Phaedrus
There was a time when with the rest of the happy band they saw beauty
shining in brightness,--we philosophers following in the train of Zeus,
others in company with other gods; and then we beheld the beatific
vision and were initiated into a mystery which may be truly called most
blessed, celebrated by us in our state of innocence, before we had
any experience of evils to come, when we were admitted to the sight
of apparitions innocent and simple and calm and happy, which we beheld
shining in pure light, pure ourselves and not yet enshrined in that
living tomb which we carry about, now that we are imprisoned in the
body, like an oyster in his shell. Let me linger over the memory of
scenes which have passed away.
But of beauty, I repeat again that we saw her there shining in company
with the celestial forms; and coming to earth we find her here too,
shining in clearness through the clearest aperture of sense. For sight
is the most piercing of our bodily senses; though not by that is wisdom
seen; her loveliness would have been transporting if there had been
a visible image of her, and the other ideas, if they had visible
counterparts, would be equally lovely. But this is the privilege of
beauty, that being the loveliest she is also the most palpable to sight.
Now he who is not newly initiated or who has become corrupted, does not
easily rise out of this world to the sight of true beauty in the other;
he looks only at her earthly namesake, and instead of being awed at the
sight of her, he is given over to pleasure, and like a brutish beast he
rushes on to enjoy and beget; he consorts with wantonness, and is not
afraid or ashamed of pursuing pleasure in violation of nature. But
he whose initiation is recent, and who has been the spectator of many
glories in the other world, is amazed when he sees any one having a
godlike face or form, which is the expression of divine beauty; and at
first a shudder runs through him, and again the old awe steals over him;
then looking upon the face of his beloved as of a god he reverences him,
and if he were not afraid of being thought a downright madman, he would
sacrifice to his beloved as to the image of a god; then while he gazes
on him there is a sort of reaction, and the shudder passes into an
unusual heat and perspiration; for, as he receives the effluence of
beauty through the eyes, the wing moistens and he warms. And as he
warms, the parts out of which the wing grew, and which had been hitherto
closed and rigid, and had prevented the wing from shooting forth, are
melted, and as nourishment streams upon him, the lower end of the wing
begins to swell and grow from the root upwards; and the growth extends
under the whole soul--for once the whole was winged. During this process
the whole soul is all in a state of ebullition and effervescence,--which
may be compared to the irritation and uneasiness in the gums at the
time of cutting teeth,--bubbles up, and has a feeling of uneasiness and
tickling; but when in like manner the soul is beginning to grow wings,
the beauty of the beloved meets her eye and she receives the sensible
warm motion of particles which flow towards her, therefore called
emotion (imeros), and is refreshed and warmed by them, and then she
ceases from her pain with joy. But when she is parted from her beloved
and her moisture fails, then the orifices of the passage out of which
the wing shoots dry up and close, and intercept the germ of the wing;
which, being shut up with the emotion, throbbing as with the pulsations
of an artery, pricks the aperture which is nearest, until at length the
entire soul is pierced and maddened and pained, and at the recollection
of beauty is again delighted. And from both of them together the soul is
oppressed at the strangeness of her condition, and is in a great strait
and excitement, and in her madness can neither sleep by night nor abide
in her place by day. And wherever she thinks that she will behold the
beautiful one, thither in her desire she runs. And when she has seen
him, and bathed herself in the waters of beauty, her constraint is
loosened, and she is refreshed, and has no more pangs and pains; and
this is the sweetest of all pleasures at the time, and is the reason
why the soul of the lover will never forsake his beautiful one, whom he
esteems above all; he has forgotten mother and brethren and companions,
and he thinks nothing of the neglect and loss of his property; the rules
and proprieties of life, on which he formerly prided himself, he now
despises, and is ready to sleep like a servant, wherever he is allowed,
as near as he can to his desired one, who is the object of his worship,
and the physician who can alone assuage the greatness of his pain. And
this state, my dear imaginary youth to whom I am talking, is by men
called love, and among the gods has a name at which you, in your
simplicity, may be inclined to mock; there are two lines in the
apocryphal writings of Homer in which the name occurs. One of them is
rather outrageous, and not altogether metrical. They are as follows:
'Mortals call him fluttering love, But the immortals call him winged
one, Because the growing of wings (Or, reading pterothoiton, 'the
movement of wings.') is a necessity to him.'
You may believe this, but not unless you like. At any rate the loves of
lovers and their causes are such as I have described.
Now the lover who is taken to be the attendant of Zeus is better able to
bear the winged god, and can endure a heavier burden; but the attendants
and companions of Ares, when under the influence of love, if they fancy
that they have been at all wronged, are ready to kill and put an end
to themselves and their beloved. And he who follows in the train of any
other god, while he is unspoiled and the impression lasts, honours and
imitates him, as far as he is able; and after the manner of his God he
behaves in his intercourse with his beloved and with the rest of the
world during the first period of his earthly existence. Every one
chooses his love from the ranks of beauty according to his character,
and this he makes his god, and fashions and adorns as a sort of image
which he is to fall down and worship. The followers of Zeus desire that
their beloved should have a soul like him; and therefore they seek out
some one of a philosophical and imperial nature, and when they have
found him and loved him, they do all they can to confirm such a nature
in him, and if they have no experience of such a disposition hitherto,
they learn of any one who can teach them, and themselves follow in the
same way. And they have the less difficulty in finding the nature of
their own god in themselves, because they have been compelled to gaze
intensely on him; their recollection clings to him, and they become
possessed of him, and receive from him their character and disposition,
so far as man can participate in God. The qualities of their god they
attribute to the beloved, wherefore they love him all the more, and if,
like the Bacchic Nymphs, they draw inspiration from Zeus, they pour out
their own fountain upon him, wanting to make him as like as possible
to their own god. But those who are the followers of Here seek a royal
love, and when they have found him they do just the same with him; and
in like manner the followers of Apollo, and of every other god walking
in the ways of their god, seek a love who is to be made like him whom
they serve, and when they have found him, they themselves imitate their
god, and persuade their love to do the same, and educate him into the
manner and nature of the god as far as they each can; for no feelings of
envy or jealousy are entertained by them towards their beloved, but they
do their utmost to create in him the greatest likeness of themselves and
of the god whom they honour. Thus fair and blissful to the beloved is
the desire of the inspired lover, and the initiation of which I speak
into the mysteries of true love, if he be captured by the lover and
their purpose is effected. Now the beloved is taken captive in the
following manner:--
As I said at the beginning of this tale, I divided each soul into
three--two horses and a charioteer; and one of the horses was good and
the other bad: the division may remain, but I have not yet explained in
what the goodness or badness of either consists, and to that I will
now proceed. The right-hand horse is upright and cleanly made; he has a
lofty neck and an aquiline nose; his colour is white, and his eyes dark;
he is a lover of honour and modesty and temperance, and the follower
of true glory; he needs no touch of the whip, but is guided by word and
admonition only. The other is a crooked lumbering animal, put together
anyhow; he has a short thick neck; he is flat-faced and of a dark
colour, with grey eyes and blood-red complexion (Or with grey and
blood-shot eyes.); the mate of insolence and pride, shag-eared and deaf,
hardly yielding to whip and spur. Now when the charioteer beholds the
vision of love, and has his whole soul warmed through sense, and is full
of the prickings and ticklings of desire, the obedient steed, then
as always under the government of shame, refrains from leaping on the
beloved; but the other, heedless of the pricks and of the blows of
the whip, plunges and runs away, giving all manner of trouble to his
companion and the charioteer, whom he forces to approach the beloved and
to remember the joys of love. They at first indignantly oppose him and
will not be urged on to do terrible and unlawful deeds; but at last,
when he persists in plaguing them, they yield and agree to do as he bids
them. And now they are at the spot and behold the flashing beauty of the
beloved; which when the charioteer sees, his memory is carried to the
true beauty, whom he beholds in company with Modesty like an image
placed upon a holy pedestal. He sees her, but he is afraid and falls
backwards in adoration, and by his fall is compelled to pull back the
reins with such violence as to bring both the steeds on their haunches,
the one willing and unresisting, the unruly one very unwilling; and when
they have gone back a little, the one is overcome with shame and wonder,
and his whole soul is bathed in perspiration; the other, when the
pain is over which the bridle and the fall had given him, having with
difficulty taken breath, is full of wrath and reproaches, which he
heaps upon the charioteer and his fellow-steed, for want of courage
and manhood, declaring that they have been false to their agreement and
guilty of desertion. Again they refuse, and again he urges them on, and
will scarce yield to their prayer that he would wait until another time.
When the appointed hour comes, they make as if they had forgotten, and
he reminds them, fighting and neighing and dragging them on, until at
length he on the same thoughts intent, forces them to draw near again.
And when they are near he stoops his head and puts up his tail, and
takes the bit in his teeth and pulls shamelessly. Then the charioteer is
worse off than ever; he falls back like a racer at the barrier, and with
a still more violent wrench drags the bit out of the teeth of the wild
steed and covers his abusive tongue and jaws with blood, and forces his
legs and haunches to the ground and punishes him sorely. And when this
has happened several times and the villain has ceased from his wanton
way, he is tamed and humbled, and follows the will of the charioteer,
and when he sees the beautiful one he is ready to die of fear. And from
that time forward the soul of the lover follows the beloved in modesty
and holy fear.
And so the beloved who, like a god, has received every true and loyal
service from his lover, not in pretence but in reality, being also
himself of a nature friendly to his admirer, if in former days he