Phaedrus
before whom a bough or a bunch of fruit is waved. For only hold up
before me in like manner a book, and you may lead me all round Attica,
and over the wide world. And now having arrived, I intend to lie down,
and do you choose any posture in which you can read best. Begin.
PHAEDRUS: Listen. You know how matters stand with me; and how, as I
conceive, this affair may be arranged for the advantage of both of us.
And I maintain that I ought not to fail in my suit, because I am not
your lover: for lovers repent of the kindnesses which they have shown
when their passion ceases, but to the non-lovers who are free and not
under any compulsion, no time of repentance ever comes; for they confer
their benefits according to the measure of their ability, in the way
which is most conducive to their own interest. Then again, lovers
consider how by reason of their love they have neglected their own
concerns and rendered service to others: and when to these benefits
conferred they add on the troubles which they have endured, they think
that they have long ago made to the beloved a very ample return. But the
non-lover has no such tormenting recollections; he has never neglected
his affairs or quarrelled with his relations; he has no troubles to
add up or excuses to invent; and being well rid of all these evils, why
should he not freely do what will gratify the beloved? If you say that
the lover is more to be esteemed, because his love is thought to be
greater; for he is willing to say and do what is hateful to other men,
in order to please his beloved;--that, if true, is only a proof that he
will prefer any future love to his present, and will injure his old
love at the pleasure of the new. And how, in a matter of such infinite
importance, can a man be right in trusting himself to one who is
afflicted with a malady which no experienced person would attempt to
cure, for the patient himself admits that he is not in his right mind,
and acknowledges that he is wrong in his mind, but says that he is
unable to control himself? And if he came to his right mind, would he
ever imagine that the desires were good which he conceived when in his
wrong mind? Once more, there are many more non-lovers than lovers; and
if you choose the best of the lovers, you will not have many to choose
from; but if from the non-lovers, the choice will be larger, and you
will be far more likely to find among them a person who is worthy of
your friendship. If public opinion be your dread, and you would avoid
reproach, in all probability the lover, who is always thinking that
other men are as emulous of him as he is of them, will boast to some
one of his successes, and make a show of them openly in the pride of his
heart;--he wants others to know that his labour has not been lost; but
the non-lover is more his own master, and is desirous of solid good, and
not of the opinion of mankind. Again, the lover may be generally noted
or seen following the beloved (this is his regular occupation), and
whenever they are observed to exchange two words they are supposed to
meet about some affair of love either past or in contemplation; but when
non-lovers meet, no one asks the reason why, because people know that
talking to another is natural, whether friendship or mere pleasure
be the motive. Once more, if you fear the fickleness of friendship,
consider that in any other case a quarrel might be a mutual calamity;
but now, when you have given up what is most precious to you, you will
be the greater loser, and therefore, you will have more reason in
being afraid of the lover, for his vexations are many, and he is always
fancying that every one is leagued against him. Wherefore also he
debars his beloved from society; he will not have you intimate with
the wealthy, lest they should exceed him in wealth, or with men of
education, lest they should be his superiors in understanding; and he is
equally afraid of anybody's influence who has any other advantage over
himself. If he can persuade you to break with them, you are left without
a friend in the world; or if, out of a regard to your own interest, you
have more sense than to comply with his desire, you will have to quarrel
with him. But those who are non-lovers, and whose success in love is the
reward of their merit, will not be jealous of the companions of their
beloved, and will rather hate those who refuse to be his associates,
thinking that their favourite is slighted by the latter and benefited by
the former; for more love than hatred may be expected to come to him out
of his friendship with others. Many lovers too have loved the person of
a youth before they knew his character or his belongings; so that when
their passion has passed away, there is no knowing whether they will
continue to be his friends; whereas, in the case of non-lovers who were
always friends, the friendship is not lessened by the favours granted;
but the recollection of these remains with them, and is an earnest of
good things to come.
Further, I say that you are likely to be improved by me, whereas the
lover will spoil you. For they praise your words and actions in a wrong
way; partly, because they are afraid of offending you, and also, their
judgment is weakened by passion. Such are the feats which love exhibits;
he makes things painful to the disappointed which give no pain to
others; he compels the successful lover to praise what ought not to
give him pleasure, and therefore the beloved is to be pitied rather
than envied. But if you listen to me, in the first place, I, in my
intercourse with you, shall not merely regard present enjoyment, but
also future advantage, being not mastered by love, but my own master;
nor for small causes taking violent dislikes, but even when the cause
is great, slowly laying up little wrath--unintentional offences I shall
forgive, and intentional ones I shall try to prevent; and these are the
marks of a friendship which will last.
Do you think that a lover only can be a firm friend? reflect:--if this
were true, we should set small value on sons, or fathers, or mothers;
nor should we ever have loyal friends, for our love of them arises
not from passion, but from other associations. Further, if we ought
to shower favours on those who are the most eager suitors,--on that
principle, we ought always to do good, not to the most virtuous, but to
the most needy; for they are the persons who will be most relieved,
and will therefore be the most grateful; and when you make a feast you
should invite not your friend, but the beggar and the empty soul; for
they will love you, and attend you, and come about your doors, and
will be the best pleased, and the most grateful, and will invoke many a
blessing on your head. Yet surely you ought not to be granting favours
to those who besiege you with prayer, but to those who are best able to
reward you; nor to the lover only, but to those who are worthy of love;
nor to those who will enjoy the bloom of your youth, but to those who
will share their possessions with you in age; nor to those who, having
succeeded, will glory in their success to others, but to those who
will be modest and tell no tales; nor to those who care about you for a
moment only, but to those who will continue your friends through life;
nor to those who, when their passion is over, will pick a quarrel with
you, but rather to those who, when the charm of youth has left you, will
show their own virtue. Remember what I have said; and consider yet this
further point: friends admonish the lover under the idea that his way of
life is bad, but no one of his kindred ever yet censured the non-lover,
or thought that he was ill-advised about his own interests.
'Perhaps you will ask me whether I propose that you should indulge every
non-lover. To which I reply that not even the lover would advise you to
indulge all lovers, for the indiscriminate favour is less esteemed by
the rational recipient, and less easily hidden by him who would escape
the censure of the world. Now love ought to be for the advantage of both
parties, and for the injury of neither.
'I believe that I have said enough; but if there is anything more which
you desire or which in your opinion needs to be supplied, ask and I will
answer.'
Now, Socrates, what do you think? Is not the discourse excellent, more
especially in the matter of the language?
SOCRATES: Yes, quite admirable; the effect on me was ravishing. And this
I owe to you, Phaedrus, for I observed you while reading to be in an
ecstasy, and thinking that you are more experienced in these matters
than I am, I followed your example, and, like you, my divine darling, I
became inspired with a phrenzy.
PHAEDRUS: Indeed, you are pleased to be merry.
SOCRATES: Do you mean that I am not in earnest?
PHAEDRUS: Now don't talk in that way, Socrates, but let me have your
real opinion; I adjure you, by Zeus, the god of friendship, to tell me
whether you think that any Hellene could have said more or spoken better
on the same subject.
SOCRATES: Well, but are you and I expected to praise the sentiments
of the author, or only the clearness, and roundness, and finish, and
tournure of the language? As to the first I willingly submit to your
better judgment, for I am not worthy to form an opinion, having only
attended to the rhetorical manner; and I was doubting whether this could
have been defended even by Lysias himself; I thought, though I speak
under correction, that he repeated himself two or three times, either
from want of words or from want of pains; and also, he appeared to me
ostentatiously to exult in showing how well he could say the same thing
in two or three ways.
PHAEDRUS: Nonsense, Socrates; what you call repetition was the especial
merit of the speech; for he omitted no topic of which the subject
rightly allowed, and I do not think that any one could have spoken
better or more exhaustively.
SOCRATES: There I cannot go along with you. Ancient sages, men and
women, who have spoken and written of these things, would rise up in
judgment against me, if out of complaisance I assented to you.
PHAEDRUS: Who are they, and where did you hear anything better than
this?
SOCRATES: I am sure that I must have heard; but at this moment I do not
remember from whom; perhaps from Sappho the fair, or Anacreon the wise;
or, possibly, from a prose writer. Why do I say so? Why, because I
perceive that my bosom is full, and that I could make another speech as
good as that of Lysias, and different. Now I am certain that this is
not an invention of my own, who am well aware that I know nothing, and
therefore I can only infer that I have been filled through the ears,
like a pitcher, from the waters of another, though I have actually
forgotten in my stupidity who was my informant.
PHAEDRUS: That is grand:--but never mind where you heard the discourse
or from whom; let that be a mystery not to be divulged even at my
earnest desire. Only, as you say, promise to make another and better
oration, equal in length and entirely new, on the same subject; and I,
like the nine Archons, will promise to set up a golden image at Delphi,
not only of myself, but of you, and as large as life.
SOCRATES: You are a dear golden ass if you suppose me to mean that
Lysias has altogether missed the mark, and that I can make a speech from
which all his arguments are to be excluded. The worst of authors will
say something which is to the point. Who, for example, could speak on
this thesis of yours without praising the discretion of the non-lover
and blaming the indiscretion of the lover? These are the commonplaces of
the subject which must come in (for what else is there to be said?) and
must be allowed and excused; the only merit is in the arrangement of