Plato - Phaedrus.pdf - Plato - most of his works (this time with full content) - the.prodigy.society

360 BC

PHAEDRUS

by Plato

translated by Benjamin Jowett

PHAEDRUS

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: SOCRATES; PHAEDRUS. Scene: Under a

plane-tree, by the banks of the Ilissus.

Socrates. My dear Phaedrus, whence come you, and whither are you

going?

Phaedrus. I come from Lysias the son of Cephalus, and I am going

to take a walk outside the wall, for I have been sitting with him

the whole morning; and our common friend Acumenus tells me that it

is much more refreshing to walk in the open air than to be shut up

in a cloister.

Soc. There he is right. Lysias then, I suppose, was in the town?

Phaedr. Yes, he was staying with Epicrates, here at the house of

Morychus; that house which is near the temple of Olympian Zeus.

Soc. And how did he entertain you? Can I be wrong in supposing

that Lysias gave you a feast of discourse?

Phaedr. You shall hear, if you can spare time to accompany me.

Soc. And should I not deem the conversation of you and Lysias "a

thing of higher import," as I may say in the words of Pindar, "than

any business"?

Phaedr. Will you go on?

Soc. And will you go on with the narration?

Phaedr. My tale, Socrates, is one of your sort, for love was the

theme which occupied us -love after a fashion: Lysias has been writing

about a fair youth who was being tempted, but not by a lover; and this

was the point: he ingeniously proved that the non-lover should be

accepted rather than the lover.

Soc. O that is noble of him! I wish that he would say the poor man

rather than the rich, and the old man rather than the young one;

then he would meet the case of me and of many a man; his words would

be quite refreshing, and he would be a public benefactor. For my part,

I do so long to hear his speech, that if you walk all the way to

Megara, and when you have reached the wall come back, as Herodicus

recommends, without going in, I will keep you company.

Phaedr. What do you mean, my good Socrates? How can you imagine that

my unpractised memory can do justice to an elaborate work, which the

greatest rhetorician of the age spent a long time in composing.

Indeed, I cannot; I would give a great deal if I could.

Soc. I believe that I know Phaedrus about as well as I know

myself, and I am very sure that the speech of Lysias was repeated to

him, not once only, but again and again;-he insisted on hearing it

many times over and Lysias was very willing to gratify him; at last,

when nothing else would do, he got hold of the book, and looked at

what he most wanted to see,-this occupied him during the whole

morning; -and then when he was tired with sitting, he went out to take

a walk, not until, by the dog, as I believe, he had simply learned

by heart the entire discourse, unless it was unusually long, and he

went to a place outside the wall that he might practise his lesson.

There he saw a certain lover of discourse who had a similar

weakness;-he saw and rejoiced; now thought he, "I shall have a partner

in my revels." And he invited him to come and walk with him. But

when the lover of discourse begged that he would repeat the tale, he

gave himself airs and said, "No I cannot," as if he were indisposed;

although, if the hearer had refused, he would sooner or later have

been compelled by him to listen whether he would or no. Therefore,

Phaedrus, bid him do at once what he will soon do whether bidden or

not.

Phaedr. I see that you will not let me off until I speak in some

fashion or other; verily therefore my best plan is to speak as I

best can.

Soc. A very true remark, that of yours.

Phaedr. I will do as I say; but believe me, Socrates, I did not

learn the very words-O no; nevertheless I have a general notion of

what he said, and will give you a summary of the points in which the

lover differed from the non-lover. Let me begin at the beginning.

Soc. Yes, my sweet one; but you must first of all show what you have

in your left hand under your cloak, for that roll, as I suspect, is

the actual discourse. Now, much as I love you, I would not have you

suppose that I am going to have your memory exercised at my expense,

if you have Lysias himself here.

Phaedr. Enough; I see that I have no hope of practising my art

upon you. But if I am to read, where would you please to sit?

Soc. Let us turn aside and go by the Ilissus; we will sit down at

some quiet spot.

Phaedr. I am fortunate in not having my sandals, and as you never

have any, I think that we may go along the brook and cool our feet

in the water; this will be the easiest way, and at midday and in the

summer is far from being unpleasant.

Soc. Lead on, and look out for a place in which we can sit down.

Phaedr. Do you see the tallest plane-tree in the distance?

Soc. Yes.

Phaedr. There are shade and gentle breezes, and grass on which we

may either sit or lie down.

Soc. Move forward.

Phaedr. I should like to know, Socrates, whether the place is not

somewhere here at which Boreas is said to have carried off Orithyia

from the banks of the Ilissus?

Soc. Such is the tradition.

Phaedr. And is this the exact spot? The little stream is

delightfully clear and bright; I can fancy that there might be maidens

playing near.

Soc. I believe that the spot is not exactly here, but about a

quarter of a mile lower down, where you cross to the temple of

Artemis, and there is, I think, some sort of an altar of Boreas at the

place.

Phaedr. I have never noticed it; but I beseech you to tell me,

Socrates, do you believe this tale?

Soc. The wise are doubtful, and I should not be singular if, like

them, I too doubted. I might have a rational explanation that Orithyia

was playing with Pharmacia, when a northern gust carried her over

the neighbouring rocks; and this being the manner of her death, she

was said to have been carried away by Boreas. There is a

discrepancy, however, about the locality; according to another version

of the story she was taken from Areopagus, and not from this place.

Now I quite acknowledge that these allegories are very nice, but he is

not to be envied who has to invent them; much labour and ingenuity

will be required of him; and when he has once begun, he must go on and

rehabilitate Hippocentaurs and chimeras dire. Gorgons and winged

steeds flow in apace, and numberless other inconceivable and

portentous natures. And if he is sceptical about them, and would

fain reduce them one after another to the rules of probability, this

sort of crude philosophy will take up a great deal of time. Now I have

no leisure for such enquiries; shall I tell you why? I must first know

myself, as the Delphian inscription says; to be curious about that

which is not my concern, while I am still in ignorance of my own self,

would be ridiculous. And therefore I bid farewell to all this; the

common opinion is enough for me. For, as I was saying, I want to

know not about this, but about myself: am I a monster more complicated

and swollen with passion than the serpent Typho, or a creature of a

gentler and simpler sort, to whom Nature has given a diviner and

lowlier destiny? But let me ask you, friend: have we not reached the

plane-tree to which you were conducting us?

Phaedr. Yes, this is the tree.

Soc. By Here, a fair resting-place, full of summer sounds and

scents. Here is this lofty and spreading plane-tree, and the agnus

cast us high and clustering, in the fullest blossom and the greatest

fragrance; and the stream which flows beneath the plane-tree is

deliciously cold to the feet. Judging from the ornaments and images,

this must be a spot sacred to Achelous and the Nymphs. How

delightful is the breeze:-so very sweet; and there is a sound in the

air shrill and summerlike which makes answer to the chorus of the

cicadae. But the greatest charm of all is the grass, like a pillow

gently sloping to the head. My dear Phaedrus, you have been an

admirable guide.

Phaedr. What an incomprehensible being you are, Socrates: when you

are in the country, as you say, you really are like some stranger

who is led about by a guide. Do you ever cross the border? I rather

think that you never venture even outside the gates.

Soc. Very true, my good friend; and I hope that you will excuse me

when you hear the reason, which is, that I am a lover of knowledge,

and the men who dwell in the city are my teachers, and not the trees

or the country. Though I do indeed believe that you have found a spell

with which to draw me out of the city into the country, like a

hungry cow 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.

Phaedr. 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 excuse 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 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?

Soc. 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.

Phaedr. Indeed, you are pleased to be merry.

Soc. Do you mean that I am not in earnest?

Phaedr. 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.

Soc. 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.

Phaedr. 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.

Soc. 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.

Phaedr. Who are they, and where did you hear anything better than

this?

Soc. 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 cars, like a pitcher, from the waters of another, though I

have actually forgotten in my stupidity who was my informant.

Phaedr. That is grand:-but never mind where you beard 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.

Plato - Phaedrus.pdf

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