Phaedrus
them, for there can be none in the invention; but when you leave the
commonplaces, then there may be some originality.
PHAEDRUS: I admit that there is reason in what you say, and I too will
be reasonable, and will allow you to start with the premiss that the
lover is more disordered in his wits than the non-lover; if in what
remains you make a longer and better speech than Lysias, and use other
arguments, then I say again, that a statue you shall have of beaten
gold, and take your place by the colossal offerings of the Cypselids at
Olympia.
SOCRATES: How profoundly in earnest is the lover, because to tease him I
lay a finger upon his love! And so, Phaedrus, you really imagine that I
am going to improve upon the ingenuity of Lysias?
PHAEDRUS: There I have you as you had me, and you must just speak 'as
you best can.' Do not let us exchange 'tu quoque' as in a farce, or
compel me to say to you as you said to me, 'I know Socrates as well as
I know myself, and he was wanting to speak, but he gave himself airs.'
Rather I would have you consider that from this place we stir not until
you have unbosomed yourself of the speech; for here are we all alone,
and I am stronger, remember, and younger than you:--Wherefore perpend,
and do not compel me to use violence.
SOCRATES: But, my sweet Phaedrus, how ridiculous it would be of me to
compete with Lysias in an extempore speech! He is a master in his art
and I am an untaught man.
PHAEDRUS: You see how matters stand; and therefore let there be no more
pretences; for, indeed, I know the word that is irresistible.
SOCRATES: Then don't say it.
PHAEDRUS: Yes, but I will; and my word shall be an oath. 'I say, or
rather swear'--but what god will be witness of my oath?--'By this
plane-tree I swear, that unless you repeat the discourse here in the
face of this very plane-tree, I will never tell you another; never let
you have word of another!'
SOCRATES: Villain! I am conquered; the poor lover of discourse has no
more to say.
PHAEDRUS: Then why are you still at your tricks?
SOCRATES: I am not going to play tricks now that you have taken the
oath, for I cannot allow myself to be starved.
PHAEDRUS: Proceed.
SOCRATES: Shall I tell you what I will do?
PHAEDRUS: What?
SOCRATES: I will veil my face and gallop through the discourse as fast
as I can, for if I see you I shall feel ashamed and not know what to
say.
PHAEDRUS: Only go on and you may do anything else which you please.
SOCRATES: Come, O ye Muses, melodious, as ye are called, whether you
have received this name from the character of your strains, or because
the Melians are a musical race, help, O help me in the tale which my
good friend here desires me to rehearse, in order that his friend whom
he always deemed wise may seem to him to be wiser than ever.
Once upon a time there was a fair boy, or, more properly speaking, a
youth; he was very fair and had a great many lovers; and there was one
special cunning one, who had persuaded the youth that he did not love
him, but he really loved him all the same; and one day when he was
paying his addresses to him, he used this very argument--that he
ought to accept the non-lover rather than the lover; his words were as
follows:--
'All good counsel begins in the same way; a man should know what he
is advising about, or his counsel will all come to nought. But people
imagine that they know about the nature of things, when they don't know
about them, and, not having come to an understanding at first
because they think that they know, they end, as might be expected, in
contradicting one another and themselves. Now you and I must not be
guilty of this fundamental error which we condemn in others; but as our
question is whether the lover or non-lover is to be preferred, let us
first of all agree in defining the nature and power of love, and then,
keeping our eyes upon the definition and to this appealing, let us
further enquire whether love brings advantage or disadvantage.
'Every one sees that love is a desire, and we know also that non-lovers
desire the beautiful and good. Now in what way is the lover to be
distinguished from the non-lover? Let us note that in every one of us
there are two guiding and ruling principles which lead us whither they
will; one is the natural desire of pleasure, the other is an acquired
opinion which aspires after the best; and these two are sometimes in
harmony and then again at war, and sometimes the one, sometimes the
other conquers. When opinion by the help of reason leads us to the best,
the conquering principle is called temperance; but when desire, which
is devoid of reason, rules in us and drags us to pleasure, that power of
misrule is called excess. Now excess has many names, and many members,
and many forms, and any of these forms when very marked gives a name,
neither honourable nor creditable, to the bearer of the name. The desire
of eating, for example, which gets the better of the higher reason and
the other desires, is called gluttony, and he who is possessed by it
is called a glutton; the tyrannical desire of drink, which inclines the
possessor of the desire to drink, has a name which is only too obvious,
and there can be as little doubt by what name any other appetite of the
same family would be called;--it will be the name of that which happens
to be dominant. And now I think that you will perceive the drift of
my discourse; but as every spoken word is in a manner plainer than the
unspoken, I had better say further that the irrational desire which
overcomes the tendency of opinion towards right, and is led away to the
enjoyment of beauty, and especially of personal beauty, by the desires
which are her own kindred--that supreme desire, I say, which by leading
conquers and by the force of passion is reinforced, from this very
force, receiving a name, is called love (erromenos eros).'
And now, dear Phaedrus, I shall pause for an instant to ask whether you
do not think me, as I appear to myself, inspired?
PHAEDRUS: Yes, Socrates, you seem to have a very unusual flow of words.
SOCRATES: Listen to me, then, in silence; for surely the place is holy;
so that you must not wonder, if, as I proceed, I appear to be in a
divine fury, for already I am getting into dithyrambics.
PHAEDRUS: Nothing can be truer.
SOCRATES: The responsibility rests with you. But hear what follows, and
perhaps the fit may be averted; all is in their hands above. I will go
on talking to my youth. Listen:--
Thus, my friend, we have declared and defined the nature of the subject.
Keeping the definition in view, let us now enquire what advantage or
disadvantage is likely to ensue from the lover or the non-lover to him
who accepts their advances.
He who is the victim of his passions and the slave of pleasure will of
course desire to make his beloved as agreeable to himself as possible.
Now to him who has a mind diseased anything is agreeable which is not
opposed to him, but that which is equal or superior is hateful to him,
and therefore the lover will not brook any superiority or equality
on the part of his beloved; he is always employed in reducing him to
inferiority. And the ignorant is the inferior of the wise, the coward
of the brave, the slow of speech of the speaker, the dull of the
clever. These, and not these only, are the mental defects of the
beloved;--defects which, when implanted by nature, are necessarily
a delight to the lover, and when not implanted, he must contrive to
implant them in him, if he would not be deprived of his fleeting joy.
And therefore he cannot help being jealous, and will debar his beloved
from the advantages of society which would make a man of him, and
especially from that society which would have given him wisdom, and
thereby he cannot fail to do him great harm. That is to say, in his
excessive fear lest he should come to be despised in his eyes he will be
compelled to banish from him divine philosophy; and there is no greater
injury which he can inflict upon him than this. He will contrive that
his beloved shall be wholly ignorant, and in everything shall look
to him; he is to be the delight of the lover's heart, and a curse to
himself. Verily, a lover is a profitable guardian and associate for him
in all that relates to his mind.
Let us next see how his master, whose law of life is pleasure and not
good, will keep and train the body of his servant. Will he not choose a
beloved who is delicate rather than sturdy and strong? One brought up
in shady bowers and not in the bright sun, a stranger to manly exercises
and the sweat of toil, accustomed only to a soft and luxurious diet,
instead of the hues of health having the colours of paint and ornament,
and the rest of a piece?--such a life as any one can imagine and which I
need not detail at length. But I may sum up all that I have to say in a
word, and pass on. Such a person in war, or in any of the great crises
of life, will be the anxiety of his friends and also of his lover, and
certainly not the terror of his enemies; which nobody can deny.
And now let us tell what advantage or disadvantage the beloved will
receive from the guardianship and society of his lover in the matter of
his property; this is the next point to be considered. The lover will be
the first to see what, indeed, will be sufficiently evident to all men,
that he desires above all things to deprive his beloved of his dearest
and best and holiest possessions, father, mother, kindred, friends, of
all whom he thinks may be hinderers or reprovers of their most sweet
converse; he will even cast a jealous eye upon his gold and silver or
other property, because these make him a less easy prey, and when caught
less manageable; hence he is of necessity displeased at his possession
of them and rejoices at their loss; and he would like him to be
wifeless, childless, homeless, as well; and the longer the better, for
the longer he is all this, the longer he will enjoy him.
There are some sort of animals, such as flatterers, who are dangerous
and mischievous enough, and yet nature has mingled a temporary pleasure
and grace in their composition. You may say that a courtesan is hurtful,
and disapprove of such creatures and their practices, and yet for the
time they are very pleasant. But the lover is not only hurtful to his
love; he is also an extremely disagreeable companion. The old proverb
says that 'birds of a feather flock together'; I suppose that equality
of years inclines them to the same pleasures, and similarity begets
friendship; yet you may have more than enough even of this; and verily
constraint is always said to be grievous. Now the lover is not only
unlike his beloved, but he forces himself upon him. For he is old and
his love is young, and neither day nor night will he leave him if he
can help; necessity and the sting of desire drive him on, and allure
him with the pleasure which he receives from seeing, hearing, touching,
perceiving him in every way. And therefore he is delighted to fasten
upon him and to minister to him. But what pleasure or consolation can
the beloved be receiving all this time? Must he not feel the extremity
of disgust when he looks at an old shrivelled face and the remainder to
match, which even in a description is disagreeable, and quite detestable
when he is forced into daily contact with his lover; moreover he is
jealously watched and guarded against everything and everybody, and
has to hear misplaced and exaggerated praises of himself, and censures
equally inappropriate, which are intolerable when the man is sober, and,
besides being intolerable, are published all over the world in all their
indelicacy and wearisomeness when he is drunk.
And not only while his love continues is he mischievous and unpleasant,