Persons of the Dialogue
APOLLODORUS, who repeats to his companion the dialogue which he had
heard from Aristodemus, and had already once narrated to Glaucon
PHAEDRUS
PAUSANIAS
ERYXIMACHUS
ARISTOPHANES
AGATHON
SOCRATES
ALCIBIADES
A TROOP OF REVELLERS
Scene
The House of Agathon
Concerning the things about which
you ask to be informed I believe that I am not
ill-prepared with an answer. For the day before
yesterday I was coming from my own home at Phalerum
to the city, and one of my acquaintance, who had
caught a sight of me from behind, hind, out
playfully in the distance, said: Apollodorus, O thou
Phalerian man, halt! So I did as I was bid; and then
he said, I was looking for you, Apollodorus, only
just now, that I might ask you about the speeches in
praise of love, which were delivered by Socrates,
Alcibiades, and others, at Agathon's supper.
Phoenix, the son of Philip, told another person who
told me of them; his narrative was very indistinct,
but he said that you knew, and I wish that you would
give me an account of them. Who, if not you, should
be the reporter of the words of your friend? And
first tell me, he said, were you present at this
meeting?
Your informant, Glaucon, I said, must have been very
indistinct indeed, if you imagine that the occasion
was recent; or that I could have been of the party.
Why, yes, he replied, I thought so.
Impossible: I said. Are you ignorant that for
many years Agathon has not resided at Athens; and
not three have elapsed since I became acquainted
with Socrates, and have made it my daily business to
know all that he says and does. There was a time
when I was running about the world, fancying myself
to be well employed, but I was really a most
wretched thing, no better than you are now. I
thought that I ought to do anything rather than be a
philosopher.
Well, he said, jesting apart, tell me when the
meeting occurred.
In our boyhood, I replied, when Agathon won the
prize with his first tragedy, on the day after that
on which he and his chorus offered the sacrifice of
victory.
Then it must have been a long while ago, he said;
and who told you-did Socrates?
No indeed, I replied, but the same person who told
Phoenix;-he was a little fellow, who never wore any
shoes Aristodemus, of the deme of Cydathenaeum. He
had been at Agathon's feast; and I think that in
those days there was no one who was a more devoted
admirer of Socrates. Moreover, I have asked Socrates
about the truth of some parts of his narrative, and
he confirmed them. Then, said Glaucon, let us have
the tale over again; is not the road to Athens just
made for conversation? And so we walked, and talked
of the discourses on love; and therefore, as I said
at first, I am not ill-prepared to comply with your
request, and will have another rehearsal of them if
you like. For to speak or to hear others speak of
philosophy always gives me the greatest pleasure, to
say nothing of the profit. But when I hear another
strain, especially that of you rich men and traders,
such conversation displeases me; and I pity you who
are my companions, because you think that you are
doing something when in reality you are doing
nothing. And I dare say that you pity me in return,
whom you regard as an unhappy creature, and very
probably you are right. But I certainly know of you
what you only think of me-there is the difference.
Companion. I see, Apollodorus, that you are
just the same-always speaking evil of yourself, and
of others; and I do believe that you pity all
mankind, with the exception of Socrates, yourself
first of all, true in this to your old name, which,
however deserved I know how you acquired, of
Apollodorus the madman; for you are always raging
against yourself and everybody but Socrates.
Apollodorus. Yes, friend, and the reason why
I am said to be mad, and out of my wits, is just
because I have these notions of myself and you; no
other evidence is required.
Com. No more of that, Apollodorus; but let me
renew my request that you would repeat the
conversation.
Apoll. Well, the tale of love was on this
wise:-But perhaps I had better begin at the
beginning, and endeavour to give you the exact words
of Aristodemus:
He said that he met Socrates fresh from the bath and
sandalled; and as the sight of the sandals was
unusual, he asked him whither he was going that he
had been converted into such a beau:-
To a banquet at Agathon's, he replied, whose
invitation to his sacrifice of victory I refused
yesterday, fearing a crowd, but promising that I
would come to-day instead; and so I have put on my
finery, because he is such a fine man. What say you
to going with me unasked?
I will do as you bid me, I replied.
Follow then, he said, and let us demolish the
proverb:
To the feasts of inferior men the good unbidden go;
instead of which our proverb will run:-
To the feasts of the good the good unbidden go; and
this alteration may be supported by the authority of
Homer himself, who not only demolishes but literally
outrages the proverb. For, after picturing Agamemnon
as the most valiant of men, he makes Menelaus, who
is but a fainthearted warrior, come unbidden to the
banquet of Agamemnon, who is feasting and offering
sacrifices, not the better to the worse, but the
worse to the better.
I rather fear, Socrates, said Aristodemus, lest this
may still be my case; and that, like Menelaus in
Homer, I shall be the inferior person, who
To the leasts of the wise unbidden goes. But I shall
say that I was bidden of you, and then you will have
to make an excuse.
Two going together, he replied, in Homeric fashion,
one or other of them may invent an excuse by the
way.
This was the style of their conversation as they
went along. Socrates dropped behind in a fit of
abstraction, and desired Aristodemus, who was
waiting, to go on before him. When he reached the
house of Agathon he found the doors wide open, and a
comical thing happened. A servant coming out met
him, and led him at once into the banqueting-hall in
which the guests were reclining, for the banquet was
about to begin. Welcome, Aristodemus, said Agathon,
as soon as he appeared-you are just in time to sup
with us; if you come on any other matter put it off,
and make one of us, as I was looking for you
yesterday and meant to have asked you, if I could
have found you. But what have you done with
Socrates?
I turned round, but Socrates was nowhere to be seen;
and I had to explain that he had been with me a
moment before, and that I came by his invitation to
the supper.
You were quite right in coming, said Agathon; but
where is he himself?
He was behind me just now, as I entered, he said,
and I cannot think what has become of him.
Go and look for him, boy, said Agathon, and bring
him in; and do you, Aristodemus, meanwhile take the
place by Eryximachus.
The servant then assisted him to wash, and he lay
down, and presently another servant came in and
reported that our friend Socrates had retired into
the portico of the neighbouring house. "There he is
fixed," said he, "and when I call to him he will not
stir."
How strange, said Agathon; then you must call him
again, and keep calling him.
Let him alone, said my informant; he has a way of
stopping anywhere and losing himself without any
reason. I believe that he will soon appear; do not
therefore disturb him.
Well, if you think so, I will leave him, said
Agathon. And then, turning to the servants, he
added, "Let us have supper without waiting for him.
Serve up whatever you please, for there; is no one
to give you orders; hitherto I have never left you
to yourselves. But on this occasion imagine that you
art our hosts, and that I and the company are your
guests; treat us well, and then we shall commend
you." After this, supper was served, but still
no-Socrates; and during the meal Agathon several
times expressed a wish to send for him, but
Aristodemus objected; and at last when the feast was
about half over-for the fit, as usual, was not of
long duration-Socrates entered; Agathon, who was
reclining alone at the end of the table, begged that
he would take the place next to him; that "I may
touch you," he said, "and have the benefit of that
wise thought which came into your mind in the
portico, and is now in your possession; for I am
certain that you would not have come away until you
had found what you sought."
How I wish, said Socrates, taking his place as he
was desired, that wisdom could be infused by touch,
out of the fuller the emptier man, as water runs
through wool out of a fuller cup into an emptier
one; if that were so, how greatly should I value the
privilege of reclining at your side! For you would
have filled me full with a stream of wisdom
plenteous and fair; whereas my own is of a very mean
and questionable sort, no better than a dream. But
yours is bright and full of promise, and was
manifested forth in all the splendour of youth the
day before yesterday, in the presence of more than
thirty thousand Hellenes.
You are mocking, Socrates, said Agathon, and ere
long you and I will have to determine who bears off
the palm of wisdom-of this Dionysus shall be the
judge; but at present you are better occupied with
supper.
Socrates took his place on the couch, and supped
with the rest; and then libations were offered, and
after a hymn had been sung to the god, and there had
been the usual ceremonies, they were about to
commence drinking, when Pausanias said, And now, my
friends, how can we drink with least injury to
ourselves? I can assure you that I feel severely the
effect of yesterday's potations, and must have time
to recover; and I suspect that most of you are in
the same predicament, for you were of the party
yesterday. Consider then: How can the drinking be
made easiest?
I entirely agree, said Aristophanes, that we should,
by all means, avoid hard drinking, for I was myself
one of those who were yesterday drowned in drink.
I think that you are right, said Eryximachus, the
son of Acumenus; but I should still like to hear one
other person speak: Is Agathon able to drink hard?
I am not equal to it, said Agathon.
Then, the Eryximachus, the weak heads like myself,
Aristodemus, Phaedrus, and others who never can
drink, are fortunate in finding that the stronger
ones are not in a drinking mood. (I do not include
Socrates, who is able either to drink or to abstain,
and will not mind, whichever we do.) Well, as of
none of the company seem disposed to drink much, I
may be forgiven for saying, as a physician, that
drinking deep is a bad practice, which I never
follow, if I can help, and certainly do not
recommend to another, least of all to any one who
still feels the effects of yesterday's carouse.
I always do what you advise, and especially what you
prescribe as a physician, rejoined Phaedrus the
Myrrhinusian, and the rest of the company, if they
are wise, will do the same.
It was agreed that drinking was not to be the order
of the day, but that they were all to drink only so
much as they pleased.
Then, said Eryximachus, as you are all agreed that
drinking is to be voluntary, and that there is to be
no compulsion, I move, in the next place, that the
flute-girl, who has just made her appearance, be
told to go away and play to herself, or, if she
likes, to the women who are within. To-day let us
have conversation instead; and, if you will allow
me, I will tell you what sort of conversation. This
proposal having been accepted, Eryximachus proceeded
as follows:-
I will begin, he said, after the manner of Melanippe
in Euripides,
Not mine the word which I am about to speak, but
that of Phaedrus. For often he says to me in an
indignant tone: "What a strange thing it is,
Eryximachus, that, whereas other gods have poems and
hymns made in their honour, the great and glorious
god, Love, has no encomiast among all the poets who
are so many. There are the worthy sophists too-the
excellent Prodicus for example, who have descanted
in prose on the virtues of Heracles and other
heroes; and, what is still more extraordinary, I
have met with a philosophical work in which the
utility of salt has been made the theme of an
eloquent discourse; and many other like things have
had a like honour bestowed upon them. And only to
think that there should have been an eager interest
created about them, and yet that to this day no one
has ever dared worthily to hymn Love's praises! So
entirely has this great deity been neglected." Now
in this Phaedrus seems to me to be quite right, and
therefore I want to offer him a contribution; also I
think that at the present moment we who are here
assembled cannot do better than honour the. god
Love. If you agree with me, there will be no lack of
conversation; for I mean to propose that each of us
in turn, going from left to right, shall make a
speech in honour of Love. Let him give us the best
which he can; and Phaedrus, because he is sitting
first on the left hand, and because he is the father
of the thought, shall begin.
No one will vote against you, Eryximachus, said
Socrates. How can I oppose your motion, who profess
to understand nothing but matters of love; nor, I
presume, will Agathon and Pausanias; and there can
be no doubt of Aristophanes, whose whole concern is
with Dionysus and Aphrodite; nor will any one
disagree of those whom I, see around me. The
proposal, as I am aware, may seem rather hard upon
us whose place is last; but we shall be contented if
we hear some good speeches first. Let Phaedrus begin
the praise of Love, and good luck to him. All the
company expressed their assent, and desired him to
do as Socrates bade him.
Aristodemus did not recollect all that was said, nor
do I recollect all that he related to me; but I will
tell you what I thought most worthy of remembrance,
and what the chief speakers said.
Phaedrus began by affirming that love is a mighty
god, and wonderful among gods and men, but
especially wonderful in his birth. For he is the
eldest of the gods, which is an honour to him; and a
proof of his claim to this honour is, that of his
parents there is no memorial; neither poet nor
prose-writer has ever affirmed that he had any. As
Hesiod says:
First Chaos came, and then broad-bosomed Earth,
The everlasting seat of all that is,
And Love. In other words, after Chaos, the Earth and
Love, these two, came into being. Also Parmenides
sings of Generation:
First in the train of gods, he fashioned Love. And
Acusilaus agrees with Hesiod. Thus numerous are the
witnesses who acknowledge Love to be the eldest of
the gods. And not only is he the eldest, he is also
the source of the greatest benefits to us. For I
know not any greater blessing to a young man who is
beginning life than a virtuous lover or to the lover
than a beloved youth. For the principle which ought
to be the guide of men who would nobly live at
principle, I say, neither kindred, nor honour, nor
wealth, nor any other motive is able to implant so
well as love. Of what am I speaking? Of the sense of
honour and dishonour, without which neither states
nor individuals ever do any good or great work. And
I say that a lover who is detected in doing any
dishonourable act, or submitting through cowardice
when any dishonour is done to him by another, will
be more pained at being detected by his beloved than
at being seen by his father, or by his companions,
or by any one else. The beloved too, when he is
found in any disgraceful situation, has the same
feeling about his lover. And if there were only some
way of contriving that a state or an army should be
made up of lovers and their loves, they would be the
very best governors of their own city, abstaining
from all dishonour, and emulating one another in
honour; and when fighting at each other's side,
although a mere handful, they would overcome the
world. For what lover would not choose rather to be
seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either when
abandoning his post or throwing away his arms? He
would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather than
endure this. Or who would desert his beloved or fail
him in the hour of danger? The veriest coward would
become an inspired hero, equal to the bravest, at
such a time; Love would inspire him. That courage
which, as Homer says, the god breathes into the
souls of some heroes, Love of his own nature infuses
into the lover.
Love will make men dare to die for their
beloved-love alone; and women as well as men. Of
this, Alcestis, the daughter of Pelias, is a
monument to all Hellas; for she was willing to lay
down her life on behalf of her husband, when no one
else would, although he had a father and mother; but
the tenderness of her love so far exceeded theirs,
that she made them seem to be strangers in blood to
their own son, and in name only related to him; and
so noble did this action of hers appear to the gods,
as well as to men, that among the many who have done
virtuously she is one of the very few to whom, in
admiration of her noble action, they have granted
the privilege of returning alive to earth; such
exceeding honour is paid by the gods to the devotion
and virtue of love. But Orpheus, the son of Oeagrus,
the harper, they sent empty away, and presented to
him an apparition only of her whom he sought, but
herself they would not give up, because he showed no
spirit; he was only a harp-player, and did not-dare
like Alcestis to die for love, but was contriving
how he might enter hades alive; moreover, they
afterwards caused him to suffer death at the hands
of women, as the punishment of his cowardliness.
Very different was the reward of the true love of
Achilles towards his lover Patroclus-his lover and
not his love (the notion that Patroclus was the
beloved one is a foolish error into which Aeschylus
has fallen, for Achilles was surely the fairer of
the two, fairer also than all the other heroes; and,
as Homer informs us, he was still beardless, and
younger far). And greatly as the gods honour the
virtue of love, still the return of love on the part
of the beloved to the lover is more admired and
valued and rewarded by them, for the lover is more
divine; because he is inspired by God. Now Achilles
was quite aware, for he had been told by his mother,
that he might avoid death and return home, and live
to a good old age, if he abstained from slaying
Hector. Nevertheless he gave his life to revenge his
friend, and dared to die, not only in his defence,
but after he was dead Wherefore the gods honoured
him even above Alcestis, and sent him to the Islands
of the Blest. These are my reasons for affirming
that Love is the eldest and noblest and mightiest of
the gods; and the chiefest author and giver of
virtue in life, and of happiness after death.
This, or something like this, was the speech of
Phaedrus; and some other speeches followed which
Aristodemus did not remember; the next which he
repeated was that of Pausanias. Phaedrus, he said,
the argument has not been set before us, I think,
quite in the right form;-we should not be called
upon to praise Love in such an indiscriminate
manner. If there were only one Love, then what you
said would be well enough; but since there are more
Loves than one,-should have begun by determining
which of them was to be the theme of our praises. I
will amend this defect; and first of all I would
tell you which Love is deserving of praise, and then
try to hymn the praiseworthy one in a manner worthy
of him. For we all know that Love is inseparable
from Aphrodite, and if there were only one Aphrodite
there would be only one Love; but as there are two
goddesses there must be two Loves.
And am I not right in asserting that there are two
goddesses? The elder one, having no mother, who is
called the heavenly Aphrodite-she is the daughter of
Uranus; the younger, who is the daughter of Zeus and
Dione-her we call common; and the Love who is her
fellow-worker is rightly named common, as the other
love is called heavenly. All the gods ought to have
praise given to them, but not without distinction of
their natures; and therefore I must try to
distinguish the characters of the two Loves. Now
actions vary according to the manner of their
performance. Take, for example, that which we are
now doing, drinking, singing and talking these
actions are not in themselves either good or evil,
but they turn out in this or that way according to
the mode of performing them; and when well done they
are good, and when wrongly done they are evil; and
in like manner not every love, but only that which
has a noble purpose, is noble and worthy of praise.
The Love who is the offspring of the common
Aphrodite is essentially common, and has no
discrimination, being such as the meaner sort of men
feel, and is apt to be of women as well as of
youths, and is of the body rather than of the
soul-the most foolish beings are the objects of this
love which desires only to gain an end, but never
thinks of accomplishing the end nobly, and therefore
does good and evil quite indiscriminately. The
goddess who is his mother is far younger than the
other, and she was born of the union of the male and
female, and partakes of both.
But the offspring of the heavenly Aphrodite is
derived from a mother in whose birth the female has
no part,-she is from the male only; this is that
love which is of youths, and the goddess being
older, there is nothing of wantonness in her. Those
who are inspired by this love turn to the male, and
delight in him who is the more valiant and
intelligent nature; any one may recognise the pure
enthusiasts in the very character of their
attachments. For they love not boys, but
intelligent, beings whose reason is beginning to be
developed, much about the time at which their beards
begin to grow. And in choosing young men to be their
companions, they mean to be faithful to them, and
pass their whole life in company with them, not to
take them in their inexperience, and deceive them,
and play the fool with them, or run away from one to
another of them. But the love of young boys should
be forbidden by law, because their future is
uncertain; they may turn out good or bad, either in
body or soul, and much noble enthusiasm may be
thrown away upon them; in this matter the good are a
law to themselves, and the coarser sort of lovers
ought to be restrained by force; as we restrain or
attempt to restrain them from fixing their
affections on women of free birth. These are the
persons who bring a reproach on love; and some have
been led to deny the lawfulness of such attachments
because they see the impropriety and evil of them;
for surely nothing that is decorously and lawfully
done can justly be censured.
Now here and in Lacedaemon the rules about love are
perplexing, but in most cities they are simple and
easily intelligible; in Elis and Boeotia, and in
countries having no gifts of eloquence, they are
very straightforward; the law is simply in favour of
these connexions, and no one, whether young or old,
has anything to say to their discredit; the reason
being, as I suppose, that they are men of few words
in those parts, and therefore the lovers do not like
the trouble of pleading their suit. In Ionia and
other places, and generally in countries which are
subject to the barbarians, the custom is held to be
dishonourable; loves of youths share the evil repute
in which philosophy and gymnastics are held because
they are inimical to tyranny; for the interests of
rulers require that their subjects should be poor in
spirit and that there should be no strong bond of
friendship or society among them, which love, above
all other motives, is likely to inspire, as our
Athenian tyrants-learned by experience; for the love
of Aristogeiton and the constancy of Harmodius had
strength which undid their power. And, therefore,
the ill-repute into which these attachments have
fallen is to be ascribed to the evil condition of
those who make them to be ill-reputed; that is to
say, to the self-seeking of the governors and the
cowardice of the governed; on the other hand, the
indiscriminate honour which is given to them in some
countries is attributable to the laziness of those
who hold this opinion of them. In our own country a
far better principle prevails, but, as I was saying,
the explanation of it is rather perplexing. For,
observe that open loves are held to be more
honourable than secret ones, and that the love of
the noblest and highest, even if their persons are
less beautiful than others, is especially
honourable.
Consider, too, how great is the encouragement which
all the world gives to the lover; neither is he
supposed to be doing anything dishonourable; but if
he succeeds he is praised, and if he fail he is
blamed. And in the pursuit of his love the custom of
mankind allows him to do many strange things, which
philosophy would bitterly censure if they were done
from any motive of interest, or wish for office or
power. He may pray, and entreat, and supplicate, and
swear, and lie on a mat at the door, and endure a
slavery worse than that of any slave-in any other
case friends and enemies would be equally ready to
prevent him, but now there is no friend who will be
ashamed of him and admonish him, and no enemy will
charge him with meanness or flattery; the actions of
a lover have a grace which ennobles them; and custom
has decided that they are highly commendable and
that there no loss of character in them; and, what
is strangest of all, he only may swear and forswear
himself (so men say), and the gods will forgive his
transgression, for there is no such thing as a
lover's oath. Such is the entire liberty which gods
and men have allowed the lover, according to the
custom which prevails in our part of the world. From
this point of view a man fairly argues in Athens to
love and to be loved is held to be a very honourable
thing. But when parents forbid their sons to talk
with their lovers, and place them under a tutor's
care, who is appointed to see to these things, and
their companions and equals cast in their teeth
anything of the sort which they may observe, and
their elders refuse to silence the reprovers and do
not rebuke them-any one who reflects on all this
will, on the contrary, think that we hold these
practices to be most disgraceful. But, as I was
saying at first, the truth as I imagine is, that
whether such practices are honourable or whether
they are dishonourable is not a simple question;
they are honourable to him who follows them
honourably, dishonourable to him who follows them
dishonourably. There is dishonour in yielding to the
evil, or in an evil manner; but there is honour in
yielding to the good, or in an honourable manner.
Evil is the vulgar lover who loves the body rather
than the soul, inasmuch as he is not even stable,
because he loves a thing which is in itself
unstable, and therefore when the bloom of youth
which he was desiring is over, he takes wing and
flies away, in spite of all his words and promises;
whereas the love of the noble disposition is
life-long, for it becomes one with the everlasting.
The custom of our country would have both of them
proven well and truly, and would have us yield to
the one sort of lover and avoid the other, and
therefore encourages some to pursue, and others to
fly; testing both the lover and beloved in contests
and trials, until they show to which of the two
classes they respectively belong. And this is the
reason why, in the first place, a hasty attachment
is held to be dishonourable, because time is the
true test of this as of most other things; and
secondly there is a dishonour in being overcome by
the love of money, or of wealth, or of political
power, whether a man is frightened into surrender by
the loss of them, or, having experienced the
benefits of money and political corruption, is
unable to rise above the seductions of them. For
none of these things are of a permanent or lasting
nature; not to mention that no generous friendship
ever sprang from them. There remains, then, only one
way of honourable attachment which custom allows in
the beloved, and this is the way of virtue; for as
we admitted that any service which the lover does to
him is not to be accounted flattery or a dishonour
to himself, so the beloved has one way only of
voluntary service which is not dishonourable, and
this is virtuous service.
For we have a custom, and according to our custom
any one who does service to another under the idea
that he will be improved by him either in wisdom,
or, in some other particular of virtue-such a
voluntary service, I say, is not to be regarded as a
dishonour, and is not open to the charge of
flattery. And these two customs, one the love of
youth, and the other the practice of philosophy and
virtue in general, ought to meet in one, and then
the beloved may honourably indulge the lover. For
when the lover and beloved come together, having
each of them a law, and the lover thinks that he is
right in doing any service which he can to his
gracious loving one; and the other that he is right
in showing any kindness which he can to him who is
making him wise and good; the one capable of
communicating wisdom and virtue, the other seeking
to acquire them with a view to education and wisdom,
when the two laws of love are fulfilled and meet in
one-then, and then only, may the beloved yield with
honour to the lover. Nor when love is of this
disinterested sort is there any disgrace in being
deceived, but in every other case there is equal
disgrace in being or not being deceived. For he who
is gracious to his lover under the impression that
he is rich, and is disappointed of his gains because
he turns out to be poor, is disgraced all the same:
for he has done his best to show that he would give
himself up to any one's "uses base" for the sake of
money; but this is not honourable. And on the same
principle he who gives himself to a lover because he
is a good man, and in the hope that he will be
improved by his company, shows himself to be
virtuous, even though the object of his affection
turn out to be a villain, and to have no virtue; and
if he is deceived he has committed a noble error.
For he has proved that for his part he will do
anything for anybody with a view to virtue and
improvement, than which there can be nothing nobler.
Thus noble in every case is the acceptance of
another for the sake of virtue. This is that love
which is the love of the heavenly godess, and is
heavenly, and of great price to individuals and
cities, making the lover and the beloved alike eager
in the work of their own improvement. But all other
loves are the offspring of the other, who is the
common goddess. To you, Phaedrus, I offer this my
contribution in praise of love, which is as good as
I could make extempore.
Pausanias came to a pause-this is the balanced way
in which I have been taught by the wise to speak;
and Aristodemus said that the turn of Aristophanes
was next, but either he had eaten too much, or from
some other cause he had the hiccough, and was
obliged to change turns with Eryximachus the
physician, who was reclining on the couch below him.
Eryximachus, he said, you ought either to stop my
hiccough, or to speak in my turn until I have left
off.
I will do both, said Eryximachus: I will speak in
your turn, and do you speak in mine; and while I am
speaking let me recommend you to hold your breath,
and if after you have done so for some time the
hiccough is no better, then gargle with a little
water; and if it still continues, tickle your nose
with something and sneeze; and if you sneeze once or
twice, even the most violent hiccough is sure to go.
I will do as you prescribe, said Aristophanes, and
now get on.
Eryximachus spoke as follows: Seeing that Pausanias
made a fair beginning, and but a lame ending, I must
endeavour to supply his deficiency. I think that he
has rightly distinguished two kinds of love. But my
art further informs me that the double love is not
merely an affection of the soul of man towards the
fair, or towards anything, but is to be found in the
bodies of all animals and in productions of the
earth, and I may say in all that is; such is the
conclusion which I seem to have gathered from my own
art of medicine, whence I learn how great and
wonderful and universal is the deity of love, whose
empire extends over all things, divine as well as
human. And from medicine I would begin that I may do
honour to my art. There are in the human body these
two kinds of love, which are confessedly different
and unlike, and being unlike, they have loves and
desires which are unlike; and the desire of the
healthy is one, and the desire of the diseased is
another; and as Pausanias was just now saying that
to indulge good men is honourable, and bad men
dishonourable:-so too in the body the good and
healthy elements are to be indulged, and the bad
elements and the elements of disease are not to be
indulged, but discouraged. And this is what the
physician has to do, and in this the art of medicine
consists: for medicine may be regarded generally as
the knowledge of the loves and desires of the body,
and how to satisfy them or not; and the best
physician is he who is able to separate fair love
from foul, or to convert one into the other; and he
who knows how to eradicate and how to implant love,
whichever is required, and can reconcile the most
hostile elements in the constitution and make them
loving friends, is skilful practitioner. Now the:
most hostile are the most opposite, such as hot and
cold, bitter and sweet, moist and dry, and the like.
And my ancestor, Asclepius, knowing how-to implant
friendship and accord in these elements, was the
creator of our art, as our friends the poets here
tell us, and I believe them; and not only medicine
in every branch but the arts of gymnastic and
husbandry are under his dominion.
Any one who pays the least attention to the subject
will also perceive that in music there is the same
reconciliation of opposites; and I suppose that this
must have been the meaning, of Heracleitus,
although, his words are not accurate, for he says
that is united by disunion, like the harmony-of bow
and the lyre. Now there is an absurdity saying that
harmony is discord or is composed of elements which
are still in a state of discord. But what he
probably meant was, that, harmony is composed of
differing notes of higher or lower pitch which
disagreed once, but are now reconciled by the art of
music; for if the higher and lower notes still
disagreed, there could be there could be no
harmony-clearly not. For harmony is a symphony, and
symphony is an agreement; but an agreement of
disagreements while they disagree there cannot be;
you cannot harmonize that which disagrees. In like
manner rhythm is compounded of elements short and
long, once differing and now-in accord; which
accordance, as in the former instance, medicine, so
in all these other cases, music implants, making
love and unison to grow up among them; and thus
music, too, is concerned with the principles of love
in their application to harmony and rhythm. Again,
in the essential nature of harmony and rhythm there
is no difficulty in discerning love which has not
yet become double. But when you want to use them in
actual life, either in the composition of songs or
in the correct performance of airs or metres
composed already, which latter is called education,
then the difficulty begins, and the good artist is
needed. Then the old tale has to be repeated of fair
and heavenly love -the love of Urania the fair and
heavenly muse, and of the duty of accepting the
temperate, and those who are as yet intemperate only
that they may become temperate, and of preserving
their love; and again, of the vulgar Polyhymnia, who
must be used with circumspection that the pleasure
be enjoyed, but may not generate licentiousness;
just as in my own art it is a great matter so to
regulate the desires of the epicure that he may
gratify his tastes without the attendant evil of
disease. Whence I infer that in music, in medicine,
in all other things human as which as divine, both
loves ought to be noted as far as may be, for they
are both present.
The course of the seasons is also full of both these
principles; and when, as I was saying, the elements
of hot and cold, moist and dry, attain the
harmonious love of one another and blend in
temperance and harmony, they bring to men, animals,
and plants health and plenty, and do them no harm;
whereas the wanton love, getting the upper hand and
affecting the seasons of the year, is very
destructive and injurious, being the source of
pestilence, and bringing many other kinds of
diseases on animals and plants; for hoar-frost and
hail and blight spring from the excesses and
disorders of these elements of love, which to know
in relation to the revolutions of the heavenly
bodies and the seasons of the year is termed
astronomy. Furthermore all sacrifices and the whole
province of divination, which is the art of
communion between gods and men-these, I say, are
concerned with the preservation of the good and the
cure of the evil love. For all manner of impiety is
likely to ensue if, instead of accepting and
honouring and reverencing the harmonious love in all
his actions, a man honours the other love, whether
in his feelings towards gods or parents, towards the
living or the dead. Wherefore the business of
divination is to see to these loves and to heal
them, and divination is the peacemaker of gods and
men, working by a knowledge of the religious or
irreligious tendencies which exist in human loves.
Such is the great and mighty, or rather omnipotent
force of love in general. And the love, more
especially, which is concerned with the good, and
which is perfected in company with temperance and
justice, whether among gods or men, has the greatest
power, and is the source of all our happiness and
harmony, and makes us friends with the gods who are
above us, and with one another. I dare say that I
too have omitted several things which might be said
in praise of Love, but this was not intentional, and
you, Aristophanes, may now supply the omission or
take some other line of commendation; for I perceive
that you are rid of the hiccough.
Yes, said Aristophanes, who followed, the hiccough
is gone; not, however, until I applied the sneezing;
and I wonder whether the harmony of the body has a
love of such noises and ticklings, for I no sooner
applied the sneezing than I was cured.
Eryximachus said: Beware, friend Aristophanes,
although you are going to speak, you are making fun
of me; and I shall have to watch and see whether I
cannot have a laugh at your expense, when you might
speak in peace.
You are right, said Aristophanes, laughing. I will
unsay my words; but do you please not to watch me,
as I fear that in the speech which I am about to
make, instead of others laughing with me, which is
to the manner born of our muse and would be all the
better, I shall only be laughed at by them.
Do you expect to shoot your bolt and escape,
Aristophanes? Well, perhaps if you are very careful
and bear in mind that you will be called to account,
I may be induced to let you off.
Aristophanes professed to open another vein of
discourse; he had a mind to praise Love in another
way, unlike that either of Pausanias or Eryximachus.
Mankind; he said, judging by their neglect of him,
have never, as I think, at all understood the power
of Love. For if they had understood him they would
surely have built noble temples and altars, and
offered solemn sacrifices in his honour; but this is
not done, and most certainly ought to be done: since
of all the gods he is the best friend of men, the
helper and the healer of the ills which are the
great impediment to the happiness of the race. I
will try to describe his power to you, and you shall
teach the rest of the world what I am teaching you.
In the first place, let me treat of the nature of
man and what has happened to it; for the original
human nature was not like the present, but
different. The sexes were not two as they are now,
but originally three in number; there was man,
woman, and the union of the two, having a name
corresponding to this double nature, which had once
a real existence, but is now lost, and the word
"Androgynous" is only preserved as a term of
reproach. In the second place, the primeval man was
round, his back and sides forming a circle; and he
had four hands and four feet, one head with two
faces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck
and precisely alike; also four ears, two privy
members, and the remainder to correspond. He could
walk upright as men now do, backwards or forwards as
he pleased, and he could also roll over and over at
a great pace, turning on his four hands and four
feet, eight in all, like tumblers going over and
over with their legs in the air; this was when he
wanted to run fast. Now the sexes were three, and
such as I have described them; because the sun,
moon, and earth are three;-and the man was
originally the child of the sun, the woman of the
earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made
up of sun and earth, and they were all round and
moved round and round: like their parents. Terrible
was their might and strength, and the thoughts of
their hearts were great, and they made an attack
upon the gods; of them is told the tale of Otys and
Ephialtes who, as Homer says, dared to scale heaven,
and would have laid hands upon the gods. Doubt
reigned in the celestial councils. Should they kill
them and annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as
they had done the giants, then there would be an end
of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to
them; but, on the other hand, the gods could not
suffer their insolence to be unrestrained.
At last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus
discovered a way. He said: "Methinks I have a plan
which will humble their pride and improve their
manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut
them in two and then they will be diminished in
strength and increased in numbers; this will have
the advantage of making them more profitable to us.
They shall walk upright on two legs, and if they
continue insolent and will not be quiet, I will
split them again and they shall hop about on a
single leg." He spoke and cut men in two, like a
sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, or as you
might divide an egg with a hair; and as he cut them
one after another, he bade Apollo give the face and
the half of the neck a turn in order that the man
might contemplate the section of himself: he would
thus learn a lesson of humility. Apollo was also
bidden to heal their wounds and compose their forms.
So he gave a turn to the face and pulled the skin
from the sides all over that which in our language
is called the belly, like the purses which draw in,
and he made one mouth at the centre, which he
fastened in a knot (the same which is called the
navel); he also moulded the breast and took out most
of the wrinkles, much as a shoemaker might smooth
leather upon a last; he left a few, however, in the
region of the belly and navel, as a memorial of the
primeval state. After the division the two parts of
man, each desiring his other half, came together,
and throwing their arms about one another, entwined
in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one, they
were on the point of dying from hunger and
self-neglect, because they did not like to do
anything apart; and when one of the halves died and
the other survived, the survivor sought another
mate, man or woman as we call them, being the
sections of entire men or women, and clung to that.
They were being destroyed, when Zeus in pity of them
invented a new plan: he turned the parts of
generation round to the front, for this had not been
always their position and they sowed the seed no
longer as hitherto like grasshoppers in the ground,
but in one another; and after the transposition the
male generated in the female in order that by the
mutual embraces of man and woman they might breed,
and the race might continue; or if man came to man
they might be satisfied, and rest, and go their ways
to the business of life: so ancient is the desire of
one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our
original nature, making one of two, and healing the
state of man.
Each of us when separated, having one side only,
like a flat fish, is but the indenture of a man, and
he is always looking for his other half. Men who are
a section of that double nature which was once
called Androgynous are lovers of women; adulterers
are generally of this breed, and also adulterous
women who lust after men: the women who are a
section of the woman do not care for men, but have
female attachments; the female companions are of
this sort. But they who are a section of the male
follow the male, and while they are young, being
slices of the original man, they hang about men and
embrace them, and they are themselves the best of
boys and youths, because they have the most manly
nature. Some indeed assert that they are shameless,
but this is not true; for they do not act thus from
any want of shame, but because they are valiant and
manly, and have a manly countenance, and they
embrace that which is like them. And these when they
grow up become our statesmen, and these only, which
is a great proof of the truth of what I am saving.
When they reach manhood they are loves of youth, and
are not naturally inclined to marry or beget
children,-if at all, they do so only in obedience to
the law; but they are satisfied if they may be
allowed to live with one another unwedded; and such
a nature is prone to love and ready to return love,
always embracing that which is akin to him. And when
one of them meets with his other half, the actual
half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a
lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an
amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and
would not be out of the other's sight, as I may say,
even for a moment: these are the people who pass
their whole lives together; yet they could not
explain what they desire of one another. For the
intense yearning which each of them has towards the
other does not appear to be the desire of lover's
intercourse, but of something else which the soul of
either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of
which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment.
Suppose Hephaestus, with his instruments, to come to
the pair who are lying side, by side and to say to
them, "What do you people want of one another?" they
would be unable to explain. And suppose further,
that when he saw their perplexity he said: "Do you
desire to be wholly one; always day and night to be
in one another's company? for if this is what you
desire, I am ready to melt you into one and let you
grow together, so that being two you shall become
one, and while you live a common life as if you were
a single man, and after your death in the world
below still be one departed soul instead of two-I
ask whether this is what you lovingly desire, and
whether you are satisfied to attain this?"-there is
not a man of them who when he heard the proposal
would deny or would not acknowledge that this
meeting and melting into one another, this becoming
one instead of two, was the very expression of his
ancient need. And the reason is that human nature
was originally one and we were a whole, and the
desire and pursuit of the whole is called love.
There was a time, I say, when we were one, but now
because of the wickedness of mankind God has
dispersed us, as the Arcadians were dispersed into
villages by the Lacedaemonians. And if we are not
obedient to the gods, there is a danger that we
shall be split up again and go about in
basso-relievo, like the profile figures having only
half a nose which are sculptured on monuments, and
that we shall be like tallies.
Wherefore let us exhort all men to piety, that we
may avoid evil, and obtain the good, of which Love
is to us the lord and minister; and let no one
oppose him-he is the enemy of the gods who oppose
him. For if we are friends of the God and at peace
with him we shall find our own true loves, which
rarely happens in this world at present. I am
serious, and therefore I must beg Eryximachus not to
make fun or to find any allusion in what I am saying
to Pausanias and Agathon, who, as I suspect, are
both of the manly nature, and belong to the class
which I have been describing. But my words have a
wider application-they include men and women
everywhere; and I believe that if our loves were
perfectly accomplished, and each one returning to
his primeval nature had his original true love, then
our race would be happy. And if this would be best
of all, the best in the next degree and under
present circumstances must be the nearest approach
to such an union; and that will be the attainment of
a congenial love. Wherefore, if we would praise him
who has given to us the benefit, we must praise the
god Love, who is our greatest benefactor, both
leading us in this life back to our own nature, and
giving us high hopes for the future, for he promises
that if we are pious, he will restore us to our
original state, and heal us and make us happy and
blessed. This, Eryximachus, is my discourse of love,
which, although different to yours, I must beg you
to leave unassailed by the shafts of your ridicule,
in order that each may have his turn; each, or
rather either, for Agathon and Socrates are the only
ones left.
Indeed, I am not going to attack you, said
Eryximachus, for I thought your speech charming, and
did I not know that Agathon and Socrates are masters
in the art of love, I should be really afraid that
they would have nothing to say, after the world of
things which have been said already. But, for all
that, I am not without hopes.
Socrates said: You played your part well,
Eryximachus; but if you were as I am now, or rather
as I shall be when Agathon has spoken, you would,
indeed, be in a great strait.
You want to cast a spell over me, Socrates, said
Agathon, in the hope that I may be disconcerted at
the expectation raised among the audience that I
shall speak well.
I should be strangely forgetful, Agathon replied
Socrates, of the courage and magnanimity which you
showed when your own compositions were about to be
exhibited, and you came upon the stage with the
actors and faced the vast theatre altogether
undismayed, if I thought that your nerves could be
fluttered at a small party of friends.
Do you think, Socrates, said Agathon, that my head
is so full of the theatre as not to know how much
more formidable to a man of sense a few good judges
are than many fools?
Nay, replied Socrates, I should be very wrong in
attributing to you, Agathon, that or any other want
of refinement. And I am quite aware that if you
happened to meet with any whom you thought wise, you
would care for their opinion much more than for that
of the many. But then we, having been a part of the
foolish many in the theatre, cannot be regarded as
the select wise; though I know that if you chanced
to be in the presence, not of one of ourselves, but
of some really wise man, you would be ashamed of
disgracing yourself before him-would you not?
Yes, said Agathon.
But before the many you would not be ashamed, if you
thought that you were doing something disgraceful in
their presence?
Here Phaedrus interrupted them, saying: not answer
him, my dear Agathon; for if he can only get a
partner with whom he can talk, especially a
good-looking one, he will no longer care about the
completion of our plan. Now I love to hear him talk;
but just at present I must not forget the encomium
on Love which I ought to receive from him and from
every one. When you and he have paid your tribute to
the god, then you may talk.
Very good, Phaedrus, said Agathon; I see no reason
why I should not proceed with my speech, as I shall
have many other opportunities of conversing with
Socrates. Let me say first how I ought to speak, and
then speak:-
The previous speakers, instead of praising the god
Love, or unfolding his nature, appear to have
congratulated mankind on the benefits which he
confers upon them. But I would rather praise the god
first, and then speak of his gifts; this is always
the right way of praising everything. May I say
without impiety or offence, that of all the blessed
gods he is the most blessed because he is the
fairest and best? And he is the fairest: for, in the
first place, he is the youngest, and of his youth he
is himself the witness, fleeing out of the way of
age, who is swift enough, swifter truly than most of
us like:-Love hates him and will not come near him;
but youth and love live and move together-like to
like, as the proverb says. Many things were said by
Phaedrus about Love in which I agree with him; but I
cannot agree that he is older than Iapetus and
Kronos:-not so; I maintain him to be the youngest of
the gods, and youthful ever. The ancient doings
among the gods of which Hesiod and Parmenides spoke,
if the tradition of them be true, were done of
Necessity and not Love; had Love been in those days,
there would have been no chaining or mutilation of
the gods, or other violence, but peace and
sweetness, as there is now in heaven, since the rule
of Love began.
Love is young and also tender; he ought to have a
poet like Homer to describe his tenderness, as Homer
says of Ate, that she is a goddess and tender:
Her feet are tender, for she sets her steps,
Not on the ground but on the heads of men: herein is
an excellent proof of her tenderness that,-she walks
not upon the hard but upon the soft. Let us adduce a
similar proof of the tenderness of Love; for he
walks not upon the earth, nor yet upon skulls of
men, which are not so very soft, but in the hearts
and souls of both god, and men, which are of all
things the softest: in them he walks and dwells and
makes his home. Not in every soul without exception,
for Where there is hardness he departs, where there
is softness there he dwells; and nestling always
with his feet and in all manner of ways in the
softest of soft places, how can he be other than the
softest of all things? Of a truth he is the
tenderest as well as the youngest, and also he is of
flexile form; for if he were hard and without
flexure he could not enfold all things, or wind his
way into and out of every soul of man undiscovered.
And a proof of his flexibility and symmetry of form
is his grace, which is universally admitted to be in
an especial manner the attribute of Love; ungrace
and love are always at war with one another. The
fairness of his complexion is revealed by his
habitation among the flowers; for he dwells not amid
bloomless or fading beauties, whether of body or
soul or aught else, but in the place of flowers and
scents, there he sits and abides. Concerning the
beauty of the god I have said enough; and yet there
remains much more which I might say. Of his virtue I
have now to speak: his greatest glory is that he can
neither do nor suffer wrong to or from any god or
any man; for he suffers not by force if he suffers;
force comes not near him, neither when he acts does
he act by force. For all men in all things serve him
of their own free will, and where there is voluntary
agreement, there, as the laws which are the lords of
the city say, is justice. And not only is he just
but exceedingly temperate, for Temperance is the
acknowledged ruler of the pleasures and desires, and
no pleasure ever masters Love; he is their master
and they are his servants; and if he conquers them
he must be temperate indeed. As to courage, even the
God of War is no match for him; he is the captive
and Love is the lord, for love, the love of
Aphrodite, masters him, as the tale runs; and the
master is stronger than the servant. And if he
conquers the bravest of all others, he must be
himself the bravest.
Of his courage and justice and temperance I have
spoken, but I have yet to speak of his wisdom-and
according to the measure of my ability I must try to
do my best. In the first place he is a poet (and
here, like Eryximachus, I magnify my art), and he is
also the source of poesy in others, which he could
not be if he were not himself a poet. And at the
touch of him every one becomes a poet, even though
he had no music in him before; this also is a proof
that Love is a good poet and accomplished in all the
fine arts; for no one can give to another that which
he has not himself, or teach that of which he has no
knowledge. Who will deny that the creation of the
animals is his doing? Are they not all the works his
wisdom, born and begotten of him? And as to the
artists, do we not know that he only of them whom
love inspires has the light of fame?-he whom Love
touches riot walks in darkness. The arts of medicine
and archery and divination were discovered by
Apollo, under the guidance of love and desire; so
that he too is a disciple of Love. Also the melody
of the Muses, the metallurgy of Hephaestus, the
weaving of Athene, the empire of Zeus over gods and
men, are all due to Love, who was the inventor of
them. And so Love set in order the empire of the
gods-the love of beauty, as is evident, for with
deformity Love has no concern. In the days of old,
as I began by saying, dreadful deeds were done among
the gods, for they were ruled by Necessity; but now
since the birth of Love, and from the Love of the
beautiful, has sprung every good in heaven and
earth. Therefore, Phaedrus, I say of Love that he is
the fairest and best in himself, and the cause of
what is fairest and best in all other things. And
there comes into my mind a line of poetry in which
he is said to be the god who
Gives peace on earth and calms the stormy deep,
Who stills the winds and bids the sufferer sleep.
This is he who empties men of disaffection and fills
them with affection, who makes them to meet together
at banquets such as these: in sacrifices, feasts,
dances, he is our lord-who sends courtesy and sends
away discourtesy, who gives kindness ever and never
gives unkindness; the friend of the good, the wonder
of the wise, the amazement of the gods; desired by
those who have no part in him, and precious to those
who have the better part in him; parent of delicacy,
luxury, desire, fondness, softness, grace; regardful
of the good, regardless of the evil: in every word,
work, wish, fear-saviour, pilot, comrade, helper;
glory of gods and men, leader best and brightest: in
whose footsteps let every man follow, sweetly
singing in his honour and joining in that sweet
strain with which love charms the souls of gods and
men. Such is the speech, Phaedrus, half-playful, yet
having a certain measure of seriousness, which,
according to my ability, I dedicate to the god.
When Agathon had done speaking, Aristodemus said
that there was a general cheer; the young man was
thought to have spoken in a manner worthy of
himself, and of the god. And Socrates, looking at
Eryximachus, said: Tell me, son of Acumenus, was
there not reason in my fears? and was I not a true
prophet when I said that Agathon would make a
wonderful oration, and that I should be in a strait?
The part of the prophecy which concerns Agathon,
replied Eryximachus, appears to me to be true; but,
not the other part-that you will be in a strait.
Why, my dear friend, said Socrates, must not I or
any one be in a strait who has to speak after he has
heard such a rich and varied discourse? I am
especially struck with the beauty of the concluding
words-who could listen to them without amazement?
When I reflected on the immeasurable inferiority of
my own powers, I was ready to run away for shame, if
there had been a possibility of escape. For I was
reminded of Gorgias, and at the end of his speech I
fancied that Agathon was shaking at me the Gorginian
or Gorgonian head of the great master of rhetoric,
which was simply to turn me and my speech, into
stone, as Homer says, and strike me dumb. And then I
perceived how foolish I had been in consenting to
take my turn with you in praising love, and saying
that I too was a master of the art, when I really
had no conception how anything ought to be praised.
For in my simplicity I imagined that the topics of
praise should be true, and that this being
presupposed, out of the true the speaker was to
choose the best and set them forth in the best
manner. And I felt quite proud, thinking that I knew
the nature of true praise, and should speak well.
Whereas I now see that the intention was to
attribute to Love every species of greatness and
glory, whether really belonging to him not, without
regard to truth or falsehood-that was no matter; for
the original, proposal seems to have been not that
each of you should really praise Love, but only that
you should appear to praise him. And so you
attribute to Love every imaginable form of praise
which can be gathered anywhere; and you say that "he
is all this," and "the cause of all that," making
him appear the fairest and best of all to those who
know him not, for you cannot impose upon those who
know him. And a noble and solemn hymn of praise have
you rehearsed. But as I misunderstood the nature of
the praise when I said that I would take my turn, I
must beg to be absolved from the promise which I
made in ignorance, and which (as Euripides would
say) was a promise of the lips and not of the mind.
Farewell then to such a strain: for I do not praise
in that way; no, indeed, I cannot. But if you like
to here the truth about love, I am ready to speak in
my own manner, though I will not make myself
ridiculous by entering into any rivalry with you.
Say then, Phaedrus, whether you would like, to have
the truth about love, spoken in any words and in any
order which may happen to come into my mind at the
time. Will that be agreeable to you?
Aristodemus said that Phaedrus and the company bid
him speak in any manner which he thought best. Then,
he added, let me have your permission first to ask
Agathon a few more questions, in order that I may
take his admissions as the premisses of my
discourse.
I grant the permission, said Phaedrus: put your
questions. Socrates then proceeded as follows:-
In the magnificent oration which you have just
uttered, I think that you were right, my dear
Agathon, in proposing to speak of the nature of Love
first and afterwards of his works-that is a way of
beginning which I very much approve. And as you have
spoken so eloquently of his nature, may I ask you
further, Whether love is the love of something or of
nothing? And here I must explain myself: I do not
want you to say that love is the love of a father or
the love of a mother-that would be ridiculous; but
to answer as you would, if I asked is a father a
father of something? to which you would find no
difficulty in replying, of a son or daughter: and
the answer would be right.
Very true, said Agathon.
And you would say the same of a mother?
He assented.
Yet let me ask you one more question in order to
illustrate my meaning: Is not a brother to be
regarded essentially as a brother of something?
Certainly, he replied.
That is, of a brother or sister?
Yes, he said.
And now, said Socrates, I will ask about Love:-Is
Love of something or of nothing?
Of something, surely, he replied.
Keep in mind what this is, and tell me what I want
to know-whether Love desires that of which love is.
Yes, surely.
And does he possess, or does he not possess, that
which he loves and desires?
Probably not, I should say.
Nay, replied Socrates, I would have you consider
whether "necessarily" is not rather the word. The
inference that he who desires something is in want
of something, and that he who desires nothing is in
want of nothing, is in my judgment, Agathon
absolutely and necessarily true. What do you think?
I agree with you, said Agathon.
Very good. Would he who is great, desire to be
great, or he who is strong, desire to be strong?
That would be inconsistent with our previous
admissions.
True. For he who is anything cannot want to
be that which he is?
Very true.
And yet, added Socrates, if a man being strong
desired to be strong, or being swift desired to be
swift, or being healthy desired to be healthy, in
that case he might be thought to desire something
which he already has or is. I give the example in
order that we may avoid misconception. For the
possessors of these qualities, Agathon, must be
supposed to have their respective advantages at the
time, whether they choose or not; and who can desire
that which he has? Therefore when a person says, I
am well and wish to be well, or I am rich and wish
to be rich, and I desire simply to have what I
have-to him we shall reply: "You, my friend, having
wealth and health and strength, want to have the
continuance of them; for at this moment, whether you
choose or no, you have them. And when you say, I
desire that which I have and nothing else, is not
your meaning that you want to have what you now have
in the future? "He must agree with us-must he not?
He must, replied Agathon.
Then, said Socrates, he desires that what he has at
present may be preserved to him in the future, which
is equivalent to saying that he desires something
which is non-existent to him, and which as yet he
has not got.
Very true, he said.
Then he and every one who desires, desires that
which he has not already, and which is future and
not present, and which he has not, and is not, and
of which he is in want;-these are the sort of things
which love and desire seek?
Very true, he said.
Then now, said Socrates, let us recapitulate the
argument. First, is not love of something, and of
something too which is wanting to a man?
Yes, he replied.
Remember further what you said in your speech, or if
you do not remember I will remind you: you said that
the love of the beautiful set in order the empire of
the gods, for that of deformed things there is no
love-did you not say something of that kind?
Yes, said Agathon.
Yes, my friend, and the remark was a just one. And
if this is true, Love is the love of beauty and not
of deformity?
He assented.
And the admission has been already made that Love is
of something which a man wants and has not?
True, he said.
Then Love wants and has not beauty?
Certainly, he replied.
And would you call that beautiful which wants and
does not possess beauty?
Certainly not.
Then would you still say that love is beautiful?
Agathon replied: I fear that I did not understand
what I was saying.
You made a very good speech, Agathon, replied
Socrates; but there is yet one small question which
I would fain ask:-Is not the good also the
beautiful?
Yes.
Then in wanting the beautiful, love wants also the
good?
I cannot refute you, Socrates, said Agathon:-Let us
assume that what you say is true.
Say rather, beloved Agathon, that you cannot refute
the truth; for Socrates is easily refuted.
And now, taking my leave of you, I would rehearse a
tale of love which I heard from Diotima of
Mantineia, a woman wise in this and in many other
kinds of knowledge, who in the days of old, when the
Athenians offered sacrifice before the coming of the
plague, delayed the disease ten years. She was my
instructress in the art of love, and I shall repeat
to you what she said to me, beginning with the
admissions made by Agathon, which are nearly if not
quite the same which I made to the wise woman when
she questioned me-I think that this will be the
easiest way, and I shall take both parts myself as
well as I can. As you, Agathon, suggested, I must
speak first of the being and nature of Love, and
then of his works. First I said to her in nearly the
same words which he used to me, that Love was a
mighty god, and likewise fair and she proved to me
as I proved to him that, by my own showing, Love was
neither fair nor good. "What do you mean, Diotima,"
I said, "is love then evil and foul?" "Hush," she
cried; "must that be foul which is not fair?"
"Certainly," I said. "And is that which is not wise,
ignorant? do you not see that there is a mean
between wisdom and ignorance?" "And what may that
be?" I said. "Right opinion," she replied; "which,
as you know, being incapable of giving a reason, is
not knowledge (for how can knowledge be devoid of
reason? nor again, ignorance, for neither can
ignorance attain the truth), but is clearly
something which is a mean between ignorance and
wisdom." "Quite true," I replied. "Do not then
insist," she said, "that what is not fair is of
necessity foul, or what is not good evil; or infer
that because love is not fair and good he is
therefore foul and evil; for he is in a mean between
them." "Well," I said, "Love is surely admitted by
all to be a great god." "By those who know or by
those who do not know?" "By all." "And how,
Socrates," she said with a smile, "can Love be
acknowledged to be a great god by those who say that
he is not a god at all?" "And who are they?" I said.
"You and I are two of them," she replied. "How can
that be?" I said. "It is quite intelligible," she
replied; "for you yourself would acknowledge that
the gods are happy and fair of course you
would-would to say that any god was not?" "Certainly
not," I replied. "And you mean by the happy, those
who are the possessors of things good or fair?"
"Yes." "And you admitted that Love, because he was
in want, desires those good and fair things of which
he is in want?" "Yes, I did." "But how can he be a
god who has no portion in what is either good or
fair?" "Impossible." "Then you see that you also
deny the divinity of Love."
"What then is Love?" I asked; "Is he mortal?" "No."
"What then?" "As in the former instance, he is
neither mortal nor immortal, but in a mean between
the two." "What is he, Diotima?" "He is a great
spirit (daimon), and like all spirits he is
intermediate between the divine and the mortal."
"And what," I said, "is his power?" "He interprets,"
she replied, "between gods and men, conveying and
taking across to the gods the prayers and sacrifices
of men, and to men the commands and replies of the
gods; he is the mediator who spans the chasm which
divides them, and therefore in him all is bound
together, and through him the arts of the prophet
and the priest, their sacrifices and mysteries and
charms, and all, prophecy and incantation, find
their way. For God mingles not with man; but through
Love. all the intercourse, and converse of god with
man, whether awake or asleep, is carried on. The
wisdom which understands this is spiritual; all
other wisdom, such as that of arts and handicrafts,
is mean and vulgar. Now these spirits or
intermediate powers are many and diverse, and one of
them is Love. "And who," I said, "was his father,
and who his mother?" "The tale," she said, "will
take time; nevertheless I will tell you. On the
birthday of Aphrodite there was a feast of the gods,
at which the god Poros or Plenty, who is the son of
Metis or Discretion, was one of the guests. When the
feast was over, Penia or Poverty, as the manner is
on such occasions, came about the doors to beg. Now
Plenty who was the worse for nectar (there was no
wine in those days), went into the garden of Zeus
and fell into a heavy sleep, and Poverty considering
her own straitened circumstances, plotted to have a
child by him, and accordingly she lay down at his
side and conceived love, who partly because he is
naturally a lover of the beautiful, and because
Aphrodite is herself beautiful, and also because he
was born on her birthday, is her follower and
attendant. And as his parentage is, so also are his
fortunes. In the first place he is always poor, and
anything but tender and fair, as the many imagine
him; and he is rough and squalid, and has no shoes,
nor a house to dwell in; on the bare earth exposed
he lies under the open heaven, in-the streets, or at
the doors of houses, taking his rest; and like his
mother he is always in distress. Like his father
too, whom he also partly resembles, he is always
plotting against the fair and good; he is bold,
enterprising, strong, a mighty hunter, always
weaving some intrigue or other, keen in the pursuit
of wisdom, fertile in resources; a philosopher at
all times, terrible as an enchanter, sorcerer,
sophist. He is by nature neither mortal nor
immortal, but alive and flourishing at one moment
when he is in plenty, and dead at another moment,
and again alive by reason of his father's nature.
But that which is always flowing in is always
flowing out, and so he is never in want and never in
wealth; and, further, he is in a mean between
ignorance and knowledge. The truth of the matter is
this: No god is a philosopher. or seeker after
wisdom, for he is wise already; nor does any man who
is wise seek after wisdom. Neither do the ignorant
seek after Wisdom. For herein is the evil of
ignorance, that he who is neither good nor wise is
nevertheless satisfied with himself: he has no
desire for that of which he feels no want." "But-who
then, Diotima," I said, "are the lovers of wisdom,
if they are neither the wise nor the foolish?" "A
child may answer that question," she replied; "they
are those who are in a mean between the two; Love is
one of them. For wisdom is a most beautiful thing,
and Love is of the beautiful; and therefore Love is
also a philosopher: or lover of wisdom, and being a
lover of wisdom is in a mean between the wise and
the ignorant. And of this too his birth is the
cause; for his father is wealthy and wise, and his
mother poor and foolish. Such, my dear Socrates, is
the nature of the spirit Love. The error in your
conception of him was very natural, and as I imagine
from what you say, has arisen out of a confusion of
love and the beloved, which made you think that love
was all beautiful. For the beloved is the truly
beautiful, and delicate, and perfect, and blessed;
but the principle of love is of another nature, and
is such as I have described."
I said, "O thou stranger woman, thou sayest well;
but, assuming Love to be such as you say, what is
the use of him to men?" "That, Socrates," she
replied, "I will attempt to unfold: of his nature
and birth I have already spoken; and you acknowledge
that love is of the beautiful. But some one will
say: Of the beautiful in what, Socrates and
Diotima?-or rather let me put the question more
dearly, and ask: When a man loves the beautiful,
what does he desire?" I answered her "That the
beautiful may be his." "Still," she said, "the
answer suggests a further question: What is given by
the possession of beauty?" "To what you have asked,"
I replied, "I have no answer ready." "Then," she
said, "Let me put the word 'good' in the place of
the beautiful, and repeat the question once more: |