plato, phaedrus (jowett trans.)

8/11/2019 Plato, Phaedrus (Jowett Trans.)

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T H E

D I A L O G U E S

OF

PLAT0

T R A N S L A T E D I N T O E N G L I S H

WZTH A N A L Y S E S AND INTRODUCl'IOiVS

BY

.B. JOWETT,

M.A.

I I A S T E R OF

B . < L L I O L CO LLELE

R E G I U S PR OFE S S OR OF G R E E K

I N

THE

U N i v m s i r Y

OP

oxvoxn

DOCTOR

IS

THEOLOGY OK

THE

L N I V C K S I T Y

OF

L E I D E N

T H I R D E D I T I O N

R E V I S E D A N D C O RR EC YZ 'D T H R O U G H O U T , WI T H AfAARGlNAL A N A L Y S E S

A N D A N I N D E X OF S U E I E C T S A N D P R O P E R . V A A f E S

0 X F 0 R D

P R E

S S

L O N D O N :

H U M P H R E Y M I L F O R D

U

N

I V E R

S I T Y



T O h l Y

F O R M E R P U P I L S

I N B A L L I O L C O L L E G E

.4ND I N T H E U N I V E R S I T Y OF O X F O R J )

W H O D U R I N G F I F T Y Y E A R S

H A VE B EE N T H E B E b T O F F R I E N D S T O h lE

T H E S E V O L U M E S A R E I N S C R I B E D

I N

G R A T E F U L R E C O G K I T I O N

1; T H E I R N E V ER F A I L IN G A T T A C H M E N T



P H A E D R U S .



I N T R O D U C T I O N .

THEPhaedrus is closely connected with the Symposium, and

Phacdrus.

may b e regarded eithe r as introducing o r following it. The two

I ~ ~

Dialogues together contain the whole philosophy of Plato on the

T1ON'

nature of love, which in the Republic and in the later writings

of'

the Ph ae dr us and Syniposium love and philosophy join hands, i -

lato is only introduced playfully or as a figure of speech . But in

and one is an asp ect of the other. T h e spiritual and emotional

part is elevated into the ideal, to which in the Symposium man-

kind ar e described as looking forward, and w hich in the Pha edrus ,

as well a s in the Phaedo, they a re seeking to recover from a former

state of existence. W he th er the subject of the D ialogue is love or

rhetoric, or the union of the two, or the relation of philosophy

to

love and to art in general, and to the human soul, will be here-

after considered. And p erh aps we may arrive at some conclusion

such as the following-that th e dialogue is not strictly confined

to a single subject, but p asse s from one to a noth er with the natural

freedom of conversation.

Steph.

Phaedrus has been spending the m orning with Lysias, the

*'7

celebrated rhetorician, and is going to refresh himself by taking a

walk outside the wall, when he is met by Socrates, who professes

that he will not leave him until he has delivered up the speech

a 2 8 with which Lysias has regaled him, and which he is carrying

about in his mind, or more probably in a book hidden under his

cloak, and is intending

to

study as he walks. T h e imputation is

not denied, and the two agree to direct their steps out of the

public way along the stream of the Ilissus towards a plane-tree

which is seen in the distance. Th ere , lying down amidst pleasant

sounds and scents, they will read the speech

of

Lysias.

T h e

2 2 9

country

is

a novelty to Socrates, who never goes out of the town

;

ANALYSI S .



394

An.aGysis 2 29-2 3

7.

Phludm~.

and hence he

is

full of admiration for the beauties of nature, which

.4.ALYsIs. he seem s to be d rinking in for the first time.

A s the y are on their way, Phaedrus asks the opinion of Socrates

respecting the local tradition of Boreas and Oreithyia. Socrates,

after a satirical allusion to the ‘rationalizers’ of his day, replies

that he has no time for these

‘

nice

’

interpretations of mythology,

and he pities any one who has.

W hen you once begin ther e is no

end of them, and the y sp ring f p m an uncritical philosophy after

all.

‘

The proper study of mankind is man ; and h e is a far more

complex and wonderful being than the se rpen t Typho. Soc rates

zjo

as yet does not know himself; and w hy should he care to know

about unearthly monsters ? Engaged in such conversation, they

arrive at the plane -tree; when they have found a convenient

resting-place, Phaedrus pulls out the speech and reads :-

The speech consists of a foolish paradox which is to the effect

that the non-lover ought to be accepted ra ther than th e lover- 231

because he is more rational, more agreeable, more enduring, less

suspicious, less hurtful, less boastful, less engrossing, and because

there are more

of

them, and for a great m any other reasons which

are equally unmeaning..

Phaedrus is captivated with the beauty of

the periods, and wants to make Socrates say that nothing was or

ever could be written better. Socrates doe s not think m uch of

235

the matter, but then he

has

only attended to the form, and in that

he has detected several repetitions and other marks

of

haste. He

cannot agree with Phaedrus in the extreme value which he sets

upon this performance, because he is afraid of doing injustice to

Anacreon and Sappho and other great writers, and is almost

inclined to think that he himself, or rather some power residing

within him, could make a speech better than that of Lysias on the

same theme, and also different frcm his, if he may be allowed the 236

use of a few commonplaces which all speake rs must equally

employ.

Phaedrus is delighted at the prospect of having another speech,

.an d prom ises that he will set u p a golden statue of Socrates at

Delphi, if he keeps his word. Some raillery ensues, and at length

Socrates, conquered by the threat that he shall never again

hear a speech

of

Lysias un less he fulfils his promise, veils h is face 237

and begins.

First, invoking the Muses and assumiogironically the person of



-dJZ@J‘Si.i 237-242. 395

the non-lover (who is a lover all the same), he will enquire into

Phacdtw.

the n atur e and pow er of love.

Fo r this is a necessary preliminary A ~ ~

to the oth er question --How is th e non-lover to be distinguished

from the lov er ? In all of u s ther e are two principles-a better

and a worse-reason and desire, which a re generally at w ar with

one another

;

and th e victory of the rational is called tem peran ce,

and the victory of the irrational intemperance

or

excess. The

23s latter take s many forms and ha s m any bad nam es -gluttony,

drunke nne ss, and the like. But of all the irrational de sire s

or

excesses the greatest is that which is led away by desires of a

kindred na ture to the enjoyment of personal beauty. And this

is

the master power

of

love.

H er e So cra tes fancies that he de tects in himself an unusual flow

of elo qu er ce -th is newly-found gift he can only attribute to the

inspiration of the place, which appears to be dedicated to the

Starting again from the philosophical basis which has

been laid down, he proceeds to show how many advantages the

non-lover has over the lover. T he one encourages softness and

effeminacy and exclusiveness

;

he cannot endure any superiority

in his beloved

;

he will train him in luxury, he will keeD him out

240

of society, he will deprive him of parents, friends, money, know-

ledge, and of every oth er good, that he may have him all to himself.

Then again his ways are not ways of pleasantness

;

he is mighty

disagreeable

; ‘

crab bed age and youth cann ot live together.’ At

every hour of the night and day he

is

intruding upon him

;

there

is

the same old withered face and the remainder to match--and

he

is

always repeating, in season

or

out of season, the praises

or

disp raise s of his beloved, which a re bad enough w hen he is sob er,

2 4 1

and published all over the world when he is dru nk. At length

his love crases

;

he is converted into an ene my, and the spectacle

*

may be seen of the lover running away from the beloved, who

pursue s him with vain reproaches, and dem ands his rewa rd which

the othe r refuses to pay. Too late the beloved le arn s, after all his

pains and dissgreeables, that As wolves love lambs

so

lovers love

their

loves.’

H e r e

is

the end; the ‘other’

or

‘

non-lover

’

part of the speech had better be understood, for if in

the.censure of the lover Socrates has broken out in verse, what

H e has said his

say and is preparing to go away.

239 nymphs.

(Cp.

Char.

155

D.)

242

will

115

not do in his praise

of

the non-lover?



396

A

naGysis

2 2-24

7

Phu.cdms.

A ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ , s .

Phaedrus begs him to remain, at any rate until the heat of noon

has passed; he would like to have a little more conversation

before they go. Socrates, wh o has risen, recognizes the oracular

sign which forbids him to depart until he has done penance.

conscience has been aw akened, and like Stes icho rus w he n h e had

reviled

the lovely Helen he will sing a palinode for having

blasphem ed the majesty of love. H is palinode takes th e form of

a myth.

he divides into four kinds: first, there is the ayt

of

divination

or

prophecy-this, in a vein similar to that pervading th e Cratylus

and Io, he connects w ith ma dness by an etymological explanation

(pavrirrj,

pavmj-compare O ~ O V O ~ U T ~ K ~ ~ ,

i o v i m m j , '

tis all one reckon-

ing, save the ph rase is a little variations')

;

secondly, there is the

ar t of purification by mysteries ; thirdly,, poetry or the inspiration 24

of the M uses ( c p Ion, 533

foll.),

without which

n o

man can

ente r the ir temple. All this show s that ma dness is one

of

heaven's blessings, and may sometimes be a great deal better

than sense. There

is

also a fourth kind of madness-that

of'

love-which cannot be explained without enquiring into the

nature of the soul.

All soul is immortal, for she is the source of all motion both in

herself and in others.

a composite nature made up of a charioteer and a pair of winged

steeds. T h e steeds of the gods ar e immortal, but ours are one

mortal and the other immortal. T h e immortal soul soa rs upw ards

into the heavens, but the mortal drops her plumes and settles

upon the earth.

Now the use of the wing is to rise and carry the downward

element into the upp er world-there to behold beauty, wisdom ,

goodness, and the other things of God by which the soul

is

nourished.

in a winged chariot

;

and an array of gods and demi-gods and

of

human souls in the ir train, follows him. T he re a re glorious and

blessed sights in the interior of heaven, and he

who

will may

freely behold them . The grea t vision of all is seen at the feast of

the gods, wh en the y ascend the heights of the empyrean-all but

Hestia, who is left at home to keep house. Th e chariots of the

gods glide readily upwards and stand upon the outside; thc

His 243

So cra tes begins his tale with a glorification of madness, w hich 244

H e r form may be described in a figure as 246

On a certain day Z eus the lord of heaven goes forth 247



Analys is 247-249. 397

revolution of the spheres carries them round, and they have a

P h d w s .

vision of the world beyond.

But the others labour in vain; for A ~ ~

the mortal steed, if he ha s not been properly trained, ke eps them

dow n and sin ks them towards the earth. Of the world which is

beyond the heavens, who can tell ? Th ere is an essence formless,

colourless, intangible, perceived by the mind only, dwelling in t he

region of true knowledge.

The divine mind in her revolution

enjoys this fair prospect, and beholds justice, temperance, and

knowledge in the ir everlasting essence . W hen fulfilled with the

sight

of

them she returns home, and the charioteer puts up the

248

horses in their stable, and gives them ambrosia to eat and nectar

to drink. Th is is the life of the g od s; the hum an soul tries to

reach the same heights, but hardly succeeds

;

and sometinies the

head of the charioteer

rises

above, and sometimes sinks below,

the fair vision, and he is at last obliged, after much contention, to

turn away and leave the plain

of

truth.

But if th e, so ul has

followed in the train of her god and once beheld truth she is

pres erved from harm, and is carried round in t he next revolution of

the spheres

;

and

if

always following, and always seeing the tru th,

is

then for ever unharmed. If, however, sh e drop s h er wings and

falls to the earth, then she takes the form of man, and the soul

which has seen most of the truth passes into a philosopher or

lover

;

that which has see n truth in th e second degree, into a king

or warr ior

;

the third, into a householder or money-maker; the

fourth, into a gymnast: the fifth, into a prophet

o r

mystic; the

sixth, into a poet o r imitator

;

he seventh, into a husbandman or

craftsman

;

the eighth, into a sophist or demagogue ; the ninth,

into a tyrant. All the se a re state s of probation, wh erein he who

lives righteously is improved, and he w ho lives unrighteously

deteriorates. After death comes the jud gm ent ; the bad dep art

to houses of correction under the earth, the good to places of joy

in heaven. W h en a thousand ye ars have elapsed the

souls

meet

together and choose th e lives which they will lead for another

period

of

existence. T he soul which th ree times in succession

has chosen the life

of

a philosopher or

of

a lover who is not

without philosophy receives her wings at the close of the third

millenn ium; th e rem ainder have to complete a cycle of ten thousand

ye ars before their wings ar e restored to them. Each time ther e

T he soul of a. man may descend into a

49 is fuil liberty of choice.



398

AnaGysis

249-2

j3.

Phludru~.

beast, and retu rn again into the form of man. But the form of

A ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ , ~ .

an will only be taken by the soul which has once seen truth

and acquired som e conception of the universal:-this is the

recollection of the know ledge which sh e a ttained wh en in the

com pany of the Gods. And men in gene ral recall only with

difficulty the things of another world, but the mind of the

philosopher has a better remembrance of them. For wh en he

beholds the visible beauty of earth his enraptured soul passes

in thought to those glorious sights of justice and wisdom and z jo

temperance and truth which sh e- onc e gazed upon in heaven.

Then she celebrated holy mysteries and beheld blessed appari-

tions shining in pure light, herself pure, and not as yet entombed

in the body. And still, like a bird eager to quit its cage, sh e

flutters and looks upw ards, and is therefore deem ed mad. Such

a recollection of past days she receives through sight, the keenest

of our senses, because beauty, alone of the ideas, has any re-

presentation on earth

:

wisdom is invisible to mortal eyes. But

the corrupted nature, blindly excited by this vision of beauty,

rus he s on to enjoy, and would fain wallow like a brute beast in

sensual pleasures. W hereas the true mystic, who has see n the

many sights of bliss, when he beholds a god-like form or face is

amazed with delight, and if he were not afraid of being thought

mad he would fall down and worship. Th en the stiffenect wing

begins to relax and grow again ; esire which has been imprisoned

pours over the soul of the lover; the germ of the wing unfolds,

and stings, and pangs of birth, like the cutting of teeth, ar e every-

wh ere felt. (Cp. Sym p.

206

foll.) Fa ther and mother, and goods

2 5 2

and laws and proprieties are nothing to him; his beloved

is

his

physician, who can. alone cure his pain. An apoc rypha l sacred

writer s ays that the power which th us works in him is by mortals

called love, but the immortals call him dove, or the winged one, in

orde r to represent the force of his wings-such at any rate is his

nature. Now the characters of lovers depend upon the god whom

they followed in the other world ; and they choose their loves in

this world accordingly. T he followers of A re s ar e fierce and

253

violent

;

those of Zeus seek out some philosophical and imperial

nature; the attendants of Here find a royal lo ve; and in like

mann er the followers of eve ry god seek a love who is like

their god ; and to him the y communicate the nature which they



AzaL'ysis

253-257. 399

have received from their god.

The manner in which they take PhIUd71ts.

I

told you about the charioteer and his two steeds, th e one a

noble animal who is guided by word and admonition only, the

other an ill-looking villain who will hardly yield to blow

or

spur.

Together all three, who are a figure of the

soul,

approach the

2 5 4 vision of love. And now a fierce conflict begins. T he ill-

conditioned steed rushes on to enjoy, but the charioteer, who

beholds the beloved with awe, falls back in adoration, and forces

both the steeds

on

their haunches; again the evil steed rushes

forwards and pulls shamelessly. T h e conflict grow s more and

more severe; and at last the charioteer, throwing himself back-

wards, forces the bit out

of

the clenched teeth of the brute,

and pulling harder than ever at the reins, covers his tongue and

jaws with blood, and forces him to rest his legs and haunches

with pain upon the g round. W he n this has happened several

times, th e villain is tamed and humbled, and from tha t time

forward the soul of the lover follows the beloved in modesty and

255 holy fear. An d now their bliss is consum mated ; the same image

of love dwe ls in the b reast of ei th er; and if th ey have self-

control, they pass their lives in the greatest happiness which is

attainable by man-they continue mas ter s of themselves, and

2 5 6

conquer in one of th e thre e heav enly victories. But if the y choose

the lower life of ambition they may still have a happy destiny,

though inferior, because they have not the approval of the whole

soul. A t last the y leave the body and proceed on the ir pilgrim's

progress, and those who have once begun can never

go

back.

When the time comes they receive their wings and fly away, and

the lovers have th e sam e wings.

their lbve is as follows :-

ANALYSN.

Socrates concludes :-

Th ese ar e the blessings of love, and thus have I made my

recantation in finer language than before: I did

so

in order to

please Phaedrus. If

I

said what was wrong at first, please to

attribute my error to Lysias, who ought to study philosophy

instead of rhetorit, and then he will not mislead his disciple

Phaedrus.

Phaedrus is afraid that he will lose conceit of Lysias, and that

Lysias will be out of conceit with himself, and leave

off

making

speeches,

for

the politicians have been deriding him. So cra tes is

257



400

Analysis 257-265.

Phardrus. of opinion that there is small danger of this; the politicians are

A ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ .hemselveqthe great rhetoricians of the age, who desire to attain 2

58

4mm ortality by the authorship of laws. An d ther efore there is

nothing w ith which they can reproach L ysias in being a writ er

;

but there may be disgrace in being a bad one.

And what is good or bad writing or sp eak ing? W hile the sun

is hot in the sky above us, let us ask that question: since by

rational conversation man lives, and not by the indulgence of

bodily pleasures. An d the gras sho ppe rs who a re c hirru ping

259

around may c arry our wo rds to the Muses, who are their

patronesses

;

for the grasshop pers w ere human beings them-

selves in a world before the Muses, and when the Muses came

the y died of hunger for the love of song. And the y ca rry to them

260

T he first rule of good speaking is to know an d speak the truth

;

as a S partan proverb

says,

true art is tr ut h’ ; w hereas rhetoric is

261

an a rt of enchantment, which makes thing s appea r good and evil,

like and unlike, as the spe aker pleases. Its use is not confined, a s

people commonly suppose,

to

arguments in the law courts and

speeche s in the assembly

;

it

is

rat he r a part of the art of disputa-

tion, under which are included both the rules of Gorgias and the

eristic of Zeno. But it is not wholly devoid of truth. Su pe rio r

knowledge enables us

to

deceive another by the help

of

resem-

blances, and to escape from such a deception when employed

against ourselves. W e see therefore that even in rhetoric an

element of truth is required.

w e can neither m ake the gradual dep artur es from truth by

which men are most easily deceived, nor guard ourselves against

deception.

illustrations of the art of rhetoric

;

first distinguishing betw een the

debatable and undisputed class

of

subjects. In the debatable

class there ought to be a definition of all disputed matters. But

264

the re w as no such definition in th e speech of Lysias

;

nor is there

any order

or

connection in his words a ny m ore than

in

a

nursery

rhyme. W ith this he compares the regular divisions of the o ther

26;

speech, which was his o w n (and yet not his own, for the local

deities must have inspired him). Although only a playful com-

position, it will be found

to

embody two principles : irst, that of

in heaven the repo rt of those who honour them on earth.

For if we do not know the truth, 262

Socrates then proposes that they shall use the two speeches as 263



AnaGysis

266-274.

401

266

synthesis

or

the com prehension of pa rts in a whole; secondly,

p h a ~ d r ~ ~ .

analysis, or t h e resolution of the w hole into parts.

These are the A ~ ~ ~ ~

processes of division and generalization which are

so

dear to th e

dialectician, tha t king of men. T hey a re effected b y dialectic, and

not by rhetoric, of which the remains are but scanty after order

and arra ng em en t have been subtracted. T he re

is

nothing left

but a heap of ’ologies’ and other technical terms invented by

267

Polus, Theodorus, Evenus, Tisias, Gorgias, and others, who have

rule s for everything, and w ho teach how to be sh ort o r long at

pleasure. Prodicus showed his good sen se w hen he said that

there w as a better thing than either to be sho rt or long, which

w as to be

of

convenient length.

268 Still, notwithstanding the absurdities of Polus and others,

rhetoric h as great power in public assemblies. Th is power,

however, is not given by any technical rules, but is the

gift of

genius. T h e real a rt is always being confused by rhetoricians

269

with the pre lim inar ies of the art. T h e perfection of oratory is

like th e perfection of anything else ; natural power must be aided

by a rt. But the a rt is not tha t which is taught in th e schools of

rhetoric ; t is ne ar er akin to philosophy. Pericles, for instance, who

270 was the most accomplished

of

all speakers, derived his eloquence

not from rhetoric but from th e philosophy of na tur e which he

lear nt of Anaxago ras. T r u e rhetoric is like medicine, and the

271 rhetorician has to consider th e na ture s of men’s souls as t he

physician considers the natures

of

their bodies. Such and such

person s a re to be affected in this w ay, such an d such other s in

that

;

and he m ust know the time s and the season s for saying this

Th is is not an e asy task, and this, if ther e be such an art,

is the art of rhetoric.

I

know that there a re some professors of the a rt who maintain

probability to be strong er than truth . But w e maintain that

probability is engendered by likeness of the truth which can only

be attained by the knowledge of it, and that the aim of the good

274

man should not b e to please o r persuad e his fellow-servants, but to

please his good masters w ho are the gods. Rhetoric has a fair

beginning in this.

Eno ugh of the a rt of speaking ; et us now proceed to consider

the true use of writing. T he re is an old Egy ptian tale of Th euth ,

the inventor of writing, showing his invention to the god Thamus,

272 or that.

273

VOL. .

D d



402

Alza .US

275-2 79.

Phaedrar. who told him that he would only spoil men’s memories and take 2 7 5

A N A ~ Y ~ , ~ . way the ir understandings. From this tale, of which young

Ath ens will probably make fun, ma y be gathered the lesson tha t

writing is inferior to speech. For it

is

like a picture, which can

give no answer to a question, and has only a deceitful likeness of

a

living crea ture. It has

no

power of adaptation, but uses the

sam e wo rds for all. It i s not a legitimate

son

of knowledge,

but a bastard, and when a n attack is made upon this bastard

276

neith er pa rent nor any one else is there to defend it.

The

husbandman will not seriously incline to sow his seed in such a

hot-bed or garden of Adonis; he will rather sow in the natural

277

soil of the human soul which has depth of earth; and he will

anticipate the inner growth of the mind, by writing only, if at all,

a s a rem edy against old age. T he natural process will be far

nobler, and will bring forth fruit in the minds of others as well

as

in his own.

T he conclusion of the whole m at ter is ju st this,-that until a

man knows the truth, and the man ner of adapting the truth to the

natures of other men, he cannot be a good orator; also, that the

278

living

is

better than the written word, and that the principles of

justice and truth when delivered by word of mouth are the

legitimate offspring of a man’s own bosom, and their lawful

descendants take up their abode in others. Such an orator a s he

is wh o is possessed of them , you and I would fain become. And

to all composers in the world, poets, orators, legislators, we

hereby announce that if their compositions are based up6n these

principles, then they are not only poets, orators, legislators, but

philosophers. All othe rs a re mere flatterers and putte rs together

of words. Th is is the message which Phae drus undertakes to

ca rry to Lysias from t he local deities, and So cra tes himself will

279

carry a similar message to his favourite Isocrates, whose future

distinction as great rhetorician he prophesies. T he heat of the

day has passed, and after offering

up

a prayer to Pan and the

nymphs, Socrates and Phaed rus depart.

INTROLW

There are two principal controversies which have been raised

about the Phaedrus; the first relates to the subject, the second

to

the date

of

the Dialogue.

There seems to be a notion that the work

of

a great artist

T I O N .



The subjt.rt of the Uialogtce.

403

like Plato cannot fail in unity, and that the unity of a dialfgue

P ~ W ~ P U S .

requires a single subject.

But the conception of unity really

INTRODUC.

applies in very different degrees and ways to different kinds

T1ON*

of

a r t ; to a statue, for example, far more than to any kind of

literary composition, and to som e species of literature far m ore

than to others.

Nor does the dialogue appear to be a style of

composition in which the requirement of unity is most stringent ;

nor should the idea of unity derived from one s o r t of art be

hastily transferred to another.

The double titles of several of

the Platonic Dialogues ar e a furth er proof that the severer rule

was not observed b y Plato. T he Republic is divided between

the search after justice and the construction of the ideal state;

the Parmenides between the criticism of the Platonic

ideas and

of the Eleatic one or being; the Gorgias between the art of

speaking and the nature of the good; the Sophist between the

detection of the Sophist and the correlation of ideas. T he

Theaetetus, the Politicus, and the Philebus have also digressions

which are but remotely connected with the main subject.

T hu s the comparison of Plato's other writings, as well a s the

reason of the thing, lead u s to the conclusion that we must not

expect to find one idea pervading a whole work, but one, two, or

more, as the invention of the writer may suggest, or his fancy

wander. If each dialogue were confined to the development of a

single idea, this would appear on th e face of thed ialogue, nor could

any controversy be raised as to whether the Phaedrus treated

of love o r rhetoric. But the tru th is that Plato subjects himself

to no rule

of

this sort, Like every g reat artist he gives unity

uf

form to the different and apparently distracting topics which

he brings together.

H e works freely and is not to be supposed

to have arranged every part of the dialogue before he begins

to write. H e fastens or weaves together the frame of his dis-

course loosely and imperfectly, and which is the warp and which

is the woof cannot alwa ys be determined.

The subjects of the Phaedrus (exclusive of the short intro-

ductory passage about m ythology which is suggested by the

local tradition) are first the false or conventional art of rhetoric

;

secondly, love or the inspiration of beauty and knowledge, which

is described as madnesi; thirdly, dialectic or the art of com-

position and division ; fourthly, the true rhetoric, which is based

D d 2



404

The sulijct of the D z a d o p .

Yhaedrus.

upop dialectic, and is ne ither th e ar t of persuasion nor knowledge

i h ~ a o D v c .

of the tru th alone, but th e art of persuasion founded on knowledge

of truth and knowledge

of

character

;

fifthly, the superiority

of

the spoken over the written word. T he continuous thread which

appears and reappears throughout is rhetoric : this

is

the ground

into which the rest of th e Dialogue is worked, in parts embroidered

with fine words which are not in Socrates' manner, as he says,

'i n ord er to please Phaedrus.' T he speech of Lysias which

has throw n Phaedrus into an ecstacy is adduced a s an example

of the false rhe to ric; t he first speech of Socrates, though an

improvement, partakes of the same character

;

his second speech,

which

is

full of that higher element said to have been learned

of Anaxagoras by Pericles, and which in the midst of poetry

does not forget order, is an illustration of the higher or true

rhetoric. Th is highe r rhetoric is based upon dialectic, and

dialectic

is

a sort of inspiration akin to love (cp. Symp.

21

oll.) ;

i n these two aspects of philosophy the technicalities of rhetoric

are absorbed.

And so the example becomes also the deeper

theme of discourse. The true knowledge of things in heaven

and earth is

based upon enthusiasm

or

love of the ideas going

before u s and ever present to u s in this world and in another;

and the true order of speech or writing proceeds accordingly,

Love, again, has three degrees

: first, of

interested love corre-

sponding to the conventionalities of rhetoric

;

secondly, of dis-

interested or mad love, fixed on objects of sense, and answering,

perhaps, to poetry

;

hirdly, of disinterested love directed towards

the unseen, answering

to

dialectic

or

the science of the ideas.

Lastly, the art of rhetoric in the lower sens e

is

found to rest on a

knowledge of the natures and characters of men, which Socrates

at the commencement of the Dialogue has described as his own

peculiar study.

T hu s amid discord a harmony begins to a p p ea r; there are

many links of connection which a re not visible at first sigh t.

At the same time the Phaedrus, although one of the most

beautiful of the Platonic Dialogues,

is

also niore irregular than

any other. For insight into the world, for sustained irony, for

depth of thought, there is no Dialogue superior, or perhaps

equal to it. Nevertheless the form of the work has tended to

obscure some of Plato's higher aims

TION.



The s-eerh

of

Lysias

atid the f i r s t

speech

of Sorrates.

40

The first speech is composed ‘in that balanced style in which

Phcxcdru~.

the wise love to talk’ (Symp. 185 C). The characteristics of I ~ ~

rhetoric are insipidity, mannerism, and monotonous parallelism

T’oH‘

of clauses. There is more rhythm than reason; the creative

power of imagination is wanting.

“Tis

Greece, but living Greece no more.’

Plato has seized by anticipation the spirit which hung over Greek

literature for a thousand years afterwards. Yet doubtless there

we re some who, like Phaedrus, felt a delight in the harmonious

cadence and the pedantic reasoning of the rhetoricians newly

imported from S icily, which had ceased to be awakened in

them by really great works, such as the odes of Anacreon or

Sap pho or the orations of Pericles. That

the

first speech was

really written by Lysias is improbable. Like the poem of Solon,

or the story

of

Thamus and Theuth, or the funeral oration

of

Xspasia (if genuine),

or

the pretence of Socrates in the Cratylus

that his knowledge of philology is derived from Euthyphro, the

invention is really due to the imagination of Plato, and may

be compared to the parodies of the Sophists in the Protagoras.

Numerous fictions of this sort occur in the Dialogues, and the

gravity of Plato has sometimes i pp os ed upon his commentators.

The introduction

of

a considerable writing of another would

seem not to be in keeping with a great work of art, and has

no parallel elsewhere.

In the second speech Socrates is exhibited as beating the

rhetoricians at their own weapons ; he ( a n unpractised man

and they masters of the art.’ T ru e to his character, he must,

however, profess that the speech which he makes is not his

own, for he knows nothing of himself.

(Cp.

Symp. 201

U.)

Re-

garded as a rhetorical exercise, the superiority of his speech

seems to consist chiefly in a better arrangement

of

the topics;

he begins with a definition of love, and he gives weight to his

words by going back to general maxims; a lesser merit is the

greater liveliness of Socrates, which hurries him into verse and

relieves the monotony

of

the style.

But

Plato had doubtless a higher purpose than to exhibit

Socrates as the rival or superior of the Athenian rhetoricians.

Even in the speech

of

Lysias there is a germ of truth, and



406 Lou a i d

warriage.

I’ha~drus.

this is furth er developed in the parallel oration

of’

Socrates. First,

I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ -assionate love is overthrown by the sophistical or intetested,

and then both yield to thqt higher view of love which is after-

w ards revealed to

us.

T h e ex treme of commonplace

is

contrasted

with the most ideal and imaginative of specu lations. Socrates,

half in jest and to satisfy his own wild humour, takes the disguise

of Lysias, but he is also in profound ea rnes t a nd in a de ep er

vein of iron y than usual. Ha ving improvised his own speech,

which is based upon t h e model of the preceding, he condem ns

them both. Yet the condemnation is not to be taken seriously,

for he is evidently trying to express an aspect of the truth.

To

understand him, w e mu st m ake abstraction of morality and of

the Greek m ann er of regardin g the relation of the sexes. In

this, a s in his o ther discussions about love, what Pla to sa ys of the

loves of men m ust be tra nsfe rred to th e loves of women before

we can attach an y serious meaning to his words. H ad h e lived

in our times he would have made the transposition himself.

But seein g in his own age t he impossibility of woman being

th e intellectual helpmate o r friend of man (excep t in th e r ar e

insta nce s of a Diotima or an A spasia), see ing that, even

a s

to personal beauty, her place was taken by young mankind

instead of womankind, he tries to work out the problem of

love without reg ard to the distinctions of nature. And full

of

the evils which he recognized as flowing from the spurious

form of love, he proceeds w ith a de ep meaning, though p artly

in joke, to show that the ‘non-lover’s’ love is better than the

W e may raise the sa me question in ano ther form

:

I s marriage

pref erab le with or without love ?

‘

Am ong ourselves,’ as w e m ay

say, a little parodying th e words of Pausanias in th e Sympo sium,

‘t h er e would be one an sw er to this question

:

the practice and

feeling of some foreign countries appears to be more doubtful.’

Suppose a modern Socrates, in defiance of the received notions of

society and the sentimental literature of the day, alone against

all th e writers and readers of novels, to suggest this enquiry,

would not the younger ‘part of the world be ready to take

off

its coat and run at him might and main ? ’ (R ep. v.

474.)

Yet,

if like Peisthetaerus in Aristophanes, he could persuade the

‘birds’ to hear him, retiring a little behind a rampart, not of pots

TION.

lover’s.’



Love

n i ~d

awiagc.

407

and dishes, but of unreadable books, he might have something P ~ U U J .

to say for himself.

Might he not argue, ‘that a rational being I ~ ~

should not follow the dictates of passion in the most important

act of his or he r life’? W ho would willingly e nter into a contract

at first sight, almost without thought, against the advice and

opinion of his friends, at a tim e when he acknowledges that he

is not in his right mind ? And yet they are praised by the authors

of romances, who reject the warnings of their friends or parents,

rathe r than thos e who listen to them in such matters. Two

inexperienced persons, ignorant of the world and of one another,

how can they be said to choose ?-they draw lots, whence also the

saying, ‘m arri ag e is a lottery.’ Then h e would describe their

way of life after marriage; how they monopolize one another’s

affections to the exclusion of friends and rel atio ns : how the y

pass their days in unmeaning fondness or trivial conversa-

tion ; how the inferior of the two drags the other down to

his

or

her level; how the cares of a family ‘breed mean-

ness in their souls.’ In the fulfilment of military

or

public

duties, they are not helpe rs

but

hinderers of one another

:

they

cannot undertake a ny noble enterprise, such as makes the nam es

of men and wom en famous, from domestic considerations. Too

late their ey es ar e opened ; they were taken unaw ares and desire

to pa rt company. Better, he would say , a ‘little love at the

beginning,’ for heaven might have increased i t ; but now their

foolish fondness has changed into mutual dislike. In the days

of the ir honeymoon th ey never understood that they must provide

against offences, that they must have interests, that they must

learn th e a rt of living as well a s loving. Our misogamist will

not appeal to Anacreon or Sappho for a confirmation of h is view,

but to the universal experience

of

mankind. Ho w much nobler,

in conclusion, he will say, is friendship, which does not receive

unm eaning p rais es from novelists and poets, is not exacting or

exclusive, is not impaired by familiarity, i s much less expensive,

is not so likely to take offence, seldom changes, and may be

dissolved from time to time without the assistance

of

the courts.

Reside.s, he will remark that there is a much greater choice of

friends than of wives-you may have more of them and they

will

be far mo re improving to your mind. The y will not keep

you dawdling at home,

or

dancing attendance upon them; or



408 The true

dove.

Phadrus.

withdraw you from th e great world and stirr ing sc ene s of life

I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ , , ~ .

nd action which would make a man of you.

In such a manner, turning th e sea m y side outwards, a modern

Socrates might describe the evils of married and domestic life.

T he y a re evils which mankind in general have agreed to conceal,

partly because they ar e compensated by greater goods. Socra tes

or Archilochus would soon have to s ing a palinode for the injustice

done to lovely Helen, or some misfortune worse than blindness

might befall them. Th en they would take

up

their parable again

and sa y :-that the re w ere two loves,

a

highe r an d a lower, holy

and unholy, a love of the mind and a love of the body.

TION.

‘ L e t me n o t to the marriage

of

t rue minds

Ad mit impediments . Love is not love

Which al ters when

it

alteration f inds.

* *

* * * *

Love’s not t ime’s fool, though rosy lips aud cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come

;

Love alters no t with

his

brief hours

and

weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.’

But this true love of the mind cannot exist between two

souls

until they are purified from the grossness of earthly passion:

they must pass through a time of trial and conflict first

;

in the

language of religion they mu st be converted or born again. T he n

they would see the world transformed into a scene of heavenly

bea uty; a divine idea would accomp any them in all the ir thou ghts

and actions. Somethin g too of th e recollections of childhood

might float about them still

;

they might regain that old simplicity

which had been theirs in other days at their first entrance on

life. And although the ir love of one another wa s ever present to

them, they would acknowledge also a higher love of duty and

of God, which united them . A nd their happ iness would d ep en d

upon their pre serv ing in them this principle-not losing the ideals

of justice and holiness and truth, but renewing them

at

the foun-

tain of light. W h e n th ey have attained to this exalted state, let

the m m arry (something too may be conceded to the animal nature

of ma n) :

or

live together in holy and innocent friendship. T h e

poet m ight describe in eloquent wo rds th e n atur e of such a union ;

how after many struggles the true love was found : how the two

passed their lives togeth er in th e service of God and man; how



Love and marriage.

409

their characters were reflected upon one ano ther, and seem ed

Phaedrus.

to grow more like year by year

;

how the y read in one another’s

iNTnoDuc.

eyes the thoughts, wishes, actions of the other

;

how they saw

each oth er in God

;

how in a figure they grew wings like doves,

and were ‘ re ad y to fly away together and be at rest.’ And lastly,

he might tell how, after a time at no long intervals, first one

and then the other fell asleep, and ‘appeared to the unwise’

to die, but w ere reunited in another sta te of being, in which

they saw justice and holiness and truth, not according to the

imperfect copies of them which are found in this world, but

justice absolute in existence absolute, and

so

of the rest. And

they would hold converse not only with each other, but with

blessed souls everywhere ; and would be employed in the ser-

vice

of

God, every soul fulfilling his own nature and character,

and would see into th e wonders of earth and heaven, and trace

the works of creation to their author.

So, partly in jest but also ‘with a certain degree of serious-

ness,’ we may appropria te to ourse lves the words of Plato. The

use

of

such a parody, though very imperfect, is to transfer his

thoughts to our sphere of religion and feeling, to bring him

nearer to

us

and

us

to him. Like th e Scriptures, Plato admits

of

endless applications, if w e allow for th e difference of times

and manners ; and w e lose the better half of him w hen we regard

his Dialogues merely as literary compositions. An y ancient

work which i s worth reading has a practical and speculative

as well as a literary interest. And in Plato, more than in any

other Greek writer, the local and transitory is inextricably

blended with what is spiritual and eternal. Socrates is neces-

sarily ironical

;

for he has to withdraw from th e received opinions

and beliefs of mankind.

We

cannot separate the transitory from

the permanent; nor can we translate the language

of

irony

into that

of

plain reflection and common sense. But we can

imag ine th e mind of Socrates in another age and country ; and we

can interpret him by analogy with reference to the errors and

prejudices w hich prevail ‘among ourselves.

T o

return to the

Phaedrus

:-

Both speeches

are

strongly condemned by Socrates as sinful

and blasphem ous towards the god Love, and a s worthy only of

some haunt

of

sailors to which good manners were unknown.

TION.



4 1

The i y t h aud i t s izkr retnLiotc.

P i i a c d ~ .T he meaning of this and ot he r wild language to the sam e effect,

I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ .hich is introduced by way of contrast to the formality of the

two speech es (Socrates has a sen se of relief w he n he has escaped

from the tramm els of rhetoric , see m s to be that the two speec hes

proceed upon the supposition that love is and ought to be in-

terested, and that

no

such thing a s a real o r disinterested passion,

which would be at the same time lasting, could be conceived.

‘ But did I call this “ ove ”

? 0

God, forgive my blasphemy,

Thi s is not love.

But there is

another kingdom of love, a kingdom not of this world, divine,

eternal.

Th en follows the famous my th, which is a s or t of parable,

and like other parables ought not to receive too minute an in-

terpretation. In all such allegories th er e is a great deal which

is merely ornamental, and the interpreter has

to

separate the

important from the unimportant. So crate s himself ha s given

the right clue when, in using his own discourse afterwards as

the text for his examination of rhetoric, he characterizes it as

a ‘partly true and tolerably credible mythus,’ in which amid

poetical figures, ord er and a rra ng em en t w er e not forgotten..

T h e soul is described in magnificent language a s the self-moved

and the source of motion in all oth er things. Th is is th e philo-

sophical theme

or

proem of th e whole. But idea s must be given

through something, and under the pretext that to realize the

true nature of th e soul would be not only tedious but impossible,

we at once pass on to describe the souls of gods as well

as

men under the figure of two winged ste eds an d a charioteer.

No

connection is traced between th e soul as the great motive power

and the triple soul which is thus imaged. T h er e is no difficulty

in seeing that the charioteer represents the reason, or that the

black ho rse is th e symbol of th e sensual o r concupiscent element

of hum an nature. T h e white ho rse also rep resen ts rational im-

pulse, but the description in a53, ‘a lov er of hono ur and m odesty

and temperance, and a follower of true glory,’ though similar,

does not at once recall th e ‘sp irit’ (B r p b s ) of the

Republic.

T h e two stee ds really correspond in a figure mo re nearly to th e

appetitive and moral or sem i-rational soul of Aristotle. An d thus,

for the first time perhaps in the history of philosophy, we have

represented to us the threefold division of psychology. The

TION.

Ra ther it is the love of the w orld.

An d this other love

I

will now sho w you in a m ystery.’



The iztyth and i ts

interprttatiotz,

411

image

of

the charioteer and the steeds has been compared with a

Phacdm.

similar image which occurs in the verses of Parmenides; but I , , ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

it is important

to

remark that the horses of Parmenides have

'

no allegorical meaning, and that the poet is only describing his

own approach in a chariot to the regions of light and the house of

the goddess

of

truth.

T he triple soul has had a previous existence, in which following

in the train of some god, from whom sh e derived her character,

sh e beheld partially and imperfectly the vision of absolute truth.

All her after existence, passed in many forms of men and

animals, is sp en t in regaining this. Th e stages of the conflict are

many and various; and she is sorely let and hindered by the

animal des ires of the inferior or concupiscent steed. Again and

again she beholds the flashing beauty of the beloved. But before

that vision can be finally enjoyed the animal desires must be

subjected.

The moral or spiritual element in man is represented by the

immortal steed which, like Bupbs in the' Republic, always sides

with th e reason. Both are dragged out of their course by the

furious impulses of desire. In the end something is'conceded

to the desires, after they have been. finally humbled and over-

powered. And yet the way of philosophy, or perfect love of

the unseen, is total abstinence from bodily delights.

'But all

men cannot receive this saying

'

: in the lower life of ambition

they may be taken

off

their guard and stoop to folly unawares,

and the n, although th ey do not attain to the highest bliss,,yet

if they have once conquered they may be happy enough.

The language of the Meno and the Phaedo as well as of the

Phaedrus seems to show that at one time of his life Plato was

quite serious in maintaining a former state of existence. His

mission was to realize the abstract ; in that, all good and truth,

all the hopes of this and another life seemed to centre.

To

him abstractions, as we call them, were another kind of know-

ledge-an inne r and unsee n world, which seemed to exist far

more truly than the fleeting objects of sense which were without

him. W he n we a re once able to imagine the intense power

which abstract ideas exercised over the mind of Plato, we

see that there was no more difficulty to him in realizing the

eternal existence of them and of the human minds which were



412

Phacdrus.

associated with them, in the past and future than in the

INTEODUC.

present. T he difficulty w as not how they could exist, but how

they could fail to exist. In th e attem pt to regain this ‘sa vin g’

knowledge of the ideas, the sen se w as found to be a s great

an enemy as th e desires; and hence two things which to

u s

seem quite distinct ar e inextricably blended in th e representation

of Plato.

Thus far we may believe that Plato was serious in his con-

ception of the soul as a motive power, in his reminiscence of

a former state

of

being, in his elevation of the reason over sense

and passion, and perhaps in his doctrine

of

transmigration.

W a s he equally serious in the r es t? For exam ple, ar e w e to

attrib ute his tripartite division of the soul to the go ds ? O r is

this merely assigned to them by w ay of parallelism with m e n ?

T h e latter is the m ore pro bable; for the horse s of the gods

are both white, i.e. their every impulse is in harmony with

reaso n; their dualism, on the other hand, only carries out the

figure of the chariot. Is he serious, again, in regarding love as

‘a madness ’? Tha t s eems

to

arise out of the antithesis to the

form er conception of love. At the sa m e time h e ap pe ar s to

intimate here, as in the Ipn, Apology, Meno, and elsewhere,

that there is a faculty in man, whether to be te rm ed in mod ern

language genius, or inspiration,

or

imagination, or idealism, or

communion with God, which cannot b e reduced to rule an d

measure. Pe rha ps, too, h e is ironically rep eatin g the common

language of mankind a b u t philosophy, and is turning their

jes t into a sort of earn est. (Cp. Phaedo,

61

B; Symp.

218

B.)

O r

is

he serious in holding that each

soul

bears the character

of a god ? H e may have had no o ther account to give of the

differences of human characters to which he afterwards refers.

Or, again, in his absurd derivation of pavtrxrj and O ~ U I G T I K ~ nd

Zpcpos (cp. Cratylus)

?

It is characteristic of th e irony of Socrates

to mix

up

sense and nonsense in such a way that no exact l ine

can b e dra w n between them. An d allegory helps to increase this

sort

of confusion.

A s is often th e case in th e parables and prophecies

of

Scripture,

the meaning is allowed to break through the figure, and the

details are not always consistent. W h e n the charioteers and their

steeds stand upon th e do m e of heaven the y behold the intangible

The

myth ana’

i ts intt.rfretation.

T l 0 N .



The myth and its interpretation.

413

invisible essences which a re not objects

of

sight. Th is is because

~ h a e d , ~ ~ .

the force of language can no further go.

Nor can we dwell

I ~ ~

much on the circumstance, that at the completion of ten

thousand years ail are to return to the place from whence

they came

;

because h e rep resents their return a s dependent

on their own good conduct in the successive stages of existence.

Nor again can we attribute anything to the accidental inference

which would also follow, that even a tyrant may live righteously

in th e condition of life to which fate has called him (,‘he aiblins

might, I dinn a ken’). But to suppose this would be at variance

with Plato himself and with Greek notions generally. He is

much more serious in distinguishing men from animals by

their recognition of the universal which they have known in

a former state, and in denying that this gift of reason can ever

be obliterated or lost. In the language of some modern theo-

logians he might be said to maintain the ‘final perseverance’

of those who have ente red on their pilgrim’s progress. Other

intimations of a ‘metaphysic’ or ‘theology’ of the future may

also be discerned in him : (I) The moderate predestinarianism

which here, a s in th e Republic, acknowledges the element

of

chance in human life, and yet asserts the freedom and respon-

sibility of man;

2)

The recognition of a moral

as

well as an

intellectual principle in man under the image of an immortal

steed ;

(3)

The notion that the divine nature exists by the

contemplation of ideas

of

virtue and justice -or, in other words,

the assertion

of

the essentially moral nature of God

; (4)

Again,

the re is the hint that human life

is

a life of aspiration only,

and that the true ideal

is

not to be found in art;

5 )

There

occurs the first trace of the distinction between necessary and

contingent matter; (6) The conception of the soul itself as the

motive power and reason of the universe.

The conception of the philosopher,

or

the philosopher and

lover in one, as a sort of madman, may be compared with

the Republic and Theaetetus, in both

of

which the philosopher

is regarded a s a stranger and monster upon the earth. T he

whole myth, like the other myths of Plato, describes in

a

figure

things which are beyond the range of human faculties, or in-

accessible to the knowledge

of

the age. Tha t philosophy sholdd

be re presented a s the inspiration of Iove is a conception that



4 ’4

Z%e ambiguities

of

the Phaedms .

Phmu’rus.

has already become familiar to

u s

in the Symposium, and

is

I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ .

he expression partly of Plato’s enthusiasm for the idea, and

is also an indication of the real power exercised by the passion

of friendship over the mind of the Greek. T h e master in th e

art of love kne w that ther e w as

a

mystery in these feelings

and their associations, and especially in the contrast of the

sensible and permanent which is afforded by them; and he

sought to explain this, a s h e expla ined universal ideas, by a

reference to a former state of existence. T h e capriciousness

of love is also derived by-him from an attachment to some

god in

a

former world. T h e singular rem ark that th e beloved

is

more affected than the lover at the final consummation of

their love, seems likewise to hint at a psychological truth.

noN.

It is difficult to exhaust the meanings of a word like the

Phae drus, which indicates

so

much more than i t expresses ;

and

is

full of inconsistencies and ambiguities which were not

perceived by Plato himself. Fo r examp le, w hen h e is speaking

of the soul does he mean the human

or

the divine sou l? and

are they both equally self-moving and constructed on the same

threefold principle

?

W e should certainly be disposed to rep ly

that the self-motive is to be attributed to God only; and on

the other hand that the appe titive and passionate elements

have no place in

His

nature.

So

we should infer from the

reason of the thing, but there is no indication in Plato’s own

writings that this was his meaning. Or, again, wh en he exp lains

the different characters of men by referring them back to the

natu re of the God whom they se rv ed in a form er state of exist-

ence, we aie inclined to ask whether he is serious:

Is

he

not r athe r using a mythological figure, he re a s elsew her e, to

draw a veil over things which are beyond the limits of mortal

kno wled ge? Once more, in speaking of beauty is he really

thinking of some external form such as might have been

expressed in the works of Phidias

or

Praxiteles

;

and not

rather of an imaginary beauty,

of

a

sort which extinguishes

rather than stimulates vulgar love

254

E),-a heaven ly beauty

like that which flashed from time to time before the eyes of

Dante or Bunyan

I Su rely the latter. Bu t it would be idle

to reconcile all the details of the passage : it

is

a picture, not



Lovt?

ll

the

Phuedms

n j ; w e of spc.ech.

4 ' 5

a system, and a picture which is for the greater part an allegory, ~ h a ~ d + u s .

and an allegory which allows th e m eaning to come through.

The INnoovc.

image of the charioteer and his steeds is placed side by side 'IoN.

with the absolute forms of justice, temperance, and the like,

which are abstract ideas only, and which are seen with the

eye of the soul in he r heavenly journey . The first impression

of such a passage, in which no attempt is made to separate the

substance from the form,

is

far trqer than an elaborate philo-

sophical analysis.

It is too often forgotten that the whole of the second discourse

of

Socrates is only an allegory, or figure of speech . For this

reason, it is unnecessary to enquire whether the love

of

which

Plato speaks

is

the love of men or of women. It is really a

general idea which includes both, and in which the sensual

element, though not wholly eradicated, is reduced to order and

measure. W e m ust not attribute a meaning to every fanciful

detail. Nor is th er e any need to call up revolting associations,

which as a matter of good taste should be banished , and which

were far enough away from the mind of Plato. Th ese and similar

passages should be interpre ted by the Law s, book viii. 36. Nor is

the re anything in the Sy mp osium ,arg, or in the C harmides, I

55

d,

in reality inconsistent with the sterner rule which Plato lays

down in the Laws. At the same time it is not to be denied that

love and ph iloso phpare described by Socrates in figures of speech

which would not be used in Christian times; or that nameless

vices were prevalent at Athens and in other Greek cities ; or that

friendships between men w ere a more sacred tie, and had a more

important social and educational influence than among ourselves.

(S ee note on Symposium, sub fin.).

In the P ha edr us, as well as in the Symposium, there a re two

kinds of love, a lower and a higher, the one answering to the

natural wants of the animal, the other rising above them and

contemplating with religious awe the forms of justice, temperance,

holiness, yet finding them also 'too dazzling bright for mortal

eye,' and

shrinking from them in amazement. Th e opposition

between these two kinds of love may be compared to the

opposition between the flesh and the spirit in the Epistles

of

St. Paul. It would be unmeaning to suppose that Plato, in

describing the spiritual combat, in which the rational soul

is



416 Rhton‘c and dialectic.

Aa ns.

finally victor and ma ster of both the stee ds, condescends to

iRTaoDUc.

allow a ny indulgence

of

unnatural lusts.

Two other thoughts about love are suggested by this passage.

First of all, love is repre sented here, a s in the Symposium, a s

one of the great powers of nature, which takes many forms

and

two

principal ones, having a pre dom inant influence over

the lives of men.

And these

two,

though opposed, are not

absolutely sep ara ted the one from the o ther . Plato, with his

great knowledge

of

human nature, w as w ell aware how easily

one is transformed into the other, or how soon the noble but

fleeting aspiration may return into the nature of the animal,

while the lower instinct which is laten t alway s remains. T h e

intermediate sentimentalism, which has exercised so great an

influence on th e literatu re of mo dern E urope , had

no

place in the

classical times of Hellas ; the higher love, of which Plato speaks,

is th e subject, not of poe try or fiction, but of philosophy .

Secondly, there seems to be indicated a natural yearning of

the human mind that the great ideas of justice, temperance,

wisdom, should be expressed in some form of visible beauty,

like the absolute p urity and goodness which Christian ar t has

sought to realize in the person of th e Madonna. But although

human na ture h as often attempted to represe nt outwardly what

can be only ‘spiritually discerned,’ men feel that in

pictures

and images, whether painted or carved, or described in words

only, we have not the substan ce but the shadow of the truth

which is in heaven.

There is no reason to suppose that in the

fairest works of Greek art, Plato ever conceived himself to

behold a n image, how eve r faint, of ideal tru ths .

‘Not in that

way was wisdom seen

’

250

D).

TION.

We

may now pass on to the second part of the Dialogue,

which is a criticism on the first.

Rhetoric is assailed on various

gro un ds: first, as d esiring to persuad e, without a knowledge

of the truth ; and secondly, as ignoring the distinction between

certain and probable matter. T h e thr ee speeches ar e then

passed in review: the first

of

them has n o definition

of

the

nature of love, and no order in the topics (being in these

respects far inferior to the second); while the third of them

is found (though

a

fancy of the hour) to be framed upon real



Crz’ticism and Creative powee7.. 417

dialectical principles. But dialectic is not rhe toric ; nothing on P h d m s .

that subject is to be found in the endless treatises of rhetoric, I ~ ~

how ever prolific in hard names. W hen P lato has sufficiently ’IoN’

put them to the test of ridicule he touches, as with the point

of a needle, the real error, which is the confusion of preliminary

knowledge with creative power.

No

attainments will provide

the speaker with genius; and the sort of attainments which

can alone be of any value are the higher philosophy and the

power of psychological analysis, which is given by dialectic,

but not by the rules of the rhetoricians.

In

this latter portion of the Dialogue there are many texts

which may help us to speak and to think. T he names dialectic

and rhetoric a re passing out of use ; we hardly examine seriously

into the ir natur e and limits, and probably the ar ts both

of

speaking

and of conversation have been unduly neglected by us. But the

mind of So cra tes pie rce s through the differences of times and

countries into the essential nature of man; and his words

apply equally to the modern world and to the Athenians of

old. W ould he not have asked of

us,

or rather

is

he not asking

of us Whether we have ceased to prefer appearances t o reality

?

Let us take a survey of the professions to which he refers and

try them by his standard. Is not all literature passing into

criticism, just as Athenian literature in the age of Plato was

degenerating into sophistry and rheto ric? W e can discourse

and write about poems and paintings, but we seem to have

lost th e gift of creating them. Can we wonder that few of them

‘ come sweetly from nature,’ while ten thousand reviewers

6 0

upioc)

a re engaged in dissecting th em ? Young men, like

Phaedrus, are enamoured of their o w n literary clique and have

but a feeble sympathy with the master-minds of former ages.

They recognize

‘a

poetical necessity in the writings of their

favourite author, even when he boldly wrote off just what

came in his head.’ Th ey are beginning to think that Art is

enough, j us t at the time when Art is about to disappear from

the world. And would not a great painter, such

as

Michael

Angelo, or

a

great poet, such as Shakespeare, returning to

earth, ‘courteously rebuke’ us-would he not sa y that we a re

putting ‘in the place of Art the preliminaries of Art,’ confusing

Art the expression of mind and truth with Art the composition

VOL.

1. E e



4x8 Mottern

applications of

Plato.

Phaeiirus.

of colours and forms; and perhaps he might more severely

chastise some of u s for trying to invent ‘ a new shu dder’ instead

of bringing to the birth living and healthy creations? These he

would regard as the signs of an age wanting in original power.

Turning from literature and the arts to law and politics, again

we fall under the lash of Socrates.

For

do we not often make

1

the worse appear the better cause

;

and do not ‘both parties

sometimes agree to tell lies

’ ? Is

not pleading

‘

an a rt of speaking

unconnected with the truth’

?

There is an oth er text of Socrates

which must not be forgotten in relation to this subject. In the

endless maze of English law

is

ther e any dividing the whole into

parts or reuniting the par ts into a whole’-any semblance of an

organized being having h ands and feet and other me mb ers

’

Instead of a system there is the Chaos of Anaxagoras (dpoij admn

X p j p a m ) and no Mind or Order. The n again in the noble ar t of

politics, who thinks of first principles and of true id ea s? W e

avowedly follow not the truth but the will of the many (cp. Rep.

493).

Is

not legislation too a sort of literary effort, and might not

statesmanship be described a s the art of enchanting

’

the house

?

While there are some politicians who have no knowledge

of

the

truth, but only of what is likely to be approved by the many who

sit in judgment,’ there are others who can give no form to their

ideal, neither having learned ‘the art of persuasion,’

nor

having

any insight into the ‘characters of men.‘ Once more, ha s not

medical science become a professional routine, w hich many

‘practise without being able to say who w ere their instructors’-

the application

of

a few drugs taken from a book instead

of

a

life-long study of the natures and constitutions of human beings

?

DO e see a s clearly as Hippocrates that the nature of the body

can only be understood a s a whole

’ ?

270

C

;

cp. Charm.

156 E).

And a re not they held to be the wisest physicians who have the

greatest distrust of their art

?

What would Socrates think of our

newspapers, of our theology? Pe rh ap s he would be afraid to

speak of them ;-the one vox populi, the other

vox

Dei, he might

hesitate to attack them;

or

he might trace

a

fanciful connexion

between them, and ask doubtfully, w heth er they ar e not equally

inspired? H e would remark th at we a re always searching

for

a

belief and deploring our unbelief, seeming to prefer popular

opinions unverified and contradictory to unpopular truths which

TION



Speech and writing. 419

ar e assured to US by the most certain proofs : that our preachers Plaedr.us.

a re in the habit of praising God ‘witho ut regard to truth and INTRODUC.

falsehood, attributing to Him every species of greatness and

T’oN’

glory, saying that H e is all this and the ca use of all that, in or de r

that w e may exhibit H im a s the fairest and be st of all’ (S ym p.

I ),

without any consideration of His real nature and character

or

of the laws by which H e governs the world-seeking for a

‘private judgment’ and not for the truth

or

‘God’s judgment.’

What would he say of the Church, which we praise in like

manner, ‘meaning ourselves ’

(a58

A), without regard to history

or

exp erience ? Might he not ask, wh ether we ‘care more

for

the

truth of religion, or for the speaker and the country from which

the truth co m es ’? or, whe ther the ‘select wise’ are not ‘t h e

man y’ af ter al l?

(Symp. 194 C.) So we may fill up the sketch

of Socrates , lest,

as

Phaedrus says, the argument should be too

‘abstract and barren

of

illustrations.’ ICp. Syrnp.,

Apol.,

Euthy-

phro.)

He next proceeds with enthusiasm

to

define the royal art of

dialectic as the power

of

dividing a whole into parts, and of

uniting the par ts in a whole, and which may also be regarded

(cp. Soph.)

as

the process

of

the mind talking with herself. T h e

latter view has probably led Plato to the paradox that speech is

superior to writing, in which he may seem also to be doing an

injustice to himself. Fo r th e

two

Cannot be fairly compared in

the ma nn er which Plato suggests. The contrast of the living and

dead word, and th e exam ple of Socrates, which he has repre-

sen ted in the form of th e Dialogue, seem to have misled him.

For speech and writing have really different functions; the one

is more transitory, mo re diffuse, more elastic an d capable of

adaptation

to

moods and times; the other is more permanent,

more concentrated, and

is

uttered not to this

or

that person

or

audience, but

to

all the world. In the Politicus (294 foll.) the

paradox is camed further; the mind

or

will of the king is

preferred to the written law; he

is

supposed to be the Law

personified, the ideal made Life.

Yet in both these statements there is also contained a truth;

they m ay be compared with o ne another, and also with th e other

famous paradox, that

‘

now ledge cannot be taught.’ Socra tes

means to say, that what is truly written is written in the soul,

E e 2



420

Date of

the

DiuZogw.

IWS~ODUC.

TION.

just as what is truly taught grows up in the soul from within and

is not forced upon it from without. W hen planted in a congenial

soil

the little seed beconies a tree, and ‘the birds of the air build

their nests in the branches.‘ Th ere is an echo

of this in the

pray er at the end of the Dialogue, ‘Give me beauty in the inward

soul, and may the inward and outward man be at one.’ W e may

furth er compare the words of St. Paul, W ritte n not on tables of

stone, but

on

fleshly tables

of

the heart

;

and again,

‘

Ye are my

epistles known an d read of all men.‘ T he re m ay be a use in

writing as a preserva tive against th e forgetfulness of old age, but

to live is higher far,

to

be ourselves t he book, or th e epistle, the

tru th embodied in a person, the W ord made flesh. Something

like this we may believe to have passed before Plato’s mind when

he affirmed that speech was superior to writing.

S o

in other

ages, weary of literature and criticism, of making many books,

of writing articles in reviews, some have desired to live more

closely in communion with their fellow-men, to speak heart to

heart, to speak and act only, and not to write, following the

example of Socrates and of Christ.

.

.

.

Some other touches of inimitable grace and art and of the

deepest wisdom may be also no ted ; such as the pra yer

or

‘collect’ which has

just

been cited, ‘Give me beauty,’ etc.; or

‘the great name which belongs to God alone’ (278);or ‘ the

saying of wiser men than ourselves that a man of sen se should

try to please not his fellow-servants, but his good and noble

masters’ (a?+), ike St. Paul again; or the description of the

heavenly originals’ at p. 250.

.

.

.

T he chief criteria for determining the date of the Dialogue a re

( I ) th e age s of Lysias and Isocrates ;

2)

the character of th e work.

Lysias was born in the year 458; Isocrates in the year 436,

about seven ye ars before th e birth of Plato. T h e first of the two

great rhetoricians is described as in the zenith of his fame; the

second

is

still young and full of promise. Now it is argued that

this must have been written in the youth of Isocrates, when the

promise was not yet fulfilled. A nd th us w e should have to assign

the Dialogue to a year not later than 406, when Isocrates was

thirty and Plato twenty-three years of age, and while Socrates

himself was still alive.



Date of

the Dialogue. 421

Those who argue in this way seem not to reflect how easily

PAa td w .

Plato can 'inv en t Egyptians o r anything else,' and how careless I ~ ~

he is of historical tru th

or

probability. W ho would suspect that

'IoN'

the wise Critias, the -vi rtuou s Charmides, had ended their lives

among the thirty tyr an ts? W ho would imagine that Lysias, who

is he re assailed by Socrates, is the son of his old friend Cephalus ?

or that Isocrates himself is the enem y of Plato and his scho ol?

No arguments can be drawn from the appropriateness or in-

appropriateness of the characters of Plato. (Else, perhaps, it

might be further argued that, judging from their extant remains,

insipid rhetoric is far more characteristic

of

Isocrates than of

Lysias.) But Plato makes use of nam es which have often hardly

any connexion with the historical charac ter s to whom they belong.

In this instance the comparative favour shown to Isocrates may

possibly be accounted for by the circumstance of

his

belonging to

the aristocratical, as Lysias to the democratical party.

Few persons will be inclined to suppose, in the superficial

manner of some ancient critics, that a dialogue which treats

of

love must necessarily have been written in youth. A s little

weight can be attached to the argum ent that Plato must have

visited Egypt before he wrote the story of Theuth and Thamus.

For there is no real proof that he ev er went to Egypt

;

and even

if he did, he might have known or invented Egyptian traditions

before he went there. T he late date of the Pha edru s will have to

be established by other argumen ts than thes e: the maturity

of

the thought, t he perfection of the style, the insight, the relation to

the other Platonic Dialogues, seem to contradict the notion that it

could have been the work of a youth of twenty o r twen ty-three

ye ar s of age. T h e cosmological notion of the mind as the

primurn

mobile,

and the admission of impulse into the immortal nature,

also afford grou nds for assigning a later date. (Cp. Tim., Soph.,

Laws.) Add to this that the picture of Socrates , though in some

lesser particulars,-e. g. his going without sandals, his habit of

remaining within the walls, his emphatic declaration that his

study is human nature,-an exact resemblance,

is

in the main the

Platonic and not the real Socrates. Can we suppose 't h e young

man to have told such lies' about his master while he was still

alive

?

Moreover, when two Dialogues are so closely connected

as the Phaedrus and Symposiun1, there

is

great improbability in



4 2 2

Pdato

’s

treatm?nt of

mythodogy.

Phacdrus. supposing that one of them w as written at least twenty yea rs

I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ -

fter the other. T h e conclusion see m s to be, that the Dialogue

was written at some comparatively late but unknown period of

Plato’s life, after he had deserted the purely Socratic point of

view, but before he had ente red on the m ore abstract speculations

of the Soph ist or the Philebus. Ta king into account the divisions

of the soul, the doctrine of transm igratio n, the contemplative na ture

of the philosophic life, and the character of the style, we shall

not be far wrong in placing the Phaedrus in the neighbourhood

of the Republic; remarking only that allowance must be made

for the poetical element in the Phaedrus, which, while falling

short of the Republic in definite philosophic results, seems to

have glimpses

of

a truth beyond.

Two short passages, which

are

unconnected with the main

subject of the Dialogue, may seem to merit a more particular

notice

: (I)

the

locus classicus

about mythology;

2)

he tale of the

grasshoppers.

T he first passage is remarkable a s showing that Plato was

entirely free from what m ay be term ed the E uhem erism

of

his age.

For there were Euhemerists in Hellas long before Euhemerus.

Early philosophers, like Anaxagoras and Metrodorus, had found

in Ho me r and m ythology hidden m eanings. Plato, with a t ruer

instinct, rejects these attractive interpretations ; he regards the

inventor of them as ‘unfortunate;’ and they draw a man

off

from the know ledge of himself. T h e re is a latent criticism, and

also a poetical sen se in Plato, which ena ble him to discard them ,

and yet in another way to make use of poetry and mythology

as a vehicle of thoug ht and feeling. W h a t would he have said

of

the discovery of Christian doctrines in the se old G reek l eg en ds ?

While acknowledging that such interpretations are ‘very nice,’

would he not have remarked that they are found in all sacred

litera ture s? T he y cannot be tested by an y criterion

of

truth,

or used to establish any tru th; the y add nothing to the sum

of human knowledge

;

the y are-what w e please, an d if employed

as

‘peacemakers’ between the new and old ar e liable to serious

misconstruction,

as

he elsewhere remarks (Rep.

378 E).

And

therefore h e would have ‘bid Farewell to th e m ; the study of

them would tak e up too much of his tim e; and he ha s not

as

yet learne d the tru e natu re of religion.’ T h e ‘soph istical’

TION.



Tale

of

the Grasshoppers : mysticism in Pdato.

4 2 3

inte res t of P ha edrus , th e little touch about the two versions of 1Diraedrur.

the story, the ironical manner in which these explanations are I ~ ~

set aside-'the common opinion about them is enough for m e '

ON'

-the allusion to the serpent Typho may be noted in passing;

also the general agreement between the tone of this speech and

the remark of Socrates which follows afterwards,

' I

am a diviner,

but a poor one.'

The tale of the grasshoppers is naturally suggested by the

surrounding scene. Th ey are also the representatives of the

Athen ians as children of the soil. Unde r the image of th e lively

chirruping gra ssh op pe rs who inform th e Muses in heaven about

those who honour them on earth, Plato intends to represent

an Athenian audience (rcrrIywuu

orrdrcs).

T he story is introduced,

apparently, to mark a change of subject, and also, like several

other allusions which occur in the course of the Dialogue, in order

to preserve the scene in the recollection of the reader.

N o

one can duly appreciate the dialogues of Plato, especially

the Phaedrus, Symposium, and portions of the Republic, who has

not a sympathy with mysticism. To the uninitiated, as he

would himself have acknowledged, they will appear to be th e

dreams of a poet who is disguised as a philosopher. The re is

a twofold difficulty in apprehending this aspect of the Platonic

writings. First, we do not immediately realize tha t und er the

marble exterior of G reek literature was concealed a soul thrilling

with spiritual emotion. Secondly, the forms or figures which

the Platonic philosophy assumes, are not like the images of

the prophet Isaiah, or of the Apocalypse, familiar to

us

in the

days of ou r youth. By mysticism we mean, not th e extravagance

of an er rin g fancy, but th e concentration of reason in feeling, th e

enthusiastic love of the good, the true, th e one, the sense of the in-

finity of knowledge and of the marvel of the human faculties.

When feeding upon such thoughts the 'wing of the soul' is

renewed and gains strength

;

sh e is raised above 't h e manikins

of earth' and their opinions, waiting in wonder to know, and

working with reverence to find out what God in this or in another

life may reveal to her.



On the

declirie of

Greek

Litwature.

F‘hzedms.

ONEof the main purposes of Plato in the Ph ae dr us is to satirize

Rhetoric, or ra the r th e Professors of Rhetoric who swarm ed

at Athens in th e fourth centu ry before Christ. A s in th e opening

of the Dialogue h e ridicules the inte rpre ters of mytholog y; a s

in the Protagoras he mocks a t the Sophists ; as in the Euthy-

demus he makes fun of the word-splitting Eristics; as in the

Cratylus he ridicules the fancies of Etym ologers

; as

in the Meno

and

Gorgias and some other dialogues he makes reflections

and casts sly imputations upon th e higher classes at Athens

;

so

in the Phaedrus, chiefly in the latter part, he aims his shafts

at the rhetoricians. T h e profession of rhetoric w as the greatest

and most popular in Athens, necessary ‘ o a man’s salvation,’

or at any rate to his attainment of wealth or power; but Plato

finds nothing wholesome or genuine in th e purpose of it. It

is a veritable ‘sham,’ having

no

relation to fact, or to truth of

any kind. It is antipathetic to him no t only as a philosopher, but

also as a great writer. H e cannot abide the tricks of the rhetori-

cians, or the peda ntries and mann erisms which they introduce into

speech and writ ing. H e s ee s clearly how far removed they are

from the ways

of

simplicity and truth, and how ignorant of the

very elements of the ar t which the y ar e professing to teach. T h e

thing which is mo st n ecessary of all, th e knowledge of hum an

nature, is hardly if at all considered by them. T h e true rules

of

composition, which a re very few,

are

not to be found in their

voluminous systems. Th eir pretentiousness, their omn iscience,

their large fortunes, their impatience of argument, their in-

difference to first principles, their stupidity,

their progresses

through Hellas accompanied by a troop of their disciples-these

things were very distasteful to Plato, who esteemed genius far

above art, and was quite sensible of the interval which separated

them (Phaedrus,

269 D).

It is thc interval which scparates



Chararkristics

of

the decline.

425

Sophists and rhetoricians from ancient famous men and women

Phiracdrus.

such a s Hom er and Hesiod, Anacreon and Sappho, X sch ylu san d

Sophocles

;

and the Platonic Socrates

is

afraid that, if he approves

the former, he will be disowned by the latter ( a s B). The spirit

of rhetoric was soon to overspread all H ellas; and Plato with

prophetic insight may have seen, from afar, the grea t literary

waste o r dead level, or interminable marsh, in which Greek litera-

ture was soon to disappear. A similar vision of the decline of

the G reek drama and of the contrast of the old literature and the

new wa s present to the mind of Aristophan es after the death of the

three great tragedians (Frogs, 1.93

ff. .

After about a hundred, or

at most two hundred years if we exclude Homer, the genius of

Hellas had ceased to flower or blossom. T he drea ry waste which

follows, beginning with the Alexandrian writers and even before

them in the platitudes of Isocrates and his school, spreads over

much more than a thousand years. And from this decline the

Greek language and litera ture, unlike th e Latin, which has come to

life in new forms and been developed into the great European

languages, never recovered.

This monotony of literature, without merit, without genius

and without character, is a phenomenon which deserves more

attention than it has hitherto received

;

it is a phenomenon unique

in the literary history of the world. How could the re have been

so

much cultivation,

so

much diligence in writing, and

so

little

mind or real creative pow er ? W hy did a thousand years in-

vent nothing better than Sibylline books, Orphic poems, Byzan-

tine imitations of classical histories, Christian reproductions

of Greek plays, novels like the silly and obscene romances of

Longus and Heliodorus, innumerable forged epistles, a great

many epigrams, biographies of the meanest and most meagre

description, a sham philosophy which was the bastard progeny

of the union between H ellas and the E as t? Only in Plutarch,

in Lucian,

in

Longinus, in the Roman emperors Marcus

Aurelius and Julian, in some of the Christian fathers are

the re any traces of good se nse or originality, or any power

of arousing the interest of later ages. And when new

books

ceased to be written, why did hosts of grammarians and in-

terp re ters flock in, who never attain to any sound notion either of

grammar or interpretation

?

W h y did the physical sciences



426 Causes and symftonts

of

the decline.

Phuedrus. never arrive at any true knowledge or make any real progress?

W h y did poetry droop and languish

?

W h y did history degenerate

into fable

?

W h y did words lose their pow er of expression

?

W h y

were ages of external greatness and magnificence attended by

all the signs of decay in the hum an m ind which ar e possible ?

To

thes e questions many an sw ers may be given, which if not

the true causes, are at least to be reckoned among the symptom s

of the decline. T h e re is the want of method in physical science,

the w ant of criticism in h istory, the want of simplicity or delicacy

in poetry, the want of political freedom, which is the true

atmos phere of public spea king, in oratory. T h e ways of life

were luxurious and commonplace. Philosophy had become

extravagan t, eclectic, abstract, devoid of any real content. At

length it ceased to exist. It had spre ad words like plas ter over

the whole field of know ledge, It had grow n ascetic on one sid e,

mystical on the other. N eithe r of the se tendencies was favour-

able to literature.

T h er e was no sense of beauty either in

language or in art.

The Greek world became vacant, barbaric,

oriental.

N o

one had anything ne w to say , or an y conviction of

truth . T h e age had no remem brance of the past, no pow er of

understanding what other ages thought and felt. T h e Catholic

faith had degenerated into dogm a and controversy. Fo r more

than a thousand y ea rs not a single write r of first-rate, or even of

second-rate, reputation h as a place in th e innum erable rolls of

Greek literature.

If we se ek to go deep er, we can still only describe the o utward

nature of the clouds or darkness which were spread over the

heavens during so many .ages without relief or light. W e may

say that this, like several oth er long perio ds in the history of

th e human race, w as destitute, or deprived of the moral qualities

which ar e the root of literary excellence. It had no life o r

aspiration, no national or political force, no desire for consis-

tency,

no

love of know ledge for its own sak e.

It did not attempt

to pierce the m ists which surrounded it. It did not propose to

itself to go forward and scale the heights of knowledge, but to

go backwards and seek at the beginning what can only be found-

towards the end.

It w as lost in doubt and ignorance. It rested

upon tradition and authority. It had none of the higher play

of fancy which c reates poetry

;

and wh ere there is no t rue po etry,



Parallel

of

Moderit Literature.

4 2 7

neither can th ere be any good prose.

It had no great characters, Phaedrus.

and therefore it had no great writers. It was incapable of dis-

tinguishing between words and things. It was

s o

hopelessly

below the ancient standard of classical Greek art and literature

that it had no pow er of understanding or of valuing them. It

i s

doubtful whether any Greek author was justly appreciated in

antiquity except by his own contemporaries ; and this neglect

of

the grea t authors

of

the past led to the disappearance of the larger

part of them, while the Greek fathers were mostly preserved.

There is no reason to suppose that, in the century before the

taking of Constantinople, much more was in existence than the

scholars of the Rena issance ca rried away with them to Italy.

The character

of

Greek literature sank lower as time went

on. It consisted more and more of com pilations, of scholia, of

extracts, of commentaries, forgeries, imitations. T he commen-

tator or interp reter had no conception of his author a s a whole,

and ve ry little of the context of any passage which he was ex -

plaining. T he least things were preferred by him to the greatest,

The question of

a

reading, or a grammatical form, or an accent,

or the uses of a word, took the place of the aim or subject of

the book. H e had no sen se of th e beauties of an author, and

very little light is thrown by him on real difficulties. H e in-

terprets past ages by

his

own. T he greatest classical w rite rs

are the least appreciated by him. T hi s seem s to be the reason

why so many of them have perished, why the lyric poets have

almost wholly disappeared; why, out of the eighty or ninety

tragedies of E sc hy lu s and Sophocles, only seven of each have

been preserved.

Such an age of sciolism and scholasticism may possibly once

more get the better

of

the literary world. Th ere are those who

prophesy that the signs

of

such a day are again appearing among

us, and that at the end of the present century no writer of the

first class will be still alive. They think that the Muse of Litera -

ture may transfer herself to other countries less dried up or

worn out than our

own.

They seem to see the withering effect

of criticism on original genius,

No

one can doubt that such a

decay or decline of literature and of art seriously affects the

manners and character of a nation. It takes away half the joys

and refinements of life ; it increases its dulness and grossncss.



428 Can such a

&cline

b d arrested?

P?wdmr.

Hence it becomes

a

matter

of

great interest to consider how,

if at all, such a degeneracy may be averted. Is there any elixir

which can restore life and youth to the literature of a nation,

o r at an y rate which can prevent it becoming unmanned and

enfeebled ?

It is possible, and

&en probable, tha t th e extension of the m ean s of knowledge ov er

a wid er area and to person s living un de r ne w conditions ma y lead

to many ne w combinations of thoug ht and language. But, a s yet,

expe rience do es not favour the realization of such a hope or

promise. It may be trulyan swe red that at presen t the training of

teachers and the methods of education are very imperfect, and

therefore that we cannot judge of the future by the present.

When more of our youth are trained in the best literatures, and

in the best parts of them, their min ds may be expected to have a

larger growth, Th ey will have more interests, more thoughts,

more material for conversation

;

they will have a higher standard

and begin to think for themselves. T h e num ber of perso ns who

will have the opportunity of receiving the highest education

through the cheap press, and by the help of high schools and

colleges, may increase tenfold. It is likely that in every thousand

persons there is at least one who is far above the average in

natural capacity, but the seed which is in him dies for want of

cultivation. It has nev er had an y stimu lus to grow , o r an y field

in which to blossom a nd produc e fruit. H e re is a gre at reservoir

o r treasure-house of human intelligence out of which new wa ters

may flow and cover the earth. If at any time the great men of

the world should die out, and originality

or

genius appear to

suffer a partial eclipse, there is a bou ndless hop e in the m ultitude

of intelligences for future generations.

They may bring gif ts to

men such as the world has never received before.

They may

begin at

a

higher point and yet take with them all the results

of the past. T h e co-operation of m any ma y have effects not

less striking, though different in character from those which the

creative gen ius of a sin gle man, such as Bacon or Newton, form erly

produced.

Th ere is also great hope to be derived, not me rely

from the extension of education over a wider area, but from the

continuance of it d urin g many gene rations.

Educated parents

will have children fit to receive education ; and these again will

First the re is the p rog ress of education.



Hope

for t h future 429

grow

up

under circumstances far more favourable to the growth

Pkmdmr.

of intelligence than any which have hitherto existed in our

own or in former ages.

Even if we were to suppose

no

more men of genius to be

produced, the great writers of ancient or of modern times will

remain to furnish abundant materials of education to the coming

generation. Now that eve ry nation holds communication with

every other, we may truly say in a fuller se ns e than formerly that

‘t h e thoughts of men ar e widened with the p rocess of the suns.’

They will not be ‘cribbed, cabined, and confined’ within a pro-

vince

or

an island.

T he E ast will provide elements of culture to the

W es t a s well as the W es t to the East. Th e religions and literatures

of the world will be open books, which he who wills may read.

The human race may not be always ground down by bodily toil,

but may have gr ea te r leisure for th e improvement of the mind.

The increasing se ns e of the greatness and infinity of nature will

tend to awaken in men larger and more liberal thoughts. The

love of mankind may be the source of a greater developm ent of

literature than nationality has ever been. The re may be a greater

freedom from prejudice and party ; we may better understand the

whereabou ts of truth, and therefore th ere may be more success

and fewer failures in th e search for it. Lastly, in the coming ages

we shall carry with us the recollection of the past, in which are

necessarily contained m any seeds of revival and renaissance in the

future.

So

far is the world from becoming exhausted,

so

ground-

less is the fear that literature will ever die out.



P

H A

E

D

R LJ S.

PERSOIVS

O

THE DZALOGUX.

SOCRATES.

PHAEDROS.

SCENE -Under a plane-tree,by the banks

of

the Ilissus.

Steph

Socrates. My de ar Ph aedrus, w hence com e you, and w hither s ~ ~ ~ A ~ E ~

Phaedrus. I have come from Lysias the son of Cephalus, ~~$~~

and

I

am g oin g to tak e a walk outside the wall, for

I

have justleft

been sitting with him the whole morning

;

and our common

LYslG

the

orator,

is

friend Acum enys tells me that i t

is

much m ore refreshing to

abut

o

walk in the open air than to be shut

u p

in a cloister. take a walk

in the coun

SOC. h e re he is i -ight. Lysias then,

I

suppose, wa s in the t r y ,

when

town ?

he meets

Phaedr. Yes, he w as s taying with Epicrates, he re a t the

Socmtes*

P H A E D R W .

227 are you going

?

house of Morychus

;

that house which

is

near the temple of

Olympian Zeus.

SOC. nd how did he enter tain y o u ? Can

I

be wrong in

suppo sing that Lysias gave you a feast of discourse ?

Phaedr. You shall hear, if you can spare time to accom-

pany me.

Sac.

And should

I

not deem the conversation of you and

Lysias

‘ a

thing 6f higher import,’ as

I

may say in the words

of Pindar,

‘

han an y business

’ ?

Phaedr.

W ill you go on ?

SOC.

nd will you go on with th e na rrat io n?

Phaedr.

My tale, Socrates, is one

of

you r sort for love

Thetheme

wa s the them e which occupied us-love after a fashion: :k?zrn-

Lysias has been writing about a fair youth who was being d o x a b u t

tempted, but not by a lo ve r; and this was the point ; he love



432 Phaedrus

has learned by

head a speech

of Lysias.

Phtdrn .

ingenious ly proved tha t the non- lover should be accepted

soca*tn~, r a the r t han t he l over.

PH*RDR"n

SOC.

ha t i s noble of h im

I

wish tha t h e would say t he

poor man ra the r t han t he r ich, and t he o ld ma n ra th e r t han

the y oung on e ;-then h e wou ld mee t t h e case o f m e and o f

m a n y a man ; i s words would be qui te ref resh ing , and he

would be

a

publ ic benefactor . F o r my part '

I

d o

so

l ong to

he ar h i s speech , tha t if you walk a l l the way to M egara , and

when you have reached the wa ll come back , a s H erod icus

recommends, wi thout going in , I wil l keep you company.

Phaedr.

W h a t d o

you

m e an , m y g oo d S o c r a t e s ? H o w

can you imagine tha t my unpract ised mem ory can do jus t i ce 228

to a n e labora te work , which th e grea tes t rhe toric ian of t h e

ag e spe nt a long t ime in composing. Inde ed , I ca nn ot ;

I

would give a gre at deal if I could.

SOC. believe that

I

k n ow P h a e d r u s a b o u t a s w e ll a s

I

know myself, and

I

am very su r e t ha t t h e spe ech o f Lys i as

w as repe ated to h im, no t onc e only , bu t again an d again

;-

h e in si st ed o n hea r ing it ma ny t imes over and Lys i as was ve ry

will ing to gratify him

;

at l as t, wh en noth ing e l se would do ,

h e got ho ld of th e book, an d looked a t wha t h e mos t wanted

to see,- this occupied him du rin g the who le m orn ing ;-and

t h e n w h e n h e

was

t ired w i th s i t ting , h e we nt ou t to t ake

a walk, not unti l , by the dog, as

I

believe, h e ha d s imply

l ea rned by hea r t t he en t i r e d i scourse , un l ess i t was un -

usual ly long , and h e went to a p lace outs ide the wall tha t h e

might prac t i se h i s l esson . T h e re he saw a cer tain lover of

d i scourse who had

a

s imi lar weakness ; -he saw an d re-

jo iced; now thought he , ' I sha l l have a pa r tne r i n my

revels .' A nd h e invited him to come an d walk wi th him,

Bu t wh en th e lover of d i scourse begged tha t h e would re pea t

the ta le , he gave h imsel f a i r s and sa id , ' N o I cannot, ' as if

h e w ere i ndi sposed

;

al though, if the hea rer had refused, h e

would so on er o r l a ter have been compelled by h im

t o

l isten

whe ther h e wou ld o r no. There fo re , Phaedru s , b id h im do

a t once wha t h e will soon d o whe the r b idden

or

not.

Phaedr. I

see tha t you wi ll no t l e t me

off

unti l

I

speak in

some fash ion or ot he r ; ver ily therefore m y bes t p lan i s to

s p e ak a s

I

best can.

Thewaysof

rFzy

known to

Socmtes*

Soc.

A v e r y

true

remark, that

of

yours .



The walk aZong the IZissus.

4 3 3

Phaedr . I will d o as I say; but bel ieve me, Socrates , I d i d Phacdmr.

not l ea rn the ve ry words -0 n o ; neve r the le ss I have a

sOCRATES,

gen era l not ion of what he sa id , an d wi ll g ive you a s u m m a r y

pHAKDRus.

of th e p oints in which th e lover dif fered from the non- lover .

Le t me begin a t the beginning.

SOC. es, my sweet one; but you must f i rs t of a l l show

w h o o b -

what you hav e in you r le ft han d und er yo ur c loak, for tha t ~~~s~~~

roll, as I suspect , is th e ac tua l d iscourse . Now, much a s

the rol l

I

love you,

I

would n o t have you su ppose tha t

I

a m go i ng t o ::zhihi

have your memory exercised at my expense, i f you have cloak.

Lysias himself here .

Phaedr .

E n o u g h

; I

see tha t

I

have no hope of prac t i s ing

229my art upo n you. Bu t if I am to read, where would you

please to s i t ?

SOC. e t

u s

turn as ide and go by the I l i ssus ; we wi l l s i t

down a t som e quiet spot .

Phaedr . I am for tuna te in not hav ing my sanda ls, and as

you n eve r hav e any, I t h ink tha t we may go a long the b rook

an d cool ou r fee t in the water

;

his will be the easiest way,

a nd a t m idday a nd in t he s um m e r is far f rom b eing unpleasant .

SOC. ead on, an d look ou t for a place in which we can

si t down.

Phaedr . Do you see tha t ta l les t p lane- t ree in the d is tance?

SOC. es.

Phaedr .

T he r e a r e s ha de a nd ge n tl e b r ee ze s, a nd g r a s s on

SOC.Move forward.

Phaedr . I sho uld l ike to know, Socra tes, wh ether the p lace

On the \ray

which we m ay e i ther s i t o r l ie down.

is not som ewh ere he re a t which B oreas is said to have carr ied

off Ori thyia f rom the banks of the I l i ssus

?

Phaedrus

asks

the

opinion of

OC.

p c h is th e t radi tion.

Phaedr ,

A nd i s t h i s t he e xa c t s po t

?

The l i t t l e s t ream is

Socrates

del ightful ly c lear an d br ight

;

I can fancy tha t the re might

the

tnith

of a local

e m aiden s playing near .

soc.

I

be li eve tha t t he spo t

is

not exact ly here , but about

legend.

a qu ar te r of

a

mile lower down, w he re you c ross to the temple

of Ar temis , a nd t he re is, I think, some sor t of an a l tar of

Boreas a t t he p lace .

Phaedr . I hav e nev er noticed i t

;

but I beseech you to tell

me, Socrates , do you bel ieve this ta le

?

1’0L.

I. F f



434

The allegorical inteiy5retation o f nydhology.

PhlifYtS

SCCRATE%

PHABDRUS.

Socrates

desires to

know him-

self before

hc enquires

into the

newly found

philosophy

of myth-

ology.

Socrates,

who is an

inhabitant

of

the city,

is charmed

with the

sights and

sounds of

the country

which are

so

new lo

him.

SOC. h e wise a re doubtful , and I should not be singular

if, like them,

I

too doubted.

I

might have

a

rational ex-

planat ion that Ori thyia was playing with Pharmacia , when

a northern gust carr ied her over the neighbour ing rocks ;

and this being the m anner of her death, s h e was said to have

been carr ied away by Boreas. T h e re is a discrepancy, h o w

ever, about th e locali ty; according to anoth er version of the

story sh e was taken f rom the Areopagus, and

not

f rom th is

place. Now I quite acknowledge that these allegories are

very nice , but h e is not to b e envied who h as to invent them

;

much lab our and ing enu ity will be required of him

;

nd when

he ha s once begun, he must go on and rehabi l i ta te Hippo-

centati rs and chimeras dire . Go rgons and winged ste eds

flow in apace, and numberless other inconceivable and por-

tentous natures. An d if h e is sceptical about them, an d

would fain reduce them one after another to the rules of

probability, this sort of crud e philosophy will tak e

up

a grea t

deal of time.

Now I have no le isure for such enquir ies;

shall

I

t e l l you why?

I

mu st first know myself, a s th e

Delphian inscription sa ys ; to be curious about that which is

230

not my con cern, while

I

am stil l in igno rance of my own self,

would be ridiculous.

And therefore I bid farewell to all th is ;

th e common opinion

is

enough for me.

For,

a s I wa s saying,

I want to know not about this, but about myself : am I a

mo nster m ore complicated an d swo llen with passion th an th e

serpe nt Typho, o r a creature of a gen t ler and simpler sor t,

to whom Na ture h as given a diviner and lowlier de st in y?

But let me ask you, fr iend : have we not reached the plane-

tree to which you were conducting

u s

?

Phnedr. Yes, this is the tree.

SOC.

y Here , a fair resting-place, full of sum me r so un ds and

scents. H e re is this lofty and sprea ding plane-tree , and the

ag nu s castus high and clustering, in the fullest blossom an d

the greates t f ragrance ; and the s t ream which flows beneath

th e plane-tree is deliciously cold

to

th e feet. Jud ging from

the ornaments and images, this must be a spot sacred to

Achelous and the Nymphs. H ow delightful is the breeze

:--

so very sweet ; and there is a sound in the a ir shr i l l and

summerl ike which makes answer to the choru s of th e

cicndae. Rut the greatest charm of all is

the grass, l ike



435

a p i l low gent ly s lop ing to the head .

M y d e a r P h a e d r u s , Phcredfirs.

you have been a n ad mi rab l e gu ide .

SocRArEs.

Phaedr.

W h a t an i ncomprehens ib l e be ing you a re,

PHAEDRUS.

Soc ra t es : wh en you a re i n t he coun t ry , a s you say , you

real ly are l ike some s t ranger who i s l ed about by a gu ide .

Do

y o u e v e r c ro s s t h e b o r d e r ?

I

r a the r t h ink t ha t you never

venture even outs ide the gates .

SOC.

ery t rue , my good f r iend ; a n d I hope tha t you wi l l H e i s a

excuse m e whe n you he a r t he r eason , wh ich is, tha t I a m a ~'~~~'e

lover of knowledge, an d the me n wh o dwel l in the c ity a re andofman-

my t eacher s , and no t t he tr ees o r t he coun try . T ho ug h

I

ki nd ,a nd

do inde ed believe tha t you hav e found a spell wi th which to a n o n l y h

d r a w m e o u t of the c ity in to the count ry , l ike a hu ng ry cow drawnout

of the city

before whom a bough o r a bunch of f ru i t

is

waved. For bythehelp

only hold

up

before me in l ike m an ne r a book, a nd you m ay

Ofa hook.

l ead me a ll roun d At t ica , an d ove r th e wide world .

A n d

now having arr ived,

I

i n t end to l ie down , and do you choose

an y pos ture in which you can read bes t.

You

know how mat t e r s s t and wi th me

;

231

and how, as I conceive, th i s a ffair may be ar ra ng ed for the

advantage of both of

us.

A n d I maintain that I o u g h t n o t

to fai l in m y suit , beca use I am no t your l over : fo r l over s

repen t of t he k indnesses wh ich t hey have shown when the i r

pass ion ceases , bu t to th e non- lovers w ho a r e f ree an d not

und er a n y compuls ion , no t ime of r epen t ance ever com es ;

for the y confer the i r benef i ts acc ord in g to the m easu re of

their abil ity, in t he way which is most cond ucive to th ei r

own interest .

of

t he ir l ove t hey have neg lec ted t he ir own concerns an d E;:: '''''':

r endered se rv i ce

to

o t h e r s : a n d w h e n

to

these benef i t s tothelover,

confe r red t hey add on t he t roub les wh ich t h ey have e ndured ,

?

t hey t h ink t ha t t hey have 1ong .ago m ade to t he be loved a ownmas-

very a m ple re turn .

But the non- lover has no such torment - ter, less

exacting,

ing

recol lect ions ; he has never neg l ec t ed h i s a f fa i r s

or

more

qua rre l led with h i s re la t ions

;

h e h a s n o t r o u b l e s t o a d d up to keep

or

excuses t o i nven t

;

and being wel l r id of all these evils ,

~ ~ ~ ~ f ' s

wh y shou ld h e no t f ree ly do what will g ra t ify the beloved

? less fickle,

I f you say t ha t t he l over i s more t o b e es teemed , because h i s

love

is

t hough t t o be g r e a t e r

;

or he is wi l ling to say a n d d o JCAOUS, less

what i s ha tefu l to o the r men, in o rd er to p lease h i s be loved ; exc'usive

;

therefore

Begin.

'

Phaedr. Listen.

T h en again , l over s cons ide r how by reason ~ k n o n -

F

f 2



436 The discourse of Lysias.

~hrrudrus. - that, if true, is only a p roof tha t he will prefer any future

L ~ ~ ~ ~ .

ove to his present, and will injure his old love at the

and there

pleasu re of the new. And how, in

a

matter of such infinite

ammore

importance, can a man be right in trusting himself

to

one

of

hem.

wh o is afflicted with a malady which n o exp erienced pe rso n

would attempt to cure, for the patient himself admits that he

is

not in his r ight mind, and acknowledges that he is wrong

in his mind, but sa ys that he is una ble to control hims elf?

And if he came to his r ight mind, would he ever imagine

that the de sires were go od which h e conceived when in his

wrong mind ? Once more, there are many more non- lovers

than lovers; and if you choose the best of the lovers, you

will no t have many to choose fro m ; but if from the no n-

lovers, the choice will be larger, and

you

will be far more

likely to f ind among them a person who is worthy of your

friendsh ip. If public opinion be your dread, and you would

avoid reproach, in all probabili ty the lover, who is always

thinking that other men are as emulous of him as he is of232

them, will boast to some on e of his succe sses, and m ake a

show

of

them openly in the pride of his heart;-he wa nts

others to know that his labour has not been lo st ; but the

non-lover is more his own master , and is desirous of solid

good, and not of the opin ion of ma nkin d. Again, th e lover

may be generally noted or seen following the beloved (this is

his reg ular occupation), an d when ever th ey ar e observed to

exchange two words they are supposed to meet about some

affair

of

love eith er past

or

in contemplation

;

but when non-

lovers meet, no one asks the reason why, because people

know that ta lking to another is natural , whether f r iendship

or

me re pleasu re be the motive. On ce more, if you fear th e

fickleness

of

f riendship, consider that in any othe r case a

quarrel might be a mutual calamity; but now, when you

have given up what

is

most precious to you, you will be the

greater loser , and therefore, you will have more reason in

being afraid of the lover, for his vexations are many, and he

is always fancying that every one is leagued against him.

W he refo re a lso he de ba rs his beloved f rom society; he will

not have

you

intimate with the wealthy, lest they shou ld

Reading T h i y c r v ;

cf.

infra,

74

8 1 ~ h i y r a 6 ~ 1 .



The lover ana' the non-lover.

437

exce ed him in wealth, o r with men of educatioo, lest they Phmdw.

should be h is super iors in und ers tand ing; an d he i s equal ly L~~~~

afraid of anybody's inf luence who has a ny oth er advantage

ov er himself . I f he ca n per sua de you to break with them,

you are left without a friend in the world; or if , out of a

regard to your own in terest , you have m ore se nse than to

comply with his de sire, you will have to qu arre l with him.

But those who are non-lovers , and whose success in love is

the reward of their merit , will not be jealous of the com.

panions of their beloved, and wil l rather hate those who

refuse to be his associates, thinking that their favourite is

s l ighted by the lat ter an d benefi ted by the fo rm er ; for more

love than hatred may be expected to come to him out of his

fr iendship with others . M any lovers too have loved the

person of a youth before they knew his cha racter o r his

belongings;

so

that w hen their pass ion h as passed away,

there i s

no

know ing whe the r the y will continue to be his

233 friends ; whereas , in th e case of non-lovers who -were

always friends, the friendship

is

not lessened by the favours

g ran ted

;

but the recollection of these remains with them,

an d is an ea rne st of good things to come. Further ,

1

s a y

Thenoil-

that you are likely to be improved by me, wherpas the lover

:::::

will spoil you. F o r they praise you r words and act ions in thelover

a wrong w ay ; partly, because they a re afraid of offending

wll*spoll,

you, an d also, their ju dg m en t is weakened by passion. ofh isaf -

Su ch ar e the fea ts which love exhib i ts ; he m akes th ings

fections.

painful

to

th e disappointed which give no pain to others

;

h e

compels the successful lover to praise what ought not to

give him pleasure, an d therefore the beloved is to be pitied

ra th er th an env ied. But if you listen to me, in th e first

place,

I,

in my intercourse with you, shall not merely regard

pre sen t enjoyment, but also futu re advantage, being not

mastered by love, but m y own m as te r ; no r for small causes

taking violent dislikes, but even when the cause is great,

slowly layin g up little wra th-unintention al offences

I

shall

forgive, and intentional ones I sha l l t ry to p reve n t ; and

these a re th e ma rks of a f r iendship which will las t.

think that a lover only can be a firm friend ? re fle ct :-if th is 2;:;

the

were true, we should se t small value on sons, o r fathers,

or friend: he

mothers ; nor should we ever have loyal f r iends, for our E$r

the

ObJect

Do you The non-



438 The su eriorir‘y of the non-Zwer.

Phedmr.

love of them arises not from passion, but from other asso-

L ~ ~ ~ ~ ,

iations. Fu rthe r, if we ou ght to show er favours on those

SocM.na

who are the most eager sui tors ,-on that pr inciple, we ought

more Of

* alwa ys to do good, not to the m ost virtuous, but to the mo st

giver

; his

loveismore

need y; for they ar e the person s wh o will be m ost relieved,

=%and

an d will therefore be the m ost grate ful;

and when you

is

never

censure&

make a feast you should invite not your friend, but the

beggar and the empty soul; for they wil l love you, a n d

attend you, and come about your doors, and will be the best

pleased, an d t he m ost grateful, an d will invok e many

a

bless ing on yo ur head. Y et surely you ought not

to

be

granting favours to those who besiege you with prayer, but

to those who ar e best ab le to reward yo u; nor to the lover

only, but to those who a re wo rthy of love

;

nor to those who

will enjoy the bloom of your youth, but to those who will

234

sh ar e their possessions with you in age ; no r to those who,

having succeeded, will glory in the ir success to o thers, but

to those who will be modest an d tell no tales

;

nor to those

who care about you for a moment only, but to those who

will continue your friends through life

;

nor to those who,

when their passion

is

over, will pick a quarrel with you, but

rather to those who, when t he charm ofy ou th h as left you, will

show their own virtue. Rem ember what I have sa id ; and

consider yet this fur ther point

:

fr iends admonish the lover

un de r the idea that his wa y of life is bad, but no on e of his

kindred eve r yet censu red the n on-lover,

or

thought that he

was ill-advised about his own interests.

‘Perhaps you wi l l ask me whether I propose that you

should indulge every non-lover. T o which

I

reply that not

even t he lover would advise you to ind ulge all lovers, for

the indiscriminate favour is less esteemed by the rational

recipient, and less easily hidden by him whd would escap e

th e cen sure of the world. Now love ou gh t to be for the

advantage of both parties, an d for the injury of neither.

‘I

believe that I have‘said enough

;

but i f there

is

any-

thing more which you desire or which in yo ur opinion need s

to be supplied, ask an d I will answer.’

Now, Soerates , what do you think ?

Is

not the discourse

excellent, more especially in the matter of the language ?

SOC.

es, quite admirable ; he effect on me was rav ishing.



S o c m h s ' c?ZticisiIi

of

t h speech b

ysias.

439

And this

I

owe to you, Phaedrus , for

I

observed you while

Phmnvtis.

readin g to be in an ecs tasy, and th in kin g tha t you ar e mo re s ~ ~

experienced in these m atte rs than

I

am,

I

followed your

PXAEDRUS*

example, and, l ike you, my divine darling,

I

became inspired Socrates

has no great

with a phrenzy.

opinion of

Phaedr.

Ind eed , you ar e pleased to be m erry. the speech.

At first the

SOC. o you mean that

I

am not in earnes t

? effect on

Phaedr.

Now don't talk in th at way, Socra tes, but let m e h i m w a s

have your rea l opin ion;

I

ad jur e you, by Zeu s, th e god of

fr iendship, to tel l me whether you think that any Hellene

becausehe

could have said more

or

spok en bet ter on th e same subjec t.

SOC.

W ell , bu t ar e you a nd

I

expected

to

przise the sent i -

was m-

ments of the au thor , or only the clearness , a nd roundness , zp:;tt2

and finish , and tournure of the lan gu age ? A s t o the first he wi l l

worthy to form an opinion, having only at tended to the j udge m e n t ;

rhe to r ica l manner ; and I was doubt ing w hethe r th is could o f t h e m a n -

have been defended even by Lys ias h im sel f ;

I

thought ,

n o t t h i n k

though

I

speak under correct ion, that he repeated himself

much.

two o r three times, ei ther f rom want of words or from want

of pa in s ; and a lso , he a ppe ared to me os tenta tious ly to

exult in show ing how well he could say the same t hi ng ' in

two o r thre e ways.

Phaedr.

Nonsense , Socra tes ; what you call repetition was

the especial meri t of the speech ; or he omitted no topic of

which th e subject r ightly allowed, an d

I

do not th ink tha t

an y one 'could have spoken bet ter o r more exhaust ively.

Ancient sages ,

men an d women, who have spoken an d wri t ten of these

things, would rise up in ju dg m en t against me, if out of com-

plaisance

I asse nte d to you.

Phaedr,

W h o a re they, and where d id you hear any th ing

bet ter than th is

?

SOC.

am su re tha t

I

must have heard ; but a t th is

H e h a s

moment

I

do no t r emember f rom whom; pe rhaps f rom

~~~~~

Sa pp ho th e fa ir, o r Anacreon the wise

;

or, possibly, from

a speech, an d

p r o s e w r it er . W h y d o I say

so

? Why, because

I

perceive

E?

that my bosom i s full , an d that

I

could make an oth er speech

make

one

~~''' &

235 I will ingly submit to yo ur bet ter judg me nt , for I am no t submit to

Phaedrus's

ner he does

SOC.

h e r e

I

cannot go alo ng with you.

Reading r a h d



440

P ~ ~ N S .

s good a s that of Lysias , an d different. No w

I

am certain

s ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ,hat this

is

not an invent ion of m y own, wh o am well aw are

PerEDRus.

that

I

know noth ing , and therefore

I

can only infer tha t

I

himself,not

have been f i l led through the ears , l ike a pi tcher , f rom the

ferent,

for

waters of another , though I have actual ly forgot ten in my

this

or

any

s tupidity who w as m y informant .

have

Phaedr. T h a t i s g ra nd :-but neve r mind wh ere you heard

s om e good

the d i scourse or from wh om ; le t tha t be a mys tery not to

topics

which are be divulged even a t my ear nes t desi re .

On ly , as y ou say,

common-

promise to make an othe r and bet ter orat ion, equal in length

and ent i rely new, on the same subject

;

a n d

I,

l ike the n ine

laces.

Archons, wi l l promise to set up a golden image a t Delphi ,

not only of myself, but of you, and as large a s life.

SOC. ou a r e a dear go lden as s i f you suppose me to

mean th a t Ly s ias has a l together missed t he mark , and tha t

I

can make a speech f rom which a l l h i s a rgum ents a re to be

excluded. T h e wors t o f au th ors will say som eth ing which is

to the point. W h o , for example, could spe ak on this thesis

of yo urs wi thout prais ing th e discret ion of the non-lover

236

and blaming the indiscret ion of the lover ? T h e s e a r e th e

comm onplaces of the su bject which mu st come in (for w ha t

else is there to be said ?) and must be al lowed and excused ;

the on ly mer i t i s in the ar rang em ent of them, for ther e can

be no ne in th e invention ; but wh en you leave the common-

places , then the re m ay be som e originali ty .

Phaedr.

I admi t tha t there i s reason in wh at

you

say , and

I too will be reasonable, and will allow

you

to s tar t wi th the

premiss tha t the lover i s mo re d i sord ered in h i s wi t s than

the l ion-lover ; i f in what remains

you

make

a

l o n g e r a n d

be t te r spee ch than Lysias, and use o the r a rgum en t s , t hen

I

say again, tha t a s tatue you sha l l hav e of beaten gold, an d

take you r place by the colossal offerings of tn e Cypsel ids at

Olympia.

SOC. ow profoundly in earnes t i s the lover , because to

tease him I lay a f inger upon his love A nd

so,

Phaedrus ,

you rea l ly imagine tha t

I

am going to improve upon the

ingenuity of Lysias ?

Phaedr.

T h e r e

I

have you as you had me, and you must

Banter of Pha.drus

and

Socrates.

entirely d lf-

speech

Oneat leas t

of Lysias'

common-

placesis

not

to

be

excluded.



The parol+

of Socrates.

441

j u s t s pe a k

‘as

you best can.’

q u o q u e ’

as

in a farce , or compel m e to say to you as you socRAres

said to me,

‘ I

know Soc ra te s a s well a s

I

know m yse lf , an d

PH*EDRUs.

he wa s wa nt ing to speak, but h e gav e himse lf a irs .’ R a th er Fair play.

Phaedrus is

I

would hav e you con sider tha t from this p lace we s t i r not

det ermind

unt i l you hav e unbosomed yourse lf of the speec h ; or he re to extort a

a r e we a l l a lone , and I am s t ronge r , remember, an d younge r ~~~~

than you: -Wherefore perp end , an d d o not compel me to

Socrates

has dready

SOC.

ut , my sweet Ph aed rus , how ridiculous i t would be

the

speech

of me to compe te w i th Lys ia s in an ex temp ore spee ch F ~ o ~

H e i s a m a s t er in h is a r t an d I am an un taught man .

Phaedr.

You

s e e h o w m a t t e r s ’ s t a n d ;

and therefore le t

there be n o m ore pre t en ces ; for, indeed, I know the word

tha t

is

irresistible.

Do not le t u s e xc ha nge ‘ t u Phacdrus.

use violence.

extorted

self.

SOC. h e n don’ t say i t.

Phaedr. Yes, but

I

wil l ; and my word sha l l be an oa th .

‘ I

say, o r ra th er swear ’-but wh at god will be the wi tn ess

of my oa th ?-‘ By th i s p l ane -t r ee I swear , that unless you

repea t the d isc ourse here in the face of th i s very plane- tree ,

I will never tel l you an ot he r ; nev er le t you have word of

a no t he r ’

SOC.

i l lain I am con que red ; the poor love r

of

dis-

cour se has no more to say .

Phaedr. T h en why a r e you s ti ll a t your t ri cks?

SOC. am not g oing to p lay t r icks now tha t you have taken

Phaedr.

Proceed.

SOC. ha l l

I

te l l you what

I

will do ?

Phaedr.

W h a t ?

SOC

will vei l my face an d gal lop thro ug h the discourse

as

fas t a s

I

can, for if

I

see you

I

shal l feel ashamed and not

know w hat to say.

Phaedr. O nl y

go

on a nd you m a y do any thing e lse which

you please.

SOC.

ome,

0

y e Muses , melodious , a s ye a re ca lled ,

whether you have rece ived th is name f rom the charac te r

of yo ur s t ra ins , o r because the Mel ians ’ are a musical race,

the oath, for I cannot a l low myself to be s tarved.

237

In

the original,

hbytrar,

Akyucr.



442 Socyaks has become iitspired

Phmdm. help, 0 help me in the tale which my good friend here

s ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ .

esires me to rehearse , in order that his f r iend whom he

always deemed wise may seem to him to be wiser now than

ever.

Before

we Once upon a t ime there was a fair boy, or , more properly

:AE

speaking, a youth ; he was very fa ir and had a great many

ther the

lovers; and there was on e special cunning one, who had

non-loveror persuaded the youth that he did not love him, but he really

bepreferred loved him a l l the sam e; and on e day w h en he was paying

wemusten- his addresses to him, he used this very argument-that he

quire into

thenature

ought to accept the non- lover ra ther than the lover ; his

oflove.

words were

as

follows:-

‘All good counsel begins in the same w ay ; a man should

know what he

is

advising about, or his counsel will all come

to nought. But people imagine that they know abou t th e

natu re of things, wh en th ey don’t know ab out them, and,

not having come to an understanding at f i rs t because they

think that they know, they end, as might be expected, . in

contradicting on e an ot he r and themselves. Mow you and

I must not be guilty of this fundamental error which we

condemn in o thers ;

but as our quest ion is whether the

lover or non-lover is to be preferred, let us first of all

agree in def ining the nature and power of love, and then,

keeping our eyes upon .the definition a nd to th is appealing,

let us . fur ther enquire whether love br ings advantage or

disadvantage.

‘

Eve ry one sees that love is a desire, an d we know also

that non-lovers desire the beautiful an d good. Now in

what way

is

the lover to be dist inguished f rom the non-

There are l ove r ?

Le t us note that in every on e of us there ar e two

p,esinman,

guiding and rul ing pr inciples which lead

u s

whither they

rational de- will ; one is th e natural desire of pleasure , the other . is an

and

jr- acquired opinion which aspires after the best

;

and these two

rational

:

thelatteris are sometimes in harmony an d then again a t war, an d some-

the power

t imes the one, sometimes the other conquers. W h en opinion

of love.

by the help of reason leads us to the best , the conquer ing

principle is called temperance ; but when desire, which is 238

devoid of reason, rule s in

us

a nd d r a gs

u s

to pleasure, that

power of misrule is called excess. Now excess ha s many

names, and many members, and many forms, and any of

lover is

to

two princi-



with

a

new

sort

of

discourse.

443

these forms wh en very marked gives a name, ne i ther honour- ~ h a d m s .

able no r c redi table , to the beare r of the name, T h e des i re

socaArHC

of ea t ing, for example , which ge ts the be t te r of the h igher

PHAmRus.

reason a nd the o the r des i res , i s ca lled gluttony, and he

who is possessed by i t is called a glut ton

;

the tyrannica l

desire of dr ink, which incl ines the possessor of the desire to

dr ink , ha s a nam e which is only too obvious, and there can

be as l i t t l e doubt by what name any other appe t i te of the

sam e family wou ld be called ;-it will be the name of that

which happens to be dominant .

A n d n o w

I

th ink tha t you

wil l perceive the dr i f t of my discourse

;

but as every spoken

word is in a manner p la iner than the unspoken, I had be t te r

sa y fur ther that th e i r ra t ional d esire which overcomes the

tendency of opinion towards r ight , and is led away to the

enjoyment

of

beauty, an d especial ly of p ersonal beauty, by

th e desires which ar e he r own kindred-that su pre m e desire ,

I say, which by leading co nq ue rs an d by th e force of passion

is reinforced, from th is very force, receivin g a n ame, is called

love

(+pop iuos

+os).’

And now, dea r Phaedrus ,

I

sha l l pause for an ins tant

Socratesat-

to ask wh ether you do not th ink me, as I app ear to myse lf ,

;$

inspired

?

the f low of

Phaedr. Yes, Socrates , you seem to have a very unusual ~ ~ ~o

flow of wo rds. unusual

SOC. is ten to me, then, in s i lence ; or surely the place is wl l rn*

holy;

so

that you must not wonder , if, a s I proceed, I a ppe a r

to be in a divine fury, for a l ready

I

am ge t t ing in to d i thy-

rambics.

Phaedr, Nothing can be t ruer .

SOC he responsibi l i ty res t s wi th you.

But hea r wha t

fol lows, and perhaps the f i t may

be

aver ted ; l l is in their

hands above.-

I

will

go

on ta lking to my youth. Listen

:-

Th us , my f riend, we have dec la red an d defined the na tu re

of the subject . K eep ing the def init ion in view, le t u s now en-

qui re what advantage

or

disadvantage

is

l ikely to en su e f rom

the lover

or

th e non- lover to h im who accepts the i r advances.

He w ho is th e vic tim of his passions a nd t he s lave of plea .

su re will

of

course des i re

to

make his beloved

as

agreeable

to himself as possible . Now to him who h as a mind diseased

Reading y.rfi.



444

Pkdrus .

SOWUTFS.

Th e lover

desires

to

secure the

inferiority

and subser-

viency

of

thebeloved.

H e

will

banish from

him society

and philo-

sophy.

H e w ill

choose

an

effeminate

person

for his be-

loved, and

train him

to be more

effeminate.

The elder&

lover, disagreeubZe

while Zoving,

any th ing i s agreeable which i s no t opposed to h im, bu t tha t

which i s equal o r supe r ior

is

hateful to him, and therefo re

the lover will no t b rook any sup er ior i ty o r equal ity on the

part of his beloved

;

h e is always employed in reducing h im

239

to inferiori ty . An d the ign ora nt i s th e infer ior of th e wise,

th e coward of the brave , the s low

of

spee ch of the speaker ,

the dul l of t he c l ever . Th ese , and no t these on ly , a re t h e

men tal defects of the beloved ; -defects which, w he n im-

planted by nature, are necessari ly a del ight to the lover ,

and, when not implanted, he must contr ive to implant them

in him, i f he would not be deprived of his f leet ing joy.

A nd therefore he cannot he lp being jea lous, and will d eb ar

his beloved from the advantages

of

society which would

make a man

of

him, and especial ly from tha t society which

would have g iven h im w isdom, an d there by h e can not fail to

do h im great harm. T h a t i s to say , in h i s excessive fear l es t

he should come to be desp ised in h i s e ye s he will be com-

pelled to banish f rom him d iv ine phi losoph y; an d the re is

no g rea ter in jury which h e can infl ic t upon h im tha n th is .

H e will cont r ive tha t h i s be loved shal l be whol ly ignorant ,

and i n e very th ing sha l l look to him ; he i s to be th e del igh t

of the lover’s heart , an d a cu rse to himself. Ve ri ly, a lov er

is

a prof i t ab le guard ian and associa te for h im in a l l tha t

relates to his mind.

L e t

u s

next see how his master , whose law of l i fe i s plea-

su re an d not good, will keep an d t ra in th e body

of

his servant .

Wi l l he no t choose a be loved who

is

de l i ca t e r a the r t han

s t u r d y a n d s t r o n g ? O n e b r o u g h t u p i n s h a d y b o w e rs a n d

not in the br igh t sun , a s t ran ge r to m anly exerc i ses an d the

sweat of toil , accustomed only to a soft an d lu xu riou s diet ,

ins tead of the h ue s of hea lth h av ing t he co lou rs

of

pa in t and

ornamen t , and t he r es t of

a

piece? -such a life as a n y o n e

can imagine an d which

I

nee d not de ta il a t l ength . But I

may sum up a ll t ha t I have t o s a y i n a word , and pass on .

S u c h a p e r s o n i n w a r, o r in a n y

of

t he g rea t c r i s es

of

life,

wi ll be t he anx ie ty of his f r i ends and a l so of h i s lover ,

and ce r t a in ly no t t he t e r ro r of h i s e n e m i e s ; w h i c h n o b o d y

can deny.

And now le t

u s

te ll wha t advan tage o r d i sadvan tage the

beloved wil l receive from the guardianship and society of



and

when ceasing

t o

Cove, utteerdy detestadle.

445

his lover in th e m at ter of h is proper ty ; th is i s th e ne xt

Phacdrur.

point to be considered.

what, indeed, will be sufficiently evident to all men, that

he desires above all things to deprive his beloved of his H e w i l l d e -

240

de ares t a nd best an d holiest possessions, father, mother,

$

kindred, f riends, of al l w hom he thinks may be hinde rers o r

parents,

reprovers of the i r mos t sweet converse

;

he wil l even cast

:::zy'

a jea lous eye upon h is gold and s i lver or o ther proper ty ,

everyother

because the se m ake him a less e asy prey, an d when caught

god

less manageable

;

hen ce he is of necessi ty displeased a t his

possess ion of them an d rejoices at their loss

;

an d he would

like him to be wifeless, childless, homeless, as well ; and the

longer the bet ter , for the longer he is all this , the longer he

will enjoy him.

T he re ar e some sor t of an imals, such as f la tterers , who

Thef la t -

are dangerous and mischievous enough, and yet na ture has

mingled a tem po rary pleasure and gr ac e in their composi- s a n m a y k

tion.

approve of such cre atures an d their pract ices , and yet for the

pern,clous,

t ime the y ar e very pleasant.

But

the lover

is

not only

b u t t h e o l d

hurtful to his love; he is also an extremely disagreeable

lovermust

companion. T h e o ld proverb says tha t 'b i rds of a fea ther always be

flock together ' ;

1 suppose that equality of years inclines the ob-

them to th e sam e pleasures , an d s imilari ty begets f r iendship

;

ject of

his

yet you may have more than enough even of this

;

and ver ily

constraint is always said to be grievous. Now the lover is

not only unlike his beloved, but he forces himself upon him.

F o r h e is old and his love is young, and nei ther day nor

night will he leave him if he can help; necessity and the

sting of des ire drive him on, and allure him with t he

pleasure which he receives from seeing, hearing , touching,

perceiving him in every way. And therefore he is de-

lighted to fasten upon him and to minister to him. But

what ple asu re o r consolation can the beloved be receiving

all this t im e? Must h e not feel the extremity

of

disgust

when he looks at an old shr ivel led face and the remainder

to match, which even in a description is disagreeable, and

quite detes table when he

is

forced into daily contact with

his lover

;

moreover he

is

jealously watched and guarded

against everything and everybody, and has

to

he ar m isplaced

The lover wil l be the f irs t to see SocnATw.

You

may say that a courtesan is hurtful , and dis- pleasant,

although

withered

detestable



446

W h a t the

beloved

s w y e m from the lowr .

Phacdrur.

SOCRATES.

The

lover,

having ef-

fected the

ruin

of

his

beloved in

body and

mind, runs

away with-

out paying.

and exaggera ted pra ises of h imse l f , and censures equa l ly

inappropria te , w hich a re in to le rable wh en th e man i s sober ,

and, b esides being intolerable ,

are

publ i shed a l l ove r the w or ld

in a l l t he ir i nde li cacy and wea r i som eness wh en he is d r u n k .

And no t on ly whi l e h i s l ove con t inues i s he misch ievous

and unp leasan t, bu t when h i s love cea ses h e becomes a

pe rf id ious enemy of h im on whom h e show ered h i s oa ths 241

and praye r s and p romises, and ye t cou ld ha rd ly p r eva il u pon

him to to le ra te th e tedium of h is company even f rom mot ives

of in te r es t. T h e ho ur o f payment a rr ives , and now he i s t he

se rvan t

of

ano the r m as te r ; i ns tead o f love and in fa tua tion ,

wisdom a nd t emperan ce a r e h i s bosom’s lo rd s ; bu t t he

be loved has no t d iscovered the cha nge which ha s t aken

place in h im, when he asks for a re turn and reca l l s to h is

recol lect ion former sayings and doings

;

h e be l ieves h imse lf

to be speak ing

to

t he s a m e pe r son , a nd t he o t he r, no t ha v i ng

the courage to confess the t r u th , and no t knowing how to

fu lfil t he oa ths and p rom ises which h e ma de w hen und e r t he

dominion of fo l ly , and having now grown wise and tem-

pe ra te , doe s no t w a n t t o d o a s he d id o r t o be a s h e w a s

before. And so h e run s away and i s cons tr ained to be

a defaul te r ; th e oys te r- she ll ha s fa llen wi th the o th er s ide

uppermost-he ch an ges purs ui t into f light , while the ot he r is

compelled to fol low him with passion and imprecat ion, not

knowing tha t h e oug ht nev e r f rom t h e f ir st t o have accep ted

a demented lover ins tead of a sens ible non - lover

;

and tha t in

making such

a

choice he was g iving him self up to a fai thless ,

morose, envious, dis ag reea ble being, hur tful to his esta te ,

hur tful to his bodi ly heal th, and st i l l more hur tful to the

cult iva tion of h is mind, tha n which the re n e i th er i s no r ever

wi ll be any th ing more h onou red in t h e eye s bo th o f go ds

and men .

Cons ide r th i s , f a i r you th , and know tha t i n the

f ri endsh ip of the love r the r e i s n o r ea l k ind ness ; h e has

a n a ppe t i t e a nd w a n t s t o f e e d upon you :

‘ As

wolves love lambs so lovers love their loves.’

But I told you

so,

I am speak ing in ve rse , an d the r e fore

I

had be t te r make an end

;

enough.

I n

allusion

to

a game in which

two

parties

fled

or pursued according

as

an oyster-shell which wa s throw n into the air fell with the dark

or

light side

11ppennost.



Sonztt .s

having @ishtd,

proposes t o return

home. 447

Phoedr.

I thought that you were only half-way and w ere Phardrus.

going to make a s imilar speech about al l the advantages of socRAras

accepting the non-lover. W h y d o you no t p roceed

?

PH B

D

S.

SOC.

oes not you r s implicity observe that I have got out Enough:-

of di thyrambics into heroics , when only ut ter ing a ce nsu re

>:Ais-

on the lo ve r? And if I am to add the praises of the non- praiseor

lover what will become of m e ?

Do

you not perceive that E

I am al read y over taken by the Nym phs to whom you have converted

mischievously exposed m e ? And the refore I will only ad d z:hT:c-

that the non-lover ha s all t he advantages in which the lover

loser.

is

accused

of

being deficient. A nd now

I

will say no

m or e; there ha s been enough of both of them. Leaving

242 the tale to its fate,

I

will

cross

the r iver and make the

best of my way hom e, lest a w orse thing be inflicted upon

me by you.

Phacdr.

Not yet , Socra tes ; no t until th e heat of the' da y

ha s passed ; do you not see tha t the hour is almost noon ?

there is th e midday sun s tan din g s ti ll, as people say, in th e

meridian. Let

u s

rather s tay an d talk over what ha s been

said, and then return in the cool.

SOC.

OULove

of

discourse, Phaedrus ,

is

superhuman,

simply marvellous, and

I

do not bel ieve that there is any on e

of yo ur contempo rar ies who ha s ei ther made or in one way

o r anoth er has compelled others to make an equal num ber of

speeches .

I

would except Simmias the Theb an , but all the

res t ar e far behind you. An d now

I

do verily believe that

you have been th e cause of another .

But what d o you m ean

?

haedr. T h a t is good news.

soc . 1 mean to say tha t as I was about to cross th e s tream Thedlvine

the usual sign wa s given to me,-that sign which always gE2l:F

forbids, but never bids, me to do anything which

1

am going depart; he

to

do;

and I thought that 1 heard a voice saying in my ear

is

sensible

tha t

I

had been guilty of impiety, and that I must not

go been@t,,

away until I had made an atonement.

Now

I

am a diviner,

of ~ m p m .

though not

a

very good one, but

I

have enough religion for

my ow n use, a s you might say of a bad writer-his writing

is

good enough for him

;

a n d

I

am beginning to see that I was

in error. 0 my friend, how prophetic is the human soul

At the t ime

I

had a

sort

of misgiving, and, like Ibycus,

' I

was troubled

; I

feared that

I

might be buying honour from

that he has



448

Phaedrus.

SOCUATES,

PHAEDRUS.

T h e tw o

speeches

were a

blasphemy

against the

God of

love.

Socrates

therefore

before any

evil hap -

pens to

him will

make a

re-

cantation.

But he

is

detained

by

a presentiment.

men a t t he p r i ce of s inning against the gods.’

cognize my error .

Now I re-

Phaedr .

W h a t e r ro r

?

SOC. ha t was a drea dfu l speech which you b roug ht wi th

Phaedr . H o w so ?

SOC.t was foolish, I say,-to a certain exten t , impio us

;

Phaedr . Nothing , if th e speech w as rea l ly such a s you

SOC.

W e l l , a n d

is

not

Eros

the son of Aphrodi te , and

Phaedr .

So

men say.

SOC. ut that was not a cknow ledged by Ly sias in his

speech , nor by you in tha t o ther speech which you by a

charm dre w from my l ips. F o r i f love be, a s he su rely is ,

a divinity, he cannot be evil. Y et this w as the e rr or of both

the speeches . T he re was a lso

a

s impl ici ty about them

which was ref resh ing; having no t ru th

or

hon es ty in them,

243

never theless they pre tended to be someth ing , hoping to

succeed in deceiving the manikins of ear th an d gain ce lebri ty

anio ilg them. W he refo re I must have a purgation . An d I

bethink me of an ancient purgat ion of mythological error

which was devised , not by H om er , for h e n ev er had th e wi t

to discover w hy he w as bl ind, but by Stesich orus , who w a s

a phi losopher an d kn ew the reaso n why; an d therefore ,

when he lost his eyes , for that was th e penal ty which wa s

inflicted upon him for revi l ing th e lovely He len , he at once

purged himself. A nd t he purgat ion was

a

recantat ion,

which began thus,-

you, and you mad e me u t t e r on e as bad .

can an yth ing be mo re dreadfu l ?

describe.

a g o d ?

< False is tha t word of mine-the trut h is tha t tho u

didst not

embark

in ships,

nor

ever

go

to the walls

of Troy ;’

an d when he had comple ted h i s poem, which i s ca lled ‘ th e

recantat ion,’ imm ediately his s ight retu rne d to him. No w

I

wil l be wiser than ei ther Stes ichorus

or

Homer , i n t ha t I

am going to make my reca nta t ion for rev il ing love before

I

suffer ; and this I wi l l a t tempt , not as before, vei led and

ashamed, but wi th forehead bold and bare.

Plzaedr.

Noth ing cou ld be m ore ag ree ab l e t o me than t o

hear you s ay so.



The

impiety

of the t w o discoz~~ses .

449

SOC. nly th ink my good Phaed rus , what an ut te r wa nt Phaedrus.

of d e l icacy was show n in the two discourses

;

I mean, in my socRAres

own and in tha t which you rec i ted out of the book. W o u l d

PH*EDRus.

not any o n e wh o was himsel f of a noble an d gen t le na ture ,

~ ~ $ ' " ' ~ e y

and w ho loved o r eve r had loved

a

nature l ike h is own,

described

when we te ll of th e pet ty ca us es of lovers ' jealousies, a nd of

the i r exce edin g animosi ties , an d of the in juries which they do and

ignoble

to the i r beloved, have imagined tha t ou r ideas of love we re

sort.

t aken f rom some h aun t of sa i lor s to which good m ann ers

we re un kno wn -he would cer ta in ly nev er have admi t ted th e

jus t ice of ou r censu re

?

Phaedr. I da re sa y not, Socra tes .

SOC. herefore , because I blush a t t he thought of th i s

person, and a lso because I am afraid of Love himself , I

des i re to wash th e b r ine ou t o f my ea r s w ith wa te r f rom the

s p r i n g ; a n d I would counse l Lysias not to delay, but to

wr i te another d iscoutse , which sha l l prove tha t ' ceteris

pa r ibus ' t he lover oug ht to be accep ted r a the r than th e non -

lover.

You sha l l speak the

praises of th e lover, an d L ys ias shal l be com pelled by me to

wr i te an o the r d i scour se on the sam e theme .

SOC. ou will be t ru e to yo ur n a tu re in tha t, an d therefore

I believe you,

Phaedr. Speak, and fear not .

SOC. u t w he r e is the fa i r youth whom

I

w a s a dd r e s s i ng

before , an d w ho ou ght to l i sten now

;

est, if he hear me not,

he should accept a non- lover before he knows what he

is

d o i n g ?

Phaedr.

H e is c lose a t hand, an d a lways a t yo ur se rvice .

SOC. no w then, fai r youth , th a t the former d iscourse was

The second

244 the word of Pha edru s , the son of Va in Man, wh o dwel ls in ~~~~~:~

the c i ty

of

M yrrhin a (Myrrhinus ius) . An d th is which

I

am

thepurport

about to u t t e r i s t he r ecan ta t ion o f S te s i chorus the son o f

~~~~~&~

Godly M an (Euphemus) , who comes f rom the town of

l o v e l s a

D e s i r e ( H i m e r a ) , a nd

is

to the fol lowing effect : ' I told madnessof

a

l ie whe n I said ' ha t the beloved oug ht to accept the non- sort.

l ove r when he migh t have the love r , because the one is

sane , and the o the r mad .

It

might be so i f madness were

s imply an ev i l ; bu t t he r e is a lso a madness which

is

a

Phaedr. Be

assured tha t he sha l l ,

the noble

VOL.

I.

= g



450

phmarld.r.

SOCRATES.

?'his mad-

ness is

of four

kinds :-

I . Prophe-

cy is

mad-

ness, as is

proved by

considern-

tions of

philology.

a . Theh-

spiration

which

purges

away

an-

cient wrath.

divine gif t, and the source of the chiefest blessings gra nte d

to men. F o r prophecy

is

a madness , and the pro phe tess a t

Delphi an d the pr iestesses a t Dod ona when out of their

se ns es have con ferred great benef its on Hel las , both in

publ ic an d pr ivate li fe , but when in their se ns es few or

none , And I might a l so te l l you how the Sibyl and other

inspi red persons have given to many an one many an in-

timation of the future which has saved them from fall ing.

But i t would be tedious to speak of what every o ne knows.

T h e re wil l be mo re reason in appeal ing to the ancient

inven tors of names' , who would nev er have con nected pro -

phecy

(pRVTlK ) ,

which forete l ls the future and is the noblest

of arts, with madness

( p n v w j ) ,

o r called them both by th e

same name, i f they had deemed madness to be a disgrace or

dishonour;- they must have thought that th ere was an

inspired m adness which was a noble th in g ; for th e two

words,

pawritj

a nd pavrK+, are rea l ly the same, and the le t te r

T is only a mod ern an d taste less inser t ion. An d this

is

con-

firmed by the name which was given by them to the rational

investigation of futurity, whether made by the help of birds

o r of o th er signs-this, for as much as i t

is

an art which

supp lies from the reason ing faculty mind ( v o k ) and inform-

ation (iuTopia) to human thought (oiqurs), they originally

termed oiovorurimj, but th e word h as been la te ly a l tered and

made sonorous by the modern introduct ion of the le t te r

O m e ga O I U U O I U T L K ; I a nd O I W Y L U T L K ~ ~ ) , and in propor t ion as

prophecy

(pawim))

is

more perfect and august than augury,

both in name and fact, in the same propor t ion, as the

ancients testify, is madness sup er ior to a sane mind ( U O C ~ O -

uBq), for the one

is

only of hum an, but th e o th er of divine

origin. Again, w her e plagues and mightiest woes have bred

in certain families, owing to some ancient blood-guiltiness,

there madness has ente red wi th holy pray ers an d r ites , and

by inspired utterance s found a way of del iverance for those

who ar e in ne ed ; and he who ha s par t in th is g ift, and

is

t ruly possessed and duly out of his mind, is by th e us e of

pur if icat ions and myster ies made whole and exempt f rom

evil, future a s well a s present , and has

a

re lease f rom the

Cp.

Cratylus 358

foll.



The diviize nzadttess. 45'

245

calamity which was afflicting him.

T h e th i rd k ind

is

t he Pirae,i+ur.

madness o f those who a r e possessed by the M uses ; which socRarFs.

taking hold of a del icate an d virgin soul, and th ere insp ir ing

3.

Poetryis

f renzy, awakens lyr ica l and a l l o ther numbers

;

with these

madness.

adorning the myr iad ac t ions of anc ient heroes for the in .

s t ruct ion of poster i ty. But h e who, ha vin g

n o

touch of the

Muses ' madness in h is soul, comes to the door and th inks

that he wil l get into the temple by the help of ar t -he, I

say , and h i s poe t ry a r e no t adm i t t ed ; t he sane man d i s -

a p p e a r s a n d is now here when he en te r s in to r iva lry w ith the

madman.

I

might te ll of m any oth er noble de ed s which hav e sp run g

from inspired madness. A nd therefore , le t no one f r ighten

or f lut ter u s by say ing tha t t he t empera te f r i end i s t o be

chosen ra th er than the inspi red, but le t h im fu r the r sho w

that love

is

not s en t by the g ods for an y good to love r o r

beloved ; i f he can do so we will allow him to carry off t h e

palm. And we, on ou r par t, will prove in ans w er to h im tha t 4.

Loveis

the madn ess of love is the grea tes t of heav en 's b less ings , an d

the proo f s hal l be o n e which th e wise wil l receive, an d t he

witling disb eliev e. Bu t first of all, let us view the affections

and ac tions of th e

sou l

divine an d human, an d t ry to ascer-

tain the t ru th about them. T h e beginning of ou r proof is

as

follows :-

'The sou l th rough a l l he r be ing

is

imm ortal , for that which

S O U ~ s self-

is

ever in motion is immortal

;

but tha t which moves another

a nd

is

moved by another , in ceasing to move ceases a lso to

foreimmor-

l ive . On ly th e self -moving, ne ve r leaving self , ne ver ceases

tal

and 1111-

to move, and

is

th e fountain a nd beginning of motion to a l l

that moves besides. Now, th e beginning

is

unbegotten, for

tha t which i s begot ten ha s a beginning ; but the beginning

is

begotten

of

noth ing, for if i t w ere b ego tten of some thing,

then the begot ten would no t come from a beginning. B ut i

unbegotten, i t must a lso be indestruct ible ; for i f beginning

were destroyed, there could be no beginning out of any-

th ing, nor any thing out of a begin ning ; an d a ll th ings m ust

have a beginning. An d therefore the se lf -moving is the

beginning of motion ; an d th is can ne i ther be destroyed nor

begotten.

Translated by

Cic.

?'us. Qiaest, s. zj.

G 8 2



4 5 2

l h e

mortal am’ immot-tal

creature.

p h . t , i ~ s .

begotten, else th e whole hea ven s an d all creat ion would

k U T K S .

collapse and s tand s t i l l , and never again have motion or

birth. Bu t if th e self-mo ving

is

proved to be immortal, h e

who aff irms that seK motion is th e very idea a nd essence of

the soul will not be put to confusion. F o r th e body which

is moved from without is soulless ; but that which is moved

from within has

a

soul , for such is the nature of the soul .

But if this be true, must not the

soul

be the self-moving, and

246

Th e soul

described

under the

image of

two winged

horses and

a

chariot-

eer. ’

therefore of necessity unbegotten and immortal ? E n o u g h

of the soul’s immortality.

Of the nature of the soul , though her t rue form be ever

a theme of large and more than mortal discourse, let me

spe ak briefly, and in a figure. A nd let th e figure be com-

posi te-a pair of winged ho rses an d a charioteer . Now th e

winged h orses an d the charioteers of the g od s are all of them

noble and of noble descent , but those of other races are

mixed ; he human charioteer dr ives h is in a pair

;

a n d o n e

of them

is

noble and of noble breed, an d the ot her is ignoble

and of ignoble breed

;

nd the dr iving of them of necessi ty

gives a great deal of trouble to him. I will endeavour to

explain to you in w hat way th e m ortal differs f rom th e

immorta l c rea ture . T h e soul in her to ta li ty ha s the c are

of inanimate being everywhere, and traverses the whole

heaven in divers forms appearing ;-when perfect an d fully

winged s he soars upward , and orde rs the whole w or ld ;

whereas th e imperfect soul, los ing her wings and drooping

in her flight at last settles

o n

the sol id ground-there,

f inding a home, s he receives an ear thly frame which app ear s

to be self-moved, but is really moved by her power; and

this composition of soul and body is called a living and

mor ta l c rea ture. F o r immorta l no such union can be

reasonably believed

to

be ; although fancy, not having seen

nor sure ly known the nature of God, may imagine an

immortal creature having both a body and also a soul which

ar e united through out all t ime. L et that, however, be a s

God

wills,

and be spoke n of acceptably to him. A nd now

let us ask the reason w hy th e soul loses he r wings

T h e w ing is th e corporeal element which is most akin to

th e divine, an d which by nat ure ten ds to soar alof t an d

Th e wing is

ofearth

the element

which

soars carry that

upward.

which

gravitates downwards into the



The

pvocessioiL of the

Gocis.

453

T h e d i v i n e i s

P k d m s .

egion, which is the habitat ion of the gods,

beauty, wisdom, goodness , and the l ike ; a n d b y t h e s e t h e

~ o c ~ ~

wing of the soul i s nour ished , and grow s ap ace ; but wh en

fed upon evil an d foulness a nd the opposi te of good, wastes

an d fal ls away. Zeu s , th e mighty lord, hold ing the re ins of

a winged char io t , leads the wa y in heaven, orde r ing a l l and

taking care of al l

;

an d the re fo llows h im the ar ra y of go ds

247 and demi-gods , marshalled in e leven ban ds ; Hes t ia a lone

ab ides a t hom e in th e ho use o f heaven ; of the r es t they who

are reckoned among the pr incely twelve march in the i r

appoin ted o rder . T he y see man y b lessed s ig h t s in the

inne r heaven, and the re a r e m any ways to and fro , a long

which the b lessed gods are pass ing , every one do ing h i s

own work ; h e m ay fo llow w ho w i ll a nd can , for jea lou sy

has no place in the celes t ial choir .

banquet and fes tival, the n they move up th e s tee p to th e top

of the vault of heaven. T h e char io ts of the god s in even whichis

poise, obeying the rein, gl ide ra pidly; but the othe rs labour , celebrated

for the v ic ious s teed goe s heavi ly , weighing down the

heavens:

chario tee r to the ea r th wh en h i s s t eed ha s no t been mortals

thoroughly tra ined:-and th is i s th e ho ur of ago ny an d

low.

extrem es t conflic t for th e soul . F o r th e immorta ls , when

t h ey a r e a t t h e e n d

of

their course,

go

for th a nd s tand upon

the outs ide of heaven, and the revolu t ion of the spheres

car r ies them round , an d they behold the th ings beyond.

But of th e heaven which is above th e heavens, what ear th ly

poe t ever d id

or

ever w ill s ing wo r th i ly? I t i s such

as

I

will

desc r ibe ; or I mus t da re to speak the t ru th , when t ru th

is

my theme, T h e re ab ides the ve ry be ing w i th which t ru e

knowledge is concerned ; he colourless, formless, intangible

essence, vis ible only

to

mind, th e p ilo t of the soul . T h e

div ine in te l ligence, be ing nu r tur ed upon mind an d pure know-

ledge, an d th e intel l igence of ev ery soul which is capable of

receiving the food pro per to i t, rejoices at beholding_real ity ,

and once more gaz ing upon t ru th ,

is

rep lenished and made

glad , unti l the revolu tion of the wor lds b r ings h er roun d

again to the same p lace .

tion of the

jus tice, a nd temperance, a nd knowledge absolute, no t in th e

worldsin

form of genera t ion or of relation, which men call exist- which the

ence, but knowledge absolute in exis tence absolute ;

all

truth.

B u t w h e n t h e y

go

to

Thegreat

in the outer

feebly

fol-

In the r evo lu t ion she beho lds

The*evolu-

a n d

soul

beholds



'The

trouble

of other

souls

in the

upper

world.

'IIiey

drop

IO artli

;rlld

pass

r r i t ~ nany

natures

of

men.

behold ing the o the r t rue ex istences in l ike man ner , and

feast ing upon them, she passes down into the inter ior of the

heavens and r e tu rns home

;

and there the charioteer putt ing

up his hors es at the s tal l , gives them ambrosia to eat and

nectar to dr ink.

follows God best and is l ikest to him lif ts the head of the

charioteer into the outer world, and is carr ied round in the

revolution, troubled indeed by the steeds, and with difficulty

beholding true b ein g; while ano the r only r ises an d falls,

and sees , an d again fails to se e by reason of the un rulin ess

of the s teeds . T h e res t of the souls are also longing af ter

the upper world and they al l fol low, but not being s trong

enough they ar e carr ied rou nd below the surface, plunging,

trea din g on on e another , each s tr iving to be f irst

;

and the re

is confusion and perspiration and the extremity of effort ;

and many of them are lamed o r have their wings broken

through the i l l-dr iving of th e chariote ers

;

and all of them

after a fruitless toil, not h aving a ttained to t h e m ysteries of

true being, go away, and feed upon opinion. T h e reason

why the souls exhibi t this exceeding eagerness to behold

the plain of t ruth is tha t pas tu rage is found there, which is

su ited to the h ighes t par t of the so u l ; and the wing on

which the soul soars

is

nourish ed with this. And there

is

a

law of Dest iny, that th e soul which at tains an y vision of

truth

i n

comp any with a god is preserve d from ha rm until

the next per iod, and

if

at ta in ing a lways

is

always unharmed

But when she is unable to follow, and fails to behold the

t ru th , and through some i l l -hap s inks beneath the double

load of forgetfulness an d vice, and he r wings fall f rom he r

and sh e drops to the groun d, then the law ordains tha t th is

soul shall a t he r first birth pass, not into an y ot he r animal,,

bu t on ly in to man ; and the soul which has seen most of

truth shal l come to th e bir th as a philosopher , o r ar t is t, or

some musical a nd loving n atu re ; tha t which has seen t ru th

in

the second degre e shal l be som e r ighteous k ing or

warr ior chief ; the soul which is of th e th ird class shall be

a politician, or economist, or t rader ; the four th shal l be a

lover of gyninastic toils , or a physician

;

the fifth shall lead

the life of a prophet or h ie rop ha nt ; to the s ix th the

Su ch is th e l ife of the go ds ; but of other souls, that which 248



The

fourth

k i d of

nzadmss.

45

5

charac t e r of a poet or some other imi tat ive ar t is t wi l l be I - ' ~ ~ ~ ~ ( ~

assigned

;

o the se venth th e l ife of an ar t i san o r husb and- SoLsAre.

man

;

to the e igh th th a t o f a sophis t o r demagogue

;

t o t he

ninth that of a tyra nt ;-all the se a re state s of probation, in

which he wh o d oe s r igh teously improves, and he wh o d oe s

unrighteously, deteriorates his lot .

Ten thousand years mus t e lapse before the soul of each T I I C C O U I -

one can re turn to the p lace f rom whence she came, for she

l,n,D, oS,~

249 cann ot gro w h er w ings in l es s ; on ly the soul of a ph i loso-

g r o w w i n a s

pher , gui leless and t rue, or the soul of a lover , who is not in

ten

thou-

devoid of phi losophy, ma y acq uire wings in th e thi rd of the

thephi loso-

r ecu r r ing pe r iods o f a t housand yea r s ; he is dis t inguished

p h e r o r p h i -

losopher-

from the ord inary good m an who gains wings in th ree

thousand ye ar s : --and they who choose this l ife thre e t imes quires then1

in succession have wings given them, and

go

away a t t he ' ; ~ ~ ~ : ~ ~ d ,

end of th re e thousa nd years. But the o thers ' rece ive j u d g T he j odg-

ment when they have completed thei r f i rs t l i fe , and af ter the merit.

judgm ent they go , some of them to th e houses of cor rec t ion

w hich a r e u n d e r t h e e a rt h , a n d a r e p u n i s h e d ; o t h e r s

to

some place in heaven whi ther they are l igh t ly borne by

just ice, and there they l ive in

a

m an ne r w orth y of the li fe

which they led he re wh en in the form of men. And a t th e

end of the fir st thousa nd ye ars the good souls and a l so th e

evil souls both come to draw lo t s and choose the i r second

life, an d they may take an y which they p lease . T h e soul

of a man ma y pass in to the life of a beast , o r f rom the beas t

re turn again in to the man.

But the soul which has never

' fhesoul s

seen th e t ru th will no t pass in to the human form. F o r a

ma n m ust hav e intell igence of universals , an d be able to

never seen

proceed f rom the ma ny par t i cu lars of sen se to one concep- ~ ~

tion of reason ;-this is th e recol lect ion of those things which never pass

o u r soul on ce saw whi le following God-when regard less

into men.

of tha t which we now ca ll being s h e ra is ed h e r head UP

towards the t rue being .

And therefore the mind of the

ph i losopher a lone has wings ; and t h i s is

jus t , for he

is

always, according to the measure of his abi l i t ies , c l inging

in recol lect ion to tho se thing s in which Go d abides , an d in

beholding wh ich H e is w hat H e is. And he who employs

never

lost

the vision of

truth.

sand

years ;

w h o have

' The

phi losopher a lone is

not

subject

t o judgment '~p iarr ' .

for he has



456 The

visior8

of

havenZy beauty.

~ h a ~ d r ~ s .

r ight th ese mem ories is ev er being ini t iated into perfect

sOCRATm.yster ies an d alone becomes truly perfect . But , a s h e

forgets ear th ly in teres ts and is rap t in the d iv ine , the vulga r

deem h im mad , and r ebuke h i m ; they do no t see t h a t h e

is inspired.

T h u s f a r

I

have been spea king of th e fourth and last k ind

of

madness, which

is

impu ted to him who, w hen h e sees fh e

beauty of earth, is t ransported with the recollect ion of the

t rue beau ty ; he would l ike to fly away, but he can no t ; he i s

l ike a bird f lut ter ing and looking upward and careless

of

t h e

world below

;

an d he i s therefore thoug ht to be mad. An d

I have shown this of al l inspirat ions to be the noblest and

highest an d th e offspr ing of th e highest to him who ha s o r

shares in i t , and that he who loves the beautiful is cal led

a lover because he par take s of it. For , as has been a l ready

said, every soul of man ha s in the way of na ture beheld t rue

be ing ; th is was the condi t ion of he r pass in g in to th e form

of man.

o the r wor ld ; they may have seen them fo r a shor t t ime

only , o r they may have b een unfo r tunate in the i r ear th ly

lo t, and , having had the i r hea r ts turn ed to unr igh teousn ess

through some cor rupt ing inf luence , they may have los t the

memory of the holy th ings which once they saw. Fe w only

re ta in an adequa te r emembrance o f th em ; and they , when

they behold here any image of tha t o t her wor ld , a re rap t in

amazement ; bu t they a r e ignoran t o f wha t th i s r ap tu re

Th e t rue

means, because they do not clear ly perceive.

F o r t h e r e i s

light is the

no l igh t o f ju st ice o r t emperance o r an y

of

the h ighe r ideas

of the pa s t . which are precious to souls in the ear th ly copies of them :

they a re s een th rough a g las s d imly ; and the re a re f ew who,

going to the images, behold in them the real i t ies , and these

only with difficulty. T h e r e wa s

a

t ime when wi th th e res t of

th e happy band they saw beauty sh in ing in br ightness , -we

philosophers following in th e train of Zeus, ot he rs in

corn-

pany wi th o the r g od s ; and then we behe ld the bea ti fi c

vis ion an d were init iated into a mystery which may be truly

called most blessed, celebrated by u s in our s ta te of inno-

cence, before we had an y ex per ien ce

of

evils to come, when

we were admitted to the s ight

of

appar i t ions innocent and

simple an d calm and happy, which we beheld shin ing in

But al l souls do no t eas i ly recal l t he things

of

t h e

2 5 0

recollection



The

pangs

of sew

bi~th

45 7

pu re ligh t, pu re ourse lves an d not ye t enshr ine d in tha t Phadnrr.

l iv in g to m b w h ic h w e c a r r y a b ou t, n o w t h a t w e a r e i m

pr i soned in the body, l ike an oy s ter in h i s shel l. L et

me l i nger over t he memory o f s cenes wh ich have pas sed

away.

Bu t of beauty,

I

r epea t aga in t hat we saw her t he re sh in in g

W e find

in com pany with t h e celes t ial forms

;

and coming to ea r th we

trz:tt ere

f ind he r he re too , sh in ing in c learness th ro ugh the c leares t but o f wir

a p e r t u r e of sense . F o r s igh t is th e mos t p ierc ing of ou r

2::?-e

bod i ly s enses ;

t hough no t by tha t i s w i sdom se e n ; he r

bleimage.

lovel iness would have been t ranspor t ing i f there had been

a visible im age of her , an d t h e o th er ideas , if they had vis ible

counterparts , would be eq ua l ly lovely. Bu t th is i s the pr i -

vi lege of beauty, that b ein g the loveliest sh e is also th e most

palpable to s ight .

Now

he who i s no t newly in i t i a ted or

who h as become corrupted , do es not eas i ly r i se o u t of th is

wor ld to the s igh t of t rue beauty in the o the r

;

he looks on ly

a t h e r ea r th ly namesake , and i n st ead

of

being awed

at

t h e

s ight of her , he is given ove r to pleasure, an d l ike a brut ish The recol-

251

beas t he rushes on t o en joy and bege t

;

he conso r t s w i th

wantonness , and i s no t a f ra id o r ash am ed of pursu ing p lea . beauty

su re in violat ion of nature. Bu t he who se init iat ion

is ::?buts

r ecen t , and who has been t he spec t a to r o f many g lo r i es i n renewed

t h e o th e r w o r ld , is a m a z e d w h e n h e s e e s a n y o n e h a v in g ~ ~

a godl ike face or form, which is the expression of divine the sight

of

beauty ; an d a t fi rs t a sh ud de r ru ns th roug h h im, and again

ct ;f

the o ld awe s tea l s over h im

;

hen look ing upon th e f ace o f earth.

his be loved as of a god h e revere nce s h im, and i f he we re

not af ra id of be ing thou ght

a

downright m adman, h e would

sacrifice to his beloved

as

to the image of

a

god

;

hen whi le

he gazes on h im the re i s a

sort

of reac tion , an d the

shu dde r pas ses i n to an un usua l hea t and pe r sp ira t ian

;

or,

as he receives the ef f luence of beauty through the eyes , the

wing moi st ens and h e warms. And

a s

he warms , t he p a r t s

out of which the wing grew, and which had been h i ther to

c losed an d rig id , an d had prevented the wing f rom shoo t ing

fo rth , a r e m elt ed , an d a s nour i shm en t s t r ea m s upon h im,

the l ow er end o f the w ing begins t o swe l l and g row f rom the

r o o t u p w a r d s ; a n d t h e g ro w th e x t e n d s u n d e r t h e w h o le

soul- for onc e the whole wa s winged . ' Du r ing th is proc ess



458

The

s o d s

who wait uport th.e Gods

Phacdms. the whole soul is all in

a

s ta te of ebul l i tion an d effervescence,

SocRAre5, --which ma y be comp ared to the ir r i tat ion an d une asin ess

in the gum s at the t ime of cut t ing teeth,-bubbles up, an d

has a fee l ing of uneas iness and t i ck l ing ; bu t when in l ike

m an ner the soul i s begin ning to grow wings , the beauty

of the beloved meets h er eye and sh e receives the sens ib le

warm motion of part icles which f low towards her , therefore

called emotion

(&pos),

and i s r e f reshed and warmed by

them, and then she ceases f rom her pa in wi th joy. But

when s h e i s par ted f rom he r be loved an d h e r mo is ture fails ,

then the or i f ices of the passa ge ou t of which the w ing shoots

dr y up a nd c lose , an d in tercept the g erm of the wing

;

which,

being shu t up with the emot ion , th rob bing a s with the pu lsa-

t ions of an ar tery , p r icks th e ap er tu re which is nearest , unti l

a t leng th t he en t i r e sou l i s p ie rced and m addened and pa ined ,

and at the recol lect ion of beauty is again del ighted. A nd

from both of them together the soul i s oppressed a t the

s t rangeness of her condi t ion , and is in a g rea t s t r a i t and

excitement, an d in h e r m adn ess can nei ther s leep by n ight

no r ab ide in he r p l ace by day. And wh erever she t h inks

that she will behold the beaut ifu l one , th i th er in he r des i re

sh e runs . And when sh e ha s s een h im, and ba thed he r se l f

in the waters of beauty, he r con straint i s loosened, an d sh e

is

r ef re sh e d, a n d h a s n o m o r e p a n g s a n d p a i n s ; a n d

this

is

the sweetes t of a l l p leasures a t the t ime, and is 252

the reason wh y the soul of the lover will n ev er forsake

his beaut i fu l one , whom he es teem s above a l l

;

he has for -

go tt en mother an d b re th ren and companions, a nd he t h inks

no th ing o f the neg lec t and loss of h i s proper ty ; the ru les

and propriet ies of l i fe , on which he formerly pr ided himself ,

he now despises , and is ready to s leep l ike

a

servant ,

wherever he is a llowed, a s ne a r a s he can t o h i s des i r ed

one, who

is

the object of his worship, and the physician who

can a lone assua ge th e gre a tne ss of h i s pa in . An d th i s s ta te ,

my dear imaginary youth to whom

I

am talking, i s by men

called love , an d am ong the god s has

a

nam e at which you, in

your s implici ty , may be inc l ined to m o c k ; the re a re two

l ines in the apocryp hal wr i t ings of H o m er in which the

nanie occurs. One of them is r a the r ou t rageous , and no t

altogether metrical .

' ~ r u l t r o

del.'

T h e y a r e

as

follows :-



inke the

wntuw

o

the

God

whoni

the) C ~ O O S C .

45.4

‘Mor ta ls call hiin flnttering love,

Phacdnts.

But the

immor ta l s

call him winged one,

Because

thc

growing

of

wings’ is

a

necessily to him.’

S O C R I T E a .

You

ma y believe this, but not unle ss you like. At an y rate

the loves of lovers and the i r causes ar e such a s

I

have

described.

Now th e lover who is taken to be the a t tendant of Ze us i s

T h e SOUIS

better ab le to b ear the winged god, an d can en dur e a heavier

~ ~

burden ; but the a t tend ants and companions of Ares, when aDei tywho

un de r the influence of love, if the y fancy that they ha ve been

~ ” , ” ~

at all wronged, are ready to kill and put an end to themselves

nature.

a n d their beloved. And he who follows in the train o f an y

oth er god, while h e is unspoiled and the impression lasts ,

honours and imitates him,

as

far as he i s ab le ; and af ter the

m anne r of h is Go d he behaves in h is in tercourse wi th h is

beloved and w ith the res t of the world d urin g the f irst per iod

of his earthl y existence. Ev ery on e chooses his love from

the ran ks of beauty acco rding to his character, and this

h e

makes his god, and fashions and adorns as a sor t of image

which he is to fall dow n and w orship. T h e fol lowers of

Ze us desire that their beloved should have a soul l ike him ;

and therefore they seek out some one of a philosophical and

imperial n ature, an d when th ey have found him and loved

him, the y d o all they can to confirm such a nature in him,

and if they have no expe rience of such a disposition

hitherto, the y learn of an y on e who can teach then-,, an d

themselves follow in the sam e way. And the y have the less

253 difficulty in f inding the nature of their own god in them-

selves , beca use they have been compelled to gaze intensely

on h im ; the ir recollect ion cl ings to him, and th ey become

possesse d of him, and rcceive from him their charac ter and

disposition,

so

far

as

man can participate in

God.

T h e

qualit ies of their god the y at tr ibute to the beloved, wh erefore

they love him all the m ore, and

i f

l ike the Bacchic Nymphs,

they draw inspi ra tion f rom Zeus , they po ur out the i r own

fountain upo n him, wantiiig to make him a s like a s possible to

thei r own god. But those who

are

the fol lowers of H e re seek

T he y

walk

a royal love, an d when the y have found him the y d o ju s t the 2:k;:ys

same with him ; and in like manner the followers of Apollo, god.

’

Or,

rcxding

m f p d $ o m w ,

’

the

niovcrnent of wings.‘



460 The two

steeds

and the

chariokev.

P~acJnrs.

an d of every oth er god walking in the ways of the i r god,

SOLRATES

seek a love who i s t o be made l ike h im whom they se rve ,

an d when they hav e found him, the y themselves imi tate the i r

god, and persuade the i r love to do the same , and educa te

h im i nt o t he m a n ne r a nd na t u r e o f t he god a s fa r a s t he y

each can

;

for no feel ings of env y o r jea lou sy a r e ente r -

ta ined by them tow ards the i r be loved, but they do the i r

utmost to create in him the greatest l ikeness of themselves

and of the god whom the y honour . T h u s f ai r and b li ss fu l

to the be loved i s the des i re o f th e inspi red lover , an d t he

initiation of which

I

speak into the myster ies of t rue love,

if he be ca pture d by the lover a nd t he i r pu rpo se i s e f fec ted.

Now th e be loved i s taken capt ive in th e fo llowing man ner : -

As

I sa id a t the b egin ning of th i s tale,

I

div ided each so u l

in to thr ee -two hor ses and a cha r io t ee r ; a nd on e o f the

hor ses was good and the o the r bad : the d iv i s ion may

re-

main, but

I

ha ve no t ye t e xp l a i ne d i n w ha t t he g oodne s s

o r badness of e i ther cons is ts , a nd to tha t I will n ow proceed .

T h e r i gh t- ha nd ho r s e i s up r igh t a nd c le an ly m a de

;

h e h a s

a lof ty neck an d a n aqui line no se

;

his colour i s whi te , an d

h i s e ye s da r k ; he i s a l ove r

of

honour a nd m ode s t y a nd

temperance , and the fo l lower o f t r ue g lo ry ; he needs no

touch of the whip, but is guided by word and admonit ion

only . T h e o th e r is

a

crooked lum ber in g animal , pu t toge th er

anyhow; he h as a sho r t th ick n ec k; h e i s fla t-faced an d of

a

dark colour , wi th grey eyes and blood- red complexion

I ;

th e mate of insolence an d pr ide , sh ag-ea red an d deaf , ha rdly

yie lding to whip and spur . No w wh en th e char io teer be-

holds the v is ion of love , and ha s h is whole soul warmed

through sense , and is fu l l of the pr ickings and t ickl ings

of

des ir e, t he obed ien t s teed , t hen a s a lways unde r the gove rn- 254

ment o f shame , re f r ains f rom leap ing o n the be loved ; bu t

the o the r , heed le ss of t he p r i cks and o f the b lows of the

whip, p lunges a nd ru ns away, g ivin g a ll ma nn er of t rouble

to h is companion an d the char io teer , wh om h e forces to

approach the be loved and to r emem ber the

joys

of love.

T h ey a t f ir st indignant ly op pos e him an d will not be urge d

on to do te rr ib le an d unlawful de ed s ; but a t l as t, wh en he

pers is t s in p laguing them, the y yield a nd agree to do as he

' Or with grey and blood-shot

eyes.

*

.

T h e c h a -

racters of

steeds.



Th

victory

over

the u n m 4

steed.

46

bids them. And now they ar e a t the spot an d behold the

P h d r u r .

flashing beauty of the beloved

;

which when the charioteer

saaATr9.

sees , his memory

is

carr ied to the t rue beauty, whom he

A t t h e

beho lds in com pany with M odesty l ike an image placed upon

vision

of

a holy pedestal . H e sees her, bu t he is afraid and fal ls

~~~d~~

backw ards in adora tion, and by his fall is compelled to pull

tionedsteed

back t he re ins with such violence as to br in g both the s teeds

~~~o~~

on their haunches, the on e wi l ling and unresis ting, the unruly but

is re-

on e very unwil l ing; and w hen they have go ne back a l it tle, EEbY

the on e is overcome with shame an d wonder, and his whole

panionand

soul

is

bathed in perspirat ion

;

he other , when th e pain is

tL::ter.

over which the bridle and the fal l had given him, having

with difficulty taken br ea th, is full of w rath a n d reproa ches,

which he heaps upon the charioteer and his fel low-steed, for

want of courage and manhood, declar ing that they have been

false to their agree me nt an d guil ty of dese rt ion. Again they

refuse, an d again he urges them on, and will scarce yield to

their pr ay er that he would wait unti l an oth er t ime.

the appointed hour comes, they make as if they had for- t:isF, , d

got ten, and he reminds them, f ight ing an d neighing a nd

worse.

dragging them on, unt i l a t length he on the same thoughts

intent, forces them to draw ne ar again. And when they ar e

ne ar he s toops his head and puts up his tail , and takes the

bit in his teeth and pulls shamelessly . T h e n the charioteer

is worse

off

than ever; he fal ls back l ike a racer at the

barrier, and with a st i l l more violent wrench drags the bit

out of the teeth of the wild steed and covers his abusive

tongue an d jaw s with blood, an d forces his legs an d haunches

to

the ground and punishes him sorely. And when this ha s

happened seve ral t imes an d the villain ha s ceased fr6m his

wanton w ay, he is tamed an d hum bled, and follows the

will of th e charioteer, an d when he see s the beautiful on e

h e is ready to die of fear. And from that t ime forward

the soul of the lover follows the beloved in modesty and

holy fear.

A n d

so

the beloved who, like

a

god, ha s received every

true and loyal service

from

his lover, not in pre tenc e but in

reali ty, being also himself of a nature friendly

to

his ad.

mirer ', if in former d ay s he has blushed to own his passion

Omitting

tlr

+&bv

dcyw T ~ Y

1hhw.

W h e n The

con-

255



462 The jerfeci’ ‘~v’siait

f

the beloved.

Phizednu.

and tu rned away h is lover , b c b u s e h i s you th fu l companions

socRATes.r

others s landerous ly to ld h im that he would be d i sgraced ,

now as ye ars advance , a t the appoin ted age an d t ime,

is

led

T h e perfect to receive him into communion. For f a te wh ich has o rda ined

communion th a t there shal l be n o f r i endship am ong th e evil ha s a l so

of the

good. ordained tha t the re shal l ever be f r i endship am ong the good.

An d the beloved w hen h e ha s rece ived h im in to comm union

an d in timacy , i s qu i te amazed a t th e good-wi ll o f th e lover

;

he recognises tha t the insp i red f r iend i s wor th a l l o the r

f r iends o r k insmen ; hey hav e noth in g of f r i endship in them

worthy to be com pared with his. A nd w he n this feel ing

con t inues and he

is

ne are r to h im an d em brac es him, in

gymnas t ic exerc i ses an d a t o th er t imes of meet ing , the n th e

fountain

of

t ha t st ream, wh ich Z e u s when he w as i n l ove

wi th Ga nym ede named Des i re , overflows upo n th e lover ,

and some en t e r s i n to h i s sou l, and some wh en h e

is

filled

flows out again ; and as a b reeze o r an echo reboun ds from

the smooth rocks an d r e tu rns whence i t came, so d o e s t h e

s t ream of beauty , pass ing thro ugh the e yes which ar e the

windows of the soul, come hack to th e beauti fu l o n e ; the re

a r r iv ing and qu i cken ing t he pas sages of the wings , water ing

them an d incl ining them to grow, an d f il ling th e soul of t h e

beloved also wi th love. A nd t hu s he loves , but he knows

no t w ha t ; he doe s no t under s t and and cannot exp la in h i s

own s tate

;

he appears to have caught the infect ion of bl ind-

Thereflec- ness f rom ano the r ; t he l over i s h i s mi r ro r i n whom he is

tion of the

be,ovedin

beholding himself , but he

is

not aware of this.

W h e n h e

thelover. i s wi th the lover , both cease from their pain, but when he is

away then he l ongs as he

is

longed for, and has love’s image,

love for love {An teros) lod gin g in his breast , which h e cal ls

an d bel ieves to b e not love but fr iendship only, an d his

des i re

is

as the des i re of th e o ther , bu t weak er

;

h e w a n t s

to

see him, touch him, kiss, embrace him, a n d probably no t long

afterwards his desi re is accompl ished. W h e n they mee t, t he

wanton s teed of the lover ha s a word to say to the cha-

Somesatis-

r io te er ; he would l ike to hav e a l it tl e p lea sure in re tu rn for

2 5 6

many pains ,

but

the wanton s teed of the beloved sa ys not

pleasure a word , for h e i s burs t in g wi th pass ion which h e u nde rs tand s

also

no t

;-he th rows h i s arm s roun d the lover an d embra ces h im

as h i s deares t f r i end ; and , when they a re s i de

by

s ide , he is

faction

of

granted.



463

not in a state in which he can refuse the lover anything, if he

Phacdrws.

ask hi f i ; a l though his fel low-steed a nd the char ioteer oppose SOCRATES

him wi th the a rgum ents of sham e an d reason. Af te r th i s Thehar-

their happiness depends upon their se lf -control

;

if the better

KrY

Of

e lements of the n i ind which lead to order and phi losophy

prevail , then the y pa ss their l ife he re in happiness an d har-

mo ny-m asters of themselves an d orderly-enslaving th e

vicious an d eman cipat ing th e vir tuous e lements of the soul ;

and when the end

comes, they are l ight and winged for

f l ight , having conquered in one of the three heavenly or

t ruly Olympian victor ies

;

nor can human discipl ine or divine

inspirat ion confer any greater blessing on man than this .

I f

The life

of

on the o ther hand, they leave phi losophy and lead the lower

~ ~ q s h o e p h y

l ife of ambit ion, the n probably, af ter w ine o r in som e othe r

lower

lire

of

care less h m r , the two wanton animals take the two souls when

ambit ion .

off the i r gua rd an d br ing them toge ther, and they accompl ish

that d esire of their hear ts which to the m any is bliss; and

this having o nc e enjoyed they cont inue to enjoy, yet rarely

because they have not the approval of th e whole soul . T h ey

too ar e dear , but not

so

dea r to o ne ano the r

as

the others ,

e i ther a t the t ime of the i r love o r a fterwards . T h ey consider

tha t fh ey have given and taken f rom each o ther th e most

sacred pledges, an d they ma y not break them an d fal l into

enmity. At last they pas s out of the body, unwinged, but

eag er to soar , an d thu s obta in no mean reward of love and

madness. F o r those who hav e once begun the heavenward

pi lgrimage ma y not go down aga in to da rknes s and th e

jou rne y beneath th e e ar th, but they l ive in l ight a lw ay s;

happy companions in the i r p i lgr image , and when the t ime T h e e n d o f

comes at which they receive their wings they have th e s am e

22

plumage because of their love.

T h u s grea t a r e the heavenly bless ings which the f r iendship

of a lover will confer upon you, my youth. W h e re a s th e

a t t a c hm e n t

of

th e non- lover, which is alloyed with a w orldly

pruden ce and ha s wor ld ly and n igga rd ly ways o f do l ing ou t

benefits, will breed in your soul those vulgar qualit ies which

the populace applaud, will send you bowl ing round the ear th

257 during a per iod of nine thousand years , and leave you a fool

in the world below.

And thus , dear Eros , I have made an d paid my recantat idn,



464 Lysias and Phuedrus.

Piraedwr.

as well and as fairly a s I cou ld ; m ore especia l ly in th e

*MTE5

ma tter of th e poetical f igures which I was compelled to use,

PHrEDRus.

because Phaedrus would have them

'.

And now forg ive the

Thepoet i -

past and accept the present , and be gracious and merciful to

cal

form is

on l y i n -

me, and do not in th ine a ng er dep r ive me of sight, o r take

tended to from me the ar t of love which thou hast given me, but gr an t

please

phsedrus, that I may be yet more es teemed in the eyes of the fair .

And i f Phaedrus or

I

myself said anything rude in our f i rs t

speeches , blame Lysias , who is the father of the brat , and

let

u s

have no m ore of h is proge ny; b id h im s tudy philo-

sophy, l ike h is bro ther Polemarchus ; and then h is lover

Ph aed rus will n o lon ger hal t between two opinions , but

will dedicate himself wholly to love and to philosophical

discourses.

The speech Phaedr. I join in t he p rayer , Socrates , an d say with you, i f

thanthatof

this be for my good, may yo ur w ord s come to pass. But

Lysias, who why did you make your second ora t ion so much finer than

will be out

of conceit

is far finer

with

him-

self.

The

poli-

ticians are

fond of

writing.

the- f i rs t?

I

wonder why. And

I

begin to be afraid that

I

shall lose conceit of Lysias , an d th at h e will a pp ea r tame

in comparison, even if he be willing to put an ot he r a s fine

and as long as yours in to the f ie ld , which I doub t . For

quite lately on e of your poli t icians was ab usin g him on this

very account

;

and cal led him a I speech-writer

'

again and

again.

So

that a feeling of pr ide may probably ind uce him

to give up wri t ing speeche s .

SOC.

W h a t a very amusing notion But

I

th ink , my young

man, that you ar e m uch m istaken in yo ur f r iend if you

imagine that he is f r ightened at a l i t t le noise ; and, possibly,

you th ink tha t h is assai lan t wa s in ea rn es t?

Phaedr. I

thought, Socra tes , tha t he was. An d you are

aware tha t the grea tes t and mos t inf luent ia l s ta tesmen are

a s h a me d of writ ing speeches and leaving them in a writ ten

form, lest they should be called Sophists by posterity.

SOCYou

seem to be unconscious , Phaedrus , tha t the

'sweet elbow

* '

of

the p roverb is r eal ly the long a rm

of

t h e

Ni le . And you app ear to be equal ly una wa re of the fact tha t

1 See a34 C.

' A proverb, like

'

he grapes are sour,' applied t o pleasures which cannot be

had, m eaning sweet things which, like the elbow, are out of the reach of

the

mon th. Th e promised ~ I S U I

tarns

out to be

a

long and tedious &air.



Thr zinmorfalily

of

a?il/zoi-shzp.

46

5

th is sweet elbow of thei rs is al so a long arm ,

nothing of which our great pol i t icians are

so

fond as of

socrurps,

wri t ing spee che s and beque ath ing them to pos ter ity. And

PH*KDRUS.

they ad d the i r admirers' nam es a t the top of the wr it ing ,

out

They

are

always re-

their own

praises in

of laws.

F o r t h e r e

is Phacdms.

of

gra t i tude

to

them. hearsing

258

Phaedr . W h a t d o y ou m e a n ? I d o not unders tand .

soc.

W hy, do you no t know tha t when

a

politician writes,

the form

Phaedr .

How so?

SOC.

hy , he beg ins in t h is m ann er : ' B e i t enac ted by

the senate, the people, or both, on the mot ion of a cer tain

person, ' who

is

o u r a u t h o r

;

a n d

so

put t ing on a serious face,

he proceeds to d i sp lay h i s own wisdom to h i s admirers in

what is often

a

long an d tedious composi tion. Now what is

that

sort of

th ing but a regu lar p iece of au tho rsh ip?

he begins with the nam es of h i s approv ers ?

Phaedr . T r u e .

SOC.And i f the law is f inal ly approved, then the author

leaves th e theat re in high delight

;

but

if

th e law is rejected

and he i s do ne ou t of h i s speech-making , and not thought

good enough to wr ite , then h e a nd h i s par ty a re in mourning .

Phaedr . Ve ry t rue .

SOC. o far a re they f rom despising , o r ra th er so highly do

Phaedr . N o doub t.

SOC.And when the k ing o r o ra to r has t he power , a s L y Theybe

c u r g u s o r S o l o n o r D a r i u s h a d, of at taining an immortal i ty gy;'lke

of au tho rsh ip in a s tate , is he not thought by poster i ty , when

they see his composi t ions , and does he not think himself ,

while h e is yet alive, to be a god ?

they value th e pract ice of wri ting.

Phaedr . Ve ry t rue .

SOC.

hen do you . t h ink t ha t any one o f t h i s c l a s s , how

ever i l l -disposed, would reproach Lysias wi th beiAg an

au tho r

?

Phaedr. Not upon y ou r v iew; for accord ing

to Y O U

h e

would be cast ing a s lu r upon his own favourite pursui t.

SOC.

n y o n e m a y s e e th a t t h e r e

is

no d i sgrace in the

mere fact of writ ing.

Phaedr. Certainly not .

s o c . T h e d i sg race beg ins when a m an wr i te s no t well, but

VOL. 1. ~h

badly.



466

The

tale

of the p-asshopper.~.

What

mo-

tive is

higher than

the love of

discourse?

The grass-

hoppers

will laugh

at us if we

sleep.

The grass-

hoppers

were

ori-

ginally m en

who died

from the

love of

song.

Phaedv.

Clearly.

SOC.

nd what is well an d w ha t is badly-need we ask

Lys ias , o r any o ther poet or ora tor , wh o ever wrote o r will

wri te ei ther a poli tical o r a ny othe r work, in metre o r ou t of

metre, poet or prose writer, to teach

u s

this

?

F o r what should a m an l ive if not for

the pleasures of discourse

?

Su re ly not for th e sa ke of bodily

pleasures, which almost alwa ys have previou s pain as a con-

dition of them, a nd therefore a re r ightly cal led s lavish.

A n d

I

believe that the g rass-

hoppers ch i r ruping af ter the i r man ner in the heat of the sun

q g

over. our heads are ta lk ing to one anoth er an d looking down

at us. What would they say i f they saw that we, l ike the

many, are not conversing, but slumbering at mid-day, lulled

by their voices, too indolent to th in k ? W ou ld they not have

a right to laugh at

u s ?

They migh t imag ine tha t we were

slaves, who, coming to rest at a place of resort of theirs, like

she ep l ie as leep at noon aroun d the well. But if the y se e

u s

discoursing, and like O dy sse us sailing past them, dea f to

their siren voices, they may perhap s, out of respect,

g’

w e

u s

of the gif ts which they receive from th e go ds tha t the y ma y

impart them to men.

Plzaedr. Need we ?

SOC. he re i s time enough.

Phaedr.

W h a t g ifts d o yo u m e a n ?

I

never hea rd

of

any.

SOC

lover of music like yourself ought surely to have

heard the s tory of the grasshoppers , w ho ar e said to have

been human beings in a n age before the Muses . An d when

the M uses came and song appeared they were ravished wi th

de lig ht ; a nd s inging always, never thought of eating an d

drinking, until a t last in the ir forgetfulness the y died.

And

now they live again in th e gra ssh op pe rs ; and th is is th e

return which the Mu ses mak e to them-they nei ther hunger ,

nor thi rs t, bu t f rom the hour of the i r b ir th a re a lways s i n g

ing , and never ea t ing or dr inking

;

and when they d ie they

go

and inform the Muses in heaven who honours them on

earth . Th ey win the love of Terps ich ore for the danc ers by

their report of them; of Erato for the lovers , and of the

other Muses for those who do them honour, according to

the several ways of ho no ur ing them ;-of Calliope th e eldest

Muse and o f U rania w ho is next to her, for the philoso-

phers, of whose music t he g rass ho pp ers make report to



T h e mlcs wi+itiuqand .pecrA.

467

t he m ; f or t he s e a r e t he M us es

who

a r e ch ief ly conc e rned P/latdt.ttr.

with heaven an d though t , d iv ine as wel l as human, an d th ey Socnr+Es,

have the sweetes t u t te rance .

ought a lways

to

t a lk an d n ot to s leep a t mid-day.

For many r easons , t hen , we PH*EDR"s.

Plzaedr. L e t

u s

talk.

SOC. ha l l we discuss t he ru les of wr i ting an d speech as

Phaedr. Very good .

SOC. n good spea k ing shou ld no t th e mind of t h e s p e a k e r

know the t r u th o f the ma t t e r abou t which he is go i ng to s pe a k ?

Phaedr. And yet , Socrates ,

I

have hea rd tha t he who

sthe he

would be a n or a to r has no thing to do wi th t rue just ice , but

z:Ttr-

only with that which is l ike ly to be approved by the many haveknow-

who s it i n judgm ent ; nor w i th th e t r u ly good o r honourable , ledge?

but o nly wi th opinion about them, an d tha t f rom opinion

comes persuasion, an d not f rom the t ru th .

SOC. h e w or ds o f the w is e a r e no t t o be s e t a s i de ; f o r

t he r e is probab ly s om e t h i ng in t h e m ; a nd t he re f o re t he

mean ing o f th i s say ing

is

not hast i ly to be dismissed.

we were p ropos ing

?

2 6 0

Phaedr. V e r y t rue .

SOC.

e t u s put the ma t t e r t hus : -Supp ose tha t

I

per-

Ofcourse.

suaded you to buy a hor se and go to the wars . Ne i the r o f

the

u s knew wha t a horse was l ike , but I knew that you bel ieved good for

a hor se to be o f t ame an ima l s the on e which has the longes t Ei2 zl:

ears.

put

a

horse

in

the place

of an

ass.

Plzaedr.

T h a t would be r idiculous.

SOC.

h e re i s som ethin g m ore r id iculous com ing :-Sup-

pose , fur ther , tha t in sober earnes t

I,

having pe r suaded you

of this, we nt a nd composed a spee ch in ho nou r

of

an ass ,

whom I en ti tl ed a hor se , beg inn ing : ' A nob le an ima l and a

most useful possession, espec ia l ly in war , an d you may ge t

on his back an d f ight, an d he wi ll ca r ry baggage o r any-

thing.'

Phaedr.

H o w r id i cu lous

SOC.

i d i c u lous Y e s ; bu t is not even

a

r idiculous fr iend

be t t er t ha t a c unn i ng e ne m y

?

Plzaedr. Certainly.

SOC. nd w he n t he o r a t o r i n s t e a d of put t ing an

ass

in

the place of a horse, puts good for evi l , being himself as

ignoran t

of

t he i r t r ue na tu r e as the c i ty on which he imposes

~ h 2



468

Rhetonc an art

of

enchantment.

Th e mere

knowledge

of

the truth

not enough

t o give the

art of per-

suasion.

But neither

is the art

of persua-

sion sepa-

rable from

the truth.

T h e r h e t e

rician can

produce

any impres-

sion which

he pleases,

in any place

orupon any

occasion.

is ignorant ; nd having studied the not ions of the m ult itude,

fa lsely persuades them not about ‘ t h e shadow o f an ass ,’

which he confounds with

a

horse, but about good which he

confo und s with evil,-what will be th e har ves t which rheto ric

will be l ikely to gat he r after th e sow ing of that se ed

?

Phacdr. T h e reverse of good.

SOC ut perhaps rhetor ic has been get t ing too roughly

handled by

us,

and she might answer

:

What amaz ing non-

sense you ar e talking A s if

I

forced any man to learn to

speak in ignorance of the t ruth W ha tev er my advice may

be worth,

I

should have told him to arr ive at the truth f irst ,

an d then come to me. At the same t ime I boldly assert that

mere know ledge of the t ruth wil l not give you th e ar t

of

persuasion.

Phaedr. T h e r e is reason in the lady’s defence of herself .

SOC.

uite t ru e; if only the o the r argu m ent s which remain

to be brought up bear her wi tness tha t s he is a n a r t a t

all. But

I

seem to hear them arraying themselves on the

opposite side, declaring tha t sh e s pe ak s falsely, an d that

rhetoric is a mere rout ine and t r ick, not an ar t . L o a

Spar tan appears , and says tha t there never

is

nor ever will

be a real art of speak ing which is divorced from th e truth.

Phaedr. And what a r e these a rguments , Socra tes ? Bring 261

them out that we may examine them.

SOC.

ome out, fa ir chi ldren, an d convince Ph aed rus , who

is the fath er of similar beauties, that he will nev er be ab le to

speak about anything as he ought to speak un less he have a

know ledge of philosophy.

And let Pha edru s answer you.

Phaedr. Pu t the quest ion.

SOCs not rhetoric, taken generally, a universal art of

enchant ing the mind by arguments ; which is practised not

only in cour ts and publ ic assemblies, but in pr ivate houses

also, hav ing to d o with all ma tters, gre at a s well a s small,

good an d bad alike, and is in all equally r ight, and equally

to be esteemed-that is wh at you have hea rd

?

Phaedr.

Nay, not exactly th at ; I should say ra ther that

I

hav e heard the art confined to speak ing an d writ ing in law-

suits, and to speak ing in public assemblies-not extend ed

farther.

SOC h e n I suppose that you have only heard of the



Th Rhetorician nt i rs t know dzfiwnces

469

rhe tor ic of Ne s tor a nd Odysseus , which they composed in

Phncdrus.

t he ir l e i su re hou rs when a t T roy , and never o f t he rhe to r i c sKaAms,

Phnedr.

N o more t han o f Ne s to r and Odysseus , un les s

Gorgias

G o r g i a s is your Nes to r , and ‘Fhrasymachus o r Th eod oru s

~~~~~~-

of Pa l am edes

?

PHAEDXUS.

y o u r O d y s s e u s . or The-

But let us leave them.

doruslnthe

disguise of

And do you te ll me, ins tead , wh at a re p lain ti ff an d d efen dan t Nestor and

Odysseus.

doing in a l awcour t-are the y not con tend ing?

SOC. erh ap s t ha t i s my mean ing .

Phaedr. Exact ly so.

SOC.

bout the ju s t an d unjus t -tha t

is

the

mat ter in

Phaedr.

Yes .

SOC. nd a professor of the ar t will make the same th ing

appear t o t he s am e per sons t o be a t one t ime ju st , a t ano the r

time, if he is so inclined, to be unjust

?

dispute

?

Phaedr.

Exact ly .

SOC

nd w hen he spea ks in the assembly, he will m ake

the sam e th ings seem good to th e c i ty a t o ne t ime, and a t

ano ther t ime the reve rse of good

?

Phaedr.

T h a t

is

t rue.

SOC.

H av e we no t hea rd o f t he E lea ti c Pa l am edes (Zeno) ,

Zen0 the

who has an a r t o f speak ing by wh ich he makes t he same

th ings ap pe ar to h i s h ea rer s like an d unlike , one and many,

at res t and in mot ion ?

Phaedr.

V e r y t ru e .

SOC.

h e a r t of disputat ion, then,

is

not confined to the

cour t s and the assembly , bu t

is

one and the same in every

use of l anguage

;

th is

is

the ar t , i f there be such an ar t , The de-

which

is

able to f ind a l ikene ss of eve ryth ing to which

a ~ ~ t

l ikeness can be found, an d draw s in to the l igh t o f day the

truth, be-

cause he

has to find

ikenesses and d i sguises which are used by o t he rs?

a

likeness

haedr. H o w do you mean ?

SOC.

e t m e p u t t h e m a t t e r t h u s i W h e n w ill th e r e b e

izkyth*

mo re cha nce of deception-when th e d i fference i s l a rge o r learnto

deceive by

degrees.

mall

?

262

Phaedr.

W h e n the d i ff erence i s smal l.

SOC.

nd you will be less l ikely to be discovered in

p a s s i n g b y d e g r e e s in t o t h e o t h e r e x t r e m e t h a n w h e n

YOU go

al l at once

?



4 o

Phaediws.

SOCRATES,

PHAEDRUS.

Criticistit of the two

speeches.

Phaedr.

Of course .

Soc.

H e, then , w ho would deceive o thers , an d not be de .

ceived, must exact ly know the real l ikenesses a nd d ifferences

o f t h ings?

Phacdr.

H e m ust.

SOC. nd if he is i gnoran t

of

t h e t r u e n a t u r e o f a n y

subjec t, how can he detec t the gre a te r or l ess de gre e of

l ikeness in other things to that of which by the hypothesis

h e is i gnoran t ?

Phacdr. H e c an no t.

SOC.

nd when men a re dece ived and the ir no tions a re a t

variance with realities, it is clear tha t the er ror s l ips in

through resemblances ?

Phaedr. Yes, that i s the way.

SOC. he n he who wou ld be a m as t e r of t he a r t mus t

unders t and the r ea l na tu re o f eve ry th ing

;

or he wi l l never

know e i the r how to m ake the g rad ua l dep ar tu re from t ru th

into the opposi te of t ruth which is effected by the help

of

resemblances , o r how to avoid i t ?

Phncdu.

H e wi ll no t .

SOC.

e then , who being igno rant of the t ru th a ims a t

appearances , wi l l only at tain an ar t of rhetoric which is

r i d i cu lous and i s no t an a r t a t a l l ?

Phaedr. T ha t may be expec ted .

SOC. h a l l I prop ose tha t we look for exa mp les of ar t an d

want of ar t , accord ing to our not ion of them, in the spee ch

of Lys ias which you have in your hand , and in my own

speech ?

Phaedu. Noth ing cou ld be bet ter

;

a n d i n d e e d I th ink tha t

ou r p revious a rgumen t has been t oo abs t rac t and wan t ing

in

i l lustrat ions.

SOC. e s

;

and the two sp eec hes happen to a f fo rd a very

good example of the way in which the s pe ak er who knows

the t ru th may, wi thout a n y ser ious purpose , s tea l awa y the

he ar t s o f h i s hearers . Th is p iece of good-fortune

I

at t r ibute

to the local de i t i es ; and , perh aps , the pro ph ets of t h e M u s e s

who a r e s i ng ing over ou r heads may have impart ed t he i r

inspiration to me. F o r I

do

not imagine tha t I h a v e a n y

rhetorical ar t of my own,

Pltnedr. G r a n t e d

;

if you will only p leas e

to

get

on.

Illustra-

tions of

skill and

want

of

skill from

the speech

of Lysias.



There

shouldbe order anddivisiorz o f classes

i na

speech. 47

I

SOC up po se that you read me the f irst words of Lysias’ t’hmd,.trs.

Phaedr.

‘YOUnow how matters s tand with me, and how,

PHAEDRrs.

speech. Si lCRAT@s,

a s I conceive, they might be arranged for our common

interest ; a n d I maintain that

I

ought not to fail in my suit ,

because

I

am not your lover .

SOC no ug h :-Now, sh all I point out the rhetor ical er ror

of those words ?

Phaedr . Yes.

SOC. v e r y o n e is aware tha t about some th ings we a re Therheton-

clan should

distinguish

Phaedr . think that I unde r s t a nd y o u ; but will

you

thingssuch

as iron and

soc. W h e n an y one spea ks of iron an d s i lver , i s not the

which

we

F o r lovers repent--’

263

agreed, w he rea s about oth er things we differ .

expla in yourse l f?

silver, about

are agreed,

from things

Phaedr . Certainly.

such

as

SOC

u t w he n a ny one s pe a ks of jus tice an d g ood ness we

Justiceand

par t company and a re a t odds wi th one another and wi th

aboutwhich

same thing present in the minds of a l l ?

goodness,

ourselves ? we are dis-

Greed.

Phaedr . Precisely.

SOC. h e n in some th ings we agree , but not in o thers ?

Phaedr. T h a t is true.

SOC n which ar e we more l ikely to be deceived, an d in

Phaedr . Clearly, in the uncertain class.

SOC. hen the rhe tor ic ian ought to make a regular

division, and acquire a distinct notion

of

both c lasses, as

well of tha t in which the ma ny err , as of that in which they

do n ot e r r ?

Phaedr . H e wh o made such a d is tinc tion would have an

excellent principle.

SOC.

es ; and in the nex t p l ace he mus t have a keen

eye for the observat ion of par t iculars in speaking, and not

make a mistake about the c lass to which they are to be

referred.

which has rhetor ic the greater power ?

Phaedr. Certainly.

SOC No w to which class do es love belong-to the Lovebe-

Phaedr .

To the d ebatab le, cl ea rl y; for if not,

d o YOU class.

longs

to

the

debatable

eba table o r to the undisputed c lass ?

th ink tha t love would have al lowed you to say as you did,



4 7 2

Phmu‘rus.

Lysias

should

have be-

gun, as I

did,

by

de-

fining love.

H e begins

at the end.

No order

or

arrange-

ment of

parts

in his

discourse.

Furthy

c ~ i t i c i s ~ ~ ~ s

f

Lysias.

tha t he i s an evi l both to th e lover and the be loved, an d a lso

the greatest possible good ?

B ut wil l you tel l me wh eth er I def ined love

a t the beginning of my speech? for , having been in an

ecstasy, I cannot wel l remember .

Soc.

Capital .

Phaedr. Yes , indeed

;

hat you did , an d no mis take .

SOC. h e n I pe rce ive tha t t he Nymphs o f Ache lous and

P an the son of H erm es , wh o inspi red me, we re fa r be t te r

rhe toric ians tha n Ly sias the so n of Cephalus . Ala s how

infer ior to them he i s

B u t pe r ha ps I a m m i s ta ke n ; a nd

Ly sias a t the comm encement of h is lover’s spee ch did ins i s t

on our suppos ing love to be some th ing o r o the r which he

fanc ied him to be, and a tco rdi ng to th is model h e fashioned

and f ramed the remainder of h is d iscourse .

S uppos e w e

read his beginning over aga in :

Phaedr. I f you p lease ;

but you will not f ind what you

want.

SOC. ead, tha t I may hav e h i s ex ac t words .

Phaedr.

‘Y ou know how m at te r s s tan d wi th me, and how,

as I conce ive , they might be a r ran ge d for

our common 264

i n t e r e s t ;

a n d I maintain

I

ought not to fa i l in my sui t

because I am no t yo ur lover, for lovers re pe nt of the k ind-

ne sse s which they have show n, w he n th eir love is over .’

SOC. e r e he a ppe a r s t o h a ve done j u s t t he r e ve r s e o f

w ha t he o ug h t ; f or he h a s begun a t t he e nd , a nd

is

swim.

ming on his back throug h the flood to th e p lace of s ta r ting.

His

add ress to th e fa ir you th beg ins wh ere the love r would

ha ve e nde d . A m

I

no t right, s w e e t P h a e d r u s ?

Phaedr. Yes , indeed, So c ra t e s

;

he do es begin a t t he end .

SOC. h en a s to the o the r top ic s- ar e they no t th rown

d o w n a n y h o w ? Is t h e re a n y prin cip le in t h e m ? W h y

should the nex t top ic fo l low nex t in o rde r , o r any o the r

topic? I cannot he lp f ancy ing in my ignorance tha t he

wrote

off

boldly jus t wha t cam e in to h is head, but

I

d a r e s a y

t ha t

YOU

would recognize

a

rhe tor ica l necess i ty in the

success ion of the severa l par t s of the composi t ion ?

Phaedr . You have too good an op inion

of

m e if

you

think

t ha t I hav e a n y such ins ight in to h is pr inc iples of compo-

sition.

SOC.

t

any ra te , you will a l low that every discourse



Reca&hZatio?z.

4 7 3

ought to be a l iving creature , hav ing a body of i ts own an d a pht im.

head and fee t ; the re shou ld be a middle , beginning , and

socnArbs,

e n d , a d a p te d t o o n e a n o t h e r a n d t o th e w h o l e ?

PHAEDRUS.

Phaedr.

Certainly.

Every dis-

course

soc.

Can th is be sa id of the d iscourse

of

Lys ias

?

S e e

should be

wh ether you can find an y m ore connexion in h is wo rds than a living

in th e epita ph which is said by some to have been inscr ibed

g

on the grav e of Midas the Phrygian . body, h a d ,

and feet.

Phaedr.

W h a t is t h e r e r e ma r k a b l e in t h e e p it ap h ?

SOC.t i s

as

follows :-

‘I am a maiden of bronze and lie

on

the tomb of Mid as ;

So long as water flows and tall trees grow,

So long here on this spot by his sad tomb abiding,

I shall declare to passrs-by that Midas sleeps below.’

Th e dis-

course of

Lysias had

no more ar-

rangement

Now in th i s rhyme whe ther

a

l ine comes first

or

comes last,

iksl‘:f

as you will perceive, makes no difference.

epitaphs.

Plzaedr.

Y o u

are

m ak ing fun of that orat ion

of

ours.

SOC.

W e l l ,

I

will sa y no more abou t you r f riend’s speech

lest I shou ld g ive of fence to yo u ; a l though I think that i t

migh t fu rn i sh many o the r examples

of

w h a t a ma n o u g h t

B u t I will proceed to the other speech,

which, as

I

think, is also suggest ive to s tud en ts of rhetor ic .

265

ra ther to avoid .

Phaedr. I n w h at w a y ?

SOC

he two speeches , as you may remember , were un-

l ike ; the on e a rgued tha t the lover and the o the r tha t the

non-lover ought to be accepted.

Phaedr.

And right manfully.

SOC.

ou

s h o u l d r a t h e r s a y ‘ ma d l y ; ’ a n d ma d ne ss w a s

Phaedr.

Yes.

SOC.

nd o f ma dness the re were two k inds

;

on e produced

by hum an inf irmi ty , the o th er w as a d iv ine release

of

the

soul from th e yok e of custom a nd convention.

the argu m en t of them, for , as I said, ‘ ove is

a

madness.’

Phaedr. True .

Soc.

T h e d iv ine m adne ss w as subdiv ided in to four k inds ,

FoursuMi-

visions

of

prophetic, initiatory, poetic, erotic, having four gods pre-

, , ,dries+

s id ing over them

;

he first w as th e inspiration of Apol10, th e

prophetic,

second that of Dionysus, the third that of th e Muses , th e ~ ~

four th tha t of A phrod i te and Eros.

last kind of ma dness, w hich wa s also said to be t he best, we

In the descr ip t ion of the

,erotic.



474

Th e serious nreanitdg of

t h

ntyth.

I’haedrrcs spoke of the atiection of love in a f igure, into which we

socaArEs,ntroduced a tolerably credible and possibly t ru e thoug h

PHAsDaLs

partly err ing myth, which was also a hymn in honour o f

Love, who is your lo rd and a l so mine , Phaedrus , and the

guardian of fa i r chi ldren, and to h im we sung the hymn in

measured a nd solemn s t ra in .

Phaedr. I know that I had g rea t pleasure in l is tening to

you.

SOC.

et us take this instance and note how the t ransi t ion

was m ade f rom blame to praise .

Phaedr.

W h a t d o you m e a n ?

s o c .

1

mean to say that the comp osition wa s mo stly play-

Y et in these ch an ce fancies of the ho ur w ere involved

two principles of which we should be too glad to have a

The myth

was a crea- ful.

tion of

fancy, yet

true pfinci-

clearer description if art could give us one.

ples were

involved

i n

Phaedr.

W h a t a r e th ey ?

i t : ( 1 )unity SOC. irst , the comprehension of scattered particulars in

of particu-

lars

in

a one ide a; as in our def ini t ion of love, which whether t rue o r

single note

;

fa lse cer ta inly gave clearness and consistency to the dis-

2 )natural

division

course, th e spe ak er should define his several not ions an d so

intospcies. make his meaning clear .

Phaedr. W h at i s the o ther principle , S ocra te s

?

SOC. he second pr inciple is that of division into species

according to the natural formation, w he re th e joint is, not

breaking any par t as a bad carver might. Jus t as our two 266

discourses, alike assumed, f irst of all , a single form of un.

reason

;

an d then, as the bod y which f rom being on e becomes

double and may be divided into

a

lef t s ide and r ight s ide,

each having par ts r ight and lef t of th e sa m e name-af ter this

manner the speaker proceeded to d ivide the par t s of the left

s ide and did not desist unt i l he found in them an evil or left-

han ded love which h e just ly reviled

;

and the o th er d iscourse

leading us to the madn ess which lay on th e r ight s ide, found

another love, a lso having the same name, but divine, which

the speaker held up before

us

and applauded and aff i rmed to

be t he au tho r of the g reatest benef its ,

Th e dialec- Phaedr. Most true.

concerned

with the

Oneand

many.

tician is

sot.

I am myself a great lover of these processes

of

division and generalization

;

they help me to speak and to

think. An d if I f ind any man who is able to see

‘a

O n e a n d



h e

rhetoriciarcs of the agL-.

475

Many ’ in nature, him I follow, an d ‘walk in his footsteps as p h w i r u s .

if he were a god.’ And those who have this ar t, I have socRATes,

hitherto been in the habit of call ing dialecticians

;

but God

PHAEDRcs .

knows wh ether the name is r ight o r not . And I should like

to know what name you would give to your or to Lysias’

disciples, and whether this may not be that famous art of

rhetor ic which Thrasymachus and others teach and pract ise ?

Skilful speakers they are , and impar t their ski l l to any who

is will ing to mak e kings of them an d to bring gif ts to them.

Phacdr. Yes, they are royal men ; but their art is not the H e is not to

same with the art of those whom you call , and r ightly, in

my opinion, dialecticians :-Sti ll we ar e in the da rk about

rhetorician.

rhetoric.

T he r e m a i ns of‘ it,

if

there be still rhe-

anything remaining which can be brought under rules

of

ar t ,

:’ <:‘

must be a f ine thin g; and, a t an y ra te , is n ot to be despised from dia-

by you and me.

Phacdr. T h e r e

is

a g reat deal surely to be fb un d in books ableart.

of rhetoric ?

SOC. es ; thank you for reminding me: -There is the

cxordiuni, showing how the speech should begin, i f I remem-

ber rightly ; hat is what you mean- the niceties of the art ?

SOC.

W ha t do you m e an

?

lectic must

be a valn-

ut how much

is

left

?

P/rncdr. Yes.

SOC. h e n follows the stateme nt of facts, and upon that

witnesses

;

thirdly, proofs

;

fourthly, probabili t ies are to

come ; the great Byzantian word-maker also speaks, if I am

not mistaken, of confirmation and further confirmation.

Phacdr.

You

mean the exce l lent Theodorus .

Soc. Y e s ; and he tells how refutation or further refutation

is to be managed, whether in accusation or defence.

I

ought

also

to mention the i l lustr ious Parian, Evenus, who first Evenus.

invented insinuat ions and indirect praises

;

and also in-

direct censures, which according to som e he put into verse

to help the memory.

But shal l I ‘ to dumb forgetfulness

consign’ T is ias and Gorgias , who are not ignorant tha t

Tisiasand

probabili ty is superior to truth, and who by force of argu-

Gorgias*

ment make the l i t t le appear great and the great l i t t le ,

disguise the new in old fashions an d the old in new fashions,

and have discovered forms for everything, e i ther shor t or

going on to infinity. I remember Prodicus laughing when

‘I‘lieodorus.

267



476

Phacdrus.

&CRATES,

P H A E D R U S .

Prodicus.

Hippias.

Polus.

Lic

ymnius.

Protagoras.

Thrasyma-

chus again.

Rhetoric

a

superficial

art.

The

insuficiency of rhetoric.

I told him

of

th is ; he said that he had himself discovered

the t rue rule of art , which was to

be

nei ther long nor shor t ,

but of a convenient length.

Phaedr.

W ell done, P rodicus

Sac.

Then the re is Hippias the E lean s t ranger , who

Phaedr.

Yes.

Sac.

And there is also Polus, who has treasuries of dipla.

siology, and gnomology, and eikonology, and who teaches

in them the names of which L icymnius m ade him a presen t

;

they were to give a polish.

Phaedr.

H ad not Protagoras something of the same s o r t ?

Sac.

Yes, rules of correct diction and many other f ine pre-

ce pt s; for the ‘sorrows of a poor old man,’ o r an y oth er

pathetic case, no one is bet ter than the Chalcedonian giant ;

he can put a whole company of people into a passion a nd o ut

of on e again by his mighty magic, and is f irst-rate at invent-

ing or disposing of any sor t of ca lumny on any grounds o r

none. All

of

them agree in asser t ing that a speech should

end in a recapitula t ion, though they do not a l l ag ree to use

the same word.

Phaedr.

Yo u mean that there shou ld be a summing up of

the arguments in ord er to remind the h eare rs of them.

SOC have now said all that I have to say of the a r t

of

rhetoric

:

have

you

anything to a dd ?

Phaedr.

Not much

;

no thin g v ery impo’rtant.

SOC.

eave the unimportant and le t us br ing the real ly 268

probably agr ees with him.

important question into the l ight of day, which is : W h a t

power has th is a r t of rhetoric, and w h en ?

Phaedr. A v ery great power in public meet ings.

SOC t has. But

I

should l ike to know wh ether you have

the same feel ing as

I

have about the rhe tor ic ians?

To

me

there seem to be a great many holes in their web,

Phaedr.

Give an example.

SOC.

will.

Suppose a person to come to your f r iend

Eryximachus, o r to his fa ther Acumenus, an d to say to him :

‘ I

know how to apply drugs which shal l have ei ther a

heating or a cooling effect, and I can give a vomit and also

a purge, and all that sor t of thi ng ; an d knowing all this , as

I do, I claim

to

be a physician

and

to make physicians

by



47 7

he mere c r i t i c and the true artist.

imparting this know ledge to others,’-what do you suppo se ph, jws .

Phaedr.

They would be sure to ask him whether he knew

P ~ * m m

that they would s a y ? SocahTES,

‘ to whom’ he would give his medicines, and ‘when,’ and

‘h ow much.’

SM. And suppose tha t he were to reply: ‘ N o ; I know

nothing of all that

;

I expect the patient who consults me to

be able to do th ese things for himself’?

Phaedr. T he y would s ay in reply that h e is a madman o r a

ped ant who fancies tha t h e is a physician because he ha s read

som ething in a

book,

o r has stumb led on a prescription o r two,

al though he h as no real understanding of the ar t

of

medicine.

SOC. nd suppo se a person were to come to Sophocles or What

Euripides and say that he knows how to make a very long would

speech about a small matter , and a short speech about

a o r ~ u n -

great matter , and also a sorrowful speech, or a terr ible, or p i d s s a y

threatening speech, or any other kind of speech, and in Esf”,B”iF

teaching this fancies that he is teaching the ar t

of

tragedy- ?

rhetoric?

Phaedr.

T he y too would surely laugh at him

if’

he fancies

that t ragedy is anything but the arranging of these elements

in a mann er which will be suitable to one another and to the

whole.

SOC.

ut

I

do not suppose that they would be rude or

abusive to him : W ou ld they not t reat him a s a musician

would a m an who thinks th at he is a harmo nist because

he knows how to pitch the highest an d lowest note

;

happen-

ing to meet such an one h e would not say to him savagely,

‘Fool,

you are mad

’

and harmon ious tone of voice, he would answer

:

‘My good say t o

him

in the most

friend, he who would be a harm onist must certainly know courteous

this , and yet he may understand nothing of harmony if he . anner and

in the sweet-

has not got beyond your stage of knowledge, for YOU only est tone of

know the preliminaries of harmon y a nd not harmony itself .’ \Olce, ‘ Y o u

only know

Phaedr.

Ve ry t rue .

the alpha-

SOC nd will not Soph ocles say to the display of the bet

ofyour

Sophocla

Bu t like a musician, in a ge ntle

Theywould

269

would-be tragedian, that this is not tragedy but the prelimi-

art”

nar ies of t rag ed y? an d wil l not Acumenus say the same

of

medicine to the would-be physician

?

Phaedr.

Qu i te t rue .

SOCAnd if Ad rastu s the mellifluous o r Pericles heard of



4is

I-’wic/r.s

and Jirtn.~~zgovrt.s.

Phaednts. these wonderful ar ts , brachylogies and ei l ionologies and al l

~ o c ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ,

he hard nam es which we have been ende avo ur ing to draw

PHARDRUP.

nto the l ight of day , what would they sa y ? Ins tead of

losing temper an d app lying uncomplimen tary epithets , as you

an d I have been doing , to the au tho rs of such an imaginary

art , their superior wisdom would rather censure

us,

as well

w e s h o u l d

a s th em . ‘ H a v e a l it tle pa t ience , Pha ed rus and Socra tes ,

not be oo they would sa y;

you

should not be in such a passion with

hard on the

rhetorician

those who from some want of dialectical skill are unable to

f or t ac h in g

define the natur e of rhetor ic , and consequently suppose that

only part

of

is

art,

they have found the ar t in the prel iminary condit ions

of

it,

and when these have been taught by them to others , fancy that

the whole ar t of rhetor ic has been taught by them ; but a s to

using the several instrum ents of the a rt effectively,

or

making

the composition

a

whole,-an application of it su ch a s this

is they regard as an easy thing which their disciples may

make for themselves.’

Phaedr.

I quite admit , Socrates , that the ar t of rhetor ic

which these m en teach a nd of which they wr i te is such as

you

describe-there

I

ag ree with you. Bu t I s t i ll want to

know w here and how the t rue ar t of rhe tor ic an d persuas ion

is to be acquired.

The perf- SOC.

h e perfection which

is

required of the f inished orator

tion

of

ora-

tory

is part- is, or rath er m ust be, l ike the perfection of an yt hin g else,

ly

a

gift of

partly given by nature, but may also be assisted by art . If

it

may

be

you have the natural power and add to i t knowledge and

improved practice, you will be a dis tinguished speak er ; f you fall sho rt

b yar t .T h i s

in ei ther of these, you will be to that extent defective. But

art, how-

ever,

is

not

the ar t , as far as there is an ar t , of rhetor ic do es not l ie in the

the

art

Of

direction

of

Lys ias o r Thrasym achus .

Thrasyma-

thus,

but

Phaedr. In what direct ion then ?

partakasof

SOC.

conceive Pericles to have been the most accom-

of philoso-

plished of rhetoricians.

PhY. Phnedr. W h at of tha t ?

SOC.

l l th e great a r ts require discussion an d high specula-

t ion about the truths of nature

;

hence come lof t iness of 270

thought an d completeness of execution. An d this, as

I

con-

ceive, was the quality which, in addition to his natural gifts ,

Per icles acquired from his intercourse with Anaxagoras

whom he happened to know. H e was thus imbued with the

nature. But

the nature



The viytide of tsita&.vk.

4 9

higher phi losophy, and at tained the knowledge of Mind ~hacdrrcs.

and the negat ive of Mind, which w ere favouri te themes of

socRATe+,

Anaxagoras , an d appl ied w hat su i ted h i s purpose to the ar t PHasDRcs~

of speak ing.

Phaedr. Explain.

SOC. heto ric is l ike medicine.

Phaedr.

H o w

so

?

Sod.

Why, because medic ine has to def ine the nature of

the body and rhetor ic of the soul - i f we would proceed, not

empir ical ly but scienti fically, in the o n e cas e to im pa rt heal th

an d s t rength by g iv ing medic ine an d food , in the o the r to

implant th e convict ion o r vi r tue which you desi re, by the r ight

appl icat ion of wo rds an d t raining.

Phaedr. There , Socra tes , I suspe ct tha t you a re r igh t.

Svc. An d do you th ink tha t you can know the nature of t h e

soul intel ligent ly wi thout k nowing the na ture of the whole ?

Phaedr. Hippocra t es t he Asc l ep i ad says t ha t t he na tu re

even of the body ca n only be und ers tood a s a whole'.

SOC.

es, friend, an d he w as right :-still, we ou gh t no t to

be conten t wi th the nam e of Hip pocra tes , bu t to examine and

see wh ether h i s argum ent ag rees with h i s concept ion of

nature.

Phacdr. I agree.

SOC he n cons ide r wha t t ru th a s we ll a s H ippocra t es s ays

First there

abou t t h is o r abou t any o the r na tu re. Ou gh t we not t o con- Fi;:, :

s ider f i r s t whether tha t which we wish to l earn and to t each thesoul.

is a s imple or mul t i form thing, and i f s imple, then to enquire

what po wer i t ha s of act ing o r being acted upon in relat ion to

o ther th ings , and i f mul t i form, then to number the forms;

and see f ir s t in the case of one of them, and then in the c ase

of all of them, what is tha t power of act ing or be ing ac ted

upon which ma kes each an d a l l o f them to be what they a re ?

Phaedr. You ma y ve ry l ikely be r ight, Socra tes .

SOC. h e method which p rocee ds wi thout analysi s i s like

t h e g r o p i n g

of

a bl ind man. Yet , surely, h e who is an ar t is t

ought no t to admi t of a compa rison with the blind, o r deaf .

T h e rhetorician, w ho tea che s his pupi l to speak scienti fically,

will par t i cu lar ly se t for th the n atu re of tha t be ing to which h e

add res ses h is speeches ; and this,

I

conceive, to be th e soul.

1 Cp. Chnmides, 156 C.



480

Phaedt-rrs.

Phaedr.

Certainly.

PHAEDaus*

The tn4e natu9.e of o r a t o v .

SOC. i s whole effort i s d i rec ted to the so ul ; for in t ha t 271

Phaedr. Yes.

SOC. he n c l e a r l y , T h r a s ym a c hus o r a ny one e l s e w ho

teaches rhetor ic in earnest wil l give an exact descr ipt ion of

the na tu re o f the sou l ; which will enab le u s to see whe the r

sh e be s ingle and same, or , l ike the body, mul ti form. T h a t

is

what we sho uld ca ll showing the na ture of the soul .

he seek s to p rodu ce convict ion.

Phaedr. Exactly.

Soc.

H e will expla in , secondly , the m ode in which sh e ac ts

hen the

show

or is acted upon.

by what

Phaedr. T r u e .

means the

soul

affects

SOC.

hirdly, having classif ied men and speeches, and

or

is af- the i r k inds and a ffections , an d ada pted them to o n e another ,

f ec ted n

and he will t el l t he r easons o f h i s a r r angem ent , and show w hy

why one

SOU^

in one on e soul i s persu ade d by a par t icula r form of a rgu me nt , an d

way and another not .

anoth er in

another.

rhetorician

Phaedr. YOU

ave hi t upon a very good way.

SOC. es , t ha t is t he t r ue and on ly way in which any sub-

jec t can be se t for th o r tr ea ted by rules of a r t , wh ether in

spea king or wr i ting. But th e wr i te r s of t he p r e sen t day , a t

whose feet you have sat , craft ily conceal th e n atu re of th e

soul which th ey know qui te wel l. Nor, unt il t hey adopt ou r

method of read ing an d wri ting, c an we admi t tha t they wr i te

by rules of ar t ?

Phnedr.

W h a t i s o u r m e th o d

?

SOC. cannot g ive you th e exac t de ta i l s ; but I should l ike

to te l l you general ly, as far as

is

in my power , how a man

oug ht to proceed acco rding to ru les of a r t .

Phnedr. Le t me hea r.

O r a to r y i s

SOC.

r a to ry i s t he a r t o f enchan t ing the sou l , add the r e .

the art Of fore he who would be an ora tor h as to learn th e d if ferences of

thesou l ,

hum an sou ls - they a r e so many and of such a na tu r e , and

an d th e r e -

f rom them come the di f fe rences be tween man and man.

fore

t h e

Orator

H av ing proceeded thu s fa r in h is ana lys is , h e will next

learn the divide sp eec he s into their dif ferent c lasses : -- ‘Such an d such

ofhuman

persons,’ he will say, ‘ a r e af fected by this o r that kind of

so u l sb y r e -

speech in th is

or

that way,’ and he wil l te l l you why. The

experience. pupil must have a good theoretical notion of them first , and

enchanting

differences



The so-cadled a r t of

Rhetoric.

then he mus t have exper ience of them in ac tual l i fe , and be P~UC&~W

able to follow them w ith al l his se ns es abo ut him, o r h e will

s ~ ~

never get beyond the precepts of h is mas ters .

But

when

PnAEuR"~.

he under s tands wha t pe r sons

are

per suaded by wha t

argu- Knowledgp

2 7 2 ments , and

sees

the pe r son abou t whom he w as speak ing in ofjndlvi-

the abstract actual ly before him, and knows that i t is he, and

dual char-

can say to himse lf , 'Th i s i s the m an o r th i s i s th e charac te r :Esary

who o ugh t to have a cer ta in argum ent applied to h im in ord er to the

to convince him of a certain opinion ; -he w ho knows al l rhetorician.

th is , and knows a l so when he shou ld speak and when he

should refra in , and wh en h e shou ld use p i thy sayings,

pathet ic appeals , sensat ional effects , and al l the other modes

of speech which h e ha s lea rne d ;-when,

I

say , he knows

the t imes an d sea son s of al l the se things , then, an d not t il l

then , he

is

a per fec t mas ter of h is ar t ; but i f he fai l in any

of these poin ts , whether in speaking or teaching or wr i t ing

them, and yet d eclares tha t he sp eak s by ru les of ar t , he who

says

'

don' t bel ieve you ' has the bet ter of h im. W el l , the

tea che r will say, is th is , Phaedrus and Socra tes , your account

of the so-cal led ar t

of

rhetoric, or Pm

I

to look for another ?

Phaedr. H e m ust take th is , Socra tes , for the re

is

no pos-

sibility

of

another, an d yet th e crea tion of such an ar t

is

not

easy.

SOC

e r y t r u e

;

and therefore le t

us

cons ide r th i s m at te r

in every light, and see wh ether we cannot find a sho r ter a nd

eas ier road

;

h e r e

is

no use in tak ing a long rough round-

about way if the re be a shor te r an d eas ier one . And

I

wish

that you wou ld t ry and r emem ber whe ther you have heard

from Lys ia s o r an y on e e lse anyth ing which might be of

service to

us,

Phaedr.

If t rying would avail , then I mig h t ; but a t the

moment

I

can th ink

of

nothing.

SOC.

u p p o s e

I

tel l you something which somebod y who

knows told me,

Phaedv.

Certainly.

SOC.M ay not ' th e wolf ,' a s th e proverb says , ' c la im a

Phaedr.

Do

you say what can be said for him.

Soc. H e w ill a r g u e t h a t t h e r e i s no use in put t ing a so lemn But ' t h e

face on these mat ters , o r in going round and round, unt il

YOU ~ ~ ~

VOL. . i i

hear ing 3



48:' Roditst sophisfry.

Phaednis. arrive at first principles

;

or, as I said a t f irst , when th e ques-

.ksA rEsion is of justice and good, o r is a question in which men a r e

concerned who are just an d good, e i ther by nature o r habi t,

Of he who would be a skilful rhetorician has no need of truth-

caresabol,t

for that in courts of law men literally care nothing about

[ r ~ t t l . truth, but only about conviction : an d this is based o n proba-

bility, to which he wh o would be a skilful o rator sho uld there -

fore give his whole attention. A nd they say also that there

are cases in which the actual facts, if they are improbable,

ought to be withheld, and only the probabili t ies should be

told either in accusation o r defence, an d that alw ays

in

speaking, the orator sh ould keep probabili ty in view, an d say

good-bye to the t ruth.

throughou t a speech furnishes the whole a r t .

Phaedr. T h a t is what the professors of rhetoric do actually

say, Socrates. I have not forgotten that we have quite

briefly touched upon this matter ' already; with them the

point is all-important.

Does

he no t define probability to be that which the many think ?

PHAEDWS.

law no one

And the observance of this principle

273

SOC. dare say that you are familiar with Tisias.

Phaedr. Certainly, he does.

SOC. believe that he has a clever and ingenious case of

this so r t : -H e supposes a feeble and valiant man to have

assaul ted a s t rong and cowardly one, and to have robbed

him of his coat or 'of something

or

other ; he is brought into

-9ccording

court , and then Tisias says that both parties should tell l ies

:

either

party

the coward should say that h e was assaul ted by m ore me n than

should

tell

one ; the other should prove that they were a lone, and should

sort which a rgue thus : ' H o w could a weak man l ike me have assaul ted

theother

a st ron g man l ike hi m ?' T h e complainant will not l ike to

unwil l ing confess his ow n cowardice, an d will therefo re invent some

or unable oth er l ie which h is adversary will

thus

gain a n oppor tuni ty of

O

refuting.

And there are othe r devices of the same kind which

have a place in the system. Am

I

not r ight , Phaedrus?

to Tisias,

D

lie

of

a

would be

Phaedr.

Certainly.

SOC.

less me, what a w onderfully mysterious a rt is this

which Tisias or some other gent leman, in whatever name or

cou ntry he rejoices, h as discovered. Sh all we say a word to

him or n o t ?

' Cp. z j g E.



484

Thamus and Theuth.

Phaedrus.

%CRATES.

PHAEDRUS.

The inge-

nuity of

the

god

Theuth.

who was

theinventor

of letters,

rebuked

by

King

Thamus,

also

called

Ammon.

ourselves, do you think that we should care much about the

opinions of men

?

Phaedr.

Yo ur ques tion needs no answer

;

but

I

wish that

you would tel l me what you say tha t you have heard.

SOC.

t the Egyptian city of Naucratis, there was a famous

old god, whose name was Theuth

;

he bird which is called

the Ib is

is

sacred to h im, and he was the inventor of many

arts, such

as

ar i thmetic and calculat ion and geometry and

astronomy and draughts and dice , but his great discovery

was the use of le tte rs . Now in those days the god Th am us

was th e king of the whole cou ntry of Egypt

;

and he dwel t

in that great c i ty of U pp er Egyp t which the H el le ne s call

Egyptian Thebes, and the god himself is called by them

Ammon. T o him came Th eu th an d showed his inventions,

desir ing that the o the r Egyp tians might be a l lowed to have

the benef i t of them; he enumerated them, and Thamus

enquired about their several uses, and praised some of them

and censured others , as he approved o r d isapproved

of

them.

I t would take a long t ime to repeat a l l that Th am us said to

Theuth in praise or blame of the var ious ar ts .

But when

the y came to let ters , Th is , sa id Th euth, will mak e the Egyp-

t ians wiser and give them bet ter memories; i t i s a specif ic

both for the m em ory an d for the wit. T ha m us replied :

0

most

ingenious Theu th , the parent o r inventor of an a r t isnot a lways

the best judge of the uti l i ty or inutil i ty of his own inventions

to the users of them.

fath er of letters, from a patern al love of yo ur o wn childre n

have been led to attr ibute to them a quality which they cannot

have

;

or this discovery of yours will create forgetfulness in

the learners’ souls, because they will not use their memories

;

they wil l t rust to the external wri t ten characters and not

remem ber of themselves. T h e specif ic which you have dis-

covered

is

an aid not to memory, but to reminiscence, an d you

give your disciples not t ruth, but only the semblance of truth ;

they will be he arer s of many things and wil l have learned

nothing

;

hey will appe ar to be om niscient an d will generally

know nothing

;

they will be t iresom e compan y, having the

show of wisdom w ithout th e reali ty.

Phaedr.

Yes, So crate s, you ca n easily inven t tales of Egypt,

o r of any other country .

And in this instance, you who are the

275



The written word

an im&ge on

of

the s j o b z .

48

SOC.

h e r e w a s

a

t rad i t ion in the temple of Dod ona tha t

I%ae[irns

oaks f i rs t gav e prop het ic u t terances . T h e men of o ld , unl ike

sWnArEs

in the i r s impl ic i ty to you ng phi losophy, deemed tha t if the y

PH*EDRU5.

heard the t ru th even f rom 'oak

or

rock, ' i t w as eno ug h for

T h e s c e p

them ; whe reas you seem to cons ide r no t whe ther a th ing

is

phaed,,,s

or i s not t rue , but who the speaker i s and f rom what country

reprovedby

the tale comes.

Phaedr .

I acknowledge the jus ti ce of you r r eb uk e ; and

I

th ink tha t th e T he ba n i s righ t in h i s v iew abou t l e t t e rs .

SOC. e would be a very s imple person , and qui te a b'riting

far

s t r a n g e r t o t h e or a cl e s of T h a m u s o r A mmo n, w h o s h o u l d

:zi'-to'

leave in wr i t ing or receive in wr i t ing any ar t under the idea

tion.

that t he wri tten w ord would be intel ligible o r cer tain

;

o r w h o

deemed tha t wr i t ing was a t all bet ter than knowledge and

recollect ion of the same matters ?

ticism of

Soeratee

Plzaedr.

T h at i s most t rue .

SOC.

cannot hel p feeling, Ph aed rus , tha t w ri t ing

is

unfor-

Writing IS

tunately l ike paint ing ; for th e creat ions of the p ainter have

:':

the at t i tude of l ife, an d ye t if you ask them

a

ques tion they

silent ever,

preserv e a so lemn s i lence . An d the sam e may be sa id of

not,

speeches . Yo u would imagine th at they had intel ligence, but

speech,

be

if you w ant to know any th ing an d pu t

a

quest ion to on e of

adaptedto

them, the speak er a lways g ives one unvary ing answer . And

when they have been once wr i t ten down they are tumbled

a b ou t a n y w h e r e a mo n g t h o se w h o ma y o r ma y n o t u n d e r s t a n d

them, and know no t to whom they shou ld r eply , to whom no t :

and, if the y ar e mal t rea ted o r abused , they have no pa ren t to

protect them ; an d they cann ot pro tec t o r defend themselves .

indinduals

Phaedr .

T ha t aga in i s most t rue .

soc.

Is

the re n ot an other k ind of word o r speech far Butthere

bet ter tha n th is, and havin g far gre a te r power-a son of the ~1~~~~

276 same family, but lawfully begotten ?

writing

graven

on

the tablets

haedr .

W h o m d o

you

mean, and what is his origin

?

soc. 1mean an in te l l igent word graven in the soul of the

ofthemilid

learner , which can defend i tself , and kno w s when to spe ak

and w hen to be s i len t .

Phaedr. Yo u m ean the l iving word of knowledge which

has a soul , and of which the wri t ten word

is

proper ly no

more than a n image ?

And

now may

*

SOC.

es , of course tha t i s what

I

mean.



486

Recajitzdatioiz

in n

j p r e .

P A ~ ~ ~ ~ Y U J ,

be allowed to ask you a ques tion: W ou ld a husbandman,

socRArEa,ho is a man of sense, take the seeds, which he values and

P H A E D ~ L b .

which h e wishes

to

bea r fruit , and in sob er seriousness plant

IVhat man

of

sense

would plant

sccds

in an

artificial

garden, to

tiring forth

fruit or

flowers i n

eight days,

and

not in

deeper

and

iuore

fitting

soil

?

them during the heat of summer, in some garden of Adonis,

that he may rejoice when h e se es them in eight da ys appcar-

ing in bea ut y? at least h e would do so, if at all, only for the

sak e of amusem ent and pastime. But when he is in earnest

he sows in fitting soil, and practises husbandry, and

is

satisfied i f in eight months the seeds which he has sown

arrive a t perfection

?

Phncdr.

Y es , Socrates, that will be his way when he is

in

earnest ; he will do the other, a s you say, only in play.

SOC. nd can we suppose that he who knows the just and

good

and honourable has

less

understanding, than thc

husbandman, about his own seeds ?

/ ’ / inch,. Certainly not.

SOC. I’hen he will not seriouslx incline to ‘write’ his

thoughts ‘in w ate r’ with

pen

and ink, sowing words which

can neither speak for themselves nor teach thc truth ade.

quately to others?

Pllncdv.

No, that

is

not likely.

, I s

i i

wq-

Soc. Xo, that is not likely--in the gard en of le tte rs h c

will

sow and plant, but only for the sak e of recreation and amu se-

IlMy pl.111t

t i i \ f,lir

mcnt

;

he will write them down as memorials to be treasured

tlioogliih i i i against the forgetfulness of old age,

by

himself, or by any

t l l C pardcll

other old nian who is t reading the sanie path.

He

will

rejoice in beholding their tender growth

;

and while others

are refreshing their souls with banqueting and the like, this

will be the pastime in which his days are spent.

I’/zncd~ -4

pastime, Socrates,

as

noble as the othcr

i s

ignoble, the pastime of a man

who

can be amused by serious

talk, and can discourse merrily about justice and the like.

Illit / IF

SOC. rue, Phaedrus . But nobler far i s the ser ious

,,.ill tie

t o pursuit of the dialectician, who, finding a congenial soul, by

implant the help of science sows and plants therein words which

o w n a n d are able to help themselves and him who planted them, 2 7 7

otherlloth

and a re not unfruitful, but have in them a seed which

others brought up in different

soils

render immortal , making

the possessors of it happy

to

th c utmost extent of human

happiness.

tlllll:

11e

serious

aiin

them

in

hi>

n; i t i i res .



The pidgeimvat t~,boii

Lysias.

48

Phaedr.

Far nobler, certainly. l 'hnedrus.

SOC.

nd now, Pha edru s , hav ing agreed upon the prcniises

socRnrKs

Phaedr.

About what conclusion

?

SOC.

bout Lysias, whom we censured, and his art of

writ ing, and his discourses, and the rhetorical skil l or want

of skil l

which was show n in them-these ar e the qu estio ns

which we sought

to

determine, and they brought

us

to this

point . And

I

think that we are now pretty well informed

about the nature of ar t a nd i ts opposite .

Ptinedr.

Yes,

I

think with you

;

but

I

wish tha t you would

repeat what was said.

SOC. nt i l a man knows th e t ruth of the seve ral particulars The con-

of

which he

is

writ ing or speaking, and is able to define them

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ , &

as

they are, and having defined them again to divide them

IIC able to

unti l they can be no longer divided, and unti l in l ike manner

& 'e~:l

he is able to discern th e natu re of the soul, and discover the denote t i lt:

different mod es o f discourse which a re ad apt ed to different

~ ~ c

natures , a nd to ar ran ge and d ispose them in such a way that speaking.

the simple form

of

speech may be addres sed

to

the s impler

a n d t o d i s -

nature, an d the complex and com posi te to the more complex

of

nature-until h e ha s accom plished all this, he will be unab le

those\vholn

to handle argu men ts according to rules of ar t , as

far as

thei r dressing,

nature al lows them to be subjected to art , ei ther for the

purpose of teachin g o r pe rsu ad ing ;-such is the view which

is

implied , in the whole p reced ing arg um ent .

Phacdv.

Y es, th at w as ou r view, certainly.

SOC.

econdly, as to the censure which was passcd on the

speaking or wri t ing

of

discourses, and how they might be

rightly o r wrongly censured-did not

our

previous argument

show-?

we may decide ab out th e conclusion.

P H A f DRCS.

cern the

he is

ad-

Phaedv.

S h o w w h at ?

SOC. h at whether Lys ias or any o ther wr i ter tha t ever

' Ihe l t tg ia -

was or will be, whether pr ivate m an o r s tatesma n, proposes

laws and

so

becomes the au thor of

a

political treatise, fancy- must

know

ing that the re is any grea t cer tainty and clearness in his

~~~~~~~

performance, the fact of his so writ ing

is only a

disgrace to or injustice.

him, whatever men may say.

justice and injustice, and good and evil, and not to

be

able

-ro L+,\

to dist inguish the dre am from the reality, cannot in truth be

or t o

an).

For not to know the nature of f Td



488

The

message Lo

Lysias a d

socraks.

him.

Poets,

orators,

legislators,

if their

composi-

tions are

based on

truth, ark

worthy to

be called

philoso-

phers.

P ~ ~ Y w .therwise than disgraceful to him, even though he ha ve the

~ o c ~ ~ ~ ~ ~pp lause of the whole w or ld .

P n ~ D a u s -

Phaedr.

Certainly.

man

ig- SOG.

u t h e who th inks t h a t in t he wr i t t en word t he re i s

norance of

allthese

necessari ly much which is not ser ious , and that nei ther

things is a poe t ry nor prose , spo ken o r wr i t ten , i s

of

any great value, if ,

disgrace.

l ike the composit ions

of

t he rhapsodes , t hey a re on ly r ec it ed

But if there

is

any

one

in ord er to be bel ieved, an d not wi th a ny v iew

to

cr i t i c i sm or

2 7 8

who ha s ins t ruc t ion ; and who th inks tha t even the bes t o f wr i t ings

faith in oral

instruction

ar e but a reminiscence of wh at we know, an d th a t on ly in

a n d i n t h e

principles of j u s t i ce and goodness and nob i l i t y t augh t and

cence of comm unicated ora l ly for the sa ke of ins truc t ion an d grav en

ideas,- in t h e s o d , w h ic h i s t h e t r u e w a y

of

wri t ing, i s there clear-

sympathize,

ness and perfect ion an d ser iousness , a nd tha t such pr inc ip les

and pray a r e a m an’s own an d his legi t imate offspring ; --being, in th e

rs t p lace , th e word which he f inds in h i s own bo som ;

hatwemay

f i

become like

second ly , t he b re th ren and descend an t s a nd re l at ions o f h is

reminis-

with him we

idea which hav e been duly implanted by him in the souls of

o th ers ;-and who cares for them an d n o o thers - th i s i s the

r igh t so r t of man

;

a n d y o u a n d

I,

Phaedru s , w ou ld p ra y t ha t

we may become l ike him.

Phaedr.

T h at i s mos t a s su red ly my d es i re and p rayer.

SOC.

nd now the p lay i s p l ayed o u t ; and of rhe to ri c

enough. Go and te l l Lys ias tha t to the founta in and school

of

the Ny m phs we went down, an d were b idden by them to

convey a message t o h im a nd to o the r composer s of s p e e c h e s

-to H om er and o the r wr i t e rs o f poems , wh e the r s e t t o

music or no t

;

a n d t o S o l o n a n d o t h e r s w h o h a v e co m p o se d

wri t ings in the form

of

pol i t ical discourses which they would

ter m laws-to al l of them we ar e to s ay tha t if the i r compo.

s i ti ons a r e based on knowledge o f t he t ru th , and t hey can

defend o r p rove t hem, whe n they a r e pu t t o t he te st, by

spoken arguments , which leave the i r wr i t ings poor in corn-

parison of them, t hen t hey a re to be cal led, not only poets ,

orators, legislators, but

are

worthy of a higher name, befi t t ing

th e ser ious pursu i t of their life.

Phaedr.

W h a t n a m e w o uld

you

a s s ig n t o t h e m 3

SOC.

i s e , I may not ca l l them ; for tha t

is

a g r e a t n a m e

which belon gs to G od alone,-lovers of wisdom o r philoso.

p h e r s

is

their modest and befi t t ing t i t le.



The prayer at dejadwe.

489

I’haedr.

V er y su it ab l e.

Phatdirrs.

SOC.

nd he w ho c ann ot r i se above h i s own compi la tions

socurps,

and compos i t ions , which he has been long patch ing and

P H A E D R u a

piec ing , ad din g so me an d tak ing away some, m ay be jus t ly

called poet o r speech-maker o r law-maker.

Phaedr.

Certainly.

Phaedr.

But there is also a fr iend of yo urs who ought not

iGeyy

SOC.W h o is he ?

Phaedr.

Isocra tes the fai r : -W hat message wi ll you sen d

Soc.

Isocra tes i s s t i l l young, Phaedrus

;

but 1 am will ing Another

Phaedr.

W h a t w ou ld y o u p r o p h e s y ?

SOC. o w go and tel l th is to your companion.

Give this as

to

be forgo t ten.

Lysias.

279

t o him , a nd how sha l l we desc r ibe h i m ?

to haza rd a prophecy con cern ing h im.

.

message to

Isocrate5,

which is ex-

SOC.

t hink t ha t h e ha s a gen ius wh ich soa r s above t he

orat ion s of Lysias , an d that his ch aracte r . i s cast in a f iner the highest

mould.

improve as he grows o lder , and tha t a l l fo rmer rhe tor ic ians

will be a s ch i ldren in compar i son

of

him. And

I

believe that

he wil l not be sat isfied with rhetoric, but tha t there is in him

a divine inspirat ion which will lead him to things higher st i l l .

F or h e ha s an e lement of ph i losophy in h i s na ture . T his is

the message of th e go ds dwel l ing in th i s p lace , an d which I

will myself de l iver to Isocrates , who is m y del ight

;

a n d d o

you g ive the o th er to Lys ias , who is yours .

Phaedr.

I wi l l ; and now as t he hea t i s aba t ed l e t u s

depar t .

SOC.

hould we not of fer up a prayer f i rs t of al l to the

local de i t i es ?

Phaedr. By all means.

My

impression of him is that h e wi ll m arvellously

Praise.

plato, phaedrus (jowett trans.)

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