'EXJJBRIS UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA-^
JOHN HENRY NASH LIBRARY
SAN FRANCISCO
PRESENTED TO THE
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
ROBERT GORDON SPROUL, PRESIDENT.
BY
MRANDMRS.MILTON S.RAY
CECILY, VIRGINIAANDROSALYN RAY
AND THE
RAY OIL BURNER COMPANY
Af
**
a.
THE BANQUET OF PLATO
TRANSLATED FROM THE
GREEK BY PERCY BYSSHE
SHELLEY
MDCCCCVIII
THE PERSONS OF THE
DIALOGUE
Apollodorus
A Friend of Apollodorus
Glauco
Aristodemus
Socrates
Agathon
Phsedrus
Pausanias
Eryximachus
Aristophanes
Diotima
Alcibiades
THE BANQUET OF PLATO
APOLLODORUS I think that the
subject of your inquiries is still fresh
in my memory ; for yesterday, as I
chanced to be returning home from
Phaleros,one of my acquaintance, see^
ing me before him, called out to me
from a distance, jokingly, ' Apollodo^
rus, you Phalerian, will you not wait
a minute ?' I waited for him, and as
soon as he overtook me, 'I have just
been looking for you, Apollodorus/ he
said, ' for I wish to hear what those
discussions were on Love, which took
place at the party , when Agathon, Soc<"
rates, Alcibiades, and some others met
at supper. Some one who heard it from
Phoenix, the son of Philip, told me that
you could give a full account, but he
could relate nothing distinctly hinv
self. Relate to me, then, I entreat you,
all the circumstances* I know you are
a faithful reporter of the discussions
of your friends ; but first tell me, were
you present at the party or not?'
4 Your informant/ 1 replied, 'seems to
have given you no very clear idea of
what you wish to hear, if he thinks
that these discussions took place so
lately as that I could have been of the
party/ 'Indeed, I thought so/ re-
plied he* ' For how/ said I, ' O Glau-
co ! could I have been present ? Do you
not know that Agathon has been ab-
sent from the city many years ? But,
since I began to converse with Socra-
tes, and to observe each day all his
words and actions, three years are
scarcely past* Before this time I wan-
dered about wherever it might chance,
thinking that I did something, but be-
ing, in truth, a most miserable wretch,
not less than you are now, who believe
that you ought to do anything rather
than practise the love of wisdom/
'Do not cavil/ interrupted Glauco,
'but tell me, when did this party take
place ? '
'Whilst we were yet children/ I re^
plied,' when Agathon first gained the
prize of tragedy, and the day after that
on which he and the chorus made sac^
rifices in celebration of their success/
'A long time ago, it seems. But who
told you all the circumstances of the
discussion ? Did you hear them from
Socrates himself?' 'No, by Jupiter !
but the same person from whom Phce^
nix had his information, one AristO'
demus, a Cydathenean, a little man
who always went about without san>
dais. He was present at this feast, be^
3
ing, I believe, more than any of his con-
temporaries, a lover and admirer of
Socrates, I have questioned Socrates
concerning some of the circumstances
of his narration, who confirms all that
I have heard from Aristodemus/
'Why, then/ said Glauco,' why not re-
late them, as we walk, to me ? The road
to the city is every way convenient,
both for those who listen and those
who speak/
Thus as we walked I gave him some
account of those discussions concern-
ing Love ; since, as I said before, I re-
member them with sufficient accura-
cy. If I am required to relate them also
to you, that shall willingly be done;
for whensoever either I myself talk of
philosophy, or listen to others talking
of it, in addition to the improvement
which I conceive there arises from
4
such conversation, I am delighted be^
yond measure ; but whenever I hear
your discussions about moneyed men
and great proprietors, I am weighed
down with grief, and pity you, who,
doing nothing, believe that you are do^
ing something. Perhaps you think that
I am a miserable wretch ; and, indeed,
I believe that you think truly* I do not
think, but well know, that you are mis>
erable.
COMPANION. You are always
the same, Apollodorus always say^
ing some ill of yourself and others.
Indeed, you seem to me to think every
one miserable except Socrates, begin'
ning with yourself I do not know
what could have entitled you to the
surname of the 'Madman/ for I am
sure you are consistent enough, for^
ever inveighing with bitterness against
5
yourself and all others except Socrates.
APOLLODORUS. My dear friend,
it is manifest that I am out of my wits
from this alone that I have such
opinions as you describe concerning
myself and you*
COMPANION, It is not worth
while, Apollodorus, to dispute now
about these things ; but do what I en-
treat you, and relate to us what were
these discussions.
APOLLODORUS. They were such
as I will proceed to tell you. But let
me attempt to relate them in the or-
der which Aristodemus observed in
relating them to me. He said that he
met Socrates washed, and, contrary to
his usual custom, sandalled, and hav-
ing inquired whither he went so gaily
dressed, Socrates replied,'! am going to
sup at Agathon's ; yesterday I avoided
it, disliking the crowd, which would
attend at the prize sacrifices then cele-
brated ; to-day I promised to be there,
and I made myself so gay, because one
ought to be beautiful to approach one
who is beautifuL But you, Aristode-
mus, what think you of coming unin-
vited to supper?' 'I will do/ he re-
plied/ as you command/ 'Follow,
then, that we may, by changing its ap-
plication, disarm that proverb which
says, "To the feasts of the good, the
good come uninvited/' Homer, in-
deed, seems not only to destroy, but
to outrage the proverb ; for, describing
Agamemnon as excellent in battle, and
Menelaus but a faint-hearted warrior,
he represents Menelaus as coming un-
invited to the feast of one better and
braver than himself/ Aristodemus,
hearing this, said, ' I also am in some
7
danger, Socrates, not as you say, but
according to Homer, of approaching
like an unworthy inferior the banquet
of one more wise and excellent than
myself Will you not, then, make some
excuse for me ? for I shall not confess
that I came uninvited, but shall say
that I was invited by you/ 'As we
walk together/ said Socrates, 'we will
consider together what excuse to make
but let us go/
Thus discoursing, they proceeded*
But as they walked, Socrates, engaged
in some deep contemplation, slack-
ened his pace, and, observing Aristo-
demus waiting for him, he desired
him to go on before. When Aristo-
demus arrived at Agathon's house he
found the door open, and it occurred,
somewhat comically, that a slave met
him at the vestibule, and conducted
him where he found the guests already
reclined. As soon as Agathon saw him,
'You arrive just in time to sup with
us, Aristodemus/ he said; 'if you have
any other purpose in your visit, defer
it to a better opportunity. I was look--
ing for you yesterday, to invite you
to be of our party ; I could not find you
anywhere. But how is it that you do
not bring Socrates with you ? '
But he, turning round and not seeing
Socrates behind him, said to Agathon,
' I just came hither in his company,
being invited by him to sup with you/
'You did well/ replied Agathon,
'to come; but where is Socrates ?'
' He just now came hither behind me ;
I myself wonder where he can be/
' Go and look, boy/ said Agathon, ' and
bring Socrates in; meanwhile, you,
Aristodemus, recline there near Eryxi-
machus/ And he bade a slave wash his
feet that he might recline. Another
slave, meanwhile, brought word that
Socrates had retired into a neighbour^
ing vestibule, where he stood, and, in
spite of his message, refused to come
in. '\Vhat absurdity you talkl'cried
Agathon ; 'call him, and do not leave
him till he comes/ 'Let him alone,
by all means/ said Aristodemus ; 'it is
customary with him sometimes to re^
tire in this way and stand wherever it
may chance. He will come presently,
I do not doubt ; do not disturb him/
'Well, be it as you will/ said Aga^
thon ; ' as it is, you boys, bring supper
for the rest ; put before us what you
will, for I resolved that there should
be no master of the feast. Consider me
and these my friends as guests, whom
you have invited to supper, and serve
10
them so that we may commend you/
After this they began supper, but Soc-
rates did not come in, Agathon order-
ed him to be called, but Aristodemus
perpetually forbade it. At last he came
in, much about the middle of supper,
not having delayed so long as was his
custom* Agathon (who happened to
be reclining at the end of the table, and
alone) said, as he entered, ' Come hither,
Socrates, and sit down by me; so that
by the mere touch of one so wise as
you are, I may enjoy the fruit of your
meditations in the vestibule ; for I well
know, you would not have departed
till you had discovered and secured it/
Socrates, having sate down as he was
desired, replied, ' It would be well, Aga-
thon, if wisdom were of such a na-
ture, as that when we touched each
other, it would overflow of its own ac-
ii
cord, from him who possesses much
to him who possesses little ; like the
water in two chalices, which will flow
through a flock of wool from the fulL
er into the emptier, until both are e-
quaL If wisdom had this property, I
should esteem myself most fortunate
in reclining near to you. I should thus
soon be filled, I think, with the most
beautiful and various wisdom. Mine,
indeed, is something obscure, and
doubtful, and dreamlike. But yours is
radiant, and has been crowned with
amplest reward ; for though you are
yet so young, it shone forth from you,
and became so manifest yesterday,
that more than thirty thousand Greeks
can bear testimony to its excellence
and loveliness/ 'You are laughing
at me, Socrates/ said Agathon ; ' but
you and I will decide this controversy
12
about wisdom by and by, taking Bac-
chus for our judge. At present turn to
your supper/
After Socrates and the rest had fin^
ished supper, and had reclined back
on their couches, and the libations had
been poured forth, and they had sung
hymns to the god, and all other rites
which are customary had been per^
formed, they turned to drinking.
Then Pausanias made this kind of
proposal 'Come, my friends/ said he,
'in what manner will it be pleasant"
est for us to drink ? I must confess to
you that, in reality, I am not very well
from the wine we drank last night,
and I have need of some intermission.
I suspect that most of you are in the
same condition, for you were here yes^
terday. Now consider how we shall
drink most easily and comfortably/
1 'Tis a good proposal, Pausanias/ said
Aristophanes, 'to contrive, in some
way or other, to place moderation in
our cups* I was one of those who were
drenched last night/ Eryximachus,
the son of Acumenius, hearing this,
said, ' I am of your opinion ; I only
wish to know one thing whether
Agathon is in the humour for hard
drinking ? ' 'Not at all/ replied Aga-
thon; 'I confess that I am not able to
drink much this evening/ 'It is an
excellent thing for us/ replied Eryxi-
machus 'I mean myself, Aristode-
mus, Phaedrus, and these others if
you, who are such invincible drinkers,
now refuse to drink. I ought to except
Socrates, for he is capable of drinking
everything or nothing ; and whatever
we shall determine will equally suit
him. Since, then, no one present has
any desire to drink much wine, I shall
perhaps give less offence if I declare the
nature of drunkenness* The science
of medicine teaches us that drunken^
ness is very pernicious ; nor would I
choose to drink immoderately myself,
or counsel another to do so, especially
if he had been drunk the night before/
'Yes/ said Phaedrus, the Myrinu^
sian, interrupting him/ 1 have been ac-
customed to confide in you, especially
in your directions concerning medi'
cine ; and I would now willingly do
so, if the rest will do the same/ All then
agreed that they would drink at this
present banquet not for drunkenness,
but for pleasure*
'Since, then/ said Eryximachus, 'it is
decided that no one shall be compelled
to drink more than he pleases, I think
that we may as well send away the
15
flutes-player to play to herself; or, if she
likes, to the women within. Let us de--
vote the present occasion to convex
sation between ourselves, and if you
wish, I will propose to you what shall
be the subject of our discussion/ All
present desired and entreated that he
would explain. 'The exordium of my
speech/ said Eryximachus, 'will be in
the style of the Menalippe of Euripix
des, for the story which I am about to
tell belongs not to me, but to Phsedrus.
Phasdrus has often indignantly com-
plained to me, saying," Is it not strange,
Eryximachus, that there are innumer-
able hymns and paeans composed for
the other gods, but that not one of the
many poets who spring up in the world
has ever composed a verse in honour
of Love, who is such and so great a
god ? Nor any one of those acconv
16
plished sophists, who, like the famous
Prodicus, have celebrated the praise of
Hercules and others, has ever cele^
brated that of Love ; but, what is more
astonishing,! have lately met with the
book of some philosopher, in which
salt is extolled on account of its utiL
ity , and many other things of the same
nature are in like manner extolled
with elaborate praise* That so much
serious thought is expended on such
trifles, and that no man has dared to
this day to frame a hymn in honour
of Love, who being so great a deity is
thus neglected, may well be sufficient
to excite my indignation."
* There seemed to me some justice in
these complaints of Phsedrus ; I prcv
pose, therefore, at the same time for
the sake of giving pleasure to Phx^
drus, and that we may on the present
17
occasion do something well and befit'
ting us, that this god should receive
from those who are now present the
honour which is most due to him. If
you agree to my proposal, an excellent
discussion might arise on the subject.
Every one ought, according to my
plan, to praise Love with as much ek>
quence as he can. Let Phaedrus begin
first, both because he reclines the first
in order, and because he is the father
of the discussion/
4 No one will vote against you, Eryxi-
machus/ said Socrates, ' for how can I
oppose your proposal, who am ready
to confess that I know nothing on any
subject but love ? Or how can Aga^
thon, or Pausanias, or even AristO'
phanes, whose life is one perpetual
ministration to Venus and Bacchus ?
Or how can any other whom I see
18
here? Though we who sit last are
scarcely on an equality with you ; for
if those who speak before us shall have
exhausted the subject with their ek>
quence and reasonings, our discourses
will be superfluous. But in the name
of Good Fortune, let Phaedrus begin
and praise Love/ The whole party
agreed to what Socrates said, and en^
treated Phaedrus to begin*
What each then said on this subject,
Aristodemus did not entirely recoL
lect, nor do I recollect all that he re^
lated to me ; but only the speeches of
those who said what was most worthy
of remembrance. First, then, Phaedrus
began thus:
'Love is a mighty deity, and the ob^
ject of admiration, both to gods and
men, for many and for various claims ;
but especially on account of his ori^
gin* For that he is to be honoured as
one of the most ancient of the gods,
this may serve as a testimony that
Love has no parents, nor is there any
poet or other person who has ever
affirmed that there are such* Hesiod
says, that first " Chaos was produced ;
then the broad'bosomed Earth, to be
a secure foundation for all things;
then Love/' He says, that after Chaos
these two were produced, the Earth
and Love* Parmenides, speaking of
generation, says: "But he created
Love before any of the gods." Acusi'
leus agrees with Hesiod* Love, there^
fore, is universally acknowledged to
be among the oldest of things* And in
addition to this, Love is the author of
our greatest advantages ; for I cannot
imagine a greater happiness and ad"
vantage to one who is in the flower of
20
youth than an amiable lover, or to a
lover than an amiable object of his
love* For neither birth, nor wealth, nor
honours, can awaken in the minds of
men the principles which should guide
those who from their youth aspire to
an honourable and excellent life, as
Love awakens them* I speak of the
fear of shame,which deters them from
that which is disgraceful ; and the love
of glory, which incites to honourable
deeds* For it is not possible that a state
or private person should accomplish,
without these incitements, anything
beautiful or great* I assert, then, that
should one who loves be discovered
in any dishonourable action, or tame^
ly enduring insult through cowardice,
he would feel more anguish and shame
if observed by the object of his pas^
sion than if he were observed by his
21
father, or his companions, or any other
person* In like manner, among warnv
ly attached friends, a man is especially
grieved to be discovered by his friend
in any dishonourable act. If then, by
any contrivance, a state or army could
be composed of friends bound by
strong attachment, it is beyond calcu^
lation how excellently they would &&'
minister their affairs, refraining from
anything base, contending with each
other for the acquirement of fame, and
exhibiting such valour in battle as
that, though few in numbers, they
might subdue all mankind. For should
one friend desert the ranks or cast
away his arms in the presence of the
other, he would suffer far acuter shame
from that one person's regard, than
from the regard of all other men. A
thousand times would he prefer to die,
22
rather than desert the object of his
attachment, and not succour him in
danger*
'There is none so worthless whom
Love cannot impel, as it were by a di^
vine inspiration, towards virtue, even
so that he may through this inspira^
tion become equal to one who might
naturally be more excellent ; and, in
truth, as Homer says, the God breathes
vigour into certain heroes so Love
breathes into those who love, the spirit
which is produced from himself Not
only men, but even women who love,
are those alone who willingly expose
themselves to die for others* Alcestis,
the daughter of Pelias, affords to the
Greeks a remarkable example of this
opinion ; she alone being willing to die
for her husband, and so surpassing his
parents in the affection with which
2 3
love inspired her towards him, as to
make them appear, in the comparison
with her, strangers to their own child,
and related to him merely in name ;
and so lovely and admirable did this
action appear, not only to men, but
even to the Gods, that, although they
conceded the prerogative of bringing
back the spirit from death to few a-
mong the many who then performed
excellent and honourable deeds, yet,
delighted with this action, they re-
deemed her soul from the infernal
regions : so highly do the Gods hon-
our zeal and devotion in love. They
sent back indeed Orpheus, the son of
CEagrus, from Hell, with his purpose
unfulfilled, and, showing him only
the spectre of her for whom he came,
refused to render up herself For Or-
pheus seemed to them, not, as Alcestis,
24
to have dared die for the sake of her
whom he loved, and thus to secure to
himself a perpetual intercourse with
her in the regions to which she had
preceded him, but, like a cowardly
musician, to have contrived to descend
alive into Hell; and, indeed, they ap"
pointed as a punishment for his cow"
ardice that he should be put to death
by women*
1 Far otherwise did they reward Achil'
les, the son of Thetis, whom they sent
to inhabit the islands of the blessed.
For Achilles, though informed by his
mother that his own death would en^
sue upon his killing Hector, but that
if he refrained from it he might return
home and die in old age, yet preferred
revenging and honouring his beloved
Patroclus ; not to die for him mere*-
ly, but to disdain and reject that life
25
which he had ceased to share, There-
fore the Greeks honoured Achilles be-
yond all other men, because he thus
preferred his friend to all things else.
' On this account have the Gods re-
warded Achilles more amply than Al-
cestis ; permitting his spirit to inhabit
the islands of the blessed. Hence do I as-
sert that Love is the most ancient and
venerable of deities, and most powerful
to endow mortals with the possession
of happiness and virtue, both whilst
they live and after they die/
Thus Aristodemus reported the dis-
course of Phsedrus ; and after Phse-
drus, he said that some others spoke,
whose discourses he did not well re-
member. When they had ceased, Pau-
sanias began thus :
1 Simply to praise Love, O Phaedrus,
seems to me too bounded a scope for
26
our discourse. If Love were one, it
would be well But since Love is not
one, I will endeavour to distinguish
which is the Love whom it becomes
us to praise, and, having thus discrimi^
nated one from the other, will attempt
to render him who is the subject of
our discourse the honour due to his di^
vinity* We all know that Venus is
never without Love ; and if Venus
were one, Love would be one ; but since
there are two Venuses, of necessity
also must there be two Loves* For as<-
suredly are there two Venuses ; one,
the eldest, the daughter of Uranus,
born without a mother, whom we call
the Uranian ; the other younger, the
daughter of Jupiter and Dione, whom
we call thePandemian ; of necessity
must there also be two Loves, the Ura^
nian and Pandemian companions of
27
these goddesses* It is becoming to praise
all the Gods, but the attributes which
fall to the lot of each may be distiiv
guished and selected* For any parties
lar action whatever, in itself is neither
good nor evil ; what we are now doing
drinking, singing, talking, none of
these things are good in themselves,
but the mode in which they are done
stamps them with its own nature; and
that which is done well is good, and
that which is done ill is eviL Thus, not
all love, nor every mode of love is beau^
tiful, or worthy of commendation, but
that alone which excites us to love
worthily* The Love, therefore, which
attends upon Venus Pandemos is, in
truth, common to the vulgar, and pre-
sides over transient and fortuitous
connections, and is worshipped by the
least excellent of mankind* The vota^
28
ties of this deity seek the body rather
than the soul, and the ignorant rather
than the wise, disdaining all that is
honourable and lovely, and consider '
ing how they shall best satisfy their
sensual necessities* This love is deriv^
ed from the younger goddess, who par-
takes in her nature both of male and
female* But the attendant on the other,
the Uranian, whose nature is entirely
masculine, is the Love who inspires us
with affection, and exempts us from
all wantonness and libertinism* Those
who are inspired by this divinity seek
the affections of those who are en>
dowed by nature with greater excel'
lence and vigour both of body and
mind* And it is easy to distinguish
those who especially exist under the
influence of this power, by their choos-
ing in early youth as the objects of
29
their love those in whom the intellect'
ual faculties have begun to develop.
For those who begin to love in this
manner seem to me to be preparing
to pass their whole life together in a
community of good and evil, and not
ever lightly deceiving those who love
them, to be faithless to their vows.
There ought to be a law that none
should love the very young : so much
serious affection as this deity enknv
dies should not be doubtfully bestow--
ed ; for the body and mind of those so
young are yet unformed, and it is dif-
ficult to foretell what will be their fti"
ture tendencies and power. The good
voluntarily impose this law upon
themselves, and those vulgar lovers
ought to be compelled to the same ob^
servance, as we deter them with all the
power of the laws from the love of
30
free matrons. For these are the persons
whose shameful actions embolden
those who observe their importunity
and intemperance, to assert that it is
dishonourable to serve and gratify the
objects of our love. But no one who
does this gracefully, and according to
law, can justly be liable to the impu-
tation of blame.
'Not only friendship, but philosophy
and the practice of the gymnastic exer-
cises, are represented as dishonourable
by the tyrannical governments under
which the barbarians live. For I imag-
ine it would little conduce to the bene-
fit of the governors, that the governed
should be disciplined to lofty thoughts
and to the unity and communion of
steadfast friendship, of which admira-
ble effects the tyrants of our own coun-
try have also learned that Love is the
3 1
author* For the love of Harmodius
and Aristogeiton, strengthened into a
firm friendship, dissolved the tyranny*
Wherever, therefore, it is declared dis-
honourable in any case to serve and ben-
efit friends, that law is a mark of the
depravity of the legislator, the avarice
and tyranny of the rulers, and the cow-
ardice of those who are ruled* Wher-
ever it is simply declared to be honour-
able without distinction of cases, such
a declaration denotes dulness and want
of subtlety of mind in the authors of
the regulation* Here the degrees of
praise or blame to be attributed by law
are far better regulated ; but it is yet
difficult to determine the cases to
which they should refer*
'It is evident, however, for one in
whom passion is enkindled, it is more
honourable to love openly than se-
32
cretly ; and most honourable to love
the most excellent and virtuous, even
if they should be less beautiful than
others* It is honourable for the lover
to exhort and sustain the object of his
love in virtuous conduct* It is con^
sidered honourable to attain the love
of those whom we seek, and the con^
trary shameful ; and to facilitate this
attainment, opinion has given to the
lover the permission of acquiring fax
vour by the most extraordinary devices,
which if a person should practise for
any purpose besides this, he would nv
cur the severest reproof of philosophy*
For if any one desirous of accumulate
ing money, or ambitious of procuring
power, or seeking any other advan^
tage, should, like a lover seeking to
acquire the favour of his beloved, env
ploy prayers and entreaties in his ne^
33
cessity, and swear such oaths as lovers
swear, and sleep before the threshold,
and offer to subject himself to such
slavery as no slave even would endure,
he would be frustrated of the attain-
ment of what he sought, both by his
enemies and friends ; these reviling
him for his flattery, those sharply ad-
monishing him, and taking to them-
selves the shame of his servility* But
there is a certain grace in a lover who
does all these things, so that he alone
may do them without dishonour* It
is commonly said that the Gods ac-
cord pardon to the lover alone if he
should break his oath, and that there
is no oath by Venus* Thus, as our
law declares, both Gods and men have
given to lovers all possible indulgence*
4 The affair, however, I imagine, stands
thus : As I have before said, love can-
34
not be considered in itself as either
honourable or dishonourable : if it is
honourably pursued, it is honourable;
if dishonourably, dishonourable; it is
dishonourable basely to serve and grat-
ify a worthless person ; it is honourable
honourably to serve a person of virtue.
That Pandemic lover who loves rather
the body than the soul is worthless, nor
can be constant and consistent, since
he has placed his affections on that
which has no stability* For as soon as
the flower of the form, which was the
sole object of his desire, has faded, then
he departs and is seen no more; bound
by no faith nor shame of his many
promises and persuasions* But he who
is the lover of virtuous manners is con^
stant during life, since he has placed
himself in harmony and desire with
that which is consistent with itself
35
' These two classes of persons we ought
to distinguish with careful examina^
tion, so that we may serve and con-'
verse with the one and avoid the other ;
determining, by that inquiry, by what
a man is attracted, and for what the
object of his love is dear to him* On
the same account it is considered as
dishonourable to be inspired with love
at once, lest time should be wanting
to know and approve the character of
the object. It is considered dishonour^
able to be captivated by the allure^
ments of wealth and power, or terri^
fied through injuries to yield up the
affections, or not to despise in the conv
parison with an unconstrained choice
all political influence and personal ad^
vantage. For no circumstance is there
in wealth or power so invariable and
consistent, as that no generous friend'
36
ship can ever spring up from amongst
them* \Ve have an opinion with re-
spect to lovers which declares that it
shall not be considered servile or dis-
graceful, though the lover should sul>
mit himself to any species of slavery
for the sake of his beloved. The same
opinion holds with respect to those
who undergo any degradation for the
sake of virtue. And also it is esteemed
among us t that if any one chooses to
serve and obey another for the pur-
pose of becoming more wise or more
virtuous through the intercourse that
might thence arise, such willing slav-
ery is not the slavery of a dishonest
flatterer. Through this we should con-
sider in the same light a servitude un-
dertaken for the sake of love as one un-
dertaken for the acquirement of wis-
dom or any other excellence, if indeed
37
the devotion of a lover to his beloved
is to be considered a beautiful thing,
For when the lover and the beloved
have once arrived at the same point,
the province of each being distinguish'
ed : the one able to assist in the cultiva-
tion of the mind and in the acquirement
of every other excellence; the other yet
requiring education, and seeking the
possession of wisdom ; then alone, by
the union of these conditions, and in no
other case, is it honourable for the be-
loved to yield up the affections to the
lover. In this servitude alone there is no
disgrace in being deceived and defeat'
ed of the object for which it was under-
taken ; whereas every other is disgrace-
ful, whether we are deceived or no.
'On the same principle, if any one
seeks the friendship of another, believ-
ing him to be virtuous, for the sake of
38
becoming better through such inter-
course and affection, and is deceived,
his friend turning out to be worthless,
and far from the possession of virtue;
jet it is honourable to have been so de-
ceived. For such a one seems to have
submitted to a kind of servitude, be-
cause he would endure anything for
the sake of becoming more virtuous
and wise ; a disposition of mind emi-
nently beautiful
' This is that Love who attends on the
Uranian deity, and is Uranian ; the
author of innu merable benefits both to
the state and to individuals, and by the
necessity of whose influence those who
love are disciplined into the zeal of vir-
tue* All other loves are the attendants on
Venus Pandemos, So much, although
unpremeditated, is what I have to de-
liver on the subject of Love,O Phaedrus/
39
Pausanias having ceased (for so the
learned teach me to denote the chan^
ges of the discourse), Aristodemus said
that it came to the turn of Aristopha^
nes to speak ; but it happened that,
from repletion or some other cause,
he had an hiccough which prevented
him ; so he turned to Eryximachus,
the physician, who was reclining close
beside him, and said, * Eryximachus,
it is but fair that you should cure my
hiccough, or speak instead of me until
it is over/ ' I will do both/ said Eryxi-
machus ; * I will speak in your turn, and
you, when your hiccough has ceased,
shall speak in mine. Mean while, if you
hold your breath some time, it will sub-
side. If not, gargle your throat with
water ; and if it still continue, take
something to stimulate your nostrils,
and sneeze ; do this once or twice, and
40
even though it should be very violent,
it will cease/ ' \Vhilst you speak/
said Aristophanes/ 1 will follow your
directions/ Eryximachus then be-
gan:
* Since Pausanias, beginning his dis-
course excellently, placed no fit com-
pletion and development to it, I think
it necessary to attempt to fill up what
he has left unfinished* He has reason-
ed well in defining Love as of a double
nature* The science of medicine, to
which I have addicted myself, seems
to teach me that the Love which im-
pels towards those who are beautiful,
does not subsist only in the souls of
men, but in the bodies also of those of
all other living beings which are pro-
duced upon earth, and, in a word, in
all things which are* So wonderful and
mighty is this divinity, and so widely
41
is his influence extended over all di"
vine and human things ! For the hon-
our of my profession, I will begin by
adducing a proof from medicine* The
nature of the body contains within it'
self this double Love. For that which
is healthy and that which is diseased
in a body differ and are unlike : that
which is unlike, loves and desires that
which is unlike. Love, therefore, is
different in a sane and in a diseased
body. Pausanias has asserted rightly
that it is honourable to gratify those
things in the body which are good and
healthy, and in this consists the skill
of the physician ; whilst those which
are bad and diseased ought to be treat-
ed with no indulgence. The science
of medicine, in a word, is a knowledge
of the love affairs of the body, as they
bear relation to repletion and evacu-
42
ation ; and he is the most skilful phy-
sician who can trace those operations
of the good and evil Love, can make
the one change places with the other,
and attract Love into those parts from
which he is absent, or expel him from
those which he ought not to occupy*
He ought to make those things which
are most inimical, friendly, and excite
them to mutual love. But those things
are most inimical, which are most op-
posite to each other ; cold to heat, bit-
terness to sweetness, dryness to moist-
ure. Our progenitor, ^Esculapius, as
the poets inform us (and indeed I be-
lieve them), through the skill which he
possessed to inspire love and concord
in these contending principles, estab-
lished the science of medicine.
'The gymnastic arts and agriculture,
no less than medicine, are exercised un-
43
der the dominion of this God. Music,
as any one may perceive who yields a
very slight attention to the subject, o^
riginates from the same source ; which
Heraclitus probably meant, though
he could not express his meaning very
clearly in words, when he says, "One
though apparently differing, yet so a^
grees with itself, as the harmony of a
lyre and a bow/' It is great absurdity
to say that a harmony differs, and can
exist between things whilst they are
dissimilar; but probably he meant that
from sounds which first differed, like
the grave and the acute, and which
afterwards agreed, harmony was pro
duced according to musical art* For
no harmony can arise from the grave
and the acute whilst yet they differ*
But harmony is symphony: sympho^
ny is, as it were, concord* But it is inv
44
possible that concord should subsist
between things that differ, so long as
they differ* Between things which are
discordant and dissimilar there is then
no harmony. A rhythm is produced
from that which is quick, and that
which is slow, first being distinguish^
ed and opposed to each other, and then
made accordant ; so does medicine, no
less than music, establish a concord
between the objects of its art, produc^
ing love and agreement between ad^
verse things.
'Music is, then, the knowledge of that
which relates to love in harmony and
system. In the very system of hanru>
ny and rhythm, it is easy to distinguish
love. The double love is not distin^
guishable in music itself; but it is re^
quired to apply it to the service of man^
kind by system and harmony, which
45
is called poetry, or the composition of
melody ; or by the correct use of songs
and measures already composed, which
is called discipline ; then one can be dis^
tinguished from the other, by the aid
of an extremely skilful artist. And the
better love ought to be honoured and
preserved for the sake of those who
are virtuous, and that the nature of the
vicious may be changed through the
inspiration of its spirit* This is that
beautiful Uranian Love, the attend'
ant on the Uranian muse : the Pande^
mian is the attendant of Polyhymnia ;
to whose influence we should only so
far subject ourselves as to derive pleas^
ure from it without indulging to ex^
cess ; in the same manner as, accord"
ing to our art, we are instructed to seek
the pleasures of the table only so far as
we can enjoy them without the
4 6
sequences of disease. In music, there^
fore, and in medicine, and in all other
things, human and divine, this double
love ought to be traced and discrimi^
nated, for it is in all things.
1 Even the constitution of the seasons
of the year is penetrated with these
contending principles. For so often as
heat and cold, dryness and moisture,
of which I spoke before, are influenced
by the more benignant love, and are
harmoniously and temperately inter^
mingled with the seasons, they bring
maturity and health to men, and to
all the other animals and plants. But
when the evil and injurious love as^
sumes the dominion of the seasons of
the year, destruction is spread widely
abroad. Then pestilence is accustomed
to arise, and many other blights and
diseases fall upon animals and plants :
47
and hoar frosts, and hails, and mildew
on the corn are produced from that ex-
cessive and disorderly love with which
each season of the year is impelled to-
wards the other; the motions of which,
and the knowledge of the stars, is called
astronomy. All sacrifices, and all those
things in which divination is concern-
ed (for these things are the links by
which is maintained an intercourse
and communion between the Gods
and men), are nothing else than the
science of preservation and right gov-
ernment of love. For impiety is accus-
tomed to spring up so soon as anyone
ceases to serve the more honourable
love, and worship him by the sacrifice
of good actions ; but submits himself
to the influences of the other, in rela-
tion to his duties towards his parents
and the Gods, and the living and the
4 8
dead. It is the object of divination to
distinguish and remedy the effects of
these opposite loves; and divination is
therefore the author of the friendship
of Gods and men, because it affords
the knowledge of what in matters of
love is lawful or unlawful to men*
'Thus every species of love possesses
collectively a various and vast, or rath-
er universal power. But love which in-
cites to the acquirement of its objects
according to virtue and wisdom, pos^
sesses the most exclusive dominion,
and prepares for his worshippers the
highest happiness through the mutual
intercourse of social kindness which it
promotes among them, and through
the benevolence which he attracts to
them from the Gods, our superiors*
' Probably in thus praising love, I have
unwillingly omitted many things; but
49
it is your business, O Aristophanes, to
fill up all that I have left incomplete ;
or if you have imagined any other
mode of honouring the divinity ; for I
observe your hiccough is over/
'Yes/ said Aristophanes, 'but not be-
fore I applied the sneezing. I wonder
why the harmonious construction of
our body should require such noisy op-
erations as sneezing ; for it ceased the
moment I sneezed/ ' Do you not ob"
serve what you do, my good Aristo-
phanes I* said Eryximachus ; 'you are
going to speak, and you predispose us
to laughter, and compel me to watch
for the first ridiculous idea which you
may start in your discourse, when you
might have spoken in peace/ 'Let
me unsay what I have said, then/ re-
plied Aristophanes, laughing. ' Do not
watch me, I entreat you ; though I am
50
not afraid of saying what is laughable
(since that would be all gain, and quite
in the accustomed spirit of my muse),
but lest I should say what is ridiculous/
'Do you think to throw your dart,
and escape with impunity, Aristopha^
nes ? Attend, and what you say be care^
ful you maintain ; then, perhaps, if it
pleases me, I may dismiss you without
question/
4 Indeed, Eryximachus/ proceeded Ar^
istophanes, ' I have designed that my
discourse should be very different from
yours and that of Pausanias, It seems
to me that mankind are by no means
penetrated with a conception of the
power of Love, or they would have
built sumptuous temples and altars,
and have established magnificent rites
of sacrifice in his honour ; he deserves
worship and homage more than all the
51
other Gods, and he has yet received
none. For Love is of all the Gods the
most friendly to mortals, and the phy -
sician of those wounds whose cure
would be the greatest happiness which
could be conferred upon the human
race. I will endeavour to unfold to you
his true power, and you can relate
what I declare to others*
'You ought first to know the nature
of man, and the adventures he has
gone through ; for his nature was an-
ciently far different from that which
it is at present. First, then, human be-
ings were formerly not divided into
two sexes, male and female ; there was
also a third, common to both the oth-
ers, the name of which remains, though
the sex itself has disappeared. The an-
drogynous sex, both in appearance and
in name, was common both to male
52
and female ; its name alone remains,
which labours under a reproach.
'At the period to which I refer, the
form of every human being was round,
the back and the sides being circularly
joined, and each had four arms and as
many legs ; two faces fixed upon a round
neck, exactly like each other ; one head
between the two faces ; four ears, and
everything else as from such propor^
tions it is easy to conjecture* Man
walked upright as now, in whatever di-
rection he pleased ; but when he wished
to go fast he made use of all his eight
limbs, and proceeded in a rapid mo-
tion by rolling circularly round like
tumblers, who with their legs in the
air tumble round and round. We ac-
count for the production of three sexes
by supposing that, at the beginning,
the male was produced from the sun,
53
the female from the earth ; and that
sex which participated in both sexes,
from the moon, by reason of the an^
drogynous nature of the moon. They
were round, and their mode of pro^
ceeding was round, from the similarity
which must needs subsist between
them and their parent*
'They were strong also, and had as^
piring thoughts* They it was who lev^
ied war against the Gods ; and what
Homer writes concerning Ephialtus
and Otus, that they sought to ascend
heaven and dethrone the Gods, in re^
ality relates to this primitive people*
Jupiter and the other Gods debated
what was to be done in this emergency*
For neither could they prevail on thenv
selves to destroy them, as they had the
giants, with thunder, so that the race
should be abolished ; for in that case
54
they would be deprived of the hon-
ours of the sacrifices which they were
in the custom of receiving from them ;
nor could they permit a continuance
of their insolence and impiety. Jupiter,
with some difficulty having desired si"
lence, at length spoke* "I think/' said
he, "I have contrived a method by
which we may, by rendering the hu-
man race more feeble, quell the inso-
lence which they exercise, without pro-
ceeding to their utter destruction* I
will cut each of them in half; and so
they will at once be weaker and more
useful on account of their numbers*
They shall walk upright on two legs*
If they show any more insolence, and
will not keep quiet, I will cut them up
in half again, so they shall go about hop-
ping on one leg*"
'So saying, he cut human beings in
55
half, as people cut eggs before they salt
them, or as I have seen eggs cut with
hairs. He ordered Apollo to take each
one as he cut him, and turn his face and
half his neck towards the operation, so
that by contemplating it he might be-
come more cautious and humble; and
then, to cure him, Apollo turned the
face round, and drawing the skin upon
what we now call the belly, like a con-
tracted pouch, and leaving one open^
ing, that which is called the navel, tied
it in the middle. He then smoothed
many other wri nkles, and moulded the
breast with much such an instrument
as the leather-cutters use to smooth
the skins upon the block. He left only
a few wrinkles in the belly, near the
navel, to serve as a record of its former
adventure. Immediately after this di-
vision, as each desired to possess the
56
other half of himself, these divided peo-
pie threw their arms around and em-
braced each other, seeking to grow to-
gether ; and from this resolution to do
nothing without the other half, they
died of hunger and weakness : when
one half died and the other was left
alive, that which was thus left sought
the other and folded it to its bosom ;
whether that half were an entire wo-
man (for we now call it a woman) or a
man ; and thus they perished. But Ju-
piter, pitying them, thought of another
contrivance* * , , In this manner is gen-
eration now produced, by the union of
male and female ; so that from the em-
brace of a man and woman the race is
propagated*
'From this period, mutual love has
naturally existed between human
beings ; that reconciler and bond of
57
union of their original nature, which
seeks to make two one, and to heal the
divided nature of man. Every one of us
is thus the half of what may be prop"
erly termed a man, and like a psetta
cut in two, is the imperfect portion of
an entire whole, perpetually necessi-
tated to seek the half belonging to him*
'Such as I have described is ever an af-
fectionate lover and a faithful friend,
delighting in that which is in conform-
ity with his own nature* Whenever,
therefore, any such as I have described
are impetuously struck, through the
sentiment of their former union, with
love and desire and the want of com-
munity, they are unwilling to be di-
vided even for a moment* These are
they who devote their whole lives to
each other, with a vain and inexpres-
sible longing to obtain from each other
58
something they know not what ; for it
is not merely the sensual delights of
their intercourse for the sake of which
they dedicate themselves to each other
with such serious affection ; but the soul
of each manifestly thirsts for, from the
other, something which there are no
words to describe, and divines that
which it seeks, and traces obscurely the
footsteps of its obscure desire. If Vul-
can should say to persons thus affected,
"My good people, what is it that you
want with one another ? " And if, while
they were hesitating what to answer,
he should proceed to ask, " Do you not
desire the closest union and singleness
to exist between you, so that you may
never be divided night or day? If so, I
will melt you together, and make you
grow into one, so that both in life and
death ye maybe undivided. Consider,
59
is this what you desire? Will it content
you if you become that which I pro-
pose?" we all know that no one would
refuse such an offer, but would at once
feel that this was what he had ever
sought ; and intimately to mix and
melt and to be melted together with his
beloved, so that one should be made
out of two.
' The cause of this desire is, that accord-
ing to our original nature, we were once
entire. The desire and the pursuit of in-
tegrity and union is that which we all
love. First, as I said, we were entire, but
now we have been dwindled through
our own weakness, as the Arcadians by
the Lacedaemonians, There is reason to
fear, if we are guilty of any additional
impiety towards the Gods, that we may
be cut in two again, and may go about
like those figures painted on the col-
60
umns, divided through the middle of
our nostrils, as thin as lispse* On which
account every man ought to be ex-
horted to pay due reverence to the Gods,
that we may escape so severe a punish-
ment, and obtain those things which
Love, our general and commander, in-
cites us to desire ; against whom let none
rebel by exciting the hatred of the Gods*
For if we continue on good terms with
them, we may discover and possess
those lost and concealed objects of our
love, a good-fortune which now be-
falls to few*
'I assert, then, that the happiness of all,
both men and women, consists singly
in the fulfilment of their love, and in
that possession of its objects by which
we are in some degree restored to our
ancient nature* If this be the comple-
tion of felicity, that must necessarily
61
approach nearest to it in which we ot>
tain the possession and society of those
whose natures most intimately accord
with our own* And if we would cele-
brate any God as the author of this ben-
efit, we should justly celebrate Love
with hymns of joy ; who, in our pres-
ent condition, brings good assistance in
our necessity, and affords great hopes,
if we persevere in piety towards the
Gods, that he will restore us to our origi-
nal state, and confer on us the complete
happiness alone suited to our nature,
'Such, Eryximachus, is my discourse
on the subject of Love ; different in-
deed from yours, which I nevertheless
entreat you not to turn into ridicule,
that we may not interrupt what each
has separately to deliver on the subject/
' I will refrain at present/ said Eryxi-
machus, 'for your discourse delighted
62
me. And if I did not know that Soo
rates and Agathon were profoundly
versed in the science of love affairs, I
should fear that they had nothing new
to say, after so many and such various
imaginations* As it is, I confide in the fer
tility of their geniuses/ 'Your part
of the contest at least was strenuously
fought, Eryximachus/ said Socrates,
'but if you had been in the situation
in which I am, or rather shall be, after
the discourse of Agathon, like me you
would then have reason to fear, and
be reduced to your wits' end/ ' Socra^
tes/ said Agathon, 'wishes to confuse
me with the enchantments of his wit,
sufficiently confused already with the
expectation I see in the assembly in
favour of my discourse/ ' I must have
lost my memory, Agathon/replied Soc^
rates, 'if I imagined that you could be
63
disturbed by a few private persons, af t'
er having witnessed your firmness and
courage in ascending the rostrum with
the actors, and in calmly reciting your
compositions in the presence of so great
an assembly as that which decreed you
the prize of tragedy/ 'What, then,
Socrates/ retorted Agathon, 'do you
think me so full of the theatre as to be
ignorant that the judgment of a few
wise is more awful than that of a multi'
tude of others, to one who rightly bal"
ances the value of their suffrages?'
'I should judge ill indeed, Agathon/ an^
swered Socrates, ' in thinking you capa^
ble of any rude and unrefined concept
tion, for I well know that if you meet
with any whom you consider wise, you
esteem such alone of more value than
all others. But we are far from being
entitled to this distinction, for we were
6 4
also of that assembly, and to be
bered among the rest. But should you
meet with any who are really wise, you
would be careful to say nothing in their
presence which you thought they would
not approve is it not so ? ' ' Cer tain^
ly/ replied Agathon. ' You would
not then exercise the same caution in
the presence of the multitude in which
they were included ? ' 'My dear Aga^
thon/said Phaedrus, interrupting him,
4 if you answer all the questions of Soc^
rates, they will never: have an end ; he
will urge them without conscience so
long as he can get any person, especially
one who is so beautiful, to dispute with
him* I own it delights me to hear Soc^
rates discuss ; but at present I must see
that Love is not defrauded of the praise,
which it is my province to exact from
each of you* Pay the God his due, and
6s
then reason between yourselves if you
will/
'Your admonition is just, Phsedrus/ re^
plied Agathon, 'nor need any reason^
ing I hold with Socrates impede me : we
shall find many future opportunities
for discussion* I will begin my discourse,
then, first having defined what ought
to be the subject of it. All who have aL
ready spoken seem to me not so much to
have praised Love, as to have felicitat'
ed mankind on the many advantages
of which that deity is the cause; what
he is, the author of these great benefits,
none have yet declared. There is one
mode alone of celebration which would
comprehend the whole topic, namely,
first to declare what are those benefits,
and then what he is who is the author
of those benefits, which are the subject
of our discourse. Love ought first to be
66
praised, and then his gifts declared. I
assert, then, that although all the Gods
are immortally happy, Love, if I dare
trust my voice to express so awful a
truth, is the happiest, and most excel'
lent, and the most beautiful That he
is the most beautiful is evident; first,
O Phaedrus, from this circumstance,
that he is the youngest of the Gods ;
and secondly, from his fleetness, and
from his repugnance to all that is old ;
for he escapes with the swiftness of
wings from old age, a thing in itself
sufficiently swift, since it overtakes us
sooner than there is need ; and which
Love, who delights in the intercourse
of the young, hates, and in no manner
can be induced to enter into commu^
nity with. The ancient proverb, which
says that like is attracted by like, ap'
plies to the attributes of Love* I
67
cede many things to you, O Phaedrus,
but this I do not concede, that Love is
more ancient than Saturn and Jupiter*
I assert that he is not only the young'
est of the Gods, but invested with ever^
lasting youth* Those ancient deeds
among the Gods recorded by Hesiod
and Parmenides, if their relations are
to be considered as true, were produced
not by Love, but by Necessity* For if
Love had been then in Heaven, those
violent and sanguinary crimes never
would have taken place; but there
would ever have subsisted that affo>
tion and peace, in which the Gods now
live, under the influence of Love*
'He is young, therefore, and being
young is tender and soft* There were
need of some poet like Homer to cele^
brate the delicacy and tenderness of
Love* For Homer says, that the goddess
68
Calamity is delicate, and that her feet
are tender* " Her feet are soft," he says,
"for she treads not upon the ground,
but makes her path upon the heads of
men*" He gives as an evidence of her
tenderness, that she walks not upon
that which is hard, but that which is
soft* The same evidence is sufficient to
make manifest the tenderness of Love*
For Love walks not upon the earth, nor
over the heads of men, which are not
indeed very soft ; but he dwells within,
and treads on the softest of existing
things, having established his habita^
tion within the souls and inmost nat>
ure of Gods and men ; not indeed in all
souls for wherever he chances to find
a hard and rugged disposition, there
he will not inhabit, but only where it
is most soft arid tender. Of needs must
he be the most delicate of all things,
69
who touches lightly with his feet only
the softest parts of those things which
are the softest of all*
4 He is then the youngest and most deli'
cate of all divinities ; and in addition
to this he is, as it were, the most moist
and liquid* For if he were otherwise
he could not, as he does, fold himself
around everything, and secretly flow
out and into every souL His loveliness,
that which Love possesses far beyond
all other things, is a manifestation of
the liquid and flowing symmetry of
his form ; for between deformity and
Love there is eternal contrast and re^
pugnance. His life is spent among flow'
ers, and this accounts for the immortal
fairness of his skin ; for the winged
Love rests not in his flight on any form,
or within any soul the flower of whose
loveliness is faded, but there remains
70
most willingly where is the odour and
radiance of blossoms yet un withered.
Concerning the beauty of the God, let
this be sufficient, though many things
must remain unsaid. Let us next con^
sider the virtue and power of Love*
'What is most admirable in Love is,
that he neither inflicts nor endures in"
jury in his relations either with Gods
or men. Nor if he suffers anything
does he suffer it through violence, nor
doing anything does he act it with VKV
lence, for Love is never even touched
with violence. Every one willingly ad-
ministers everything to Love ; and that
which every one voluntarily concedes
to another, the laws, which are the kings
of the republic, decree that it is just for
him to possess. In addition to justice,
Love participates in the highest tem-
perance ; for if temperance is defined
7 1
to be the being superior to and holding
under dominion pleasures and desires,
then Love, than whom no pleasure is
more powerful, and who is thus more
powerful than all persuasions and de-
lights, must be excellently temperate*
In power and valour Mars cannot con-
tend with Love ; the love of Venus pos-
sesses Mars ; the possessor is always
superior to the possessed, and he who
subdues the most powerful must of ne-
cessity be the most powerful of alL
'The justice and temperance and val'
our of the God have been thus declared ;
there remains to exhibit his wisdom.
And first, that, like Eryximachus, I may
honour my own profession, the God
is a wise poet ; so wise that he can even
make a poet one who was not before:
for every one, even if before he were
ever so undisciplined, becomes a poet
72
as soon as he is touched by Love, a
sufficient proof that Love is a great poet,
and well skilled in that science accord^
ing to the discipline of music. For what
any one possesses not, or knows not,
that can he neither give nor teach an^
other* And who will deny that the di'
vine poetry, by which all living things
are produced upon the earth, is har^
monized by the wisdom of Love ? Is it
not evident that Love was the author
of all the arts of life with which we are
acquainted, and that he whose teacher
has been Love becomes eminent and
illustrious, whilst he who knows not
Love remains for ever unregarded and
obscure ? Apollo invented medicine,
and divination, and archery, under
the guidance of desire and Love ; so
that Apollo was the disciple of Love,
Through him the Muses discovered
73
the arts of literature, and Vulcan that
of moulding brass, and Minerva the
loom, and Jupiter the mystery of the
dominion which he now exercises
over Gods and men* So were the Gods
taught and disciplined by the love of
that which is beautiful, for there is no
love towards deformity.
' At the origin of things, as I have be-
fore said, many fearful deeds are report-
ed to have been done among the Gods,
on account of the dominion of Neces-
sity. But so soon as this deity sprang
forth from the desire which for ever
tends in the universe towards that
which is lovely, then all blessings de-
scended upon all living things, human
and divine. Love seems to me, O Phx-
drus, a divinity the most beautiful and
the best of all, and the author to all
others of the excellencies with which
74
his own nature is endowed. Nor can I
restrain the poetic enthusiasm which
takes possession of my discourse, and
bids me declare that Love is the divin-
ity who creates peace among men, and
calm upon the sea, the windless silence
of storms, repose and sleep in sadness*
Love divests us of all alienation from
each other, and fills our vacant hearts
with overflowing sympathy; he gath-
ers us together in such social meetings
as we now delight to celebrate, our
guardian and our guide in dances, and
sacrifices, and feasts. Yes, Love, who
showers benignity upon the world, and
before whose presence all harsh pas-
sions flee and perish ; the author of all
soft affections ; the destroyer of all un-
gentle thoughts ; merciful, mild ; the
object of the admiration of the wise,
and the delight of Gods; possessed by
75
the fortunate, and desired by the
happy, therefore unhappy because they
possess him not ; the father of grace,
and delicacy, and gentleness, and de^
light, and persuasion, and desire ; the
cherisher of all that is good, the aboL
isher of all evil ; our most excellent pi'
lot, defence, saviour, and guardian in
labour and in fear, in desire and in rea^
son ; the ornament and governor of all
things human and divine ; the best, the
loveliest ; in whose footsteps every one
ought to follow, celebrating him ex-
cellently in song, and bearing each his
part in that divinest harmony which
Love sings to all things which live and
are, soothing the troubled minds of
Gods and men* This, O Phaedrus, is
what I have to offer in praise of the
divinity ; partly composed, indeed, of
thoughtless and playful fancies, and
76
partly of such serious ones as I could
well command/
No sooner had Agathon ceased than
a loud murmur of applause arose from
all present, so becomingly had the fair
youth spoken, both in praise of the
God and in extenuation of himself
Then Socrates, addressing Eryxima^
chus, said, 'Was not my fear reason -
able, son of Acumenius ? Did I not di-
vine what has, in fact, happened, that
Agathon's discourse would be so won"
derfully beautiful as to preoccupy all
interest in what I should say I ' ' You,
indeed, divined well so far, O Socra-
tes/ said Eryximachus, ' that Agathon
would speak eloquently, but not that,
therefore, you would be reduced to any
difficulty/ ' How, my good friend,
can I or any one else be otherwise than
reduced to difficulty, who speak after
77
a discourse so various and so eloquent,
and which otherwise had been suffi-
ciently wonderful, if, at the conclusion,
the splendour of the sentences and the
choice selection of the expressions had
not struck all the hearers with astonish-
ment ? so that I, who well know that I
can never say anything nearly so beau-
tiful as this, would, if there had been
any escape, have run away for shame*
The story of Gorgias came into my
mind, and I was afraid lest in reality
I should suffer what Homer describes ;
and lest Agathon, scanning my dis-
course with the head of the eloquent
Gorgias, should turn me to stone for
speechlessness. I immediately perceiv-
ed how ridiculously I had engaged my-
self with you to assume a part in ren-
dering praise to Love, and had boasted
that I was well skilled in amatory mat-
78
ters, being so ignorant of the manner
in which it is becoming to render him
honour, as I now perceive myself to be.
I, in my simplicity, imagined that the
truth ought to be spoken concerning
each of the topics of our praise, and that
it would be sufficient, choosing those
which are the most honourable to the
God, to place them in as luminous an
arrangement as we could. I had, there--
fore, great hopes that I should speak
satisfactorily, being well aware that I
was acquainted with the true founda^
tions of the praise which we have en--
gaged to render. But since, as it appears,
our purpose has been, not to render
Love his due honour, but to accumu^
late the most beautiful and the great'
est attributes of his divinity, whether
they in truth belong to it or not, and
that the proposed question is not how
79
Love ought to be praised, but how we
should praise him most eloquently, my
attempt must of necessity fail* It is on
this account, I imagine, that in your
discourses you have attributed every '
thing to Love, and have described him
to be the author of such and so great
effects as, to those who are ignorant of
his true nature, may exhibit him as the
most beautiful and the best of all things.
Not, indeed, to those who know the
truth. Such praise has a splendid and
imposing effect, but as I am unac--
quainted with the art of rendering it,
my mind, which could not foresee what
would be required of me, absolves me
from that which my tongue promised.
Farewell, then, for such praise I can
never render.
' But if you desire, I will speak what I
feel to be true ; and that I may not ex^
80
pose myself to ridicule, I entreat you to
consider that I speak without entering
into competition with those who have
preceded me. Consider, then, Phaedrus,
whether you will exact from me such
a discourse, containing the mere truth
with respect to Love, and composed of
such unpremeditated expressions as
may chance to offer themselves to my
mind/ Phaedrus and the rest bade
him speak in the manner which he
judged most befitting. 'Permit me,
then, O Phsedrus, to ask Agathon a
few questions, so that, confirmed by his
agreement with me, I may proceed/
'Willingly/ replied Phaedrus, 'ask/
Then Socrates thus began:
'I applaud, dear Agathon, the begin^
ning of your discourse, where you say
we ought first to define and declare
what Love is, and then his works. This
81
rule I particularly approve. But, come,
since you have given us a discourse of
such beauty and majesty concerning
Love, you are able, I doubt not, to ex-
plain this question, whether Love is the
love of something or nothing ? I do not
ask you of what parents Love is ; for
the inquiry, of whether Love is the love
of any father or mother, would be suffi-
ciently ridiculous. But if I were asking
you to describe that which a father is,
I should ask, not whether a father was
the love of any one, but whether a fath-
er was the father of any one or not ; you
would undoubtedly reply, that a father
was the father of a son or daughter ;
would you not > ' 'Assuredly/ 'You
would define a mother in the same man-
ner > ' ' Without doubt/ ' Yet bear
with me, and answer a few more ques-
tions, for I would learn from you that
82
which I wish to know* If I should
inquire, in addition, is not a brother,
through the very nature of his relation,
the brother of some one ! ' ' Certain^
ly ! ' Of a brother or sister, is he not ! '
'Without question/ 'Try to ex^
plain to me, then, the nature of Love ;
Love is the love of something or notlv
ing ? ' * Of something, certainly/
'Observe and remember this conces^
sioa Tell me yet farther whether Love
desires that of which it is the Love
or not?' 'It desires it, assuredly/
'Whether, possessing that which it de^
sires and loves, or not possessing it, does
it desire and love ?' 'Not possessing
it, I should imagine/ 'Observe now,
whether it does not appear that, of
necessity, desire desires that which it
wants and does not possess, and no
longer desires that which it no longer
83
wants : this appears to me, Agathon , of
necessity to be ; how does it appear to
you!' 'It appears so to me also/
' Would any one who was already illus^
trious desire to be illustrious ? would
any one already strong desire to be
strong? From what has already been
conceded, it follows that he would not,
If any one already strong should de"
sire to be strong ; or any one already
swift should desire to be swift ; or any
one already healthy should desire to
be healthy, it must be concluded that
they still desired the advantages of
which they already seemed possessed,
To destroy the foundation of this er^
ror, observe, Agathon, that each of
these persons must possess the several
advantages in question, at the moment
present to our thoughts, whether he
will or no. And now, is it possible that
8 4
those advantages should be at that
time the objects of his desire ? For, if
any one should say, being in health,
"I desire to be in health ;" being rich,
"I desire to be rich, and thus still de^
sire those things which I already pos^
sess," we might say to him, " You, my
friend, possess health, and strength, and
riches ; you do not desire to possess
now, but to continue to possess them
in future ; for, whether you will or no,
they now belong to you* Consider,
then, whether, when you say that you
desire things present to you, and in
your own possession, you say anything
else than that you desire the advan^
tages to be for the future also in your
possession." What else could he reply? '
'Nothing, indeed/ 'Is not Love,
then, the love of that which is not
within its reach, and which cannot
85
hold in security, for the future, those
things of which it obtains a present and
transitory possession l f 'Evidently/
' Love, therefore, and everything else
that desires anything, desires that
which is absent and beyond his reach,
that which it has not, that which is not
itself, that which it wants ; such are
the things of which there are desire and
love/ ' Assuredly/
'Come/ said Socrates, 'let us review
your concessions. Is Love anything else
than the love first of something ; and,
secondly, of those things of which it
has need/' 'Nothing/ 'Now, re^
member of those things you said in
your discourse, that Love was the love
if you wish I will remind you. I
think you said something of this kind,
that all the affairs of the gods were
admirably disposed through the love
86
of the things which are beautiful ; for
there was no love of things deformed ;
did you not say so I 9 'I confess that
I did/ 'You said what was most
likely to be true, my friend ; and if the
matter be so, the love of beauty must
be one thing, and the love of deform-
ity another/ ' Certainly/ ' It is con-
ceded, then, that Love loves that which
he wants, but possesses not?' 'Yes,
certainly/ ' But Love wants and does
not possess beauty? ' 'Indeed it must
necessarily follow/ 'What, then!
call you that beautiful which has need
of beauty and possesses not?' 'As-
suredly no/ ' Do you still assert, then,
that Love is beautiful, if all that we
have said be true ? ' ' Indeed, Socrates/
said Agathon, ' I am in danger of being
convicted of ignorance, with respect to
all that I then spoke/ 'You spoke
87
most eloquently, my dear Agathon ;
but bear with my questions yet a iru>
ment. You admit that things which are
good are also beautiful ? ' ' No doubt/
* If Love, then, be in want of beauti^
ful things, and things which are good
are beautiful, he must be in want of
things which are good ? ' 'I cannot re^
fute your arguments, Socrates/ 'You
cannot refute truth, my dear Agathon :
to refute Socrates is nothing difficult*
'But I will dismiss these questionings*
At present let me endeavour, to the
best of my power, to repeat to you, on
the basis of the points which have been
agreed upon between me and Agathon,
a discourse concerning Love which I
formerly heard from the prophetess
Diotima, who was profoundly skilled
in this and many other doctrines, and
who, ten years before the pestilence,
88
procured to the Athenians, through
their sacrifices, a delay of the disease;
for it was she who taught me the sci'
ence of things relating to Love*
' As you well remarked, Agathon, we
ought to declare who and what is Love,
and then his works. It is easiest to re-
late them in the same order as the for-
eign prophetess observed when, ques-
tioning me, she related them. For I said
to her much the same things that Ag-
athon has just said to me that Love
was a great deity, and that he was beau-
tiful; and she refuted me with the same
reasons as I have employed to refute
Agathon, compelling me to infer that
he was neither beautiful nor good, as
I said, " What, then/' I objected, 11
Diotima, is Love ugly and evil ?"
" Good words, I entreat you" said Di'
otima; "do you think that everything
89
which is not beautiful must of neces^
sity be ugly ? " " Certainly/' "And
everything that is not wise, ignorant ?
Do you not perceive that there is some^
thing between ignorance and wisdom ? "
"What is that?" "To have a right
opinion or conjecture. Observe, that
this kind of opinion, for which no rea^
son can be rendered, cannot be called
knowledge ; for how can that be called
knowledge which is without evidence
or reason? Nor ignorance, on the other
hand ; for how can that be called igno^
ranee which arrives at the persuasion
of that which it really is? A right opnv
ion is something between understand"
ing and ignorance/' I confessed that
what she alleged was true. "Do not
then say," she continued, " that what is
not beautiful is of necessity deformed,
nor what is not good is of necessity
90
evil ; nor, since you have confessed that
Love is neither beautiful nor good, in^
fer, therefore, that he is deformed or
evil, but rather something intermedia
ate."
1 " But," I said, " Love is confessed by all
to be a great God/' "Do you mean,
when you say all, all those who know,
or those who know not, what they
say ? " " All collectively/' " And
how can that be, Socrates ?" said she,
laughing ; " how can he be acknowk
edged to be a great God by those who
assert that he is not even a God at all ? "
"And who are they?" I said. "You
for one, and I for another/' " How
can you say that, Diotima?" "Ea^
sily," she replied, "and with truth; for
tell me, do you not own that all the
Gods are beautiful and happy? or will
you presume to maintain that any
9 1
God is otherwise ? " " Byjupiter, not
I!" "Do you not call those alone
happy who possess all things that are
beautiful and good?" "Certainly/'
"You have confessed that Love,
through his desire for things beautiful
and good, possesses not those materials
of happiness," " Indeed, such was my
concession*" " But how can we con-
ceive a God to be without the posses-
sion of what is beautiful and good?"
"In no manner, I confess*" "Ob-
serve, then, that you do not consider
Love to be a God*" "What, then,"
I said, "is Love a mortal?" "By no
means*" " But what, then ? " " Like
those things which I have before in-
stanced, he is neither mortal nor im-
mortal, but something intermediate*"
"What is that, O Diotima?"
"A great daemon, Socrates ; and every-
92
thing demoniacal holds an intermedia
ate place between what is divine and
what is mortal."
'"What is his power and nature?" I
inquired. " He interprets and makes
a communication between divine and
human things, conveying the prayers
and sacrifices of men to the Gods, and
communicating the commands and di^
rections concerning the mode of wor^
ship most pleasing to them, from Gods
to men. He fills up that intermediate
space between these two classes of be^
ings, so as to bind together, by his own
power, the whole universe of things.
Through him subsist all divination,
and the science of sacred things as it re^
lates to sacrifices, and expiations, and
disenchantments, and prophecy, and
magic. The divine nature cannot im^
mediately communicate with what is
93
human, but all that intercourse and
converse which is conceded by the
Gods to men, both whilst they sleep
and when they wake, subsists through
the intervention of Love; and he who
is wise in the science of this intercourse
is supremely happy, and participates
in the demoniacal nature ; whilst he
who is wise in any other science or art
remains a mere ordinary slave. These
demons are, indeed, many and vari'
ous, and one of them is Love,"
1 " \Vho are the parents of Love ? " I HV
quired. "The history of what you
ask," replied Diotima, "is somewhat
long ; nevertheless I will explain it to
you. On the birth of Venus the Gods
celebrated a great feast, and among
them came Plenty, the son of Metis.
After supper, Poverty, observing the
profusion, came to beg, and stood be^
94
side the door* Plenty being drunk with
nectar, for wine was not yet invented,
went out intojupiter's garden, and fell
into a deep sleep. Poverty wishing to
have a child by Plenty, on account of
her low estate, lay down by him, and
from his embraces conceived Love*
Love is, therefore, the follower and ser^
vant of Venus, because he was con--
ceived at her birth, and because by nat'
ure he is a lover of all that is beautiful,
and Venus was beautiful And since
Love is the child of Poverty and Plenty,
his nature and fortune participate in
that of his parents* He is for ever poor,
and so far from being delicate and
beautiful, as mankind imagine, he is
squalid and withered ; he flies low a^
long the ground, and is homeless and
unsandalled ; he sleeps without cover>
ing before the doors, and in the
95
sheltered streets ; possessing thus far his
mother's nature, that he is ever the
companion of Want. But, inasmuch
as he participates in that of his father,
he is for ever scheming to obtain things
which are good and beautiful ; he is
fearless, vehement, and strong ; a dread"
ful hunter, for ever weaving some new
contrivance ; exceedingly cautious and
prudent, and full of resources ; he is also,
during his whole existence, a philoso"
pher, a powerful enchanter, a wizard,
and a subtle sophist* And, as his nat^
ure is neither mortal nor immortal, on
the same day when he is fortunate and
successful, he will at one time flourish,
and then die away, and then, accord"
ing to his father's nature, again revive*
All that he acquires perpetually flows
away from him, so that Love is never
either rich or poor, and holding for ever
96
an intermediate state between igno
ranee and wisdom* The case stands
thus : No God philosophizes or de^
sires to become wise, for he is wise ; nor,
if there exist any other being who is
wise, does he philosophize. Nor do the
ignorant philosophize, for they desire
not to become wise ; for this is the evil
of ignorance, that he who has neither
intelligence, nor virtue, nor delicacy of
sentiment, imagines that he possesses
all those things sufficiently* He seeks
not, therefore, that possession, of whose
want he is not aware." " Who, then,
O Diotima," I inquired/' are philoso^
phers, if they are neither the ignorant
nor the wise ? " " It is evident, even to
a child, that they are those interme^
diate persons, among whom is Love,
For Wisdom is one of the most beau^
tiful of all things ; Love is that which
97
thirsts for the beautiful, so that Love is
of necessity a philosopher, philosophy
being an intermediate state between
ignorance and wisdom. His parentage
accounts for his condition, being the
child of a wise and well-provided fa-
ther, and of a mother both ignorant
and poor*
1 "Such is the demoniacal nature, my
dear Socrates ; nor do I wonder at your
error concerning Love, for you thought,
as I conjecture from what you say, that
Love was not the lover but the beloved,
and thence well concluded that he must
be supremely beautiful ; for that which
is the object of Love must indeed be
fair, and delicate, and perfect, and most
happy ; but Love inherits, as I have
declared, a totally opposite nature/'
"Your words have persuasion in them,
O stranger/' I said ; "be it as you say.
98
But this Love, what advantages does
he afford to men?" "I will proceed
to explain it to you, Socrates* Love, be-
ing such and so produced as I have de--
scribed, is, indeed, as you say, the love
of things which are beautiful* But if
any one should ask us, saying: O Soc-
rates and Diotima, why is Love the
love of beautiful things? Or, in plain-
er words, what does the lover of that
which is beautiful, love in the object
of his love, and seek from it > " "He
seeks/' I said, interrupting her, "the
property and possession of it," "But
that," she replied, "might still be met
with another question, What has he,
who possesses that which is beautiful ? "
"Indeed, I cannot immediately re-
ply*" "But if, changing the beauti-
ful for good, any one should inquire,
I ask, O Socrates, what is that which
99
he who loves that which is good, loves
in the object of his love ! " " To be in
his possession," I replied. " And what
has he, who has the possession of good > "
" This question is of easier solution :
he is happy/' "Those who are hap'
py, then, are happy through the pos-
session ; and it is useless to inquire what
he desires, who desires to be happy; the
question seems to have a complete re-
ply* But do you think that this wish
and this love are common to all men,
and that all desire that that which is
good should be for ever present to
them ? " " Certainly, common to all/'
"Why do we not say, then, Socra-
tes, that every one loves ? if, indeed, all
love perpetually the same thing ! But
we say that some love, and some do
not/' " Indeed, I wonder why it is so/'
"Wonder not," said Diotima, "for
IOO
we select a particular species of love,
and apply to it distinctively the appel-
lation of that which is universal/'
' " Give me an example of such a select
application." "Poetry; which is a
general name signifying every cause
whereby anything proceeds from that
which is not, in to that which is ; so that
the exercise of every inventive art is
poetry, and all such artists poets. Yet
they are not called poets, but distin-
guished by other names ; and one por-
tion or species of poetry, that which
has relation to music and rhythm, is
divided from all others, and known by
the name belonging to all. For this is
alone properly called poetry, and those
who exercise the art of this species of
poetry, poets. So with respect to Love.
Love is indeed universally all that ear-
nest desire for the possession of hap-
101
piness and that which is good ; the
greatest and the subtlest love, and
which inhabits the heart of every living
being ; but those who seek this object
through the acquirement of wealth, or
the exercise of the gymnastic arts, or
philosophy, are not said to love, nor
are called lovers ; one species alone is
called love, and those alone are said to
be lovers, and to love, who seek the at'
tainment of the universal desire through
one species of love, which is peculiarly
distinguished by the name belonging
to the whole. It is asserted by some that
they love who are seeking the lost half
of their divided being. But I assert that
Love is neither the love of half nor of
the whole, unless, my friend, it meets
with that which is good ; since men
willingly cut off their own hands and
feet, if they think that they are the
102
cause of evil to them. Nor do they chei>
ish and embrace that which may be-
long to themselves merely because it
is their own, unless, indeed, any one
should choose to say that that which
is good is attached to his own nature
and is his own, whilst that which is evil
is foreign and accidental ; but love noth-
ing but that which is good. Does it not
appear so to you ?" " Assuredly/'
" Can we, then, simply affirm that men
love that which is good?" "Withx
out doubt." "What, then, must we
not add, that, in addition to loving that
which is good, they love that it should
be present to themselves ?" "Indeed
that must be added," "And not mere"
ly that it should be present, but that it
should ever be present ? " " This also
must be added."
' " Love, then, is collectively the desire
103
in men that good should be for ever
present to them/' "Most true/'
"Since this is the general definition of
Love, can you explain in what mode
of attaining its object, and in what spe-
cies of actions, does Love peculiarly
consist ?" "If I knew what you ask,
Diotima, I should not have so much
wondered at your wisdom, nor have
sought you out for the purpose of
deriving improvement from your in-"
structions/' "I will tell you/' she re-
plied: "Love is the desire of generation
in the beautiful, both with relation to
the body and the soul/' "I must be a
diviner to comprehend what you say,
for, being such as I am, I confess that
1 do not understand it/' "But I will
explain it more clearly. The bodies and
the souls of all human beings are alike
pregnant with their future progeny,
104
and when we arrive at a certain age
our nature impels us to bring forth and
propagate* This nature is unable to
produce in that which is deformed, but
it can produce in that which is beauti^
fuL The intercourse of the male and
female in generation, a divine work,
through pregnancy and production, is,
as it were, something immortal in mor-
tality. These things cannot take place
in that which is incongruous ; for that
which is deformed is incongruous, but
that which is beautiful is congruous
with what is immortal and divine.
Beauty is, therefore, the fate and the
JunoLucina to generation. Wherefore,
whenever that which is pregnant with
the generative principle approaches
that which is beautiful, it becomes
transported with delight, and is poured
forth in overflowing pleasure, and pro-
105
pagates* But when it approaches that
which is deformed, it is contracted by
sadness, and, being repelled and check'
ed, it does not produce, but retains un-
willingly that with which it is preg-
nant. Wherefore, to one pregnant, and,
as it were, already bursting with the
load of his desire, the impulse towards
that which is beautiful is intense, on
account of the great pain of retaining
that which he has conceived. Love, then,
O Socrates, is not as you imagine the
love of the beautiful/' " What, then ? "
"Of generation and production in
the beautiful/' "Why then of gene-
ration?" "Generation is something
eternal and immortal in mortality* It
necessarily, from what has been con-
fessed, follows, that we must desire im-
mortality together with what is good,
since Love is the desire that good be for
1 06
ever present to us. Of necessity Love
must also be the desire of immortality/'
'Diotima taught me all this doctrine
in the discourse we had together con^
cerning Love ; and in addition she in^
quired, " What do you think, Socrates,
is the cause of this love and desire ? Do
you not perceive how all animals, both
those of the earth and of the air, are af-
fected when they desire the propaga^
tion of their species, affected even to
weakness and disease by the impulse
of their love ; first, longing to be mixed
with each other, and then seeking nour^
ishment for their offspring, so that the
feeblest are ready to contend with the
strongest in obedience to this law, and
to die for the sake of their young, or to
waste away with hunger, and do or
suffer anything so that they may not
want nourishment. It might be said
107
that human beings do these things
through reason, but can you explain
why other animals are thus affected
through love ? " I confessed that I did
not know* "Do you imagine your^
self/' said she, "to be skilful in the sci^
ence of Love, if you are ignorant of
these things !" "As I said before, O
Diotima, I come to you, well knowing
how much I am in need of a teacher*
But explain to me, I entreat you, the
cause of these things, and of the other
things relating to Love," "If," said
Diotima, "you believe that Love is of
the same nature as we have mutually
agreed upon, wonder not that such are
its effects. For the mortal nature seeks,
so far as it is able, to become deathless
and eternal But it can only accomplish
this desire by generation, which for
ever leaves another new in place of the
108
old. For, although each human being
be severally said to live, and be the same
from youth to old age, yet that which
is called the same never contains with'
in itself the same things, but always
is becoming new by the loss and change
of that which it possessed before ; both
the hair, and the flesh, and the bones,
and the entire body.
'" And not only does this change take
place in the body, but also with respect
to the souL Manners, morals, opinions,
desires, pleasures, sorrows, fears ; none
of these ever remain unchanged in the
same persons, but some die away, and
others are produced. And, what is yet
more strange is, that not only does some
knowledge spring up, and another de--
cay, and that we are never the same
with respect to our knowledge, but that
each several object of our thoughts suf-
109
fers the same revolution* That which
is called meditation, or the exercise of
memory, is the science of the escape or
departure of memory ; for, forgetfulness
is the going out of knowledge ; and
meditation, calling up a new memory
in the place of that which has departed,
preserves knowledge ; so that, though
for ever displaced and restored, it seems
to be the same* In this manner every '
thing mortal is preserved : not that it
is constant and eternal, like that which
is divine, but that in the place of what
has grown old and is departed, it leaves
another new like that which it was it'
self By this contrivance, O Socrates,
does what is mortal, the body and all
other things, partake of immortality ;
that which is immortal is immortal in
another manner* Wonder not, then, if
everything by nature cherishes that
no
which was produced from itself, for
this earnest Love is a tendency towards
eternity/'
1 Having heard this discourse, I was as^
tonished, and asked, " Can these things
be true, O wisest Diotima ? " And she,
like an accomplished sophist, said,
"Know well, O Socrates, that if you
only regard that love of glory which
inspires men, you will wonder at your
own unskilfulness in not having dis^
covered all that I now declare. Observe
with how vehement a desire they are
affected to become illustrious and to
prolong their glory into immortal time,
to obtain which object, far more ardent'
ly than for the sake of their children,
all men are ready to engage in many
dangers, and expend their fortunes, and
submit to any labours and incur any
death. Do you believe that Alcestis
would have died in the place of Ad'
metus, or Achilles for the revenge of
Patroclus, or Codrus for the kingdom
of his posterity, if they had not believed
that the immortal memory of their
actions, which we now cherish, would
have remained after their death ? Far
otherwise ; all such deeds are done for
the sake of ever-living virtue, and this
immortal glory which they have ob-
tained ; and inasmuch as any one is of
an excellent nature, so much the more
is he impelled to attain this reward.
For they love what is immortal.
1 "Those whose bodies alone are preg-
nant with this principle of immortal-
ity are attracted by women, seeking
through the production of children
what they imagine to be happiness and
immortality and an enduring remem-
brance ; but they whose souls are far
I 12
more pregnant than their bodies,
ceive and produce that which is more
suitable to the soul What is suitable to
the soul t Intelligence and every other
power and excellence of the mind ; of
which all poets, and all other artists
who are creative and inventive, are the
authors. The greatest and most admi-
rable wisdom is that which regulates
the government of families and states,
and which is called moderation and
justice. Whosoever, therefore, from his
youth feels his soul pregnant with the
conception of these excellences, is di^
vine ; and when due time arrives, de^
sires to bring forth ; and wandering a^
bout, he seeks the beautiful in which
he may propagate what he has con^
ceived ; for there is no generation in
that which is deformed ; he embraces
those bodies which are beautiful rather
than those which are deformed, in obe-
dience to the principle which is within
him, which is ever seeking to perpet-
uate itself. And if he meets, in conjunc-
tion with loveliness of form, a beauti-
ful, generous, and gentle soul, he em-
braces both at once, and immediately
undertakes to educate this object of his
love, and is inspired with an overflow-
ing persuasion to declare what is virtue,
and what he ought to be who would
attain to its possession, and what are
the duties which it exacts. For, by the
intercourse with, and as it were, the
very touch of that which is beautiful,
he brings forth and produces what he
had formerly conceived ; and nourishes
and educates that which is thus pro-
duced together with the object of his
love, whose image, whether absent or
present, is never divided from his mind,
114
So that those who are thus united are
linked by a nobler community and a
firmer love, as being the common par--
en ts of a lovelier and more endearing
progeny than the parents of other chil"
dren* And every one who considers
what posterity Homer and Hesiod and
the other great poets have left behind
them, the sources of their own immor^
tal memory and renown, or what chil'
dren of his soul Ly curgus has appointed
to be the guardians, not only of Lace-
daemon, but of all Greece ; or what an
illustrious progeny of laws Solon has
produced, and how many admirable
achievements, both among the Greeks
and Barbarians, men have left as the
pledges of that love which subsisted be^
tween them and the beautiful, would
choose rather to be the parent of such
children than those in a human shape.
For divine honours have often been
rendered to them on account of such
children, but on account of those in
human shape, never*
4 " Your own meditation, O Socrates,
might perhaps have initiated you in
all these things which I have already
taught you on the subject of Love,
But those perfect and sublime ends to
which these are only the means, I know
not that you would have been compe^
tent to discover* I will declare them,
therefore, and will render them as in^
telligible as possible : do you mean^
while strain all your attention to trace
the obscure depth of the subject* He
who aspires to love rightly, ought from
his earliest youth to seek an intercourse
with beautiful forms, and first to make
a single form the object of his love, and
therein to generate intellectual excel-
116
lences* He ought, then, to consider that
beauty in whatever form it resides is
the brother of that beauty which sub'
sists in another form ; and if he ought
to pursue that which is beautiful in
form, it would be absurd to imagine
that beauty is not one and the same
thing in all forms, and would therefore
remit much of his ardent preference to-
wards one, through his perception of
the multitude of claims upon his love.
In addition, he would consider the
beauty which is in souls more excel'
lent than that which is in form* So that
one endowed with an admirable soul,
even though the flower of the form
were withered, would suffice him as
the object of his love and care, and the
companion with whom he might seek
and produce such conclusions as tend
to the improvement of youth ; so that
117
it might be led to observe the beauty
and the conformity which there is in
the observation of its duties and the
laws, and to esteem little the mere beau-
ty of the outward form. He would then
conduct his pupil to science, so that
he might look upon the loveliness of
wisdom ; and that contemplating thus
the universal beauty, no longer would
he unworthily and meanly enslave
himself to the attractions of one form
in love, nor one subject of discipline or
science, but would turn towards the
wide ocean of intellectual beauty, and
from the sight of the lovely and ma-
jestic forms which it contains, would
abundantly bring forth his conceptions
in philosophy ; until, strengthened and
confirmed, he should at length stead-
ily contemplate one science, which is
the science of this universal beauty*
118
' " Attempt, I entreat you, to mark what
I say with as keen an observation as
you can* He who has been disciplined
to this point in Love, by contemplate
ing beautiful objects gradually, and in
their order, now arriving at the end of
all that concerns Love, on a sudden be'
holds a beauty wonderful in its nature.
This is it, O Socrates, for the sake of
which all the former labours were en^
dured* It is eternal, unproduced, inde^
structible ; neither subject to increase
nor decay: not, like other things, partly
beautiful and partly deformed ; not at
one time beautiful and at another time
not ; not beautiful in relation to one
thing and deformed in relation to an^
other ; not here beautiful and there de^
formed ; not beautiful in the estimation
of one person and deformed in that of
another ; nor can this supreme beauty
be figured to the imagination like a
beautiful face, or beautiful hands, or
any portion of the body, nor like any
discourse, nor any science* Nor does
it subsist in any other that lives or is,
either in earth, or in heaven, or in any
other place; but it is eternally uniform
and consistent, and monoeidic with
itself All other things are beautiful
through a participation of it, with this
condition, that although they are sub'
ject to production and decay, it never
becomes more or less, or endures any
change.\Vhen anyone, ascending from
a correct system of Love, begins to con-
template this supreme beauty, he al'
ready touches the consummation of
his labour. For such as discipline thenv
selves upon this system, or are con^
ducted by another beginning to ascend
through these transitory objects which
120
are beautiful, towards that which is
beauty itself, proceeding as on steps
from the love of one form to that of
two, and from that of two to that of
all forms which are beautiful ; and from
beautiful forms to beautiful habits and
institutions, and from institutions to
beautiful doctrines; until, from the
meditation of many doctrines, they ar^
rive at that which is nothing else than
the doctrine of the supreme beauty it"
self, in the knowledge and contempla^
tion of which at length they repose*
'"Such a life as this, my dear Socra-
tes," exclaimed the stranger Prophetess,
"spent in the contemplation of the
beautiful, is the life for men to live ;
which if you chance ever to experience,
you will esteem far beyond gold and
rich garments, and even those lovely
persons whom you and many others
121
now gaze on with astonishment, and
are prepared neither to eat nor drink
so that you may behold and live for
ever with these objects of your love !
What then shall we imagine to be the
aspect of the supreme beauty itself,
simple, pure, uncontaminated with the
intermixture of human flesh and coL
ours, and all other idle and unreal
shapes attendant on mortality ; the di'
vine, the original, the supreme, the mo^
noeidic beautiful itself? What must be
the life of him who dwells with and
gazes on that which it becomes us all
to seek ? Think you not that to him
alone is accorded the prerogative of
bringing forth, not images and shad"
ows of virtue, for he is in contact not
with a shadow but with reality ; with
virtue itself, in the production and
nourishment of which he becomes dear
122
to the Gods, and if such a privilege is
conceded to any human being, himself
immortal,"
'Such, O Phaedrus, and my other
friends, was what Diotima said. And
being persuaded by her words, I have
since occupied myself in attempting
to persuade others, that it is not easy
to find a better assistant than Love in
seeking to communicate immortality
to our human natures* Wherefore I ex^
hort every one to honour Love ; I hold
him in honour, and chiefly exercise my-
self in amatory matters, and exhort
others to do so ; and now and ever do
I praise the power and excellence of
Love, in the best manner that I can*
Let this discourse, if it pleases you,
Phsedrus, be considered as an encomi'
um of Love ; or call it by what other
name you will/
123
The whole assembly praised his
course, and Aristophanes was on the
point of making some remarks on the
allusion made by Socrates to him in a
part of his discourse, when suddenly
they heard a loud knocking at the door
of the vestibule, and a clamour as of
revellers, attended by a flute^player,
' Go, boys/ said Agathon, ' and see who
is there : if they are any of our friends,
call them in ; if not, say that we have
already done drinking/ A minute
afterwards they heard the voice of AL
cibiades in the vestibule excessively
drunk and roaring out: 'Where is
Agathon? Lead me to Agathon !'
The flute^player and some of his conv
panions then led him in, and placed
him against the door-post, crowned
with a thick crown of ivy and violets,
and having a quantity of fillets on his
124
head. 'My friends/ he cried out,
' hail ! I am excessively drunk already,
but 1 11 drink with you, if you will. If
not, we will go away after having crown
ed Agathon, for which purpose I came.
I assure you that I could not come yes^
terday, but I am now here with these
fillets round my temples, that from my
own head I may crown his who, with
your leave, is the most beautiful and
wisest of men. Are you laughing at me
because I am drunk ? Ay, I know what
I say is true, whether you laugh or not.
But tell me at once, whether I shall
come in t or no. Will you drink with
me?'
Agathon and the whole party desired
him to come in, and recline among
them ; so he came in, led by his conv
panions. He then unbound his fillets
that he might crown Agathon, and
125
though Socrates was just before his
eyes, he did not see him, but sat down
by Agathon, between Socrates and him,
for Socrates moved out of the way to
make room for him. When he sat down,
he embraced Agathon and crowned
him ; and Agathon desired the slaves
to untie his sandals, that he might
make a third, and recline on the same
couch* ' By all means/ said Alcibiades,
'but what third companion have we
here ? ' And at the same time turning
round and seeing Socrates, he leaped
up and cried out : ' O Hercules ! what
have we here t You, Socrates, lying in
ambush for me wherever I go ! and
meeting me just as you always do,
when I least expected to see you ! And
now, what are you come here for ? Why
have you chosen to recline exactly in
this place, and not near Aristophanes,
126
or any one else who is or wishes to be
ridiculous, but have contrived to take
your place beside the most delightful
person of the whole party?' 'Aga^
thon/ said Socrates, ' see if you cannot
defend me. I declare my friendship for
this man is a bad business ; from the
moment that I first began to know him
I have never been permitted to con<"
verse with, or so much as to look upon
any one else. If I do, he is so jealous and
suspicious that he does the most ex^
travagant things, and hardly refrains
from beating me. I entreat you to pre^
vent him from doing anything of that
kind at present. Procure a reconcilia^
tion : or, if he perseveres in attempting
any violence, I entreat you to defend
me/ ' Indeed/ said Alcibiades, ' I will
not be reconciled to you ; I shall find
another opportunity to punish you for
127
this. But now/ said he, addressing Ag-
athon, 'lend me some of those fillets,
that I may crown the wonderful head
of this fellow, lest I incur the blame,
that having crowned you, I neglected
to crown him who conquers all men
with his discourses, not yesterday alone,
as you did, but ever/
Saying this he took the fillets, and hav-
ing bound the head of Socrates, and
again having reclined, said: 'Come,
my friends,you seem to be sober enough.
You must not flinch, but drink, for
that was your agreement with me be-
fore I came in* I choose as president,
until you have drunk enough my-
self Come, Agathon, if you have got
a great goblet, fetch it out. But no mat-
ter, that wine cooler will do ; bring it,
boy !' And observing that it held more
than eight cups, he first drank it off,
128
and then ordered it to be filled for Soo
rates, and said : ' Observe, my friends,
I cannot invent any scheme against
Socrates, for he will drink as much as
any one desires him, and not be in the
least drunk/ Socrates, after the boy had
filled up, drank it off; and Eryxima^
chus said: 'Shall we then have no
conversation or singing over our cups,
but drink down stupidly, just as if we
were thirsty ?' And Alcibiades said:
'Ah, Eryximachus, I did not see you
before ; hail,you excellent son of a wise
and excellent father!' 'Hail to you
also/ replied Eryximachus, 'but what
shall we do?' 'Whatever you conv
mand, for we ought to submit to your
directions ; a physician is worth a hun^
dred common men* Command us as
you please/ ' Listen then/ said Eryxi'
machus ; 'before you came in, each of
129
us had agreed to deliver as eloquent a
discourse as he could in praise of Love,
beginning at the right hand ; all the rest
of us have fulfilled our engagement;
you have not spoken, and yet have
drunk with us ; you ought to bear your
part in the discussion ; and having done
so, command what you please to Soc-
rates, who shall have the privilege of
doing so to his right-hand neighbour,
and so on to the others/ ' Indeed, there
appears some justice in your proposal,
Eryximachus, though it is rather un-
fair to induce a drunken man to set his
discourse in competition with that of
those who are sober* And, besides, did
Socrates really persuade you that what
he just said about me was true, or do
you not know that matters are in fact
exactly the reverse of his representa-
tion I For I seriously believe that, should
130
I praise in his presence, be he god or
man, any other beside himself, he would
not keep his hands off me. But I assure
you, Socrates, I will praise no one be-
side yourself, in your presence/
4 Do so, then/ said Ery ximachus ; ' praise
Socrates if you please/ ' \Vhat ! ' said
Alcibiades, 'shall I attack him, and pun-
ish him before you all ? ' ' \Vhat have
you got into your head now/ said Soc-
rates ; are you going to expose me to
ridicule, and to misrepresent me ? Or
what are you going to do?' 'I will
only speak the truth ; will you permit
me on this condition ?' 'I not only per-
mit, but exhort you to say all the truth
you know/ replied Socrates. ' I obey
you willingly/ said Alcibiades ; ' and
if I advance anything untrue, do you,
if you please, interrupt me, and convict
me of misrepresentation, for I would
never willingly speak falsely* And bear
with me if I do not relate things in their
order, but just as I remember them, for
it is not easy for a man in my present
condition to enumerate systematical-
ly all your singularities*
' I will begin the praise of Socrates by
comparing him to a certain statue* Per-
haps he will think that this statue is
introduced for the sake of ridicule, but
I assure you that it is necessary for the
illustration of truth* I assert, then, that
Socrates is exactly like those Silenus-
es that sit in the sculptors' shops, and
which are carved holding flutes or pipes,
but which, when divided in two, are
found to contain withinside the inv
ages of the gods* I assert that Socrates
is like the satyr Marsyas* That your
form and appearance are like these sat-
yrs, I think that even you will not ven-
132
ture to deny ; and how like you are to
them in all other things, now hear. Are
you not scornful and petulant t If you
deny this, I will bring witnesses* Are
you not a piper, and far more wonder^
ful a one than he ? For Marsyas, and
whoever now pipes the music that he
taught, for that music which is of
heaven, and described as being taught
by Marsyas, enchants men through
the power of the mouth. For if any
musician, be he skilful or not, awak'
ens this music, it alone enables him
to retain the minds of men, and from
the divinity of its nature makes evi'
dent those who are in want of the Gods
and initiation* You differ only from
Marsyas in this circumstance, that you
effect without instruments, by mere
words, all that he can do. For when
we hear Pericles, or any other acconv
plished orator, deliver a discourse, no
one, as it were, cares anything about it.
But when any one hears you, or even
your words related by another, though
ever so rude and unskilful a speaker,
be that person a woman, man, or child,
we are struck and retained, as it were,
by the discourse clinging to our mind*
' If I was not afraid that I am a great
deal too drunk, I would confirm to you
by an oath the strange effects which
I assure you I have suffered from his
words, and suffer still; for when I hear
him speak, my heart leaps up far more
than the hearts of those who celebrate
the Corybantic mysteries : my tears
are poured out as he talks, a thing I
have seen happen to many others be-
side myself I have heard Pericles and
other excellent orators, and have been
pleased with their discourses, but I suf-
fered nothing of this kind; nor was my
soul ever on those occasions disturbed
and filled with self-reproach, as if it
were slavishly laid prostrate. But this
Marsyas here has often affected me in
the way I describe, until the life which
I lead seemed hardly worth living. Do
not deny it, Socrates ; for I well know
that if even now I chose to listen to you,
I could not resist, but should again suf-
fer the same effects. For, my friends,
he forces me to confess that while I my x
self am still in want of many things,
I neglect my own necessities, and at-
tend to those of the Athenians. I stop
my ears, therefore, as from the Syrens,
and flee away as fast as possible, that
I may not sit down beside him and
grow old in listening to his talk. For
this man has reduced me to feel the
sentiment of shame, which I imagine
no one would readily believe was in me ;
he alone inspires me with remorse and
awe. For I feel in his presence my in^
capacity of refuting what he says, or
of refusing to do that which he directs ;
but when I depart from him, the gkv
ry which the multitude confers over^
whelms me* I escape, therefore, and
hide myself from him, and when I see
him I am overwhelmed with humilia/-
tion, because I have neglected to do
what I have confessed to him ought to
be done ; and often and often have I
wished that he were no longer to be
seen among men* But if that were to
happen, I well know that I should suf'
fer far greater pain ; so that where I can
turn, or what I can do with this man,
I know not. All this have I and many
others suffered from the pipings of this
satyr.
136
'And observe how like he is to what I
said, and what a wonderful power he
possesses* Know that there is not one
of you who is aware of the real nature
of Socrates ; but since I have begun, I
will make him plain to you* You ob^
serve how passionately Socrates affects
the intimacy of those who are beauti^
ful, and how ignorant he professes him-
self to be ; appearances in themselves
excessively Silenic* This, my friends,
is the external form with which, like
one of the sculptured Sileni, he has
clothed himself; for if you open him,
you will find within admirable tenv
perance and wisdom* For he cares not
for mere beauty, but despises more than
any one can imagine all external pos^
sessions,whether it be beauty, or wealth,
or glory, or any other thing for which
the multitude felicitates the possessor*
He esteems these things and us who
honour them, as nothing, and lives a--
mong men, making all the objects of
their admiration the playthings of his
irony. But I know not if any one of
you have ever seen the divine images
which are within, when he has been
opened and is serious* I have seen them,
and they are so supremely beautiful,
so golden, so divine, and wonderful,
that everything which Socrates com'
mands surely ought to be obeyed, even
like the voice of a God.
'At one time we were fellow-soldiers,
and had our mess together in the camp
before Potidaea, Socrates there over-
came not only me, but every one be-
side, in endurance of toils : when, as
often happens in a campaign, we were
reduced to few provisions, there were
none who could sustain hunger like
138
Socrates ; and when we had plenty, he
alone seemed to enjoy our military
fare. He never drank much willingly,
but when he was compelled, he con-
quered all even in that to which he was
least accustomed; and what is most as-
tonishing, no person ever saw Socra-
tes drunk either then or at any other
time. In the depth of winter (and the
winters there are excessively rigid) he
sustained calmly incredible hardships :
and amongst other things, whilst the
frost was intolerably severe, and no one
went out of their tents, or if they went
out, wrapt themselves up carefully, and
put fleeces under their feet, and bound
their legs with hairy skins, Socrates
went out only with the same cloak on
that he usually wore, and walked bare-
foot upon the ice ; more easily, indeed,
than those who had sandalled them-
selves so delicately: so that the soldiers
thought that he did it to mock their
want of fortitude. It would indeed be
worth while to commemorate all that
this brave man did and endured in that
expedition. In one instance he was seen
early in the morning standing in one
place wrapt in meditation ; and as he
seemed not to be able to unravel the
subject of his thoughts, he still con-
tinued to stand as inquiring and dis-
cussing within himself, and when noon
came, the soldiers observed him, and
said to one another "Socrates has
been standing there thinking, ever since
the morning/' At last some lonians
came to the spot, and having supped,
as it was summer, bringing their blank-
ets, they lay down to sleep in the cool ;
they observed that Socrates continued
to stand there the whole night until
140
morning, and that, when the sun rose,
he saluted it with a prayer and de^
parted*
'I ought not to omit what Socrates is
in battle. For in that battle after which
the generals decreed to me the prize
of courage, Socrates alone of all men
was the saviour of my life, standing by
me when I had fallen and was wound*-
ed, and preserving both myself and my
arms from the hands of the enemy. On
that occasion I entreated the generals
to decree the prize, as it was most due,
to him. And this, O Socrates, you can^
not deny, that while the generals, wish'
ing to conciliate a person of my rank,
desired to give me the prize, you were
far more earnestly desirous than the
generals that this glory should be at'
tributed not to yourself, but me,
1 But to see Socrates when our army was
141
defeated and scattered in flight at
lium, was a spectacle worthy to behold*
On that occasion I was among the cav-
alry, and he on foot, heavily armed*
After the total rout of our troops, he
and Laches retreated together; I came
up by chance, and seeing them, bade
them be of good cheer, for that I would
not leave them* As I was on horseback,
and therefore less occupied by a regard
of my own situation, I could better
observe than at Potidsea the beautiful
spectacle exhibited by Socrates on this
emergency. How superior was he to
Laches in presence of mind and cour-
age ! Your representation of him on the
stage, O Aristophanes, was not wholly
unlike his real self on this occasion, for
he walked and darted his regards around
with a majestic composure, looking
tranquilly both on his friends and ene-
142
mies ; so that it was evident to every
one, even from afar, that whoever
should venture to attack him would
encounter a desperate resistance* He
and his companions thus departed in
safety ; for those who are scattered in
flight are pursued and killed, whilst
men hesitate to touch those who ex-
hibit such a countenance as that of
Socrates even in defeat,
'Many other and most wonderful
qualities might well be praised in Soc-
rates ; but such as these might singly
be attributed to others* But that which
is unparalleled in Socrates is, that he
is unlike and above comparison with
all other men, whether those who have
lived in ancient times, or those who
exist now* For it may be conjectured,
that Brasidas and many others are such
as was Achilles* Pericles deserves conv
H3
parison with Nestor and Antenor ; and
other excellent persons of various times
may, with probability, be drawn into
comparison with each other. But to
such a singular man as this, both hinv
self and his discourses are so unconv
mon, no one, should he seek, would
find a parallel among the present or
the past generations of mankind; un^
less they should say that he resembled
those with whom I lately compared
him, for, assuredly, he and his discourses
are like nothing but the Sileni and the
Satyrs. At first I forgot to make you
observe how like his discourses are to
those Satyrs when they are opened, for,
if any one will listen to the talk of Soc^
rates, it will appear to him at first
extremely ridiculous ; the phrases and
expressions which he employs, fold a^
round his exterior the skin, as it were,
144
of a rude and wanton Satyr* He is al-
ways talking about great market-asses,
and brass-founders, and leather-cut-
ters, and skin-dressers ; and this is his
perpetual custom, so that any dull and
unobservant person might easily laugh
at his discourse* But if any one should
see it opened, as it were, and get with-
in the sense of his words, he would then
find that they alone of all that enters
into the mind of man to utter, had a
profound and persuasive meaning, and
that they were most divine ; and that
they presented to the mind innumer-
able images of every excellence, and
that they tended towards objects of the
highest moment, or rather towards all
that he who seeks the possession of
what is supremely beautiful and good
need regard as essential to the accom-
plishment of his ambition.
H5
'These are the things, my friends, for
which I praise Socrates/
Alcibiades having said this, the whole
party burst into a laugh at his frank>
ness, and Socrates said, 'You seem to
be sober enough, Alcibiades, else you
would not have made such a circuit of
words, only to hide the main design
for which you made this long speech,
and which, as it were carelessly, you
just throw in at the last ; now, as if you
had not said all this for the mere pur^
pose of dividing me and Agathon ? You
think that I ought to be your friend,
and to care for no one else. I have found
you out ; it is evident enough for what
design you invented all this Satyrical
and Silenic drama* But, my dear Ag'
athon, do not let his device succeed* I
entreat you to permit no one to throw
discord between us/ 'No doubt/ said
146
Agathon, 'he sate down between us
only that he might divide us ; but this
shall not assist his scheme, for I will
come and sit near you/ 'Do so/ said
Socrates, 'come, there is room for you
by me/ ' Ohjupiter ! ' exclaimed Alci
biades,' what I endure from that man !
He thinks to subdue every way ; but,
at least, I pray you, let Agathon re--
main between us/ 'Impossible/ said
Socrates, 'you have just praised me ; I
ought to praise him sitting at my right
hand* If Agathon is placed beside you,
will he not praise me before I praise
him ? Now, my dear friend, allow the
young man to receive what praise I
can give him. I have a great desire to
pronounce his encomium/ 'Quick,
quick, Alcibiades/ said Agathon, ' I can-
not stay here, I must change my place,
or Socrates will not praise me/
H7
athon then arose to take his place near
Socrates.
He had no sooner reclined than there
came in a number of revellers for
some one who had gone out had left
the door open and took their places
on the vacant couches, and everything
became full of confusion ; and no order
being observed, every one was obliged
to drink a great quantity of wine* Eryx-
imachus, and Phsedrus, and some otlv
ers, said Aristodemus, went home to
bed ; that, for his part, he went to sleep
on his couch, and slept long and sound'
ly the nights were then long until
the cock crew in the morning. When
he awoke he found that some were still
fast asleep, and others had gone home,
and that Aristophanes, Agathon, and
Socrates had alone stood it out, and
were still drinking out of a great gob"
148
let which they passed round and round*
Socrates was disputing between them*
The beginning of their discussion Ar-
istodemus said that he did not recol-
lect, because he was asleep ; but it was
terminated by Socrates forcing them
to confess, that the same person is able
to compose both tragedy and comedy,
and that the foundations of the tragic
and comic arts were essentially the
same* They, rather convicted than con-
vinced, went to sleep* Aristophanes
first awoke, and then, it being broad
daylight, Agathon* Socrates, having
put them to sleep, went away, Aristo-
demus following him, and coming to
the Lyceum he washed himself, as he
would have done anywhere else, and
after having spent the day there in his
accustomed manner, went home in the
evening*
149
Printed at The Riverside Press
for Houghton Mifflin Company
Boston and New York* Mcmviii.
440 copies. No.
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