nor can human discipline or\ndivine inspiration confer any greater blessing on man than this. If,\non the other hand, they leave philosophy and lead the lower life of\nambition, then probably, after wine or in some other careless hour, the\ntwo wanton animals take the two souls when off their guard and bring\nthem together, and they accomplish that desire of their hearts which to\nthe many is bliss; and this having once enjoyed they continue to enjoy,\nyet rarely because they have not the approval of the whole soul. They\ntoo are dear, but not so dear to one another as the others, either at\nthe time of their love or afterwards. They consider that they have given\nand taken from each other the most sacred pledges, and they may not\nbreak them and fall into enmity. At last they pass out of the body,\nunwinged, but eager to soar, and thus obtain no mean reward of love and\nmadness. For those who have once begun the heavenward pilgrimage may not\ngo down again to darkness and the journey beneath the earth, but they\nlive in light always; happy companions in their pilgrimage, and when the\ntime comes at which they receive their wings they have the same plumage\nbecause of their love.\n\nThus great are the heavenly blessings which the friendship of a lover\nwill confer upon you, my youth. Whereas the attachment of the non-lover,\nwhich is alloyed with a worldly prudence and has worldly and niggardly\nways of doling out benefits, will breed in your soul those vulgar\nqualities which the populace applaud, will send you bowling round the\nearth during a period of nine thousand years, and leave you a fool in\nthe world below.\n\nAnd thus, dear Eros, I have made and paid my recantation, as well and as\nfairly as I could; more especially in the matter of the poetical figures\nwhich I was compelled to use, because Phaedrus would have them. And now\nforgive the past and accept the present, and be gracious and merciful to\nme, and do not in thine anger deprive me of sight, or take from me the\nart of love which thou hast given me, but grant that I may be yet more\nesteemed in the eyes of the fair. And if Phaedrus or I myself said\nanything rude in our first speeches, blame Lysias, who is the father\nof the brat, and let us have no more of his progeny; bid him study\nphilosophy, like his brother Polemarchus; and then his lover Phaedrus\nwill no longer halt between two opinions, but will dedicate himself\nwholly to love and to philosophical discourses.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I join in the prayer, Socrates, and say with you, if this\nbe for my good, may your words come to pass. But why did you make your\nsecond oration so much finer than the first? I wonder why. And I begin\nto be afraid that I shall lose conceit of Lysias, and that he will\nappear tame in comparison, even if he be willing to put another as fine\nand as long as yours into the field, which I doubt. For quite lately one\nof your politicians was abusing him on this very account; and called\nhim a 'speech writer' again and again. So that a feeling of pride may\nprobably induce him to give up writing speeches.\n\nSOCRATES: What a very amusing notion! But I think, my young man,\nthat you are much mistaken in your friend if you imagine that he\nis frightened at a little noise; and, possibly, you think that his\nassailant was in earnest?\n\nPHAEDRUS: I thought, Socrates, that he was. And you are aware that the\ngreatest and most influential statesmen are ashamed of writing speeches\nand leaving them in a written form, lest they should be called Sophists\nby posterity.\n\nSOCRATES: You seem to be unconscious, Phaedrus, that the 'sweet elbow'\n(A proverb, like 'the grapes are sour,' applied to pleasures which\ncannot be had, meaning sweet things which, like the elbow, are out of\nthe reach of the mouth. The promised pleasure turns out to be a long and\ntedious affair.) of the proverb is really the long arm of the Nile. And\nyou appear to be equally unaware of the fact that this sweet elbow\nof theirs is also a long arm. For there is nothing of which our great\npoliticians are so fond as of writing speeches and bequeathing them to\nposterity. And they add their admirers' names at the top of the writing,\nout of gratitude to them.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What do you mean? I do not understand.\n\nSOCRATES: Why, do you not know that when a politician writes, he begins\nwith the names of his approvers?\n\nPHAEDRUS: How so?\n\nSOCRATES: Why, he begins in this manner: 'Be it enacted by the senate,\nthe people, or both, on the motion of a certain person,' who is our\nauthor; and so putting on a serious face, he proceeds to display his own\nwisdom to his admirers in what is often a long and tedious composition.\nNow what is that sort of thing but a regular piece of authorship?\n\nPHAEDRUS: True.\n\nSOCRATES: And if the law is finally approved, then the author leaves the\ntheatre in high delight; but if the law is rejected and he is done out\nof his speech-making, and not thought good enough to write, then he and\nhis party are in mourning.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Very true.\n\nSOCRATES: So far are they from despising, or rather so highly do they\nvalue the practice of writing.\n\nPHAEDRUS: No doubt.\n\nSOCRATES: And when the king or orator has the power, as Lycurgus or\nSolon or Darius had, of attaining an immortality or authorship in a\nstate, is he not thought by posterity, when they see his compositions,\nand does he not think himself, while he is yet alive, to be a god?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Very true.\n\nSOCRATES: Then do you think that any one of this class, however\nill-disposed, would reproach Lysias with being an author?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Not upon your view; for according to you he would be casting a\nslur upon his own favourite pursuit.\n\nSOCRATES: Any one may see that there is no disgrace in the mere fact of\nwriting.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly not.\n\nSOCRATES: The disgrace begins when a man writes not well, but badly.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Clearly.\n\nSOCRATES: And what is well and what is badly--need we ask Lysias, or any\nother poet or orator, who ever wrote or will write either a political or\nany other work, in metre or out of metre, poet or prose writer, to teach\nus this?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Need we? For what should a man live if not for the pleasures\nof discourse? Surely not for the sake of bodily pleasures, which almost\nalways have previous pain as a condition of them, and therefore are\nrightly called slavish.\n\nSOCRATES: There is time enough. And I believe that the grasshoppers\nchirruping after their manner in the heat of the sun over our heads are\ntalking to one another and looking down at us. What would they say if\nthey saw that we, like the many, are not conversing, but slumbering at\nmid-day, lulled by their voices, too indolent to think? Would they not\nhave a right to laugh at us? They might imagine that we were slaves,\nwho, coming to rest at a place of resort of theirs, like sheep lie\nasleep at noon around the well. But if they see us discoursing, and\nlike Odysseus sailing past them, deaf to their siren voices, they may\nperhaps, out of respect, give us of the gifts which they receive from\nthe gods that they may impart them to men.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What gifts do you mean? I never heard of any.\n\nSOCRATES: A lover of music like yourself ought surely to have heard the\nstory of the grasshoppers, who are said to have been human beings in\nan age before the Muses. And when the Muses came and song appeared they\nwere ravished with delight; and singing always, never thought of eating\nand drinking, until at last in their forgetfulness they died. And now\nthey live again in the grasshoppers; and this is the return which the\nMuses make to them--they neither hunger, nor thirst, but from the hour\nof their birth are always singing, and never eating or drinking; and\nwhen they die they go and inform the Muses in heaven who honours them on\nearth. They win the love of Terpsichore for the dancers by their report\nof them; of Erato for the lovers, and of the other Muses for those who\ndo them honour, according to the several ways of honouring them;--of\nCalliope the eldest Muse and of Urania who is next to her, for the\nphilosophers, of whose music the grasshoppers make report to them; for\nthese are the Muses who are chiefly concerned with heaven and thought,\ndivine as well as human, and they have the sweetest utterance. For many\nreasons, then, we ought always to talk and not to sleep at mid-day.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Let us talk.\n\nSOCRATES: Shall we discuss the rules of writing and speech as we were\nproposing?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Very good.\n\nSOCRATES: In good speaking should not the mind of the speaker know the\ntruth of the matter about which he is going to speak?\n\nPHAEDRUS: And yet, Socrates, I have heard that he who would be an orator\nhas nothing to do with true justice, but only with that which is likely\nto be approved by the many who sit in judgment; nor with the truly good\nor honourable, but only with opinion about them, and that from opinion\ncomes persuasion, and not from the truth.\n\nSOCRATES: The words of the wise are not to be set aside; for there is\nprobably something in them; and therefore the meaning of this saying is\nnot hastily to be dismissed.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Very true.\n\nSOCRATES: Let us put the matter thus:--Suppose that I persuaded you\nto buy a horse and go to the wars. Neither of us knew what a horse was\nlike, but I knew that you believed a horse to be of tame animals the one\nwhich has the longest ears.\n\nPHAEDRUS: That would be ridiculous.\n\nSOCRATES: There is something more ridiculous coming:--Suppose, further,\nthat in sober earnest I, having persuaded you of this, went and composed\na speech in honour of an ass, whom I entitled a horse beginning: 'A\nnoble animal and a most useful possession, especially in war, and you\nmay get on his back and fight, and he will carry baggage or anything.'\n\nPHAEDRUS: How ridiculous!\n\nSOCRATES: Ridiculous! Yes; but is not even a ridiculous friend better\nthan a cunning enemy?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: And when the orator instead of putting an ass in the place\nof a horse, puts good for evil, being himself as ignorant of their true\nnature as the city on which he imposes is ignorant; and having studied\nthe notions of the multitude, falsely persuades them not about 'the\nshadow of an ass,' which he confounds with a horse, but about good which\nhe confounds with evil,--what will be the harvest which rhetoric will be\nlikely to gather after the sowing of that seed?\n\nPHAEDRUS: The reverse of good.\n\nSOCRATES: But perhaps rhetoric has been getting too roughly handled by\nus, and she might answer: What amazing nonsense you are talking! As if I\nforced any man to learn to speak in ignorance of the truth! Whatever\nmy advice may be worth, I should have told him to arrive at the truth\nfirst, and then come to me. At the same time I boldly assert that mere\nknowledge of the truth will not give you the art of persuasion.\n\nPHAEDRUS: There is reason in the lady's defence of herself.\n\nSOCRATES: Quite true; if only the other arguments which remain to be\nbrought up bear her witness that she is an art at all. But I seem to\nhear them arraying themselves on the opposite side, declaring that she\nspeaks falsely, and that rhetoric is a mere routine and trick, not an\nart. Lo! a Spartan appears, and says that there never is nor ever will\nbe a real art of speaking which is divorced from the truth.\n\nPHAEDRUS: And what are these arguments, Socrates? Bring them out that we\nmay examine them.\n\nSOCRATES: Come out, fair children, and convince Phaedrus, who is the\nfather of similar beauties, that he will never be able to speak about\nanything as he ought to speak unless he have a knowledge of philosophy.\nAnd let Phaedrus answer you.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Put the question.\n\nSOCRATES: Is not rhetoric, taken generally, a universal art of\nenchanting the mind by arguments; which is practised not only in courts\nand public assemblies, but in private houses also, having to do with\nall matters, great as well as small, good and bad alike, and is in all\nequally right, and equally to be esteemed--that is what you have heard?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Nay, not exactly that; I should say rather that I have heard\nthe art confined to speaking and writing in lawsuits, and to speaking in\npublic assemblies--not extended farther.\n\nSOCRATES: Then I suppose that you have only heard of the rhetoric of\nNestor and Odysseus, which they composed in their leisure hours when at\nTroy, and never of the rhetoric of Palamedes?\n\nPHAEDRUS: No more than of Nestor and Odysseus, unless Gorgias is your\nNestor, and Thrasymachus or Theodorus your Odysseus.\n\nSOCRATES: Perhaps that is my meaning. But let us leave them. And do\nyou tell me, instead, what are plaintiff and defendant doing in a law\ncourt--are they not contending?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Exactly so.\n\nSOCRATES: About the just and unjust--that is the matter in dispute?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: And a professor of the art will make the same thing appear to\nthe same persons to be at one time just, at another time, if he is so\ninclined, to be unjust?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Exactly.\n\nSOCRATES: And when he speaks in the assembly, he will make the same\nthings seem good to the city at one time, and at another time the\nreverse of good?\n\nPHAEDRUS: That is true.\n\nSOCRATES: Have we not heard of the Eleatic Palamedes (Zeno), who has an\nart of speaking by which he makes the same things appear to his hearers\nlike and unlike, one and many, at rest and in motion?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Very true.\n\nSOCRATES: The art of disputation, then, is not confined to the courts\nand the assembly, but is one and the same in every use of language; this\nis the art, if there be such an art, which is able to find a likeness of\neverything to which a likeness can be found, and draws into the light of\nday the likenesses and disguises which are used by others?\n\nPHAEDRUS: How do you mean?\n\nSOCRATES: Let me put the matter thus: When will there be more chance of\ndeception--when the difference is large or small?\n\nPHAEDRUS: When the difference is small.\n\nSOCRATES: And you will be less likely to be discovered in passing by\ndegrees into the other extreme than when you go all at once?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Of course.\n\nSOCRATES: He, then, who would deceive others, and not be deceived, must\nexactly know the real likenesses and differences of things?\n\nPHAEDRUS: He must.\n\nSOCRATES: And if he is ignorant of the true nature of any subject, how\ncan he detect the greater or less degree of likeness in other things to\nthat of which by the hypothesis he is ignorant?\n\nPHAEDRUS: He cannot.\n\nSOCRATES: And when men are deceived and their notions are at\nvariance with realities, it is clear that the error slips in through\nresemblances?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, that is the way.\n\nSOCRATES: Then he who would be a master of the art must understand the\nreal nature of everything; or he will never know either how to make\nthe gradual departure from truth into the opposite of truth which is\neffected by the help of resemblances, or how to avoid it?\n\nPHAEDRUS: He will not.\n\nSOCRATES: He then, who being ignorant of the truth aims at appearances,\nwill only attain an art of rhetoric which is ridiculous and is not an\nart at all?\n\nPHAEDRUS: That may be expected.\n\nSOCRATES: Shall I propose that we look for examples of art and want of\nart, according to our notion of them, in the speech of Lysias which you\nhave in your hand, and in my own speech?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Nothing could be better; and indeed I think that our previous\nargument has been too abstract and wanting in illustrations.\n\nSOCRATES: Yes; and the two speeches happen to afford a very good example\nof the way in which the speaker who knows the truth may, without any\nserious purpose, steal away the hearts of his hearers. This piece\nof good-fortune I attribute to the local deities; and, perhaps, the\nprophets of the Muses who are singing over our heads may have imparted\ntheir inspiration to me. For I do not imagine that I have any rhetorical\nart of my own.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Granted; if you will only please to get on.\n\nSOCRATES: Suppose that you read me the first words of Lysias' speech.\n\nPHAEDRUS: 'You know how matters stand with me, and how, as I conceive,\nthey might be arranged for our common interest; and I maintain that I\nought not to fail in my suit, because I am not your lover. For lovers\nrepent--'\n\nSOCRATES: Enough:--Now, shall I point out the rhetorical error of those\nwords?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: Every one is aware that about some things we are agreed,\nwhereas about other things we differ.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I think that I understand you; but will you explain yourself?\n\nSOCRATES: When any one speaks of iron and silver, is not the same thing\npresent in the minds of all?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: But when any one speaks of justice and goodness we part\ncompany and are at odds with one another and with ourselves?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Precisely.\n\nSOCRATES: Then in some things we agree, but not in others?\n\nPHAEDRUS: That is true.\n\nSOCRATES: In which are we more likely to be deceived, and in which has\nrhetoric the greater power?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Clearly, in the uncertain class.\n\nSOCRATES: Then the rhetorician ought to make a regular division, and\nacquire a distinct notion of both classes, as well of that in which the\nmany err, as of that in which they do not err?\n\nPHAEDRUS: He who made such a distinction would have an excellent\nprinciple.\n\nSOCRATES: Yes; and in the next place he must have a keen eye for the\nobservation of particulars in speaking, and not make a mistake about the\nclass to which they are to be referred.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: Now to which class does love belong--to the debatable or to\nthe undisputed class?\n\nPHAEDRUS: To the debatable, clearly; for if not, do you think that love\nwould have allowed you to say as you did, that he is an evil both to the\nlover and the beloved, and also the greatest possible good?\n\nSOCRATES: Capital. But will you tell me whether I defined love at the\nbeginning of my speech? for, having been in an ecstasy, I cannot well\nremember.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, indeed; that you did, and no mistake.\n\nSOCRATES: Then I perceive that the Nymphs of Achelous and Pan the son\nof Hermes, who inspired me, were far better rhetoricians than Lysias\nthe son of Cephalus. Alas! how inferior to them he is! But perhaps I\nam mistaken; and Lysias at the commencement of his lover's speech did\ninsist on our supposing love to be something or other which he fancied\nhim to be, and according to this model he fashioned and framed the\nremainder of his discourse. Suppose we read his beginning over again:\n\nPHAEDRUS: If you please; but you will not find what you want.\n\nSOCRATES: Read, that I may have his exact words.\n\nPHAEDRUS: 'You know how matters stand with me, and how, as I conceive,\nthey might be arranged for our common interest; and I maintain I ought\nnot to fail in my suit because I am not your lover, for lovers repent of\nthe kindnesses which they have shown, when their love is over.'\n\nSOCRATES: Here he appears to have done just the reverse of what he\nought; for he has begun at the end, and is swimming on his back through\nthe flood to the place of starting. His address to the fair youth begins\nwhere the lover would have ended. Am I not right, sweet Phaedrus?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, indeed, Socrates; he does begin at the end.\n\nSOCRATES: Then as to the other topics--are they not thrown down anyhow?\nIs there any principle in them? Why should the next topic follow next in\norder, or any other topic? I cannot help fancying in my ignorance that\nhe wrote off boldly just what came into his head, but I dare say that\nyou would recognize a rhetorical necessity in the succession of the\nseveral parts of the composition?\n\nPHAEDRUS: You have too good an opinion of me if you think that I have\nany such insight into his principles of composition.\n\nSOCRATES: At any rate, you will allow that every discourse ought to be\na living creature, having a body of its own and a head and feet; there\nshould be a middle, beginning, and end, adapted to one another and to\nthe whole?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: Can this be said of the discourse of Lysias? See whether you\ncan find any more connexion in his words than in the epitaph which is\nsaid by some to have been inscribed on the grave of Midas the Phrygian.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What is there remarkable in the epitaph?\n\nSOCRATES: It is as follows:--\n\n'I am a maiden of bronze and lie on the tomb of Midas; So long as water\nflows and tall trees grow, So long here on this spot by his sad tomb\nabiding, I shall declare to passers-by that Midas sleeps below.'\n\nNow in this rhyme whether a line comes first or comes last, as you will\nperceive, makes no difference.\n\nPHAEDRUS: You are making fun of that oration of ours.\n\nSOCRATES: Well, I will say no more about your friend's speech lest I\nshould give offence to you; although I think that it might furnish many\nother examples of what a man ought rather to avoid. But I will proceed\nto the other speech, which, as I think, is also suggestive to students\nof rhetoric.\n\nPHAEDRUS: In what way?\n\nSOCRATES: The two speeches, as you may remember, were unlike; the one\nargued that the lover and the other that the non-lover ought to be\naccepted.\n\nPHAEDRUS: And right manfully.\n\nSOCRATES: You should rather say 'madly;' and madness was the argument of\nthem, for, as I said, 'love is a madness.'\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: And of madness there were two kinds; one produced by human\ninfirmity, the other was a divine release of the soul from the yoke of\ncustom and convention.\n\nPHAEDRUS: True.\n\nSOCRATES: The divine madness was subdivided into four kinds, prophetic,\ninitiatory, poetic, erotic, having four gods presiding over them; the\nfirst was the inspiration of Apollo, the second that of Dionysus, the\nthird that of the Muses, the fourth that of Aphrodite and Eros. In the\ndescription of the last kind of madness, which was also said to be\nthe best, we spoke of the affection of love in a figure, into which we\nintroduced a tolerably credible and possibly true though partly erring\nmyth, which was also a hymn in honour of Love, who is your lord and also\nmine, Phaedrus, and the guardian of fair children, and to him we sung\nthe hymn in measured and solemn strain.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I know that I had great pleasure in listening to you.\n\nSOCRATES: Let us take this instance and note how the transition was made\nfrom blame to praise.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What do you mean?\n\nSOCRATES: I mean to say that the composition was mostly playful. Yet in\nthese chance fancies of the hour were involved two principles of which\nwe should be too glad to have a clearer description if art could give us\none.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What are they?\n\nSOCRATES: First, the comprehension of scattered particulars in one idea;\nas in our definition of love, which whether true or false certainly gave\nclearness and consistency to the discourse, the speaker should define\nhis several notions and so make his meaning clear.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What is the other principle, Socrates?\n\nSOCRATES: The second principle is that of division into species\naccording to the natural formation, where the joint is, not breaking any\npart as a bad carver might. Just as our two discourses, alike assumed,\nfirst of all, a single form of unreason; and then, as the body which\nfrom being one becomes double and may be divided into a left side and\nright side, each having parts right and left of the same name--after\nthis manner the speaker proceeded to divide the parts of the left side\nand did not desist until he found in them an evil or left-handed love\nwhich he justly reviled; and the other discourse leading us to the\nmadness which lay on the right side, found another love, also having the\nsame name, but divine, which the speaker held up before us and applauded\nand affirmed to be the author of the greatest benefits.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Most true.\n\nSOCRATES: I am myself a great lover of these processes of division and\ngeneralization; they help me to speak and to think. And if I find any\nman who is able to see 'a One and Many' in nature, him I follow, and\n'walk in his footsteps as if he were a god.' And those who have this\nart, I have hitherto been in the habit of calling dialecticians; but God\nknows whether the name is right or not. And I should like to know what\nname you would give to your or to Lysias' disciples, and whether this\nmay not be that famous art of rhetoric which Thrasymachus and others\nteach and practise? Skilful speakers they are, and impart their skill to\nany who is willing to make kings of them and to bring gifts to them.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, they are royal men; but their art is not the same\nwith the art of those whom you call, and rightly, in my opinion,\ndialecticians:--Still we are in the dark about rhetoric.\n\nSOCRATES: What do you mean? The remains of it, if there be anything\nremaining which can be brought under rules of art, must be a fine thing;\nand, at any rate, is not to be despised by you and me. But how much is\nleft?\n\nPHAEDRUS: There is a great deal surely to be found in books of rhetoric?\n\nSOCRATES: Yes; thank you for reminding me:--There is the exordium,\nshowing how the speech should begin, if I remember rightly; that is what\nyou mean--the niceties of the art?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: Then follows the statement of facts, and upon that witnesses;\nthirdly, proofs; fourthly, probabilities are to come; the great\nByzantian word-maker also speaks, if I am not mistaken, of confirmation\nand further confirmation.\n\nPHAEDRUS: You mean the excellent Theodorus.\n\nSOCRATES: Yes; and he tells how refutation or further refutation is to\nbe managed, whether in accusation or defence. I ought also to mention\nthe illustrious Parian, Evenus, who first invented insinuations and\nindirect praises; and also indirect censures, which according to some\nhe put into verse to help the memory. But shall I 'to dumb forgetfulness\nconsign' Tisias and Gorgias, who are not ignorant that probability is\nsuperior to truth, and who by force of argument make the little appear\ngreat and the great little, disguise the new in old fashions and the old\nin new fashions, and have discovered forms for everything, either short\nor going on to infinity. I remember Prodicus laughing when I told him of\nthis; he said that he had himself discovered the true rule of art, which\nwas to be neither long nor short, but of a convenient length.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Well done, Prodicus!\n\nSOCRATES: Then there is Hippias the Elean stranger, who probably agrees\nwith him.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: And there is also Polus, who has treasuries of diplasiology,\nand gnomology, and eikonology, and who teaches in them the names of\nwhich Licymnius made him a present; they were to give a polish.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Had not Protagoras something of the same sort?\n\nSOCRATES: Yes, rules of correct diction and many other fine precepts;\nfor the 'sorrows of a poor old man,' or any other pathetic case, no one\nis better than the Chalcedonian giant; he can put a whole company of\npeople into a passion and out of one again by his mighty magic, and\nis first-rate at inventing or disposing of any sort of calumny on any\ngrounds or none. All of them agree in asserting that a speech should end\nin a recapitulation, though they do not all agree to use the same word.\n\nPHAEDRUS: You mean that there should be a summing up of the arguments in\norder to remind the hearers of them.\n\nSOCRATES: I have now said all that I have to say of the art of rhetoric:\nhave you anything to add?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Not much; nothing very important.\n\nSOCRATES: Leave the unimportant and let us bring the really important\nquestion into the light of day, which is: What power has this art of\nrhetoric, and when?\n\nPHAEDRUS: A very great power in public meetings.\n\nSOCRATES: It has. But I should like to know whether you have the same\nfeeling as I have about the rhetoricians? To me there seem to be a great\nmany holes in their web.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Give an example.\n\nSOCRATES: I will. Suppose a person to come to your friend Eryximachus,\nor to his father Acumenus, and to say to him: 'I know how to apply drugs\nwhich shall have either a heating or a cooling effect, and I can give\na vomit and also a purge, and all that sort of thing; and knowing all\nthis, as I do, I claim to be a physician and to make physicians by\nimparting this knowledge to others,'--what do you suppose that they\nwould say?\n\nPHAEDRUS: They would be sure to ask him whether he knew 'to whom' he\nwould give his medicines, and 'when,' and 'how much.'\n\nSOCRATES: And suppose that he were to reply: 'No; I know nothing of all\nthat; I expect the patient who consults me to be able to do these things\nfor himself'?\n\nPHAEDRUS: They would say in reply that he is a madman or a pedant who\nfancies that he is a physician because he has read something in a\nbook, or has stumbled on a prescription or two, although he has no real\nunderstanding of the art of medicine.\n\nSOCRATES: And suppose a person were to come to Sophocles or Euripides\nand say that he knows how to make a very long speech about a small\nmatter, and a short speech about a great matter, and also a sorrowful\nspeech, or a terrible, or threatening speech, or any other kind of\nspeech, and in teaching this fancies that he is teaching the art of\ntragedy--?\n\nPHAEDRUS: They too would surely laugh at him if he fancies that tragedy\nis anything but the arranging of these elements in a manner which will\nbe suitable to one another and to the whole.\n\nSOCRATES: But I do not suppose that they would be rude or abusive to\nhim: Would they not treat him as a musician a man who thinks that he is\na harmonist because he knows how to pitch the highest and lowest note;\nhappening to meet such an one he would not say to him savagely, 'Fool,\nyou are mad!' But like a musician, in a gentle and harmonious tone of\nvoice, he would answer: 'My good friend, he who would be a harmonist\nmust certainly know this, and yet he may understand nothing of harmony\nif he has not got beyond your stage of knowledge, for you only know the\npreliminaries of harmony and not harmony itself.'\n\nPHAEDRUS: Very true.\n\nSOCRATES: And will not Sophocles say to the display of the would-be\ntragedian, that this is not tragedy but the preliminaries of tragedy?\nand will not Acumenus say the same of medicine to the would-be\nphysician?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Quite true.\n\nSOCRATES: And if Adrastus the mellifluous or Pericles heard of these\nwonderful arts, brachylogies and eikonologies and all the hard names\nwhich we have been endeavouring to draw into the light of day, what\nwould they say? Instead of losing temper and applying uncomplimentary\nepithets, as you and I have been doing, to the authors of such an\nimaginary art, their superior wisdom would rather censure us, as well\nas them. 'Have a little patience, Phaedrus and Socrates, they would say;\nyou should not be in such a passion with those who from some want of\ndialectical skill are unable to define the nature of rhetoric, and\nconsequently suppose that they have found the art in the preliminary\nconditions of it, and when these have been taught by them to others,\nfancy that the whole art of rhetoric has been taught by them; but as\nto using the several instruments of the art effectively, or making the\ncomposition a whole,--an application of it such as this is they regard\nas an easy thing which their disciples may make for themselves.'\n\nPHAEDRUS: I quite admit, Socrates, that the art of rhetoric which these\nmen teach and of which they write is such as you describe--there I\nagree with you. But I still want to know where and how the true art of\nrhetoric and persuasion is to be acquired.\n\nSOCRATES: The perfection which is required of the finished orator is,\nor rather must be, like the perfection of anything else; partly given by\nnature, but may also be assisted by art. If you have the natural power\nand add to it knowledge and practice, you will be a distinguished\nspeaker; if you fall short in either of these, you will be to that\nextent defective. But the art, as far as there is an art, of rhetoric\ndoes not lie in the direction of Lysias or Thrasymachus.\n\nPHAEDRUS: In what direction then?\n\nSOCRATES: I conceive Pericles to have been the most accomplished of\nrhetoricians.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What of that?\n\nSOCRATES: All the great arts require discussion and high speculation\nabout the truths of nature; hence come loftiness of thought and\ncompleteness of execution. And this, as I conceive, was the quality\nwhich, in addition to his natural gifts, Pericles acquired from his\nintercourse with Anaxagoras whom he happened to know. He was thus imbued\nwith the higher philosophy, and attained the knowledge of Mind and the\nnegative of Mind, which were favourite themes of Anaxagoras, and applied\nwhat suited his purpose to the art of speaking.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Explain.\n\nSOCRATES: Rhetoric is like medicine.\n\nPHAEDRUS: How so?\n\nSOCRATES: Why, because medicine has to define the nature of the body\nand rhetoric of the soul--if we would proceed, not empirically but\nscientifically, in the one case to impart health and strength by giving\nmedicine and food, in the other to implant the conviction or virtue\nwhich you desire, by the right application of words and training.\n\nPHAEDRUS: There, Socrates, I suspect that you are right.\n\nSOCRATES: And do you think that you can know the nature of the soul\nintelligently without knowing the nature of the whole?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Hippocrates the Asclepiad says that the nature even of the\nbody can only be understood as a whole. (Compare Charmides.)\n\nSOCRATES: Yes, friend, and he was right:--still, we ought not to be\ncontent with the name of Hippocrates, but to examine and see whether his\nargument agrees with his conception of nature.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I agree.\n\nSOCRATES: Then consider what truth as well as Hippocrates says about\nthis or about any other nature. Ought we not to consider first whether\nthat which we wish to learn and to teach is a simple or multiform thing,\nand if simple, then to enquire what power it has of acting or being\nacted upon in relation to other things, and if multiform, then to number\nthe forms; and see first in the case of one of them, and then in the\ncase of all of them, what is that power of acting or being acted upon\nwhich makes each and all of them to be what they are?\n\nPHAEDRUS: You may very likely be right, Socrates.\n\nSOCRATES: The method which proceeds without analysis is like the groping\nof a blind man. Yet, surely, he who is an artist ought not to admit of\na comparison with the blind, or deaf. The rhetorician, who teaches his\npupil to speak scientifically, will particularly set forth the nature of\nthat being to which he addresses his speeches; and this, I conceive, to\nbe the soul.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: His whole effort is directed to the soul; for in that he seeks\nto produce conviction.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: Then clearly, Thrasymachus or any one else who teaches\nrhetoric in earnest will give an exact description of the nature of the\nsoul; which will enable us to see whether she be single and same, or,\nlike the body, multiform. That is what we should call showing the nature\nof the soul.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Exactly.\n\nSOCRATES: He will explain, secondly, the mode in which she acts or is\nacted upon.\n\nPHAEDRUS: True.\n\nSOCRATES: Thirdly, having classified men and speeches, and their kinds\nand affections, and adapted them to one another, he will tell the\nreasons of his arrangement, and show why one soul is persuaded by a\nparticular form of argument, and another not.\n\nPHAEDRUS: You have hit upon a very good way.\n\nSOCRATES: Yes, that is the true and only way in which any subject can\nbe set forth or treated by rules of art, whether in speaking or writing.\nBut the writers of the present day, at whose feet you have sat, craftily\nconceal the nature of the soul which they know quite well. Nor, until\nthey adopt our method of reading and writing, can we admit that they\nwrite by rules of art?\n\nPHAEDRUS: What is our method?\n\nSOCRATES: I cannot give you the exact details; but I should like to\ntell you generally, as far as is in my power, how a man ought to proceed\naccording to rules of art.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Let me hear.\n\nSOCRATES: Oratory is the art of enchanting the soul, and therefore he\nwho would be an orator has to learn the differences of human souls--they\nare so many and of such a nature, and from them come the differences\nbetween man and man. Having proceeded thus far in his analysis, he\nwill next divide speeches into their different classes:--'Such and such\npersons,' he will say, are affected by this or that kind of speech in\nthis or that way,' and he will tell you why. The pupil must have a good\ntheoretical notion of them first, and then he must have experience of\nthem in actual life, and be able to follow them with all his senses\nabout him, or he will never get beyond the precepts of his masters. But\nwhen he understands what persons are persuaded by what arguments, and\nsees the person about whom he was speaking in the abstract actually\nbefore him, and knows that it is he, and can say to himself, 'This is\nthe man or this is the character who ought to have a certain argument\napplied to him in order to convince him of a certain opinion;'--he who\nknows all this, and knows also when he should speak and when he should\nrefrain, and when he should use pithy sayings, pathetic appeals,\nsensational effects, and all the other modes of speech which he has\nlearned;--when, I say, he knows the times and seasons of all these\nthings, then, and not till then, he is a perfect master of his art; but\nif he fail in any of these points, whether in speaking or teaching or\nwriting them, and yet declares that he speaks by rules of art, he who\nsays 'I don't believe you' has the better of him. Well, the teacher will\nsay, is this, Phaedrus and Socrates, your account of the so-called art\nof rhetoric, or am I to look for another?\n\nPHAEDRUS: He must take this, Socrates, for there is no possibility of\nanother, and yet the creation of such an art is not easy.\n\nSOCRATES: Very true; and therefore let us consider this matter in every\nlight, and see whether we cannot find a shorter and easier road; there\nis no use in taking a long rough roundabout way if there be a shorter\nand easier one. And I wish that you would try and remember whether\nyou have heard from Lysias or any one else anything which might be of\nservice to us.\n\nPHAEDRUS: If trying would avail, then I might; but at the moment I can\nthink of nothing.\n\nSOCRATES: Suppose I tell you something which somebody who knows told me.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: May not 'the wolf,' as the proverb says, 'claim a hearing'?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Do you say what can be said for him.\n\nSOCRATES: He will argue that there is no use in putting a solemn face\non these matters, or in going round and round, until you arrive at first\nprinciples; for, as I said at first, when the question is of justice and\ngood, or is a question in which men are concerned who are just and good,\neither by nature or habit, he who would be a skilful rhetorician has\nno need of truth--for that in courts of law men literally care\nnothing about truth, but only about conviction: and this is based on\nprobability, to which he who would be a skilful orator should therefore\ngive his whole attention. And they say also that there are cases in\nwhich the actual facts, if they are improbable, ought to be withheld,\nand only the probabilities should be told either in accusation or\ndefence, and that always in speaking, the orator should keep probability\nin view, and say good-bye to the truth. And the observance of this\nprinciple throughout a speech furnishes the whole art.\n\nPHAEDRUS: That is what the professors of rhetoric do actually say,\nSocrates. I have not forgotten that we have quite briefly touched upon\nthis matter already; with them the point is all-important.\n\nSOCRATES: I dare say that you are familiar with Tisias. Does he not\ndefine probability to be that which the many think?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly, he does.\n\nSOCRATES: I believe that he has a clever and ingenious case of this\nsort:--He supposes a feeble and valiant man to have assaulted a strong\nand cowardly one, and to have robbed him of his coat or of something or\nother; he is brought into court, and then Tisias says that both parties\nshould tell lies: the coward should say that he was assaulted by more\nmen than one; the other should prove that they were alone, and should\nargue thus: 'How could a weak man like me have assaulted a strong man\nlike him?' The complainant will not like to confess his own cowardice,\nand will therefore invent some other lie which his adversary will thus\ngain an opportunity of refuting. And there are other devices of the same\nkind which have a place in the system. Am I not right, Phaedrus?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: Bless me, what a wonderfully mysterious art is this which\nTisias or some other gentleman, in whatever name or country he rejoices,\nhas discovered. Shall we say a word to him or not?\n\nPHAEDRUS: What shall we say to him?\n\nSOCRATES: Let us tell him that, before he appeared, you and I were\nsaying that the probability of which he speaks was engendered in the\nminds of the many by the likeness of the truth, and we had just been\naffirming that he who knew the truth would always know best how to\ndiscover the resemblances of the truth. If he has anything else to say\nabout the art of speaking we should like to hear him; but if not, we\nare satisfied with our own view, that unless a man estimates the various\ncharacters of his hearers and is able to divide all things into classes\nand to comprehend them under single ideas, he will never be a skilful\nrhetorician even within the limits of human power. And this skill he\nwill not attain without a great deal of trouble, which a good man ought\nto undergo, not for the sake of speaking and acting before men, but in\norder that he may be able to say what is acceptable to God and always\nto act acceptably to Him as far as in him lies; for there is a saying of\nwiser men than ourselves, that a man of sense should not try to please\nhis fellow-servants (at least this should not be his first object)\nbut his good and noble masters; and therefore if the way is long and\ncircuitous, marvel not at this, for, where the end is great, there we\nmay take the longer road, but not for lesser ends such as yours. Truly,\nthe argument may say, Tisias, that if you do not mind going so far,\nrhetoric has a fair beginning here.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I think, Socrates, that this is admirable, if only\npracticable.\n\nSOCRATES: But even to fail in an honourable object is honourable.\n\nPHAEDRUS: True.\n\nSOCRATES: Enough appears to have been said by us of a true and false art\nof speaking.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: But there is something yet to be said of propriety and\nimpropriety of writing.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: Do you know how you can speak or act about rhetoric in a\nmanner which will be acceptable to God?\n\nPHAEDRUS: No, indeed. Do you?\n\nSOCRATES: I have heard a tradition of the ancients, whether true or not\nthey only know; although if we had found the truth ourselves, do you\nthink that we should care much about the opinions of men?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Your question needs no answer; but I wish that you would tell\nme what you say that you have heard.\n\nSOCRATES: At the Egyptian city of Naucratis, there was a famous old god,\nwhose name was Theuth; the bird which is called the Ibis is sacred\nto him, and he was the inventor of many arts, such as arithmetic and\ncalculation and geometry and astronomy and draughts and dice, but his\ngreat discovery was the use of letters. Now in those days the god Thamus\nwas the king of the whole country of Egypt; and he dwelt in that great\ncity of Upper Egypt which the Hellenes call Egyptian Thebes, and the\ngod himself is called by them Ammon. To him came Theuth and showed his\ninventions, desiring that the other Egyptians might be allowed to have\nthe benefit of them; he enumerated them, and Thamus enquired about\ntheir several uses, and praised some of them and censured others, as he\napproved or disapproved of them. It would take a long time to repeat all\nthat Thamus said to Theuth in praise or blame of the various arts. But\nwhen they came to letters, This, said Theuth, will make the Egyptians\nwiser and give them better memories; it is a specific both for the\nmemory and for the wit. Thamus replied: O most ingenious Theuth, the\nparent or inventor of an art is not always the best judge of the utility\nor inutility of his own inventions to the users of them. And in this\ninstance, you who are the father of letters, from a paternal love of\nyour own children have been led to attribute to them a quality which\nthey cannot have; for this discovery of yours will create forgetfulness\nin the learners' souls, because they will not use their memories;\nthey will trust to the external written characters and not remember\nof themselves. The specific which you have discovered is an aid not to\nmemory, but to reminiscence, and you give your disciples not truth, but\nonly the semblance of truth; they will be hearers of many things and\nwill have learned nothing; they will appear to be omniscient and will\ngenerally know nothing; they will be tiresome company, having the show\nof wisdom without the reality.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, Socrates, you can easily invent tales of Egypt, or of any\nother country.\n\nSOCRATES: There was a tradition in the temple of Dodona that oaks first\ngave prophetic utterances. The men of old, unlike in their simplicity to\nyoung philosophy, deemed that if they heard the truth even from 'oak or\nrock,' it was enough for them; whereas you seem to consider not whether\na thing is or is not true, but who the speaker is and from what country\nthe tale comes.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I acknowledge the justice of your rebuke; and I think that the\nTheban is right in his view about letters.\n\nSOCRATES: He would be a very simple person, and quite a stranger to the\noracles of Thamus or Ammon, who should leave in writing or receive\nin writing any art under the idea that the written word would be\nintelligible or certain; or who deemed that writing was at all better\nthan knowledge and recollection of the same matters?\n\nPHAEDRUS: That is most true.\n\nSOCRATES: I cannot help feeling, Phaedrus, that writing is unfortunately\nlike painting; for the creations of the painter have the attitude of\nlife, and yet if you ask them a question they preserve a solemn silence.\nAnd the same may be said of speeches. You would imagine that they had\nintelligence, but if you want to know anything and put a question to one\nof them, the speaker always gives one unvarying answer. And when they\nhave been once written down they are tumbled about anywhere among those\nwho may or may not understand them, and know not to whom they should\nreply, to whom not: and, if they are maltreated or abused, they have no\nparent to protect them; and they cannot protect or defend themselves.\n\nPHAEDRUS: That again is most true.\n\nSOCRATES: Is there not another kind of word or speech far better than\nthis, and having far greater power--a son of the same family, but\nlawfully begotten?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Whom do you mean, and what is his origin?\n\nSOCRATES: I mean an intelligent word graven in the soul of the learner,\nwhich can defend itself, and knows when to speak and when to be silent.\n\nPHAEDRUS: You mean the living word of knowledge which has a soul, and of\nwhich the written word is properly no more than an image?\n\nSOCRATES: Yes, of course that is what I mean. And now may I be allowed\nto ask you a question: Would a husbandman, who is a man of sense, take\nthe seeds, which he values and which he wishes to bear fruit, and in\nsober seriousness plant them during the heat of summer, in some garden\nof Adonis, that he may rejoice when he sees them in eight days appearing\nin beauty? at least he would do so, if at all, only for the sake of\namusement and pastime. But when he is in earnest he sows in fitting\nsoil, and practises husbandry, and is satisfied if in eight months the\nseeds which he has sown arrive at perfection?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, Socrates, that will be his way when he is in earnest; he\nwill do the other, as you say, only in play.\n\nSOCRATES: And can we suppose that he who knows the just and good and\nhonourable has less understanding, than the husbandman, about his own\nseeds?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly not.\n\nSOCRATES: Then he will not seriously incline to 'write' his thoughts\n'in water' with pen and ink, sowing words which can neither speak for\nthemselves nor teach the truth adequately to others?\n\nPHAEDRUS: No, that is not likely.\n\nSOCRATES: No, that is not likely--in the garden of letters he will sow\nand plant, but only for the sake of recreation and amusement; he will\nwrite them down as memorials to be treasured against the forgetfulness\nof old age, by himself, or by any other old man who is treading the same\npath. He will rejoice in beholding their tender growth; and while others\nare refreshing their souls with banqueting and the like, this will be\nthe pastime in which his days are spent.\n\nPHAEDRUS: A pastime, Socrates, as noble as the other is ignoble, the\npastime of a man who can be amused by serious talk, and can discourse\nmerrily about justice and the like.\n\nSOCRATES: True, Phaedrus. But nobler far is the serious pursuit of the\ndialectician, who, finding a congenial soul, by the help of science sows\nand plants therein words which are able to help themselves and him who\nplanted them, and are not unfruitful, but have in them a seed which\nothers brought up in different soils render immortal, making the\npossessors of it happy to the utmost extent of human happiness.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Far nobler, certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: And now, Phaedrus, having agreed upon the premises we may\ndecide about the conclusion.\n\nPHAEDRUS: About what conclusion?\n\nSOCRATES: About Lysias, whom we censured, and his art of writing, and\nhis discourses, and the rhetorical skill or want of skill which was\nshown in them--these are the questions which we sought to determine, and\nthey brought us to this point. And I think that we are now pretty well\ninformed about the nature of art and its opposite.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, I think with you; but I wish that you would repeat what\nwas said.\n\nSOCRATES: Until a man knows the truth of the several particulars of\nwhich he is writing or speaking, and is able to define them as they are,\nand having defined them again to divide them until they can be no longer\ndivided, and until in like manner he is able to discern the nature\nof the soul, and discover the different modes of discourse which are\nadapted to different natures, and to arrange and dispose them in such\na way that the simple form of speech may be addressed to the simpler\nnature, and the complex and composite to the more complex nature--until\nhe has accomplished all this, he will be unable to handle arguments\naccording to rules of art, as far as their nature allows them to\nbe subjected to art, either for the purpose of teaching or\npersuading;--such is the view which is implied in the whole preceding\nargument.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Yes, that was our view, certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: Secondly, as to the censure which was passed on the speaking\nor writing of discourses, and how they might be rightly or wrongly\ncensured--did not our previous argument show--?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Show what?\n\nSOCRATES: That whether Lysias or any other writer that ever was or will\nbe, whether private man or statesman, proposes laws and so becomes\nthe author of a political treatise, fancying that there is any great\ncertainty and clearness in his performance, the fact of his so writing\nis only a disgrace to him, whatever men may say. For not to know the\nnature of justice and injustice, and good and evil, and not to be able\nto distinguish the dream from the reality, cannot in truth be otherwise\nthan disgraceful to him, even though he have the applause of the whole\nworld.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: But he who thinks that in the written word there is\nnecessarily much which is not serious, and that neither poetry\nnor prose, spoken or written, is of any great value, if, like the\ncompositions of the rhapsodes, they are only recited in order to be\nbelieved, and not with any view to criticism or instruction; and who\nthinks that even the best of writings are but a reminiscence of what we\nknow, and that only in principles of justice and goodness and nobility\ntaught and communicated orally for the sake of instruction and graven\nin the soul, which is the true way of writing, is there clearness and\nperfection and seriousness, and that such principles are a man's own and\nhis legitimate offspring;--being, in the first place, the word which\nhe finds in his own bosom; secondly, the brethren and descendants and\nrelations of his idea which have been duly implanted by him in the souls\nof others;--and who cares for them and no others--this is the right sort\nof man; and you and I, Phaedrus, would pray that we may become like him.\n\nPHAEDRUS: That is most assuredly my desire and prayer.\n\nSOCRATES: And now the play is played out; and of rhetoric enough. Go and\ntell Lysias that to the fountain and school of the Nymphs we went\ndown, and were bidden by them to convey a message to him and to other\ncomposers of speeches--to Homer and other writers of poems, whether set\nto music or not; and to Solon and others who have composed writings in\nthe form of political discourses which they would term laws--to all of\nthem we are to say that if their compositions are based on knowledge of\nthe truth, and they can defend or prove them, when they are put to the\ntest, by spoken arguments, which leave their writings poor in\ncomparison of them, then they are to be called, not only poets, orators,\nlegislators, but are worthy of a higher name, befitting the serious\npursuit of their life.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What name would you assign to them?\n\nSOCRATES: Wise, I may not call them; for that is a great name which\nbelongs to God alone,--lovers of wisdom or philosophers is their modest\nand befitting title.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Very suitable.\n\nSOCRATES: And he who cannot rise above his own compilations and\ncompositions, which he has been long patching and piecing, adding some\nand taking away some, may be justly called poet or speech-maker or\nlaw-maker.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: Now go and tell this to your companion.\n\nPHAEDRUS: But there is also a friend of yours who ought not to be\nforgotten.\n\nSOCRATES: Who is he?\n\nPHAEDRUS: Isocrates the fair:--What message will you send to him, and\nhow shall we describe him?\n\nSOCRATES: Isocrates is still young, Phaedrus; but I am willing to hazard\na prophecy concerning him.\n\nPHAEDRUS: What would you prophesy?\n\nSOCRATES: I think that he has a genius which soars above the orations of\nLysias, and that his character is cast in a finer mould. My impression\nof him is that he will marvellously improve as he grows older, and that\nall former rhetoricians will be as children in comparison of him. And I\nbelieve that he will not be satisfied with rhetoric, but that there is\nin him a divine inspiration which will lead him to things higher still.\nFor he has an element of philosophy in his nature. This is the message\nof the gods dwelling in this place, and which I will myself deliver to\nIsocrates, who is my delight; and do you give the other to Lysias, who\nis yours.\n\nPHAEDRUS: I will; and now as the heat is abated let us depart.\n\nSOCRATES: Should we not offer up a prayer first of all to the local\ndeities?\n\nPHAEDRUS: By all means.\n\nSOCRATES: Beloved Pan, and all ye other gods who haunt this place, give\nme beauty in the inward soul; and may the outward and inward man be\nat one. May I reckon the wise to be the wealthy, and may I have such\na quantity of gold as a temperate man and he only can bear and\ncarry.--Anything more? The prayer, I think, is enough for me.\n\nPHAEDRUS: Ask the same for me, for friends should have all things in\ncommon.\n\nSOCRATES: Let us go.","title":"Phaedrus","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":38138}