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THE 


DIALOGUES  OF 

JO  WE  TT 


PLATO 


VOL.  I. 


Bonfcon 

HENRY  FROWDE 

Oxford  University  Press  Warehouse 
Amen  Corner,  E.C. 


(Hero  ?)  or  ft 

1 12  Fourth  Avenue 


THE 


DIALOGUES  OF  PLATO 

C 

TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH 


WITH  ANALYSES  AND  INTRODUCTIONS 


BY 

B.  JOWETT,  M.A. 

MASTER  OF  BALLIOL  COLLEGE 

REGIUS  PROFESSOR  OF  GREEK  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  OXFORD 
DOCTOR  IN  THEOLOGY  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  LEYDEN 


IN  FIVE  VOLUMES 

VOL.  I. 


THIRD  EDITION 

REVISED  AND  CORRECTED  THROUGHOUT , WITH  MARGINAL  ANALYSES 
AND  AN  INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS  AND  PROPER  NAMES 


Oxford 

AT  THE  CLARENDON  PRESS 


M DCCC  XCII 


7700 


£>xforb 

PRINTED  AT  THE  CLARENDON  PRESS 
BY  HORACE  HART,  PRINTER  TO  THE  UNIVERSITY 


| ROYAL  COLLEGE  OE  PHYSICIANS 
LIBRARY 

/TO 

bf  livff 


TO  MY  FORMER  PUPILS 


IN  BALLIOL  COLLEGE 

AND  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  OXFORD 
WHO  DURING  FIFTY  YEARS 
HAVE  BEEN  THE  BEST  OF  FRIENDS  TO  ME 
THESE  VOLUMES  ARE  INSCRIBED 
IN  GRATEFUL  RECOGNITION 


OF  THEIR  NEVER  FAILING  ATTACHMENT 


ft 

<v 


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The  additions  and  alterations  which  have  been  made , both  in  the 
Introductions  and  in  the  Text  of  this  Edition , affect  at  least  a third 
of  the  work. 

Having  regard  to  the  extent  of  these  alterations,  and  to  the  annoy- 
ance which  is  naturally  felt  by  the  owner  of  a book  at  the  possession 
of  it  in  an  inferior  form,  and  still  more  keenly  by  the  writer  himself, 
who  must  always  desire  to  be  read  as  he  is  at  his  best,  I have  thought 
that  the  possessor  of  either  of  the  former  Editions  (1870  and  1876) 
might  wish  to  exchange  it  for  the  present  one.  I have  therefore 
arranged  that  those  who  would  like  to  make  this  exchange,  on  deposit- 
ing a perfect  and  undamaged  copy  of  the  first  or  second  Edition  with 
any  agent  of  the  Clarendon  Press,  shall  be  entitled  to  receive  a copy 
of  a new  Edition  at  half-price. 


PREFACE 


TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 

The  Text  which  has  been  mostly  followed  in  this 
Translation  of  Plato  is  the  latest  8vo.  edition  of  Stall- 
baum  ; the  principal  deviations  are  noted  at  the  bottom 
of  the  page. 

I have  to  acknowledge  many  obligations  to  old  friends 
and  pupils.  These  are  : — Mr.  John  Purves,  Fellow  of 
Balliol  College,  with  whom  I have  revised  about  half 
of  the  entire  Translation;  the  Rev.  Professor  Campbell, 
of  St.  Andrews,  who  has  helped  me  in  the  revision  of 
several  parts  of  the  work,  especially  of  the  Theaetetus, 
Sophist,  and  Politicus ; Mr.  Robinson  Ellis,  Fellow  of 
Trinity  College,  and  Mr.  Alfred  Robinson,  Fellow  of 
New  College,  who  read  with  me  the  Cratylus  and  the 
Gorgias ; Mr.  Paravicini,  Student  of  Christ  Church,  who 
assisted  me  in  the  Symposium;  Mr.  Raper,  Fellow  of 
Queen’s  College,  Mr.  Monro,  Fellow  of  Oriel  College, 
and  Mr.  Shadwell,  Student  of  Christ  Church,  who  gave 
me  similar  assistance  in  the  Laws.  Dr.  Greenhill,  of 
Hastings,  has  also  kindly  sent  me  remarks  on  the 
physiological  part  of  the  Timaeus,  which  I have  in- 
serted as  corrections  under  the  head  of  errata  at  the 
end  of  the  Introduction.  The  degree  of  accuracy  which 
1 have  been  enabled  to  attain  is  in  great  measure  due 


X Preface  to  the  First  Edition. 

to  these  gentlemen,  and  I heartily  thank  them  for  the 
pains  and  time  which  they  have  bestowed  on  my  work. 

I have  further  to  explain  how  far  I have  received  help 
from  other  labourers  in  the  same  field.  The  books 
which  I have  found  of  most  use  are  Steinhart  and 
Muller’s  German  Translation  of  Plato  with  Introduc- 
tions ; Zeller’s  ‘ Philosophic  der  Griechen,’  and  ‘ Pla- 
tonische  Studien ; ’ Susemihl’s  ‘ Genetische  Entwickelung 
der  Platonischen  Philosophic  ; ’ Hermann’s  ‘ Geschichte 
der  Platonischen  Philosophie ; ’ Bonitz,  ‘ Platonische 
Studien;’  Stallbaum’s  Notes  and  Introductions;  Pro- 
fessor Campbell’s  editions  of  the  ‘ Theaetetus,’  the 
‘Sophist,’  and  the  ‘Politicus;’  Professor  Thompson’s 
‘ Phaedrus ; ’ Th.  Martin’s  ‘Etudes  sur  le  Timee;’  Mr. 
Poste’s  edition  and  translation  of  the  ‘Philebus;’  the 
Translation  of  the  ‘Republic,’  by  Messrs.  Davies  and 
Vaughan,  and  the  Translation  of  the  ‘Gorgias,’  by  Mr. 
Cope. 

I have  also  derived  much  assistance  from  the  great  work 
of  Mr.  Grote,  which  contains  excellent  analyses  of  the 
Dialogues,  and  is  rich  in  original  thoughts  and  observa- 
tions. I agree  with  him  in  rejecting  as  futile  the  attempt 
of  Schleiermacher  and  others  to  arrange  the  Dialogues  of 
Plato  into  a harmonious  whole.  Any  such  arrangement 
appears  to  me  not  only  to  be  unsupported  by  evidence,  but 
to  involve  an  anachronism  in  the  history  of  philosophy. 
There  is  a common  spirit  in  the  writings  of  Plato,  but  not 
a unity  of  design  in  the  whole,  nor  perhaps  a perfect  unity 
in  any  single  Dialogue.  The  hypothesis  of  a general  plan 
which  is  worked  out  in  the  successive  Dialogues  is  an 
after-thought  of  the  critics  who  have  attributed  a system  to 
writings  belonging  to  an  age  when  system  had  not  as  yet 
taken  possession  of  philosophy. 

If  Mr.  Grote  should  do  me  the  honour  to  read  any 
portion  of  this  work  he  will  probably  remark  that  I have 


Preface  to  the  First  Edition.  xi 

endeavoured  to  approach  Plato  from  a point  of  view  which 
is  opposed  to  his  own.  The  aim  of  the  Introductions  in 
these  volumes  has  been  to  represent  Plato  as  the  father  of 
Idealism,  who  is  not  to  be  measured  by  the  standard  of 
utilitarianism  or  any  other  modern  philosophical  system. 
He  is  the  poet  or  maker  of  ideas,  satisfying  the  wants  of 
his  own  age,  providing  the  instruments  of  thought  for 
future  generations.  He  is  no  dreamer,' but  a great  philo- 
sophical genius  struggling  with  the  unequal  conditions  of 
light  and  knowledge  under  which  he  is  living.  He  may  be 
illustrated  by  the  writings  of  moderns,  but  he  must  be 
interpreted  by  his  own,  and  by  his  place  in  the  history  of 
philosophy.  We  are  not  concerned  to  determine  what  is 
ihe  residuum  of  truth  which  remains  for  ourselves.  His 
truth  may  not  be  our  truth,  and  nevertheless  may  have  an 
extraordinary  value  and  interest  for  us. 

I cannot  agree  with  Mr.  Grote  in  admitting  as  genuine 
all  the  writings  commonly  attributed  to  Plato  in  antiquity, 
any  more  than  with  Schaarschmidt  and  some  other  German 
critics  who  reject  nearly  half  of  them.  The  German 
critics,  to  whom  I refer,  proceed  chiefly  on  grounds  of 
internal  evidence ; they  appear  to  me  to  lay  too  much  stress 
on  the  variety  of  doctrine  and  style,  which  must  be 
equally  acknowledged  as  a fact,  even  in  the  Dialogues 
regarded  by  Schaarschmidt  as  genuine,  e.  g.  in  the  Phae- 
drus,  or  Symposium,  when  compared  with  the  Laws.  He 
who  admits  works  so  different  in  style  and  matter  to  have 
been  the  composition  of  the  same  author,  need  have  no 
difficulty  (see  vol.  iv,  Appendix)  in  admitting  the  Sophist 
or  the  Politicus.  [The  negative  argument  adduced  by  the 
same  school  of  critics,  which  is  based  on  the  silence  of 
Aristotle,  is  not  worthy  of  much  consideration.  For  why 
should  Aristotle,  because  he  has  quoted  several  Dialogues 
of  Plato,  have  quoted  them  all  ? Something  must  be 
allowed  to  chance,  and  to  the  nature  of  the  subjects  treated 


Xll 


Preface  to  the  First  Edition. 


of  in  them.]  On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Grote  trusts  mainly 
to  the  Alexandrian  Canon.  But  1 hardly  think  that  we 
are  justified  in  attributing  much  weight  to  the  authority  of 
the  Alexandrian  librarians  in  an  age  when  there  was  no 
regular  publication  of  books,  and  every  temptation  to  forge 
them  ; and  in  which  the  writings  of  a. school  were  naturally 
attributed  to  the  founder  of  the  school.  And  even  without 
intentional  fraud,  there  was  an  inclination  to  believe  rather 
than  to  enquire.  Would  Mr.  Grote  accept  as  genuine  all 
the  writings  which  he  finds  in  the  lists  of  learned  ancients 
attributed  to  Hippocrates,  to  Xenophon,  to  Aristotle? 
1 he  Alexandrian  Canon  of  the  Platonic  writings  is  deprived 
of  credit  by  the  admission  of  the  Epistles,  which  are  not 
only  unworthy  of  Plato,  and  in  several  passages  plagiarized 
from  him,  but  flagrantly  at  variance  with  historical  fact. 
It  will  be  seen  also  that  I do  not  agree  with  Mr.  Grote’s 
views  about  the  Sophists  ; nor  with  the  low  estimate  which 
he  has  formed  of  Plato’s  Laws ; nor  with  his  opinion 
respecting  Plato’s  doctrine  of  the  rotation  of  the  earth. 
But  I ‘ am  not  going  to  lay  hands  on  my  father  Par- 
menides ’ [Soph.  241  D],  who  will,  I hope,  forgive  me  for 
differing  from  him  on  these  points.  I cannot  close  this 
Preface  without  expressing  my  deep  respect  for  his  noble 
and  gentle  character,  and  the  great  services  which  he  has 
rendered  to  Greek  Literature. 

Balliol  College, 

January,  1871 


PREFACE 


TO 

THE  SECOND  AND  THIRD  EDITIONS 

In  publishing  a Second  Edition  (1875)  of  the  Dialogues 
of  Plato  in  English,  I had  to  acknowledge  the  assistance 
of  several  friends : of  the  Rev.  G.  G.  Bradley,  Master  of 
University  College,  now  Dean  of  Westminster,  who  sent 
me  some  valuable  remarks  on  the  Phaedo  ; of  Dr.  Green- 
hill,  who  had  again  revised  a portion  of  the  Timaeus  ; of 
Mr.  R.  L.  Nettleship,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Balliol  College, 
to  whom  I was  indebted  for  an  excellent  criticism  of  the 
Parmenides ; and,  above  all,  of  the  Rev.  Professor  Camp- 
bell of  St.  Andrews,  and  Mr.  Paravicini,  late  Student  of 
Christ  Church  and  Tutor  of  Balliol  College,  with  whom  I 
had  read  over  the  greater  part  of  the  translation.  I was 
also  indebted  to  Mr.  Evelyn  Abbott,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of 
Balliol  College,  for  a complete  and  accurate  index. 

In  this,  the  Third  Edition,  I am  under  very  great  obli- 
gations to  Mr.  Matthew  Knight,  who  has  not  only  favoured 
me  with  valuable  suggestions  throughout  the  work,  but 
has  largely  extended  the  Index  (from  61  to  175  pages) 
and  translated  the  Eryxias  and  Second  Alcibiades;  and  to 
Mr.  Frank  Fletcher,  of  Balliol  College,  my  Secretary,  who 
has  assisted  me  chiefly  in  Vols.  iii,  iv,  and  v.  I am  also 
considerably  indebted  to  Mr.  |.  W.  Mackail,  late  Fellow  of 


xiv  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions . 

Balliol  College,  who  read  over  the  Republic  in  the  Second 
Edition  and  noted  several  inaccuracies. 

In  both  editions  the  Introductions  to  the  Dialogues  have 
been  enlarged,  and  essays  on  subjects  having  an  affinity  to 
the  Platonic  Dialogues  have  been  introduced  into  several 
of  them.  The  analyses  have  been  corrected,  and  innu- 
merable alterations  have  been  made  in  the  Text.  There 
have  been  added  also,  in  the  Third  Edition,  headings  to  the 
pages  and  a marginal  analysis  to  the  text  of  each  dialogue. 

At  the  end  of  a long  task,  the  translator  may  without 
impropriety  point  out  the  difficulties  which  he  has  had  to 
encounter.  These  have  been  far  greater  than  he  would 
have  anticipated ; nor  is  he  at  all  sanguine  that  he  has 
succeeded  in  overcoming  them.  Experience  has  made 
him  feel  that  a translation,  like  a picture,  is  dependent  for 
its  effect  on  very  minute  touches  ; and  that  it  is  a work  of 
infinite  pains,  to  be  returned  to  in  many  moods  and  viewed 
in  different  lights. 

E An  English  translation  ought  to  be  idiomatic  and 
interesting,  not  only  to  the  scholar,  but  to  the  unlearned 
reader.  Its  object  should  not  simply  be  to  render  the 
words  of  one  language  into  the  words  of  another  or  to 
preserve  the  construction  and  order  of  the  original ; — this 
is  the  ambition  of  a schoolboy,  who  wishes  to  show  that 
he  has  made  a good  use  of  his  Dictionary  and  Grammar ; 
but  is  quite  unworthy  of  the  translator,  who  seeks  to  pro- 
duce on  his  reader  an  impression  similar  or  nearly  similar 
to  that  produced  by  the  original.  To  him  the  feeling 
should  be  more  important  than  the  exact  word.  He  should 
remember  Dryden’s  quaint  admonition  not  to  ‘ lacquey  by 
the  side  of  his  author,  but  to  mount  up  behind  him  V He 
must  carry  in  his  mind  a comprehensive  view  of  the  whole 


1 Dedication  to  the  ^Eneis. 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions.  xv 

work,  of  what  has  preceded  and  of  what  is  to  follow, — as 
well  as  of  the  meaning-  of  particular  passages.  His  version 
should  be  based,  in  the  first  instance,  on  an  intimate  know- 
ledge of  the  text ; but  the  precise  order  and  arrangement  of 
the  words  may  be  left  to  fade  out  of  sight,  when  the  transla- 
tion begins  to  take  shape.  He  must  form  a general  idea 
of  the  two  languages,  and  reduce  the  one  to  the  terms  of 
the  other.  His  work  should  be  rhythmical  and  varied,  the 
right  admixture  of  words  and  syllables,  and  even  of  letters, 
should  be  carefully  attended  to ; above  all,  it  should  be 
equable  in  style.  There  must  also  be  quantity,  which  is 
necessary  in  prose  as  well  as  in  verse  : clauses,  sentences, 
paragraphs,  must  be  in  due  proportion.  Metre  and  even 
rhyme  may  be  rarely  admitted ; though  neither  is  a 
legitimate  element  of  prose  writing,  they  may  help  to 
lighten  a cumbrous  expression  (c'p.  Symp.  185  D,  197, 
198).  The  translation  should  retain  as  far  as  possible 
the  characteristic  qualities  of  the  ancient  writer  — his 
freedom,  grace,  simplicity,  stateliness,  weight,  precision ; 
or  the  best  part  of  him  will  be  lost  to  the  English  reader. 
It  should  read  as  an  original  work,  and  should  also  be  the 
most  faithful  transcript  which  can  be  made  of  the  language 
from  which  the  translation  is  taken,  consistently  with  the 
first  requirement  of  all,  that  it  be  English.  Further,  the 
translation  being  English,  it  should  also  be  perfectly  intel- 
ligible in  itself  without  reference  to  the  Greek,  the  English 
being  really  the  more  lucid  and  exact  of  the  two  languages. 
In  some  respects  it  may  be  maintained  that  ordinary 
English  writing,  such  as  the  newspaper  article,  is  superior 
to  Plato  : at  any  rate  it  is  couched  in  language  which  is 
very  rarely  obscure.  On  the  other  hand,  the  greatest 
writers  of  Greece,  Thucydides,  Plato,  ^Eschylus,  Sophocles, 
Pindar,  Demosthenes,  are  generally  those  which  are  found 


xvi  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

to  be  most  difficult  and  to  diverge  most  widely  from  the 
English  idiom.  The  translator  will  often  have  to  convert 
the  more  abstract  Greek  into  the  more  concrete  English, 
or  vice  versa , and  he  ought  not  to  force  upon  one  language 
the  character  of  another.  In  some  cases,  where  the 
order  is  confused,  the  expression  feeble,  the  emphasis  mis- 
placed, or  the  sense  somewhat  faulty,  he  will  not  strive  in 
his  rendering  to  reproduce  these  characteristics,  but  will 
re-write  the  passage  as  his  author  would  have  written  it  at 
first,  had  he  not  been  ‘nodding’;  and  he  will  not  hesitate 
to  supply  anything  which,  owing  to  the  genius  of  the 
language  or  some  accident  of  composition,  is  omitted  in 
the  Greek,  but  is  necessary  to  make  the  English  clear  and 
consecutive. 

It  is  difficult  to  harmonize  all  these  conflicting  elements. 
In  a translation  of  Plato  what  may  be  termed  the  interests 
of  the  Greek  and  English  are  often  at  war  with  one 
another.  In  framing  the  English  sentence  we  are  insen- 
sibly diverted  from  the  exact  meaning  of  the  Greek  ; when 
we  return  to  the  Greek  we  are  apt  to  cramp  and  overlay 
the  English.  We  substitute,  we  compromise,  we  give  and 
take,  we  add  a little  here  and  leave  out  a little  there.  The 
translator  may  sometimes  be  allowed  to  sacrifice  minute 
accuracy  for  the  sake  of  clearness  and  sense.  But  he  is 
not  therefore  at  liberty  to  omit  words  and  turns  of  ex- 
pression which  the  English  language  is  quite  capable  of 
supplying.  He  must  be  patient  and  self-controlled  , he 
must  not  be  easily  run  away  with.  Let  him  ne\ei  allow 
the  attraction  of  a favourite  expression,  or  a sonorous 
cadence,  to  overpower  his  better  judgment,  or  think  much 
of  an  ornament  which  is  out  of  keeping  with  the  general 
character  of  his  work.  He  must  ever  be  casting  his  eyes 
upwards  from  the  copy  to  the  original,  and  down  again 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions,  xvii 

from  the  original  to  the  copy  (Rep.  vi.  501  A).  His  calling 
is  not  held  in  much  honour  by  the  world  of  scholars ; yet 
he  himself  may  be  excused  for  thinking  it  a kind  of  glory 
to  have  lived  so  many  years  in  the  companionship  of  one 
of  the  greatest  of  human  intelligences,  and  in  some  degree, 
more  perhaps  than  others,  to  have  had  the  privilege  of 
understanding  him  (cp.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’  Lectures: 
« Disc.  xv.  sub  fin.). 

There  are  fundamental  differences  in  Greek  and  English, 
ol  which  some  may  be  managed  while  others  remain 
intractable.  (1).  The  structure  of  the  Greek  language  is 
partly  adversative  and  alternative,  and  partly  inferential ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  members  of  a sentence  are  either 
opposed  to  one  another,  or  one  of  them  expresses  the 
cause  or  effect  or  condition  or  reason  of  another.  The 
two  tendencies  may  be  called  the  horizontal  and  perpen- 
dicular lines  of  the  language ; and  the  opposition  or 
inference  is  often  much  more  one  of  words  than  of  ideas. 
But  modern  languages  have  rubbed  off  this  adversative 
and  inferential  form : they  have  fewer  links  of  connexion, 
there  is  less  mortar  in  the  interstices,  and  they  are  content 
to  place  sentences  side  by  side,  leaving  their  relation  to 
one  another  to  be  gathered  from  their  position  or  from 
the  context.  The  difficulty  of  preserving  the  effect  of 
the  Greek  is  increased  by  the  want  of  adversative  and 
inferential  particles  in  English,  and  by  the  nice  sense  of 
tautology  which  characterizes  all  modern  languages.  We 
cannot  have  two  ‘ buts’  or  two  ‘fors’  in  the  same  sentence 
where  the  Greek  repeats  dAAd  or  yap.  There  is  a similar 
want  of  particles  expressing  the  various  gradations  of 
objective  and  subjective  thought — ttov,  brj,  p.r)r,  fivroL,  and 
the  like,  which  are  so  thickly  scattered  over  the  Greek 

page,  further,  we  can  only  realize  to  a very  imperfect 

vol.  1.  5 


xviii  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

degree  the  common  distinction  between  ov  and  w,  and  the 
combination  of  the  two  suggests  a subtle  shade  of  negation 
which  cannot  be  expressed  in  English.  And  while  English 
is  more  dependent  than  Greek  upon  the  apposition  of 
clauses  and  sentences,  yet  there  is  a difficulty  in  using 
this  form  of  construction  owing  to  the  want  of  case 
endings.  For  the  same  reason  there  cannot  be  an  equal 
variety  in  the  order  of  words  or  an  equal  nicety  of 
emphasis  in  English  as  in  Greek. 

(2) .  The  formation  of  the  sentence  and  of  the  paragraph 
greatly  differs  in  Greek  and  English.  The  lines  by  which 
they  are  divided  are  generally  much  more  marked  in 
modern  languages  than  in  ancient.  Both  sentences  and 
paragraphs  are  more  precise  and  definite — they  do  not  run 
into  one  another.  They  are  also  more  regularly  developed 
from  within.  The  sentence  marks  another  step  in  an 
argument  or  a narrative  or  a statement ; in  reading  a para- 
graph we  silently  turn  over  the  page  and  arrive  at  some 
new  view  or  aspect  of  the  subject.  Whereas  in  Plato  we 
are  not  always  certain  where  a sentence  begins  and  ends ; 
and  paragraphs  are  few  and  far  between.  The  language 
is  distributed  in  a different  way,  and  less  articulated 
than  in  English.  For  it  was  long  before  the  true  use 
of  the  period  was  attained  by  the  classical  writers  both  in 
poetry  or  prose  ; it  was  ttoAA?/?  Tiei/ >a$  TfXtvTalou  eT,iyh'vr]jxa. 
The  balance  of  sentences  and  the  introduction  of  para- 
graphs at  suitable  intervals  must  not  be  neglected  if  the 
harmony  of  the  English  language  is  to  be  preserved.  And 
still  a caution  has  to  be  added  on  the  other  side,  that  we 
must  avoid  giving  it  a numerical  or  mechanical  character. 

(3) .  This,  however,  is  not  one  of  the  greatest  difficulties 
of  the  translator;  much  greater  is  that  which  aiises  fiom 
the  restriction  of  the  use  of  the  genders.  Men  and  women 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions,  xix 

in  English  are  masculine  and  feminine,  and  there  is  a similar 
distinction  of  sex  in  the  words  denoting  animals;  but  all 
things  else,  whether  outward  objects  or  abstract  ideas,  are 
relegated  to  the  class  of  neuters.  Hardly  in  some  flight 
of  poetry  do  we  ever  endue  any  of  them  with  the  charac- 
teristics of  a sentient  being,  and  then  only  by  speaking 
of  them  in  the  feminine  gender.  The  virtues  may  be 
pictured  in  female  forms,  but  they  are  not  so  described 
in  language  ; a ship  is  humorously  supposed  to  be  the 
sailor’s  bride ; more  doubtful  are  the  personifications  of 
church  and  country  as  females.  Now  the  genius  of  the 
Greek  language  is  the  opposite  of  this.  The  same 
tendency  to  personification  which  is  seen  in  the  Greek 
mythology  is  common  also  in  the  language ; and  genders 
are  attributed  to  things  as  well  as  persons  according  to 
their  various  degrees  of  strength  and  weakness  ; or  from 
fanciful  resemblances  to  the  male  or  female  form,  or 
some  analogy  too  subtle  to  be  discovered.  When  the 
gender  of  any  object  was  once  fixed,  a similar  gender 
was  naturally  assigned  to  similar  objects,  or  to  words  of 

similar  formation.  This  use  of  genders  in  the  denotation 

< 

of  objects  or  ideas  not  only  affects  the  words  to  which 
genders  are  attributed,  but  the  words  with  which 
they  are  construed  or  connected,  and  passes  into  the 
general  character  of  the  style.  Hence  arises  a diffi- 
culty in  translating  Greek  into  English  which  cannot 
altogether  be  overcome.  Shall  we  speak  of  the  soul  and 
its  qualities,  of  virtue,  power,  wisdom,  and  the  like,  as 
feminine  or  neuter?  The  usage  of  the  English  language 
does  not  admit  of  the  former,  and  yet  the  life  and  beauty 
of  the  style  are  impaired  by  the  latter.  Often  the  trans- 
lator will  have  recourse  to  the  repetition  of  the  word,  or 
to  the  ambiguous  ‘they,’  ‘their,’  &c. ; for  fear  of  spoiling 

b 2 


xx  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

the  effect  of  the  sentence  by  introducing  ‘ it.’  Collective 
nouns  in  Greek  and  English  create  a similar  but  lesser 
awkwardness. 

(4).  The  use  of  relation  is  far  more  extended  in  Greek 
than  in  English.  Partly  the  greater  variety  of  genders 
and  cases  makes  the  connexion  of  relative  and  antece- 
dent less  ambiguous : partly  also  the  greater  number  of 
demonstrative  and  relative  pronouns,  and  the  use  of  the 
article,  make  the  correlation  of  ideas  simpler  and  more 
natural.  The  Greek  appears  to  have  had  an  ear  or 
intelligence  for  a long  and  complicated  sentence  which 
is  rarely  to  be  found  in  modern  nations  ; and  in  order  to 
bring  the  Greek  down  to  the  level  of  the  modern,  we 
must  break  up  the  long  sentence  into  two  or  more  short 
ones.  Neither  is  the  same  precision  required  in  Greek 
as  in  Latin  or  English,  nor  in  earlier  Greek  as  in  later ; 
there  was  nothing  shocking  to  the  contemporary  of 
Thucydides  and  Plato  in  anacolutha  and  repetitions.  In 
such  cases  the  genius  of  the  English  language  requires 
that  the  translation  should  be  more  intelligible  than  the 
Greek.  The  want  of  more  distinctions  between  the  de- 
monstrative pronouns  is  also  greatly  felt.  Two  genitives 
dependent  on  one  another,  unless  familiarised  by  idiom, 
have  an  awkward  effect  in  English.  Frequently  the  noun 
has  to  take  the  place  of  the  pronoun.  ‘ This  ’ and  ‘that  ’ 
are  found  repeating  themselves  to  weariness  in  the  tough 
draft  of  a translation.  As  in  the  previous  case,  while  the 
feeling  of  the  modern  language  is  more  opposed  to  tau- 
tology, there  is  also  a greater  difficulty  in  avoiding  it. 

(5).  Though  no  precise  rule  can  be  laid  down  about 
the  repetition  of  words,  there  seems  to  be  a kind  of  im- 
pertinence in  presenting  to  the  reader  the  same  thought 
in  the  same  words,  repeated  twice  over  in  the  same 


XXI 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

passage  without  any  new  aspect  or  modification  of  it. 
And  the  evasion  of  tautology— that  is,  the  substitution 
of  one  word  of  precisely  the  same  meaning  for  another — is 
resented  by  us  equally  with  the  repetition  of  words.  Yet 
on  the  other  hand  the  least  difference  of  meaning  or  the 
least  change  of  form  from  a substantive  to  an  adjective, 
or  from  a participle  to  a verb,  will  often  remedy  the  un- 
pleasant effect.  Rarely  and  only  for  the  sake  of  emphasis 
or  clearness  can  we  allow  an  important  word  to  be  used 
twice  over  in  two  successive  sentences  or  even  in  the  same 
paragraph.  The  particles  and  pronouns,  as  they  are  of 
most  frequent  occurrence,  are  also  the  most  troublesome. 
Strictly  speaking,  except  a few  of  the  commonest  of  them, 

‘ and,’  4 the,’  &c.,  they  ought  not  to  occur  twice  in  the  same 
sentence.  But  the  Greek  has  no  such  precise  rules ; 
and  hence  any  literal  translation  of  a Greek  author  is  full 
of  tautology.  The  tendency  of  modern  languages  is  to 
become  more  correct  as  well  as  more  perspicuous  than 
ancient.  And,  therefore,  while  the  English  translator 
is  limited  in  the  power  of  expressing  relation  or  con- 
nexion, by  the  law  of  his  own  language  increased  pre- 
cision and  also  increased  clearness  are  required  of  him. 
The  familiar  use  of  logic,  and  the  progress  of  science, 
have  in  these  two  respects  raised  the  standard.  But 
modern  languages,  while  they  have  become  more  exacting 
in  their  demands,  are  in  many  ways  not  so  well  furnished 
with  powers  of  expression  as  the  ancient  classical  ones. 

Such  are  a few  of  the  difficulties  which  have  to  be 
overcome  in  the  work  of  translation  ; and  we  are  far  from 
having  exhausted  the  list.  (6).  The  excellence  of  a 
translation  will  consist,  not  merely  in  the  faithful  render- 
ing of  words,  or  in  the  composition  of  a sentence  only, 
or  yet  of  a single  paragraph,  but  in  the  colour  and  style 


xxii  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

of  the  whole  work.  Equability  of  tone  is  best  attained 
by  the  exclusive  use  of  familiar  and  idiomatic  words. 
But  great  care  must  be  taken  ; for  an  idiomatic  phrase, 
if  an  exception  to  the  general  style,  is  of  itself  a disturbing- 
element.  No  word,  however  expressive  and  exact,  should 
be  employed,  which  makes  the  reader  stop  to  think,  or 
unduly  attracts  attention  by  difficulty  and  peculiarity,  or 
disturbs  the  effect  of  the  surrounding  language.  In 
general  the  style  of  one  author  is  not  appropriate  to 
another;  as  in  society,  so  in  letters,  we  expect  every  man 
to  have  ‘a  good  coat  of  his  own,’  and  not  to  dress  himself 
out  in  the  rags  of  another,  (a)  Archaic  expressions  are 
therefore  to  be  avoided.  Equivalents  may  be  occasionally 
drawn  from  Shakspere,  who  is  the  common  property  of 
us  all;  but  they  must  be  used  sparingly.  For,  like 
some  other  men  of  genius  of  the  Elizabethan  and 
Jacobean  age,  he  outdid  the  capabilities  of  the  language, 
and  many  of  the  expressions  which  he  introduced  have 
been  laid  aside  and  have  dropped  out  of  use.  {b)  A similar 
principle  should  be  observed  in  the  employment  of  Scrip- 
ture. Having  a greater  force  and  beauty  than  other 
language,  and  a religious  association,  it  disturbs  the  even 
flow  of  the  style.  It  may  be  used  to  reproduce  in  the 
translation  the  quaint  effect  of  some  antique  phrase  in 
the  original,  but  rarely ; and  when  adopted,  it  should 
have  a certain  freshness  and  a suitable  ‘entourage.’  It 
is  strange  to  observe  that  the  most  effective  use  of 
Scripture  phraseology  arises  out  of  the  application  of 
• it  in  a sense  not  intended  by  the  author,  (c)  Another 
caution  : metaphors  differ  in  different  languages,  and  the 
translator  will  often  be  compelled  to  substitute  one  for 
another,  or  to  paraphrase  them,  not  giving  word  for  word, 
but  diffusing  over  several  words  the  more  concentrated 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  fhird  Editions,  xxiii 

thought  of  the  original.  The  Greek  of  Plato  often  goes 
beyond  the  English  in  its  imagery:  cp.  Laws  iii.  695  C, 
<Sr  k(u  vvv  eri  i TfxiKpa  oveipara  XtheLirTcu  ) Rep.  i.  345  ^ 

588  C,  &c.  Or  again  the  modern  word,  which  in  substance 
is  the  nearest  equivalent  to  the  Greek,  may  be  found  to 
include  associations  alien  to  Greek  life : e.  g.  bucaarai, 

1 jurymen,’  ra  ptaa  tu>v  ho\itwv,  ‘ the  bourgeoisie,  (d)  The 
translator  has  also  to  provide  expressions  for  philo- 
sophical terms  of  very  indefinite  meaning  in  the  more 
definite  language  of  modern  philosophy.  And  he  must 
not  allow  discordant  elements  to  enter  into  the  work. 
For  example,  in  translating  Plato,  it  would  equally  be 
an  anachronism  to  intrude  on  him  the  feeling  and  spirit 
of  the  Jewish  or  Christian  Scriptures  or  the  technical 
terms  of  the  Hegelian  or  Darwinian  philosophy. 

(7).  As  no  two  words  are  precise  equivalents  (just  as  no 
two  leaves  of  the  forest  are  exactly  similar),  it  is  a mistaken 
attempt  at  precision  always  to  translate  the  same  Greek 
word  by  the  same  English  word.  There  is  no  reason 
why  in  the  New  Testament  StKatoo-wrj  should  always  be 
rendered  ‘righteousness,’  or  81  adi'iKrj  ‘covenant.’  In  such 
cases  the  translator  may  be  allowed  to  employ  two  words 
— sometimes  when  the  two  meanings  occur  in  the  same 
passage,  varying  them  by  an  ‘ or  ’ — e.  g.  emcm^,  ‘ science  ’ 
or  ‘ knowledge,’  e?8o?,  ‘ idea  ’ or  ‘ class,’  crutypocrvvq,  ‘ tem- 
perance’ or  ‘ prudence,’ — at  the  point  where  the  change  of 
meaning  occurs.  If  translations  are  intended  not  for  the 
Greek  scholar  but  for  the  general  reader,  their  worst 
fault  will  be  that  they  sacrifice  the  general  effect  and 
meaning  to  the  over-precise  rendering  of  words  and 
forms  of  speech. 

(8).  There  is  no  kind  of  literature  in  English  which  cor- 
responds to  the  Greek  Dialogue ; nor  is  the  English 


xxiv  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Hditions. 

language  easily  adapted  to  it.  The  rapidity  and  abrupt- 
ness of  question  and  answer,  the  constant  repetition  of 
8’  05,  dire,  ((fir),  &c.,  which  Cicero  avoided  in  Latin  (de 
Amicit.  c.  i),  the  frequent  occurrence  of  expletives,  would, 
if  reproduced  in  a translation,  give  offence  to  the  reader. 
Greek  has  a freer  and  more  frequent  use  of  the  Interroga- 
tive, and  is  of  a more  passionate  and  emotional  character, 
and  therefore  lends  itself  with  greater  readiness  to  the 
dialogue  form.  Most  of  the  so-called  English  Dialogues 
are  but  poor  imitations  of  Plato,  which  fall  very  far  short  of 
the  original.  The  breath  of  conversation,  the  subtle  adjust- 
ment of  question  and  answer,  the  lively  play  of  fancy,  the 
power  of  drawing  characters,  are  wanting  in  them.  But 
the  Platonic  dialogue  is  a drama  as  well  as  a dialogue,  of 
which  Socrates  is  the  central  figure,  and  there  are  lesser 
performers  as  well : — the  insolence  of  Thrasymachus,  the 
anger  of  Callicles  and  Anytus,  the  patronizing  style  of 
Protagoras,  the  self-consciousness  of  Prodicus  and  Hip- 
pias,  are  all  part  of  the  entertainment.  To  reproduce  this 
living  image  the  same  sort  of  effort  is  required  as  in 
translating  poetry.  The  language,  too,  is  of  a finer 
quality;  the  mere  prose  English  is  slow  in  lending  itself 
to  the  form  of  question  and  answer,  and  so  the  ease  of 
conversation  is  lost,  and  at  the  same  time  the  dialectical 
precision  with  which  the  steps  of  the  argument  are  drawn 
out  is  apt  to  be  impaired. 

II.  In  the  Introductions  to  the  Dialogues  there  have 
been  added  some  essays  on  modern  philosoplry,  and  on 
political  and  social  life.  The  chief  subjects  discussed  in 
these  are  Utility,  Communism,  the  Kantian  and  Hegelian 
philosophies,  Psychology,  and  the  Origin  of  Language l. 

1 There  have  been  added  also  in  the  Third  Edition  remarks  on  other  subjects. 
A list  of  the  most  important  of  these  additions  is  given  at  the  end  of  this  Preface 
(see  p.  xxxviii). 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions,  xxv 

Ancient  and  modern  philosophy  throw  a light  upon  one 
another : but  they  should  be  compared,  not  confounded. 
Although  the  connexion  between  them  is  sometimes  acci- 
dental, it  is  often  real.  The  same  questions  are  discussed 
by  them  under  different  conditions  of  language  and  civil- 
ization ; but  in  some  cases  a mere  word  has  survived,  while 
nothing  or  hardly  anything  of  the  pre-Socratic,  Platonic,  or 
Aristotelian  meaning  is  retained.  There  are  other  ques- 
tions familiar  to  the  moderns,  which  have  no  place  in 
ancient  philosophy.  The  world  has  grown  older  in  two 
thousand  years,  and  has  enlarged  its  stock  of  ideas  and 
methods  of  reasoning.  Yet  the  germ  of  modern  thought 
is  found  in  ancient,  and  we  may  claim  to  have  inherited, 
notwithstanding  many  accidents  of  time  and  place,  the 
spirit  of  Greek  philosophy.  There  is,  however,  no  con- 
tinuous growth  of  the  one  into  the  other,  but  a new 
beginning,  partly  artificial,  partly  arising  out  of  the  ques- 
tionings of  the  mind  itself,  and  also  receiving  a stimulus 
from  the  study  of  ancient  writings. 

Considering  the  great  and  fundamental  differences 
which  exist  in  ancient  and  modern  philosophy,  it  seems 
best  that  we  should  at  first  study  them  separately,  and 
seek  for  the  interpretation  of  either,  especially  of  the 
ancient,  from  itself  only,  comparing  the  same  author  with 
himself  and  with  his  contemporaries,  and  with  the  general 
state  of  thought  and  feeling  prevalent  in  his  age.  After- 
wards comes  the  remoter  light  which  they  cast  on  one 
another.  We  begin  to  feel  that  the  ancients  had  the 
same  thoughts  as  ourselves,  the  same  difficulties  which 
characterize  all  periods  of  transition,  almost  the  same 
opposition  between  science  and  religion.  Although  we 
cannot  maintain  that  ancient  and  modern  philosophy  are 
one  and  continuous  fas  has  been  affirmed  with  more  truth 


xxvi  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

respecting  ancient  and  modern  history),  for  they  are 
separated  by  an  interval  of  a thousand- years,  yet  they 
seem  to  recur  in  a sort  of  cycle,  and  we  are  surprised 
to  find  that  the  new  is  ever  old,  and  that  the  teaching 
of  the  past  has  still  a meaning  for  us. 

III.  In  the  preface  to  the  first  edition  I expressed  a 
strong  opinion  at  variance  with  Mr.  Grote’s,  that  the 
so-called  Epistles  of  Plato  were  spurious.  His  friend 
and  editor,  Professor  Bain,  thinks  that  I ought  to  give 
the  reasons  why  I differ  from  so  eminent  an  authority. 
Reserving  the  fuller  discussion  of  the  question  for  another 
place,  I will  shortly  defend  my  opinion  by  the  following 
arguments : — 

(a)  Because  almost  all  epistles  purporting  to  be  of 
the  classical  age  of  Greek  literature  are  forgeries1.  Of 
all  documents  this  class  are  the  least  likely  to  be  preserved 
and  the  most  likely  to  be  invented.  The  ancient  -world 
swarmed  with  them  ; the  great  libraries  stimulated  the 
demand  for  them  ; and  at  a time  when  there  was  no  regular 
publication  of  books,  they  easily  crept  into  the  world. 

(, b ) When  one  epistle  out  of  a number  is  spurious, 
the  remainder  of  the  series  cannot  be  admitted  to  be 
genuine,  unless  there  be  some  independent  ground  for 
thinking  them  so  : when  all  but  one  are  spurious,  over- 
whelming evidence  is  required  of  the  genuineness  of  the 
one  : when  they  are  all  similar  in  style  or  motive,  like 
witnesses  who  agree  in  the  same  tale,  they  stand  01  lall 
together.  But  no  one,  not  even  Mr.  Grote,  would  main- 
tain that  all  the  Epistles  of  Plato  are  genuine,  and  very 
few  critics  think  that  more  than  one  of  them  is  so.  And 
they  are  clearly  all  written  from  the  same  motive,  whethei 
serious  or  only  literary.  Nor  is  there  an  example  in 

1 Compare  Bentley’s  Works  (Dyce’s  Edition),  vol.  ii.  136  foil.,  222. 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions,  xxvii 

Greek  antiquity  of  a series  of  Epistles,  continuous  and 
yet  coinciding  with  a succession  of  events  extending  over 
a great  number  of  years. 

The  external  probability  therefore  against  them  is 
enormous,  and  the  internal  probability  is  not  less  : for 
they  are  trivial  and  unmeaning,  devoid  of  delicacy  and 
subtlety,  wanting  in  a single  fine  expression.  And  even 
if  this  be  matter  of  dispute,  there  can  be  no  dispute  that 
there  are  found  in  them  many  plagiarisms,  inappropriately 
borrowed,  which  is  a common  note  of  forgery  (compare 
330  C foil,  with  Rep.  iv.  425  E,  426  B,  vi.  488  A:  347  E 
with  Phaedrus  249  D : 326  A,  B and  328  A with  Rep.  v. 
473  C,  D,  &c.).  They  imitate  Plato,  who  never  imitates 
either  himself  or  any  one  else ; reminiscences  of  the 
Republic  and  the  Laws  are  continually  recurring  in  them; 
they  are  too  like  him  and  also  too  unlike  him,  to  be 
genuine  ( see  especially  Karsten,  Commentatio  Critica  de 
Platonis  quae  feruntur  Epistolis,  p.  111  foil.).  They  are 
full  of  egotism,  self-assertion,  affectation,  faults  which  of 
all  writers  Plato  was  most  careful  to  avoid,  and  into  which 
he  was  least  likely  to  fall  (ib.  p.  99  foil.).  They  abound  in 
obscurities,  irrelevancies,  solecisms,  pleonasms,  inconsist- 
encies (ib.  p.  96  foil.),  awkwardnesses  of  construction, 
wrong  uses  of  words  (ib.  pp.  58,  59,  117,  121).  They  also 
contain  historical  blunders,  such  as  the  statement  respect- 
ing Hipparinus  and  Nysaeus,  the  nephews  of  Dion  (328 
A),  who  are  said  to  ‘ have  been  well  inclined  to  philo- 
sophy, and  well  able  to  dispose  the  mind  of  their  brother 
Dionysius  in  the  same  course,’  at  a time  when  they  could 
not  have  been  more  than  six  or  seven  years  of  age — 
also  foolish  allusions,  such  as  the  comparison  of  the 
Athenian  empire  to  the  empire  of  Darius  (332  A,  B), 
which  show  a spirit  very  different  from  that  of  Plato  ; and 


xxviii  Prefi ace  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

mistakes  of  fact,  as  e.g.  about  the  Thirty  Tyrants  (p.  324  C), 
whom  the  writer  of  the  letters  seems  to  have  confused  with 
certain  inferior  magistrates,  making  them  in  all  fifty-one. 
These  palpable  errors  and  absurdities  are  absolutely  irre- 
concileable  with  their  genuineness.  And  as  they  appear 
to  have  a common  parentage,  the  more  they  are  studied, 
the  more  they  will  be  found  to  furnish  evidence  against 
themselves.  The  Seventh,  which  is  thought  to  be  the 
most  important  of  these  Epistles,  has  affinities  with  the 
Third  and  the  Eighth,  and  is  quite  as  impossible  and 
inconsistent  as  the  rest.  It  is  therefore  involved  in  the 
same  condemnation.— The  final  conclusion  is  that  neither 
the  Seventh  nor  any  other  of  them,  when  carefully 
analyzed,  can  be  imagined  to  have  proceeded  from  the 
hand  or  mind  of  Plato.  The  other  testimonies  to  the 
voyages  of  Plato  to  Sicily  and  the  court  of  Dionysius  are 
all  of  them  later  by  several  centuries  than  the  events  to 
which  they  refer.  No  extant  writer  mentions  them  older 
than  Cicero  and  Cornelius  Nepos.  It  does  not  seem  im- 
possible that  so  attractive  a theme  as  the  meeting  of  a 
philosopher  and  a tyrant,  once  imagined  by  the  genius  of 
a Sophist,  may  have  passed  into  a romance  which  became 
famous  in  Hellas  and  the  world.  It  may  have  created  one 
of  the  mists  of  history,  like  the  Trojan  war  or  the  legend 
of  Arthur,  which  we  are  unable  to  penetrate.  In  the  age 
of  Cicero,  and  still  more  in  that  of  Diogenes  Laertius  and 
Appuleius,  many  other  legends  had  gathered  around  the 
personality  of  Plato, — more  voyages,  more  journeys  to 
visit  tyrants  and  Pythagorean  philosophers.  But  if,  as  we 
agree  with  Karsten  in  supposing,  the}''  are  the  forgery  of 
some  rhetorician  or  sophist,  we  cannot  agree  with  him  in 
also  supposing  that  they  are  of  any  historical  value,  the 
rather  as  there  is  no  early  independent  testimony  by 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions,  xxix 

which  they  are  supported  or  with  which  they  can  be 
compared. 

IV.  There  is  another  subject  to  which  I must  briefly 
call  attention,  lest  I should  seem  to  have  overlooked  it. 
Dr.  Henry  Jackson,  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  in  a 
series  of  articles  which  he  has  contributed  to  the  Journal 
of  Philology  (1881-6;  Vol.  x.  132-150,  253-293;  xi.  287- 
331;  xiii.  1-40;  xiv.  173-230,  extending  to  about  200 
pages),  has  put  forward  an  entirely  new  explanation  of  the 
Platonic  ‘ Ideas.’  He  supposes  that  in  the  mind  of  Plato 
they  took,  at  different  times  in  his  life,  two  essentially 
different  forms  an  earlier  one  which  is  found  chiefly  in 
the  Republic  and  the  Phaedo,  and  a later,  which  appears 
in  the  Theaetetus,  Philebus,  Sophist,  Politicus,  Parmeni- 
des, Timaeus.  In  the  first  stage  of  his  philosophy  Plato 
attributed  Ideas  to  all  things,  at  any  rate  to  all  things 
which  have  classes  or  common  notions  : these  he  sup- 
posed to  exist  only  by  participation  in  them.  In  the  later 
Dialogues  he  no  longer  included  in  them  manufactured 
articles  and  ideas  of  relation,  but  restricted  them  to  ‘ types 
of  nature,’  and  having  become  convinced  that  the  many 
cannot  be  parts  of  the  one,  for  the  idea  of  participation  in 
them  he  substituted  imitation  of  them  (xi.  292).  To  quote 
Dr.  Jackson’s  own  expressions  (x.  297), — ‘whereas  in  the 
period  of  the  Republic  and  the  Phaedo,  it  was  proposed 
to  pass  through  ontology  to  the  sciences,  in  the  period  of 
the  Parmenides  and  the  Philebus,  it  is  proposed  to  pass 
through  the  sciences  to  ontology’:  or,  as  he  repeats  in 
nearly  the  same  words  (xi.  320), — ‘whereas  in  the  Re- 
public and  in  the  Phaedo  he  had  dreamt  of  passing- 
through  ontology  to  the  sciences,  he  is  now  content  to 
pass  through  the  sciences  to  ontology.’ 

This  theory  is  supposed  to  be  based  on  Aristotle’s 


xxx  Prefac e to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

Metaphysics  (Book  I.c.  6),  a passage  containing  an  account 
of  the  ideas,  which  hitherto  scholars  have  found  impos- 
sible to  reconcile  with  the  statements  of  Plato  himself. 
The  preparations  for  the  new  departure  are  discovered  in 
the  Parmenides  and  in  the  Theaetetus ; and  it  is  said  to 
be  expressed  under  a different  form  by  the  rtpas  and  the 
aneipov  of  the  Philebus  (vol.  x.  275  foil.).  The  -nepas  of 
the  Philebus  is  the  principle  which  gives  form  and  measure 
to  the  ajreLpov ; and  in  the  1 Later  Theory’  is  held  to  be  the 
TToaov  or  pEpiov  which  converts  the  Infinite  or  Indefinite 
into  ideas.  They  are  neither  1 -epadovra  nor  aira.pa,  but 
belong  to  the  p-lktov  yeros  which  partakes  of  both. 

With  great  respect  for  the  learning  and  ability  of  Dr. 
Jackson,  I find  myself  unable  to  agree  in  this  newly 
fashioned  doctrine  of  the  Ideas,  which  he  ascribes  to  Plato. 
I have  not  the  space  to  go  into  the  question  fully;  but 
I will  briefly^  state  some  objections  which  are,  I think, 
fatal  to  it. 

(1).  First,  the  foundation  of  his  argument  is  laid  in  the 
Metaphysics  of  Aristotle.  But  we  cannot  argue,  either 
from  the  Metaphysics,  or  from  any  other  of  the  philo- 
sophical treatises  of  Aristotle,  to  the  dialogues  of  Plato 
until  we  have  ascertained  the  relation  in  which  his  so- 
called  works  stand  to  the  philosopher  himself.  There  is 
of  course  no  doubt  of  the  great  influence  exercised  upon 
Greece  and  upon  the  world  by  Aristotle  and  his  philo- 
sophy. But  on  the  other  hand  almost  every  one  who  is 
capable  of  understanding  the  subject  acknowledges  that 
his  writings  have  not  come  down  to  us  in  an  authentic 
form  like  most  of  the  dialogues  ol  Plato.  How  much  of 
them  is  to  be  ascribed  to  Aristotle’s  own  hand,  how  much 
is  due  to  his  successors  in  the  Peripatetic  School,  is  a 
question  which  has  never  been  determined,  and  probably 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions,  xxxi 

never  can  be,  because  the  solution  of  it  depends  upon 
internal  evidence  only.  To  ‘the  height  of  this  great 
argument  ’ I do  not  propose  to  ascend.  But  one  little 
fact,  not  irrelevant  to  the  present  discussion,  will  show 
how  hopeless  is  the 'attempt  to  explain  Plato  out  of  the 
writings  of  Aristotle.  In  the  chapter  of  the  Metaphysics 
quoted  by  Dr.  Jackson  (I.  6),  about  two  octavo  pages  in 
length,  there  occur  no  less  than  seven  or  eight  references 
to  Plato,  although  nothing  really  corresponding  to  them 
can  be  found  in  his  extant  writings  : — a small  matter 
truly ; but  what  a light  does  it  throw  on  the  character  of 
the  entire  book  in  which  they  occur!  We  can  hardly 
escape  from  the  conclusion  that  they  are  not  statements 
of  Aristotle  respecting  Plato,  but  of  a later  generation  of 
Aristotelians  respecting  a later  generation  of  Platonists  b 

(2).  There  is  no  hint  in  Plato’s  own  writings  that  he  was 
conscious  of  having  made  any  change  in  the  Doctrine  of 
Ideas  such  as  Dr.  Jackson  attributes  to  him,  although  in 
the  Republic  the  platonic  Socrates  speaks  of  ‘ a longer 
and  a shorter  way’  (iv.  435;  vi.  504),  and  of  a way  in 
which  his  disciple  Glaucon  ‘ will  be  unable  to  follow  him  ’ 
(vii.  533) ; also  of  a way  of  Ideas,  to  which  he  still  holds 
fast,  although  it  has  often  deserted  him  (Philebus  16  C, 
Phaedo  97-108),  and  although  in  the  later  dialogues  and 
in  the  Laws  the  reference  to  Ideas  disappears,  and  Mind 
claims  her  own  (Phil.  31,  65;  Laws  xii.  965  B).  No  hint 
is  given  of  what  Plato  meant  by  the  ‘ longer  way  ’ (Rep.  iv. 
435  D),  or  ‘ the  way  in  which  Glaucon  was  unable  to  follow  ’ 
(ib.  vii.  533  A);  or  of  the  relation  of  Mind  to  the  Ideas.  It 
might  be  said  with  truth  that  the  conception  of  the  Idea  pre- 
dominates in  the  first  half  of  the  Dialogues,  which,  according 

1 Cp.  the  striking  remark  of  the  great  Scaliger  respecting  the  Magna  Moralia  : — 
Hate  non  sunt  Aristolelis,  /amen  utilur  attclor  Aristolelis  nomine  tanquam  suo. 


xxxii  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

to  the  order  adopted  in  this  work,  ends  with  the  Republic, 
the  ‘conception  of  Mind’  and  a way  of  speaking  more  in 
agreement  with  modern  terminology,  in  the  latter  half. 
But  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Plato’s  theory,  or, 
rather,  his  various  theories,  of  the  Ideas  underwent  any 
definite  change  during  his  period  of  authorship.  They  are 
substantially  the  same  in  the  twelfth  Book  of  the  Laws 
(962,  963  foil.)  as  in  the  Meno  and  Phaedo ; and  since  the 
Laws  were  written  in  the  last  decade  of  his  life,  there  is  no 
time  to  which  this  change  of  opinions  can  be  ascribed.  It 
is  true  that  the  theory  of  Ideas  takes  several  different 
forms,  not  merely  an  earlier  and  a later  one,  in  the 
various  Dialogues.  They  are  personal  and  impersonal, 
ideals  and  ideas,  existing  by  participation  or  by  imitation, 
one  and  many,  in  different  parts  of  his  writings  or  even  in 
the  same  passage  (cp.  Vol.  II.  p.  13  loll.).  1 hey  are  the 
universal  definitions  of  Socrates,  and  at  the  same  time  ‘ of 
more  than  mortal  knowledge’  (Rep.  vi.  485).  But  they 
are  always  the  negations  of  sense,  of  matter,  of  generation, 
of  the  particular : they  are  always  the  subjects  of  know- 
ledge and  not  of  opinion  ; and  they  tend,  not  to  diversity, 
but  to  unity.  Other  entities  or  intelligences  are  akin  to 
them,  but  not  the  same  with  them,  such  as  mind,  measure, 
limit,  eternity,  essence  (cp.  Philebus  sub  fin. ; Timaeus 
passim) : these  and  similar  terms  appear  to  express  the 
same  truths  from  a different  point  of  view,  and  to  belong 
to  the  same  sphere  with  them.  But  we  are  not  justified, 
therefore,  in  attempting  to  identify  them,  any  more  than 
in  wholly  opposing  them.  The  great  oppositions  of 
the  sensible  and  intellectual,  the  unchangeable  and  the 
transient,  in  whatever  form  of  words  expressed,  are  always 
maintained  in  Plato.  But  the  lesser  logical  distinctions, 
as  we  should  call  them,  whether  of  ontology  or  predication, 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions,  xxxiii 

which  troubled  the  pre-Socratic  philosophy  and  came 
to  the  front  in  Aristotle,  are  variously  discussed  and 
explained.  Thus  far  we  admit  inconsistency  in  Plato,  but 
no  further.  He  lived  in  an  age  before  logic  and  system 
had  wholly  permeated  language,  and  therefore  we  must 
not  always  expect  to  find  in  him  S3^stematic  arrangement 
or  logical  precision  : — 1 poema  magis  putandunii  But  he 
is  always  true  to  his  own  context,  the  careful  study  of 
which  is  of  more  value  to  the  interpreter  than  all  the 
commentators  and  scholiasts  put  together. 

(3).  The  conclusions  at  which  Dr.  Jackson  has  arrived 
are  such  as  might  be  expected  to  follow  from  his  method 
of  procedure.  For  he  takes  words  without  regard  to  their 
connexion,  and  pieces  together  different  parts  of  dialogues 
in  a purely  arbitrary  manner,  although  there  is  no  indica- 
tion that  the  author  intended  the  two  passages  to  be  so 
combined,  or  that  when  he  appears  to  be  experimenting 
on  the  different  points  of  view  from  which  a subject  of 
philosophy  may  be  regarded,  he  is  secretly  elaborating  a 
system.  B}r  such  a use  of  language  any  premises  may  be 
made  to  lead  to  any  conclusion.  I am  not  one  of  those 
who  believe  Plato  to  have  been  a mystic  or  to  have  had 
hidden  meanings;  nor  do  I agree  with  Dr.  Jackson  in 
thinking  that  ‘when  he  is  precise  and  dogmatic,  he  gener- 
ally contrives  to  introduce  an  element  of  obscurity  into 
the  exposition’  (J.  of  Philol.  x.  150).  The  great  master 
of  language  wrote  as  clearly  as  he  could  in  an  age  when 
the  minds  of  men  were  clouded  by  controversy,  and  philo- 
sophical terms  had  not  yet  acquired  a fixed  meaning. 
I have  just  said  that  Plato  is  to  be  interpreted  by  his 
context;  and  I do  not  deny  that  in  some  passages, 
especially  in  the  Republic  and  Laws,  the  context  is  at 
a greater  distance  than  would  be  allowable  in  a modern 
vol.  1.  , c 


xxxiv  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

writer.  But  we  are  not  therefore  justified  in  connecting 
passages  from  different  parts  of  his  writings,  or  even  from 
the  same  work,  which  he  has  not  himself  joined.  We 
cannot  argue  from  the  Parmenides  to  the  Philebus,  or 
from  either  to  the  Sophist,  or  assume  that  the  Parmenides, 
the  Philebus,  and  the  Timaeus  were  ‘written  simul- 
taneously,’ or  ‘were  intended  to  be  studied  in  the  order 
in  which  they  are  here  named  ’ (J.  of  Philol.  xiii.  38).  We 
have  no  right  to  connect  statements  which  are  only  acci- 
dentally similar.  Nor  is  it  safe  for  the  author  of  a theory 
about  ancient  philosophy  to  argue  from  what  will  happen 
if  his  statements  are  rejected.  For  those  consequences 
may  never  have  entered  into  the  mind  of  the  ancient 
writer  himself;  and  they  are  very  likely  to  be  modern  con- 
sequences which  would  not  have  been  understood  by 
him.  ‘I  cannot  think,’  says  Dr.  Jackson,  ‘that  Plato 
would  have  changed  his  opinions,  but  have  nowhere  ex- 
plained the  nature  of  the  change.’  But  is  it  not  much 
more  improbable  that  he  should  have  changed  his 
opinions,  and  not  stated  in  an  unmistakable  manner  that 
the  most  essential  principle  of  his  philosophy  had  been 
reversed  ? It  is  true  that  a few  of  the  dialogues,  such  as 
the  Republic  and  the  Timaeus,  or  the  Theaetetus  and  the 
Sophist,  or  the  Meno  and  the  Apology,  contain  allusions 
to  one  another.  But  these  allusions  are  superficial  and, 
except  in  the  case  of  the  Republic  and  the  Laws,  have  no 
philosophical  importance.  They  do  not  affect  the  sub- 
stance of  the  work.  It  may  be  remarked  further  that 
several  of  the  dialogues,  such  as  the  Phaedrus,  the  So- 
phist, and  the  Parmenides,  have  more  than  one  subject. 
But  it  does  not  therefore  follow  that  Plato  intended  one 
dialogue  to  succeed  another,  or  that  he  begins  anew  in 
one  dialogue  a subject  which  he  has  left  unfinished  in 


Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions,  xxxv 

another,  or  that  even  in  the  same  dialogue  he  always  in- 
tended the  two  parts  to  be  connected  with  each  other.  We 
cannot  argue  from  a casual  statement  found  in  the  Par- 
menides to  other  statements  which  occur  in  the  Philebus. 
Much  more  truly  is  his  own  mannei  desciibed  by  himself 
when  he  says  that  ‘words  are  more  plastic  than  wax 
(Rep.  ix.  588  C),  and  ‘whither  the  wind  blows,  the  argu- 
ment follows  ’ (ib.  iii.  394  D).  The  dialogues  of  Plato  are 
like  poems,  isolated  and  separate  works,  except  where 
they  are  indicated  by  the  author  himself  to  have  an 
intentional  sequence. 

It  is  this  method  of  taking  passages  out  of  their  context 
and  placing  them  in  a new  connexion  when  they  seem  to 
confirm  a preconceived  theory,  which  is  the  defect  of  Di . 
Jackson’s  procedure.  It  may  be  compared,  though  not 
wholly  the  same  with  it,  to  that  method  which  the  Fathers 
practised,  sometimes  called  ‘ the  mystical  interpretation  of 
Scripture,’  in  which  isolated  words  are  separated  from  their 
context,  and  receive  any  sense  which  the  fancy  of  the 
interpreter  may  suggest.  It  is  akin  to  the  method  employed 
by  Schleiermacher  of  arranging  the  dialogues  of  Plato  in 
chronological  order  according  to  what  he  deems  the  true 
arrangement  of  the  ideas  contained  in  them.  (Dr.  Jackson 
is  also  inclined,  having  constructed  a theory,  to  make  the 
chronology  of  Plato’s  writings  dependent  upon  it1.)  It 
may  likewise  be  illustrated  by  the  ingenuity  of  those  who 
employ  symbols  to  find  in  Shakespeare  a hidden  meaning. 
In  the  three  cases  the  error  is  nearly  the  same: — words 
are  taken  out  of  their  natural  context,  and  thus  become 
destitute  of  any  real  meaning. 

(4).  According  to  Dr.  Jackson’s  ‘ Later  1 heory,’  Plato’s 
Ideas,  which  were  once  regarded  as  the  summa  genera  of 

1 See  J.  of  Philol.  xiii.  38,  and  elsewhere. 


C 2 


xxxvi  Preface  to  the  Second  and  Third  Editions. 

all  things,  are  now  to  be  explained  as  Forms  or  Types  of 
some  things  only, — that  is  to  say,  of  natural  objects : 
these  we  conceive  imperfectly,  but  are  always  seeking  in 
vain  to  have  a more  perfect  notion  of  them.  Me  says 
(J.  of  Philol.  xi.  319)  that  ‘ Plato  hoped  by  the  study  of  a 
series  of  hypothetical  or  provisional  classifications  to 
arrive  at  one  in  which  nature’s  distribution  of  kinds  is 
approximately  represented,  and  so  to  attain  approximately 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  ideas.  But  whereas  in  the 
Republic,  and  even  in  the  Phaedo,  though  less  hopefully, 
he  had  sought  to  convert  his  provisional  definitions  into 
final  ones  by  tracing  their  connexion  with  the  summum 
genus , the  ayu9ov,  in  the  Parmenides  his  aspirations  are 
less  ambitious,’  and  so  on.  But  where  does  Dr.  Jackson 
find  any  such  notion  as  this  in  Plato  or  anywhere  in 
ancient  philosophy?  Is  it  not  an  anachronism,  gracious  to 
the  modern  physical  philosopher,  and  the  more  acceptable 
because  it  seems  to  form  a link  between  ancient  and 
modern  philosophy,  and  between  physical  and  metaphysical 
science  ; but  really  unmeaning  ? 

(5).  To  this  ‘ Later  Theory’  of  Plato’s  Ideas  I oppose  the 
authority  of  Professor  Zeller,  who  affirms  that  none  of  the 
passages  to  which  Dr.  Jackson  appeals  (Theaet.  185  C foil. ; 
Phil.  25  B foil. ; Tim.  57  C ; Parm.  130  B foil.,  142  B-155  E, 
157  B-159  E)  ‘in  the  smallest  degree  prove  his  point’;  and 
that  in  the  second  class  of  dialogues,  in  which  the  ‘ Later 
Theory  of  Ideas  ’ is  supposed  to  be  found,  quite  as  clearly 
as  in  the  first,  are  admitted  Ideas,  not  only  of  natural 
objects,  but  of  properties,  relations,  works  of  art,  negative 
notions  (Theaet.  176  E ; Parm.  130  B foil. ; Soph.  254  B foil., 
258  B);  and  that  what  Dr.  Jackson  distinguishes  as  the 
first  class  of  dialogues  from  the  second  equally  assert  or 
imply  that  the  relation  of  things  to  the  Ideas,  is  one  of 


Preface  to  the  Second  a7id  Third  Editions,  xxxvii 

participation  in  them  as  well  as  of  imitation  of  them  (Prof. 
Zeller’s  summary  of  his  own  review  of  Dr.  Jackson,  Archiv 
fur  Geschichte  der  Philosophic,  Vol.  I,  Berlin,  1888,  pp. 
617,  618). 

In  conclusion  I may  remark  that  in  Plato’s  writings 
there  is  both  unity,  and  also  growth  and  development ; 
but  that  we  must  not  intrude  upon  him  either  a system 
or  a technical  language. 


Balliol  College, 
October , 1891. 


NOTE 


The  chief  additions  to  the  Introductions  in  the  Third 
Edition  consist  of  Essays  on  the  following  subjects: — 

(x)  Language Vol.  I,  295-321. 

(2)  The  decline  of  Greek  Literature  . . „ 424-429. 

(3)  The  ‘ Ideas’  of  Plato  and  Modern  Philo- 

sophy   Vol.  II,  12-25. 

(4)  The  myths  of  Plato „ 31&~324- 

(5)  The  relation  of  the  Republic,  Statesman  and 

Laws Vol.  Ill,  ccxi-ccxvii. 

(6)  The  legend  of  Atlantis 429~433 • 

(7)  Psychology Vol.  IV,  175-191. 

(8)  Comparison  of  the  Laws  of  Plato  with 

Spartan  and  Athenian  Laws  and  In- 
stitutions Vol.  V,  ccxiii-ccxxxvi. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHARMIDES 1 

LYSIS 39 

LACHES 77 

PROTAGORAS i*3 

EUTHYDEMUS 189 

CRATYLUS 251 

PHAEDRUS 39i 

ION 491 


SYMPOSIUM 


• 5T3 


C H A R M I D E S. 


VOL.  I.  B 

q 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  subject  of  the  Charmides  is  Temperance  or  o-o^poo-ri^,  a 
peculiarly  Greek  notion,  which  may  also  be  rendered  Moderation 
Modesty,  Discretion,  Wisdom,  without  completely  exhausting  by 
all  these  terms  the  various  associations  of  the  word.  It  may  be 
described  as  ‘ mens  sana  in  corpore  sano,’  the  harmony  or  due 
proportion  of  the  higher  and  lower  elements  of  human  nature 
which  ‘ makes  a man  his  own  master,’  according  to  the  definition 
of  the  Republic.  In  the  accompanying  translation  the  word  has 
been  rendered  in  different  places  either  Temperance  or  Wisdom, 
as  the  connection  seemed  to  require  : for  in  the  philosophy  of 
Plato  aaxppoavPTj  still  retains  an  intellectual  element  (as  Socrates  is 
also  said  to  have  identified  crcotfipoavvr]  with  aocf>[a  : Xen.  Mem.  iii.  9, 
4),  and  is  not  yet  relegated  to  the  sphere  of  moral  virtue,  as  in  the 
Nicomachean  Ethics  of  Aristotle  (iii.  10). 
steph.  The  beautiful  youth,  Charmides,  who  is  also  the  most  temperate 
ifo  °f human  beings,  is  asked  by  Socrates,  ‘What  is  Temperance?’ 
He  answers  characteristically,  (1)  ‘ Quietness.’  ‘ But  Temperance 
is  a fine  and  noble  thing ; and  quietness  in  many  or  most  cases  is 
not  so  fine  a thing  as  quickness.’  He  tries  again  and  says  (2)  that 
temperance  is  modesty.  But  this  again  is  set  aside  by  a sophistical 

161  application  of  Homer : for  temperance  is  good  as  well  as  noble, 
and  Homer  has  declared  that  ‘modesty  is  not  good  for  a needy 
man.’  (3)  Once  more  Charmides  makes  the  attempt.  This  time 

162  he  gives  a definition  which  he  has  heard,  and  of  which  Socrates 
conjectures  that  Critias  must  be  the  author  : ‘ Temperance  is  doing 
one’s  own  business.’  But  the  artisan  who  makes  another  man’s 
shoes  may  be  temperate,  and  yet  he  is  not  doing  his  own 
business ; and  temperance  defined  thus  would  be  opposed  to  the 

1 fip-  Cic.  Tusc.  iii.  8,  16,  ‘ ocufpoovvT),  qnam  solco  equidcm  turn  temperan- 
Uam,  turn  moderationem  appellare,  nonnunquam  etiam  modestiam  : ’ foil. 


Charmides. 


Analysis. 


B 2 


4 


A nalysis  162-174. 

Charmides.  division  of  labour  which  exists  in  every  temperate  or  well-ordered 
Analysis,  state.  How  is  this  riddle  to  be  explained  ? 

Critias,  who  takes  the  place  of  Charmides,  distinguishes  in  his  163 
answer  between  ‘making’  and  ‘doing,’  and  with  the  help  of  a 
misapplied  quotation  from  Hesiod  assigns  to  the  words  ‘doing’ 
and  ‘ work’  an  exclusively  good  sense  : Temperance  is  doing  one’s 
own  business  ; — (4)  is  doing  good. 

Still  an  element  of  knowledge  is  wanting  which  Critias  is  readily  164 
induced  to  admit  at  the  suggestion  of  Socrates;  and,  in  the  spirit 
of  Socrates  and  of  Greek  life  generalljq  proposes  as  a fifth  definition,  165 

(5)  Temperance  is  self-knowledge.  But  all  sciences  have  a 
subject : number  is  the  subject  of  arithmetic,  health  of  medicine  — 
what  is  the  subject  of  temperance  or  wisdom  ? The  answer  is  that  166 

(6)  Temperance  is  the  knowledge  of  what  a man  knows  and  of  167 
what  he  does  not  know.  But  this  is  contrary  to  analogy ; there  is 

no  vision  of  vision,  but  only  of  visible  things  ; no  love  of  loves,  but 
only  of  beautiful  things ; how  then  can  there  be  a knowledge  ot 
knowledge?  That  which  is  older,  heavier,  lighter,  is  older, heavier,  168 
and  lighter  than  something  else,  not  than  itself,  and  this  seems  to 
be  true  of  all  relative  notions — the  object  of  relation  is  outside  of 
them  ; at  any  rate  they  can  only  have  relation  to  themselves  in  the 
form  of  that  object.  Whether  there  are  any  such  cases  of  reflex 
relation  or  not,  and  whether  that  sort  of  knowledge  which  we 
term  Temperance  is  of  this  reflex  nature,  has  yet  to  be  determined  169 
by  the  great  metaphysician.  But  even  if  knowledge  can  know 
itself,  how  does  the  knowledge  of  what  we  know  imply  the  1 7° 
knowledge  of  what  we  do  not  know  ? Besides,  knowledge  is  an 
abstraction  only,  and  will  not  inform  us  of  any  particular  subject, 
such  as  medicine,  building,  and  the  like.  It  may  tell  us  that  171 
we  or  other  men  know  something,  but  can  never  tell  us  what  we 
know. 

Admitting  that  there  is  a knowledge  of  what  we  know  and  of  1 72 
what  we  do  not  know,  which  would  supply  a rule  and  measuie  of 
all  things,  still  there  would  be  no  good  in  this ; and  the  knowledge 
which  temperance  gives  must  be  of  a kind  which  will  do  us  good ; *73 
for  temperance  is  a good.  But  this  universal  knowledge  does  not 
tend  to  our  happiness  and  good  : the  only  kind  of  knowledge  which 
brings  happiness  is  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil.  To  this  1 74 
Critias  replies  that  the  science  or  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  and 


5 


Beginnings  of  Logic  and  Metaphysics. 

all  the  other  sciences,  are  regulated  by  the  higher  science  or  Charmides. 
knowledge  of  knowledge.  Socrates  replies  by  again  dividing  the  Analysis. 
abstract  from  the  concrete,  and  asks  how  this  knowledge  conduces 
to  happiness  in  the  same  definite  way  in  which  medicine  conduces 

175  to  health. 

And  now,  after  making  all  these  concessions,  which  are  really 
inadmissible,  we  are  still  as  far  as  ever  from  ascertaining  the 
nature  of  temperance,  which  Charmides  has  already  discovered, 

176  and  had  therefore  better  rest  in  the  knowledge  that  the  more 
temperate  he  is  the  happier  he  will  be,  and  not  trouble  himself 
with  the  speculations  of  Socrates. 

In  this  Dialogue  may  be  noted  (1)  The  Greek  ideal  of  beauty  and  Introduc- 

TION. 

goodness,  the  vision  of  the  fair  soul  in  the  fair  body,  realised  in 
the  beautiful  Charmides  ; (2)  The  true  conception  of  medicine  as 
a science  of  the  whole  as  well  as  the  parts,  and  of  the  mind  as  well 
as  the  body,  which  is  playfully  intimated  in  the  story  of  the 
Thracian  ; (3)  The  tendency  of  the  age  to  verbal  distinctions, 
which  here,  as  in  the  Protagoras  and  Cratylus,  are  ascribed  to 
the  ingenuity  of  Prodicus ; and  to  interpretations  or  rather 
parodies  of  Homer  or  Hesiod,  which  are  eminently  characteristic 
of  Plato  and  his  contemporaries  ; (4)  The  germ  of  an  ethical 
principle  contained  in  the  notion  that  temperance  is  ‘ doing 
one’s  own  business,’  which  in  the  Republic  (such  is  the  shifting 
character  of  the  Platonic  philosophy)  is  given  as  the  definition,  not 
of  temperance,  but  of  justice ; (5)  The  impatience  which  is  ex- 
hibited by  Socrates  of  any  definition  of  temperance  in  which  an 
element  of  science  or  knowledge  is  not  included  ; (6)  The  beginning 
of  metaphysics  and  logic  implied  in  the  two  questions  : whether 
there  can  be  a science  of  science,  and  whether  the  knowledge  of 
what  you  know  is  the  same  as  the  knowledge  of  what  you  do  not 
know ; and  also  in  the  distinction  between  ‘ what  you  know  ’ and 
‘ that  you  know,’  a oiftev  and  on  olbev  ; here  too  is  the  first  conception 
of  an  absolute  self-determined  science  (the  claims  of  which, 
however,  are  disputed  by  Socrates,  who  asks  cui  bono?)  as  well  as 
the  first  suggestion  of  the  difficulty  of  the  abstract  and  concrete, 
and  one  of  the  earliest  anticipations  of  the  relation  of  subject  and 
object,  and  of  the  subjective  element  in  knowledge — a ‘ rich 
banquet’  of  metaphysical  questions  in  which  we  ‘taste  of  many 


6 


Charmides. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Characters  of  the  Dialogue. 

things.’  (7)  And  still  the  mind  of  Plato,  having  snatched  for 
a moment  at  these  shadows  of  the  future,  quickly  rejects  them  : 
thus  early  has  he  reached  the  conclusion  that  there  can  be  no 
science  which  is  a ‘science  of  nothing’  (Parmcn.  132  B).  (8)  The 
conception  of  a science  of  good  and  evil  also  first  occurs  here, 
an  anticipation  of  the  Philebus  and  Republic  as  well  as  of  moral 
philosophy  in  later  ages. 

The  dramatic  interest  of  the  Dialogue  chiefly  centres  in  the 
youth  Charmides,  with  whom  Socrates  talks  in  the  kindly  spirit  of 
an  elder.  His  childlike  simplicity  and  ingenuousness  are  con- 
trasted with  the  dialectical  and  rhetorical  arts  of  Critias,  who  is  the 
grown-up  man  of  the  world,  having  a tincture  of  philosophy.  No 
hint  is  given,  either  here  or  in  the  Timaeus,  of  the  infamy  which 
attaches  to  the  name  of  the  latter  in  Athenian  history.  He  is 
simply  a cultivated  person  who,  like  his  kinsman  Plato,  is  ennobled 
b}f  the  connection  of  his  family  with  Solon  (cp.  Tim.  20,  21),  and 
had  been  the  follower,  if  not  the  disciple,  both  of  Socrates  and  of 
the  Sophists.  In  the  argument  he  is  not  unfair,  if  allowance  is 
made  for  a slight  rhetorical  tendency,  and  for  a natural  desire  to 
save  his  reputation  with  the  company ; he  is  sometimes  nearer  the 
truth  than  Socrates.  Nothing  in  his  language  or  behaviour  is 
unbecoming  the  guardian  of  the  beautiful  Charmides.  His  love 
of  reputation  is  characteristically  Greek,  and  contrasts  with  the 
humility  of  Socrates.  Nor  in  Charmides  himself  do  we  find  any 
resemblance  to  the  Charmides  of  history,  except,  perhaps,  the 
modest  and  retiring  nature  which,  according  to  Xenophon,  at  one 
time  of  his  life  prevented  him  from  speaking  in  the  Assembly 
(Mem.  3,  7)  ; and  we  are  surprised  to  hear  that,  like  Critias,  he 
afterwards  became  one  of  the  thirty  tyrants.  In  the  Dialogue  he 
is  a pattern  of  virtue,  and  is  therefore  in  no  need  of  the  charm 
which  Socrates  is  unable  to  apply.  With  youthful  naivete , keeping 
his  secret  and  entering  into  the  spirit  of  Socrates,  he  enjoys  the 
detection  of  his  elder  and  guardian  Critias,  who  is  easily  seen  to 
be  the  author  of  the  definition  which  he  has  so  great  an  interest 
in  maintaining  (262  B).  The  preceding  definition,  ‘ Temperance  is 
doing  one’s  own  business,’  is  assumed  to  have  been  borrowed  by 
Charmides  from  another  ; and  when  the  enquiry  becomes  more 
abstract  he  is  superseded  by  Critias  (cp.  Theaet.  168  E ; Euthyd. 
290  E).  Socrates  preserves  his  accustomed  irony  to  the  end ; he 


7 


The  definitions  of  temperance. 

is  in  the  neighbourhood  of  several  great  truths,  which  he  views  in 
various  lights,  but  always  either  by  bringing  them  to  the  test  of 
common  sense,  or  by  demanding  too  great  exactness  in  the  use  of 
words,  turns  aside  from  them  and  comes  at  last  to  no  conclusion. 

The  definitions  of  temperance  proceed  in  regular  order  from  the 
popular  to  the  philosophical.  The  first  two  are  simple  enough 
and  partially  true,  like  the  first  thoughts  of  an  intelligent  youth  ; 
the  third,  which  is  a real  contribution  to  ethical  philosophy,  is 
perverted  by  the  ingenuity  of  Socrates,  and  hardly  rescued  by  an 
equal  perversion  on  the  part  of  Critias.  The  remaining  definitions 
have  a higher  aim,  which  is  to  introduce  the  element  of  knowledge, 
and  at  last  to  unite  good  and  truth  in  a single  science.  But  the 
time  has  not  yet  arrived  for  the  realization  ol  this  vision  of  meta- 
physical philosophy ; and  such  a science  when  brought  nearer  to 
us  in  the  Philel^us  and  the  Republic  will  not  be  called  by  the  name 
of  cra(f)po(Tuvr 7.  Hence  we  see  with  surprise  that  Plato,  who  in  his 
other  writings  identifies  good  and  knowledge,  here  opposes  them, 
and  asks,  almost  in  the  spirit  of  Aristotle,  how  can  there  be  a 
knowledge  of  knowledge,  and  even  if  attainable,  how  can  such 
a knowledge  be  of  any  use  ? 

The  difficulty  of  the  Charmides  arises  chiefly  from  the  two 
senses  of  the  word  o-co(ppoo-vvr 7,  or  temperance.  From  the  ethical 
notion  of  temperance,  which  is  variously  defined  to  be  quietness, 
modesty,  doing  our  own  business,  the  doing  of  good  actions,  the 
dialogue  passes  on  to  the  intellectual  conception  of  a-ox^pocrw^, 
which  is  declared  also  to  be  the  science  of  self-knowledge,  or  of  the 
knowledge  of  what  we  know  and  do  not  know,  or  of  the  knowledge 
of  good  and  evil.  The  dialogue  represents  a stage  in  the  history 
of  philosophy  in  which  knowledge  and  action  were  not  yet  dis- 
tinguished. Hence  the  confusion  between  them,  and  the  easy 
transition  from  one  to  the  other.  The  definitions  which  are 
offered  are  all  rejected,  but  it  is  to  be  observed  that  they  all  tend 
to  throw  a light  on  the  nature  of  temperance,  and  that,  unlike  the 
distinction  of  Critias  between  nocdv,  nparreiv,  ipyd(ea6ai,  none  of 
them  are  merely  verbal  quibbles.  It  is  implied  that  this  question, 
although  it  has  not  yet  received  a solution  in  theory,  has  been 
already  answered  by  Charmides  himself,  who  has  learned  to 
practise  the  virtue  of  self-knowledge  which  philosophers  are 
vainly  trying  to  define  in  words.  In  a similar  spirit  we  might  say 


Charmides. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


8 Place  of  the  Charmides  among  the  Dialogues. 

Charmides.  to  a young  man  who  is  disturbed  by  theological  difficulties,  ‘ Do 
INt*ionUC  not  trou':)le  yourself  about  such  matters,  but  only  lead  a good  life  ; ’ 
and  yet  in  either  case  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  right  ideas  of  truth 
may  contribute  greatly  to  the  improvement  of  character. 

The  reasons  why  the  Charmides,  Lysis,  Laches  have  been  placed 
together  and  first  in  the  series  of  Platonic  dialogues,  are  : (i)  Their 
shortness  and  simplicity.  The  Charmides  and  the  Lysis,  if  not 
the  Laches,  are  of  the  same  ‘ quality  ’ as  the  Phaedrus  and 
Symposium : and  it  is  probable,  though  far  from  certain,  that  the 
slighter  effort  preceded  the  greater  one.  (ii)  Their  eristic,  or 
rather  Socratic  character ; they  belong  to  the  class  called  dialogues 
of  search  (neipaarKiu),  which  have  no  conclusion,  (iii)  The  absence 
in  them  of  certain  favourite  notions  of  Plato,  such  as  the  doctrine 
of  recollection  and  of  the  Platonic  ideas  ; the  qu^tions,  whether 
virtue  can  be  taught ; whether  the  virtues  are  one  or  many,  (iv) 
They  have  a want  of  depth,  when  compared  with  the  dialogues 
of  the  middle  and  later  period  ; and  a youthful  beauty  and  grace 
which  is  wanting  in  the  later  ones,  (v)  Their  resemblance  to  one 
another ; in  all  the  three  boyhood  has  a great  part.  These  reasons 
have  various  degrees  of  weight  in  determining  their  place  in  the 
catalogue  of  the  Platonic  writings,  though  they  are  not  conclusive. 
No  arrangement  of  the  Platonic  dialogues  can  be  strictly  chrono- 
logical. The  order  which  has  been  adopted  is  intended  mainly 
for  the  convenience  of  the  reader;  at  the  same  time,  indications  of 
the  date  supplied  either  by  Plato  himself  or  allusions  found  in  the 
dialogues  have  not  been  lost  sight  of.  Much  maybe  said  about  this 
subject,  but  the  results  can  only  be  probable  ; there  are  no  materials 
which  would  enable  us  to  attain  to  anything  like  certainty. 

The  relations  of  knowledge  and  virtue  are  again  brought  forward 
in  the  companion  dialogues  of  the  Lysis  and  Laches;  and  also  in 
the  Protagoras  and  Euthydemus.  The  opposition  ot  abstract  and 
particular  knowledge  in  this  dialogue  may  be  compared  with  a 
similar  opposition  of  ideas  and  phenomena  which  occurs  in  the 
Prologue  to  the  Parmenides,  but  seems  rather  to  belong  to  a later 
stage  of  the  philosophy  of  Plato. 


CHARMIDES,  OR  TEMPERANCE. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 


Socrates,  who  is  the  narrator. 
Chaerephon. 


Charmides. 


Critias. 


Scene  : — The  Palaestra  of  Taureas,  which  is  near  the  Porch  of  the 

King  Archon. 


YESTERDAY  evening  I returned  from  the  army  at  Poti-  Charmides. 


daea,  and  having  been  a good  while  away,  I thought 
that  I should  like  to  go  and  look  at  my  old  haunts.  So  I 

° u Socrates 

went  into  the  palaestra  of  Taureas,  which  is  over  against  the  wh0  has’ 

temple  adjoining  the  porch  of  the  King  Archon,  and  there  I just  re- 
found a number  of  persons,  most  of  whom  I knew,  but  not  all.  Athens> 
My  visit  was  unexpected,  and  no  sooner  did  they  see  me  visits  his 
entering  than  they  saluted  me  from  afar  on  all  sides ; and  °^teij"ds 
Chaerephon,  who  is  a kind  of  madman,  started  up  and  ran  to  them  the 
me,  seizing  my  hand,  and  saying,  How  did  you  escape,  ^v^°n!a 
Socrates? — (I  should  explain  that  an  engagement  had  taken  potidaea. 
place  at  Potidaea  not  long  before  we  came  away,  of  which  the 
news  had  onlyjust  reached  Athens.) 

You  see,  I replied,  that  here  I am. 

There  was  a report,  he  said,  that  the  engagement  was  very 
severe,  and  that  many  of  our  acquaintance  had  fallen. 

That,  I replied,  was  not  far  from  the  truth. 

I suppose,  he  said,  that  you  were  present. 

I was. 

Then  sit  down,  and  tell  us  the  whole  story,  which  as  yet  we 
have  only  heard  imperfectly. 

I took  the  place  which  he  assigned  to  me,  by  the  side  of 


IO 

Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias, 

Chaerephon. 

He  pro- 
ceeds to 
make  en- 
quiries 
about  the 
state  of 
philosophy 
and  about 
the  youth  ; 
and  is  told 
of  the 
beautiful 
Charmides, 


Return  of  Socrates  from  Potidaea. 

Critias  the  son  of  Callaeschrus,  and  when  I had  saluted  him 
and  the  rest  of  the  company,  I told  them  the  news  from  the 
army,  and  answered  their  several  enquiries. 

Then,  when  there  had  been  enough  of  this,  I,  in  my  turn, 
began  to  make  enquiries  about  matters  at  home — about  the 
present  state  of  philosophy,  and  about  the  youth.  I asked 
whether  any  of  them  were  remarkable  for  wisdom  or  beauty, 
or  both.  Critias,  glancing  at  the  door,  invited  my  attention  154 
to  some  youths  who  were  coming  in,  and  talking  noisily 
to  one  another,  followed  by  a crowd.  Of  the  beauties, 
Socrates,  he  said,  I fancy  that  you  will  soon  be  able  to 
form  a judgment.  For  those  who  are  just  entering  are  the 
advanced  guard  of  the  great  beauty,  as  he  is  thought  to  be, 
of  the  day,  and  he  is  likely  to  be  not  far  off  himself. 

Who  is  he,  I said  ; and  who  is  his  father  ? 

Charmides,  he  replied,  is  his  name ; he  is  my  cousin,  and 
the  son  of  my  uncle  Glaucon : I rather  think  that  you  know 
him  too,  although  he  was  not  grown  up  at  the  time  of  your 
departure. 

Certainly,  I know  him,  I said,  for  he  was  remarkable 
even  then  when  he  was  still  a child,  and  I should  imagine 
that  by  this  time  he  must  be  almost  a young  man. 

You  will  see,  he  said,  in  a moment  what  progress  he  has 
made  and  what  he  is  like.  He  had  scarcely  said  the  word, 
when  Charmides  entered. 

Now  you  know,  my  friend,  that  I cannot  measure  anything, 
and  of  the  beautiful,  I am  simply  such  a measure  as  a white 
line  is  of  chalk ; for  almost  all  young  persons  appear  to  be 
beautiful  in  my  eyes.  But  at  that  moment,  when  I saw  him 
coming  in,  I confess  that  I was  quite  astonished  at  his  beauty 
and  stature ; all  the  world  seemed  to  be  enamoured  of  him  ; 
amazement  and  confusion  reigned  when  he  entered ; and 
a troop  of  lovers  followed  him.  That  grown-up  men  like 
ourselves  should  have  been  affected  in  this  way  was  not 
surprising,  but  I observed  that  there  was  the  same  feeling 
among  the  boys ; all  of  them,  down  to  the  very  least  child, 
turned  and  looked  at  him,  as  if  he  had  been  a statue. 

Chaerephon  called  me  and  said : What  do  you  think  of 
him,  Socrates  ? Has  he  not  a beautiful  face? 

Most  beautiful,  I said. 


The  beautiful  Charmides. 


i [ 


But  you  would  think  nothing  of  his  face,  he  replied,  if  you 
could  see  his  naked  form : he  is  absolutely  perfect. 

And  to  this  they  all  agreed. 

By  Heracles,  I said,  there  never  was  such  a paragon,  if 
he  has  only  one  other  slight  addition. 

What  is  that  ? said  Critias. 

If  he  has  a noble  soul ; and  being  of  your  house,  Critias, 
he  may  be  expected  to  have  this. 

He  is  as  fair  and  good  within,  as  he  is  without,  replied 
Critias. 

Then,  before  we  see  his  body,  should  we  not  ask  him  to 
show  us  his  soul,  naked  and  undisguised  ? he  is  just  of  an 
age  at  which  he  will  like  to  talk. 

155  That  he  will,  said  Critias,  and  I can  tell  you  that  he  is  a 
philosopher  already,  and  also  a considerable  poet,  not  in 
his  own  opinion  only,  but  in  that  of  others. 

That,  my  dear  Critias,  I replied,  is  a distinction  which 
has  long  been  in  your  family,  and  is  inherited  by  you  from 
Solon.  But  why  do  you  not  call  him,  and  show  him  to  us  ? 
for  even  if  he  were  younger  than  he  is,  there  could  be  no 
impropriety  in  his  talking  to  us  in  the  presence  of  you,  who 
are  his  guardian  and  cousin. 

Very  well,  he  said ; then  I will  call  him ; and  turning  to 
the  attendant,  he  said,  Call  Charmides,  and  tell  him  that 
I want  him  to  come  and  see  a physician  about  the  illness 
of  which  he  spoke  to  me  the  day  before  yesterday.  Then 
again  addressing  me,  he  added:  He  has  been  complaining 
lately  of  having  a headache  when  he  rises  in  the  morning : 
now  why  should  you  not  make  him  believe  that  you  know 
a cure  for  the  headache  ? 

Why  not,  I said  ; but  will  he  come  ? 

He  will  be  sure  to  come,  he  replied. 

He  came  as  he  was  bidden,  and  sat  down  between  Critias 
and  me.  Great  amusement  was  occasioned  by  every  one 
pushing  with  might  and  main  at  his  neighbour  in  order  to 
make  a place  for  him  next  to  themselves,  until  at  the  two  ends 
of  the  row  one  had  to  get  up  and  the  other  was  rolled  over 
sideways.  Now  I,  my  friend,  was  beginning  to  feel  awkward ; 
my  former  bold  belief  in  my  powers  of  conversing  with  him 
had  vanished.  And  when  Critias  told  him  that  I was  the 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Chaerethon, 

Critias. 


whose 
soul  is  as 
fair  as  his 
body. 


He  himself 

presently 

appears, 

and  a 

ludicrous 

scene 

ensues. 


1 2 

Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Charmides. 

The  feel- 
ings sug- 
gested to 
Socrates  by 
the  sight  of 
hint. 


The  cure 
for  the 
headache. 


The  eyes, 
as  phy- 
sicians 
tell  us, 
cannot  be 
cured  with- 
out the 
head,  nor 
the  head 
without 
the  body  ; 


How  to  cure  a headache. 

person  who  had  the  cure,  he  looked  at  me  in  such  an  inde- 
scribable manner,  and  was  just  going  to  ask  a question.  And 
at  that  moment  all  the  people  in  the  palaestra  crowded  about 
us,  and,  O rare  ! I caught  a sight  of  the  inwards  of  his  gar- 
ment, and  took  the  flame.  Then  I could  no  longer  contain 
myself.  I thought  how  well  Cydias  understood  the  nature 
of  love,  when,  in  speaking  of  a fair  youth,  he  warns  some  one 
'not  to  bring  the  fawn  in  the  sight  of  the  lion  to  be  devoured 
by  him,’  for  I felt  that  I had  been  overcome  by  a sort  of 
wild-beast  appetite.  But  I controlled  myself,  and  when  he 
asked  me  if  I knew  the  cure  of  the  headache,  1 answered, 
but  with  an  effort,  that  I did  know. 

And  what  is  it  ? he  said. 

I replied  that  it  was  a kind  of  leaf,  which  required  to  be 
accompanied  by  a charm,  and  if  a person  would  repeat  the 
charm  at  the  same  time  that  he  used  the  cure,  he  would  be 
made  whole ; but  that  without  the  charm  the  leaf  would  be 
of  no  avail. 

Then  I will  write  out  the  charm  from  your  dictation,  he  156 
said. 

With  my  consent?  I said,  or  without  my  consent? 

With  your  consent,  Socrates,  he  said,  laughing. 

Very  good,  I said ; and  are  you  quite  sure  that  you  know 
my  name  ? 

I ought  to  know  you,  he  replied,  for  there  is  a great  deal 
said  about  you  among  my  companions ; and  I remember 
when  I was  a child  seeing  you  in  company  with  my  cousin 
Critias. 

I am  glad  to  find  that  you  remember  me,  I said  ; for  I 
shall  now  be  more  at  home  with  you  and  shall  be  better  able 
to  explain  the  nature  of  the  charm,  about  which  I felt  a 
difficulty  before.  For  the  charm  will  do  more,  Charmides, 
than  only  cure  the  headache.  I dare  say  that  you  have 
heard  eminent  physicians  say  to  a patient  who  comes  to 
them  with  bad  eyes,  that  they  cannot  cure  his  eyes  by  them- 
selves, but  that  if  his  eyes  are  to  be  cured,  his  head  must  be 
treated  ; and  then  again  they  say  that  to  think  of  curing  the 
head  alone,  and  not  the  rest  of  the  body  also,  is  the  height 
of  folly.  And  arguing  in  this  way  they  apply  their  methods 
to  the  whole  body,  and  try  to  treat  and  heal  the  whole  and 


*3 


The  cure  of  Zamolxis. 


the  part  together.  Did  you  ever  observe  that  this  is  what 
they  say  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  they  are  right,  and  you  would  agree  with  them  ? 

Yes,  he  said,  certainly  I should. 

His  approving  answers  reassured  me,  and  I began  by 
degrees  to  regain  confidence,  and  the  vital  heat  returned. 
Such,  Charmides,  I said,  is  the  nature  of  the  charm,  which  I 
learned  when  serving  with  the  army  from  one  of  the  physicians 
of  the  Thracian  king  Zamolxis,  who  are  said  to  be  so  skilful 
that  they  can  even  give  immortality.  This  Thracian  told  me 
that  in  these  notions  of  theirs,  which  I was  just  now  mention- 
ing, the  Greek  physicians  are  quite  right  as  far  as  they  go  ; but 
Zamolxis,  he  added,  our  king,  who  is  also  a god,  says  further, 
‘that  as  you  ought  not  to  attempt  to  cure  the  eyes  without  the 
head,  or  the  head  without  the  body,  so  neither  ought  you  to 
attempt  to  cure  the  body  without  the  soul ; and  this,’  he  said, 
‘is  the  reason  why  the  cure  of  many  diseases  is  unknown  to  the 
physicians  of  Hellas,  because  they  are  ignorant  of  the  whole, 
which  ought  to  be  studied  also  ; for  the  part  can  never  be  well 
unless  the  whole  is  well.’  For  all  good  and  evil,  whether  in 
the  body  or  in  human  nature,  originates,  as  he  declared,  in 
the  soul,  and  overflows  from  thence,  as  if  from  the  head  into 
157  the  eyes.  And  therefore  if  the  head  and  body  are  to  be  well, 
you  must  begin  by  curing  the  soul ; that  is  the  first  thing. 
And  the  cure,  my  dear  youth,  has  to  be  effected  by  the  use  of 
certain  charms,  and  these  charms  are  fair  words ; and  by 
them  temperance  is  implanted  in  the  soul,  and  where  temper- 
ance is,  there  health  is  speedily  imparted,  not  only  to  the 
head,  but  to  the  whole  body.  And  he  who  taught  me  the 
cure  and  the  charm  at  the  same  time  added  a special  direction  : 
‘ Let  no  one,’  he  said,  ' persuade  you  to  cure  the  head,  until 
he  has  first  given  you  his  soul  to  be  cured  by  the  charm. 
For  this,’  he  said,  ‘is  the  great  error  of  our  day  in  the  treat- 
ment of  the  human  body,  that  physicians  separate  the  soul 
from  the  body.’  And  he  added  with  emphasis,  at  the  same 
time  making  me  swear  to  his  words,  ‘ Let  no  one,  however 
rich,  or  noble,  or  fair,  persuade  you  to  give  him  the  cure, 
without  the  charm.’  Now  I have  sworn,  and  I must  keep  my 
oath,  and  therefore  if  you  will  allow  me  to  apply  the  Thracian 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Charmides. 


nor  the 
body  with- 
out the 
soul. 


H 

Charmides, 

Socrates, 

Critias, 

Charmides. 


The  out- 
ward form 
of  Char- 
mides does 
no  dis- 
credit to 
his  great 
ancestors. 


Has  he 

temperance 

also? 


7 he  noble  ancestry  of  Charmides. 

charm  first  to  your  soul,  as  the  stranger  directed,  I will 
afterwards  proceed  to  apply  the  cure  to  your  head.  But  if 
not,  I do  not  know  what  I am  to  do  with  you,  my  dear 
Charmides. 

Critias,  when  he  heard  this,  said  : The  headache  will  be  an 
unexpected  gain  to  my  young  relation,  if  the  pain  in  his  head 
compels  him  to  improve  his  mind  : and  I can  tell  you,  Socrates, 
that  Charmides  is  not  only  pre-eminent  in  beauty  among  his 
equals,  but  also  in  that  quality  which  is  given  by  the  charm ; 
and  this,  as  you  say,  is  temperance  ? 

Yes,  I said. 

Then  let  me  tell  you  that  he  is  the  most  temperate  of  human 
beings,  and  for  his  age  inferior  to  none  in  any  quality. 

Yes,  I said,  Charmides;  and  indeed  I think  that  you  ought 
to  excel  others  in  all  good  qualities  ; for  if  I am  not  mistaken 
there  is  no  one  present  who  could  easily  point  out  two 
Athenian  houses,  whose  union  would  be  likely  to  produce  a 
better  or  nobler  scion  than  the  two  from  which  you  are 
sprung.  There  is  your  father’s  house,  which  is  descended 
from  Critias  the  son  of  Dropidas,  whose  family  has  been 
commemorated  in  the  panegyrical  verses  of  Anacreon,  Solon, 
and  many  other  poets,  as  famous  for  beauty  and  virtue  and  all 
other  high  fortune:  and  your  mother’s  house  is  equally  158 
distinguished ; for  your  maternal  uncle,  Pyrilampes,  is  re- 
puted never  to  have  found  his  equal,  in  Persia  at  the  court  of 
the  great  king,  or  on  the  continent  of  Asia,  in  all  the  places  to 
which  he  went  as  ambassador,  for  stature  and  beauty ; that 
whole  family  is  not  a whit  inferior  to  the  other.  Having  such 
ancestors  you  ought  to  be  first  in  all  things,  and,  sweet  son 
of  Glaucon,  your  outward  form  is  no  dishonour  to  any 
of  them.  If  to  beauty  you  add  temperance,  and  if  in  other 
respects  you  are  what  Critias  declares  you  to  be,  then,  dear 
Charmides,  blessed  art  thou,  in  being  the  son  of  thy  mother. 
And  here  lies  the  point;  for  if,  as  he  declares,  you  have  this 
gift  of  temperance  already,  and  are  temperate  enough,  in  that 
case  you  have  no  need  of  any  charms,  whether  of  Zamolxis  or 
of  Abaris  the  Hyperborean,  and  I may  as  well  let  you  have 
the  cure  of  the  head  at  once ; but  if  you  have  not  yet  ac- 
quired this  quality,  I must  use  the  charm  before  I give  you  the 
medicine.  Please,  therefore,  to  inform  me  whether  you  admit 


i5 


His  temperance. 

the  truth  of  what  Critias  has  been  saying have  you  or  have 
you  not  this  quality  of  temperance  ? 

Charmides  blushed,  and  the  blush  heightened  his  beauty, 
for  modesty  is  becoming  in  youth ; he  then  said  very  ingenu- 
ously, that  he  really  could  not  at  once  answer,  either  yes,  or 
no,  to  the  question  which  I had  asked:  For,  said  he,  if 
I affirm  that  I am  not  temperate,  that  would  be  a strange 
thing  for  me  to  say  of  myself,  and  also  I should  give  the  lie 
to  Critias,  and  many  others  who  think  as  he  tells  you,  that 
I am  temperate  : but,  on  the  other  hand,  if  I say  that  I am,  I 
shall  have  to  praise  myself,  which  would  be  ill  manners ; and 
therefore  I do  not  know  how  to  answer  you. 

I said  to  him  : That  is  a natural  reply,  Charmides,  and  I 
think  that  you  and  I ought  together  to  enquire  whether  you 
have  this  quality  about  which  I am  asking  or  not ; and  then 
you  will  not  be  compelled  to  say  what  you  do  not  like ; 
neither  shall  I be  a rash  practitioner  of  medicine : therefore, 
if  you  please,  I will  share  the  enquiry  with  you,  but  I will  not 
press  you  if  you  would  rather  not. 

There  is  nothing  which  I should  like  better,  he  said  ; and 
as  far  as  I am  concerned  you  may  proceed  in  the  way  which 
you  think  best. 

59  I think,  I said,  that  I had  better  begin  by  asking  you  a 
question  ; for  if  temperance  abides  in  you,  you  must  have  an 
opinion  about  her ; she  must  give  some  intimation  of  her 
nature  and  qualities,  which  may  enable  you  to  form  a notion 
of  her.  Is  not  that  true  ? 

Yes,  he  said,  that  I think  is  true. 

You  know  your  native  language,  I said,  and  therefore  you 
must  be  able  to  tell  what  you  feel  about  this. 

Certainly,  he  said. 

In  order,  then,  that  I may  form  a conjecture  whether  you 
have  temperance  abiding  in  you  or  not,  tell  me,  I said,  what, 
in  your  opinion,  is  Temperance  ? 

At  first  he  hesitated,  and  was  very  unwilling  to  answer  : 
then  he  said  that  he  thought  temperance  was  doing  things 
orderly  and  quietly,  such  things  for  example  as  walking  in 
the  streets,  and  talking,  or  anything  else  of  that  nature.  In 
a word,  he  said,  I should  answer  that,  in  my  opinion, 
temperance  is  quietness. 


Charmides . 

Socrates, 

Charmides. 

The 
modest 
reply  of 
Charmides. 


A question 
about 
temper- 
ance : 

What  is  it  ? 


First  defini- 
tion : 
Temper- 
ance is 
quietness. 


1 6 


Definition  of  temperance . 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Charmides. 


But  in 
many 
actions 
quickness 
is  found  to 
be  better 
than  quiet- 
ness ; 
e.g. 
writing, 
reading, 
running, 
etc. 


Are  you  right,  Charmides?  I said.  No  doubt  some  would 
affirm  that  the  quiet  are  the  temperate ; but  let  us  see 
whether  these  words  have  any  meaning  ; and  first  tell  me 
whether  you  would  not  acknowledge  temperance  to  be  of  the 
class  of  the  noble  and  good  ? 

Yes. 

But  which  is  best  when  you  are  at  the  writing-master’s,  to 
write  the  same  letters  quickly  or  quietly? 

Quickly. 

And  to  read  quickly  or  slowly  ? 

Quickly  again. 

And  in  playing  the  lyre,  or  wrestling,  quickness  or  sharp- 
ness are  far  better  than  quietness  and  slowness  ? 

Yes. 

And  the  same  holds  in  boxing  and  in  the  pancratium  ? 

Certainly. 

And  in  leaping  and  running  and  in  bodily  exercises  gener- 
ally, quickness  and  agility  are  good  ; slowness,  and  inactivity, 
and  quietness,  are  bad  ? 

That  is  evident. 

Then,  I said,  in  all  bodily  actions,  not  quietness,  but  the 
greatest  agility  and  quickness,  is  noblest  and  best  ? 

Yes,  certainly. 

And  is  temperance  a good  ? 

Yes. 

Then,  in  reference  to  the  body,  not  quietness,  but  quick- 
ness will  be  the  higher  degree  of  temperance,  if  temperance 
is  a good  ? 

True,  he  said. 

And  which,  I said,  is  better— facility  in  learning,  or  difficulty 
in  learning  ? 

Facility. 

Yes,  I said  ; and  facility  in  learning  is  learning  quickly, 
and  difficulty  in  learning  is  learning  quietly  and  slowly? 

True. 

And  is  it  not  better  to  teach  another  quickly  and  ener- 
getically, rather  than  quietly  and  slowly  ? 

Yes. 

And  which  is  better,  to  call  to  mind,  and  to  remember, 
quickly  and  readily,  or  quietly  and  slowly? 


17 


Temperance  is  quietness — is  modesty. 

The  former. 

160  And  is  not  shrewdness  a quickness  or  cleverness  of  the 
soul,  and  not  a quietness  ? 

True. 

And  is  it  not  best  to  understand  what  is  said,  whether  at 
the  writing-master’s  or  the  music-master’s,  or  anywhere  else, 
not  as  quietly  as  possible,  but  as  quickly  as  possible  ? 

Yes. 

And  in  the  searchings  or  deliberations  of  the  soul,  not  the 
quietest,  as  I imagine,  and  he  who  with  difficulty  deliberates 
and  discovers,  is  thought  worthy  of  praise,  but  he  who  does 
so  most  easily  and  quickly  ? 

Quite  true,  he  said. 

And  in  all  that  concerns  either  body  or  soul,  swiftness 
and  activity  are  clearly  better  than  slowness  and  quiet- 
ness ? 

Clearly  they  are. 

Then  temperance  is  not  quietness,  nor  is  the  temperate 
life  quiet, — certainly  not  upon  this  view ; for  the  life  which  is 
temperate  is  supposed  to  be  the  good.  And  of  two  things, 
one  is  true,— either  never,  or  very  seldom,  do  the  quiet 
actions  in  life  appear  to  be  better  than  the  quick  and  ener- 
getic ones  ; or  supposing  that  of  the  nobler  actions,  there  are 
as  many  quiet,  as  quick  and  vehement  : still,  even  if  we  grant 
this,  temperance  will  not  be  acting  quietly  any  more  than 
acting  quickly  and  energetically,  either  in  walking  or  talking 
or  in  anything  else  ; nor  will  the  quiet  life  be  more  temperate 
than  the  unquiet,  seeing  that  temperance  is  admitted  by  us 
to  be  a good  and  noble  thing,  and  the  quick  have  been 
shown  to  be  as  good  as  the  quiet. 

I think,  he  said,  Socrates,  that  you  are  right. 

Then  once  more,  Charmides,  I said,  fix  your  attention, 
and  look  within  ; consider  the  effect  which  temperance  has 
upon  yourself,  and  the  nature  of  that  which  has  the  effect. 
Think  over  all  this,  and,  like  a brave  youth,  tell  me— What 
is  temperance  ? 

After  a moment’s  pause,  in  which  he  made  a real  manly 
effort  to  think,  he  said  : My  opinion  is,  Socrates,  that 
temperance  makes  a man  ashamed  or  modest,  and  that 
temperance  is  the  same  as  modesty. 

VOL.  I.  C 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Charmides. 


Temper- 
ance there- 
fore is  no 
more  quiet- 
ness than 
quickness. 


Second 
definition  : 
Temper- 
ance is 
modesty. 


1 8 


Temperance  is  a man  doing  his  own  business. 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Charmides, 

Critias. 


But  Homer 
says  that 
modesty  is 
not  always 
good. 


Third 
definition  : 
Temper- 
ance is 
doing  our 
own  busi- 
ness. 

Charmides 
had  heard 
this  from 
Critias, 
who  denies 
that  he 
said  it. 


The  terms 
of  the 
definition 
are  am- 
biguous. 


Very  good,  I said  ; and  did  you  not  admit,  just  now,  that 
temperance  is  noble  ? 

Yes,  certainly,  he  said. 

And  the  temperate  are  also  good  ? 

Yes. 

And  can  that  be  good  which  does  not  make  men  good  ? 

Certainly  not. 

And  you  would  infer  that  temperance  is  not  only  noble, 
but  also  good  ? 

That  is  my  opinion. 

Well,  I said ; but  surely  you  would  agree  with  Homer 
when  he  says, 

‘ Modesty  is  not  good  for  a needy  man ' ? 

Yes,  he  said;  I agree. 

Then  I suppose  that  modesty  is  and  is  not  good  ? 

Clearly. 

But  temperance,  whose  presence  makes  men  only  good, 
and  not  bad,  is  always  good  ? 

That  appears  to  me  to  be  as  you  say. 

And  the  inference  is  that  temperance  cannot  be  modesty — 
if  temperance  is  a good,  and  if  modesty  is  as  much  an  evil  as 
a good  ? 

All  that,  Socrates,  appears  to  me  to  be  true  ; but  I should 
like  to  know  what  you  think  about  another  definition  of  tem- 
perance, which  I just  now  remember  to  have  heard  from 
some  one,  who  said,  ‘ That  temperance  is  doing  our  own 
business.’  Was  he  right  who  affirmed  that  ? 

You  monster!  I said;  this  is  what  Critias,  or  some 
philosopher  has  told  you. 

Some  one  else,  then,  said  Critias ; for  certainly  I have 
not. 

But  what  matter,  said  Charmides,  from  whom  I heard 
this  ? 

No  matter  at  all,  I replied;  for  the  point  is  not  who  said 
the  words,  but  whether  they  are  true  or  not. 

There  you  are  in  the  right,  Socrates,  he  replied. 

To  be  sure,  I said ; yet  I doubt  whether  we  shall  ever  be 
able  to  discover  their  truth  or  falsehood ; for  they  are  a 
kind  of  riddle. 

What  makes  you  think  so  ? he  said. 


19 


The  ‘ riddle ' of  Critias. 

Because,  I said,  he  who  uttered  them  seems  to  me  to  have 
meant  one  thing,  and  said  another.  Is  the  scribe,  for 
example,  to  be  regarded  as  doing  nothing  when  he  reads  or 
writes  ? 

I should  rather  think  that  he  was  doing  something. 

And  does  the  scribe  write  or  read,  or  teach  you  boys 
to  write  or  read,  your  own  names  only,  or  did  you  write  your 
enemies’  names  as  well  as  your  own  and  your  friends’  ? 

As  much  one  as  the  other. 

And  was  there  anything  meddling  or  intemperate  in  this  ? 

Certainly  not. 

And  yet  if  reading  and  writing  are  the  same  as  doing,  3^011 
were  doing  what  was  not  your  own  business  ? 

But  they  are  the  same  as  doing. 

And  the  healing  art,  my  friend,  and  building,  and  weaving, 
and  doing  anything  whatever  which  is  done  by  art, — these 
all  clearly  come  under  the  head  of  doing  ? 

Certainly. 

And  do  you  think  that  a state  would  be  well  ordered  by  a 
law  which  compelled  every  man  to  weave  and  wash  his  own 
coat,  and  make  his  own  shoes,  and  his.  own  flask  and  strigil, 
162  and  other  implements,  on  this  principle  of  every  one  doing 
and  performing  his  own,  and  abstaining  from  what  is  not  his 
own  ? 

I think  not,  he  said. 

But,  I said,  a temperate  state  will  be  a well-ordered 
state. 

Of  course,  he  replied. 

Then  temperance,  I said,  will  not  be  doing  one’s  own 
business ; not  at  least  in  this  way,  or  doing  things  of  this 
sort  ? 

Clearly  not. 

Then,  as  I was  just  now  saying,  he  who  declared  that  tem- 
perance is  a man  doing  his  own  business  had  another  and  a 
hidden  meaning;  for  I do  not  think  that  he  could  have  been 
such  a fool  as  to  mean  this.  Was  he  a fool  who  told  you, 
Charmides  ? 

Nay,  he  replied,  I certainly  thought  him  a very  wise 
man. 

Then  I am  quite  certain  that  he  put  forth  his  definition  as 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Charmides. 


Writing  is 
doing  ; is 
writing 
your 
enemy’s 
name  doing 
your  own 
business  ? 


Must  a 
good 
citizen 
make  his 
own  coat, 
etc.  ? 


20 


Cntias  draws  verbal  distinctions , 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Charmides, 

Critias. 


The  secret 
dissatisfac- 
tion of 
Critias, 


who  main- 
tains the 
definition 
against 
Socrates, 


a riddle,  thinking  that  no  one  would  know  the  meaning  of  the 
words  ‘doing  his  own  business.’ 

I dare  say,  he  replied. 

And  what  is  the  meaning  of  a man  doing  his  own  business  ? 
Can  you  tell  me  ? 

Indeed,  I cannot ; and  I should  not  wonder  if  the  man 
himself  who  used  this  phrase  did  not  understand  what  he 
was  saying.  Whereupon  he  laughed  slyly,  and  looked  at 
Critias. 

Critias  had  long  been  showing  uneasiness,  for  he  felt  that 
he  had  a reputation  to  maintain  with  Charmides  and  the  rest 
of  the  company.  He  had,  however,  hitherto  managed  to 
restrain  himself ; but  now  he  could  no  longer  forbear,  and  I 
am  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  suspicion  which  I entertained 
at  the  time,  that  Charmides  had  heard  this  answer  about 
temperance  from  Critias.  And  Charmides,  who  did  not  want 
to  answer  himself,  but  to  make  Critias  answer,  tried  to  stir 
him  up.  He  went  on  pointing  out  that  he  had  been  refuted, 
at  which  Critias  grew  angry,  and  appeared,  as  I thought, 
inclined  to  quarrel  with  him  ; just  as  a poet  might  quarrel 
with  an  actor  who  spoiled  his  poems  in  repeating  them  ; so 
he  looked  hard  at  him  and  said — 

Do  3^011  imagine,  Charmides,  that  the  author  of  this  defini- 
tion of  temperance  did  not  understand  the  meaning  of  his 
own  words,  because  )'ou  do  not  understand  them  ? 

Why,  at  his  age,  I said,  most  excellent  Critias,  he  can 
hardly  be  expected  to  understand  ; but  you,  who  are  older, 
and  have  studied,  may  well  be  assumed  to  know  the  meaning 
of  them  ; and  therefore,  if  you  agree  with  him,  and  accept  his 
definition  of  temperance,  I would  much  rather  argue  with 
you  than  with  him  about  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  the 
definition. 

I entirely  agree,  said  Critias,  and  accept  the  definition. 

Very  good,  I said;  and  now  let  me  repeat  my  question  — 

Do  you  admit,  as  I was  just  now  saying,  that  all  craftsmen 
make  or  do  something  ? 

I do. 

And  do  they  make  or  do  their  own  business  only,  or  that  of  163 
others  also  ? 

They  make  or  do  that  of  others  also. 


2 1 


which  he  has  learned  from  Prodicus. 

And  are  they  temperate,  seeing  that  they  make  not  for 
themselves  or  their  own  business  only  ? 

Why  not  ? he  said. 

No  objection  on  my  part,  I said,  but  there  may  be  a 
difficulty  on  his  who  proposes  as  a definition  of  temperance, 
‘doing  one’s  own  business,’  and  then  says  that  there  is  no 
reason  why  those  who  do  the  business  of  others  should  not  be 
temperate. 

Nay1,  said  he;  did  I ever  acknowledge  that  those  who  do 
the  business  of  others  are  temperate  ? I said,  those  who  make, 
not  those  who  do. 

What ! I asked ; do  .you  mean  to  say  that  doing  and 
making  are  not  the  same  ? 

No  more,  he  replied,  than  making  or  working  are  the 
same;  thus  much  I have  learned  from  Hesiod,  who  says  that 
'work  is  no  disgrace.’  Now  do  you  imagine  that  if  he  had 
meant  by  working  and  doing  such  things  as  you  were  de- 
scribing, he  would  have  said  that  there  was  no  disgrace 
in  them — for  example,  in  the  manufacture  of  shoes,  or  in 
selling  pickles,  or  sitting  for  hire  in  a house  of  ill-fame  ? That, 
Socrates,  is  not  to  be  supposed  : but  I conceive  him  to  have 
distinguished  making  from  doing  and  work ; and,  while 
admitting  that  the  making  anything  might  sometimes  become 
a disgrace,  when  the  employment  was  not  honourable,  to 
have  thought  that  work  was  never  any  disgrace  at  all.  For 
things  nobly  and  usefully  made  he  called  works  ; and  such 
makings  he  called  workings,  and  doings  ; and  he  must  be  sup- 
posed to  have  called  such  things  only  man’s  proper  business, 
and  what  is  hurtful,  not  his  business : and  in  that  sense 
Hesiod,  and  any  other  wise  man,  may  be  reasonably  supposed 
to  call  him  wise  who  does  his  own  work. 

0 Critias,  I said,  no  sooner  had  you  opened  your  mouth, 
than  I pretty  well  knew  that  you  would  call  that  which  is 
proper  to  a man,  and  that  which  is  his  own,  good ; and  that 
the  makings  {iroi^rren)  of  the  good  you  would  call  doings 
(npa^fis),  for  I am  no  stranger  to  the  endless  distinctions  which 
Prodicus  draws  about  names.  Now  I have  no  objection 
to  your  giving  names  any  signification  which  you  please, 

1 The  English  reader  has  to  observe  that  the  word  ‘ make  ’ (noieiv'),  in 
Greek,  has  also  the  sense  of  ‘do’  (irpi/rreiv). 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


and  is 
quickly 
caught  in 
contra- 
dictions by 
him. 


He  tries  to 
save  him- 
self by  new 
distinc- 
tions. 


22 


Charmides, 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


Fourth 
definition  : 
Temper- 
ance is  the 
doing  of 
good 
actions. 


Cross- 
examina- 
tion by 
Socrates  of 
Critias, 
who  admits 
that  the 
terhperate 
man  does 
not  always 
know  him- 
self to  be 
acting 
temper- 
ately, and 
then  di- 
gresses into 
a lengthy 
explana- 
tion of  the 
Delphic 
motto, 

‘ Know 
thyself,’ 


‘ Know  thyself  !' 

if  you  will  only  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  them.  Please 
then  to  begin  again,  and  be  a little  plainer.  Do  you  mean 
that  this  doing  or  making,  or  whatever  is  the  word  which  you 
would  use,  of  good  actions,  is  temperance  ? 

I do,  he  said. 

Then  not  he  who  does  evil,  but  he  who  does  good,  is  tem- 
perate ? 

Yes,  he  said  ; and  you,  friend,  would  agree. 

No  matter  whether  I should  or  not ; just  now,  not  what  I 
think,  but  what  you  are  saying,  is  the  point  at  issue. 

Well,  he  answered  ; I mean  to  say,  that  he  who  does  evil, 
and  not  good,  is  not  temperate  ; and  that  he  is  temperate  who 
does  good,  and  not  evil : for  temperance  I define  in  plain 
words  to  be  the  doing  of  good  actions. 

And  you  may  be  very  likely  right  in  what  you  are  saying ; 164 
but  I am  curious  to  know  whether  you  imagine  that  temperate 
men  are  ignorant  of  their  own  temperance  ? 

I do  not  think  so,  he  said. 

And  yet  were  you  not  saying,  just  now,  that  craftsmen 
might  be  temperate  in  doing  another’s  work,  as  well  as  in 
doing  their  own  ? 

I was,  he  replied  ; but  what  is  your  drift  ? 

I have  no  particular  drift,  but  I wish  that  you  would  tell  me 
whether  a physician  who  cures  a patient  may  do  good  to  him- 
self and  good  to  another  also  ? 

I think  that  he  may. 

And  he  who  does  so  does  his  duty  ? 

Yes. 

And  does  not  he  who  does  his  duty  act  temperately  or 
wisely  ? 

Yes,  he  acts  wisely. 

But  must  the  physician  necessarily  know  when  his  treat- 
ment is  likely  to  prove  beneficial,  and  when  not?  or  must  the 
craftsman  necessarily  know  when  he  is  likely  to  be  benefited, 
and  when  not  to  be  benefited,  by  the  work  which  he  is  doing? 

I suppose  not. 

Then,  I said,  he  may  sometimes  do  good  or  harm,  and  not 
know  what  he  is  himself  doing,  and  yet,  in  doing  good,  as  you 
say,  he  has  done  temperately  or  wisely.  Was  not  that  your 
statement  ? 


23 


is  Apollo's  salutation  of  his  worshippers . 


Yes. 

Then,  as  would  seem,  in  doing  good,  he  may  act  wisely  or 
temperately,  and  be  wise  or  temperate,  but  not  know  his  own 
wisdom  or  temperance  ? 

But  that,  Socrates,  he  said,  is  impossible ; and  therefore  if 
this  is,  as  you  imply,  the  necessary  consequence  of  any  of  my 
previous  admissions,  I will  withdraw  them,  rather  than  admit 
that  a man  can  be  temperate  or  wise  who  does  not  know 
himself ; and  I am  not  ashamed  to  confess  that  I was  in  error. 
For  self-knowledge  would  certainly  be  maintained  by  me  to 
be  the  very  essence  of  knowledge,  and  in  this  I agree  with 
him  who  dedicated  the  inscription,  ‘ Know  thyself ! ’ at  Delphi. 
That  word,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  is  put  there  as  a sort  of 
salutation  which  the  god  addresses  to  those  who  enter  the 
temple  ; as  much  as  to  say  that  the  ordinary  salutation  of 
‘ Hail ! ’ is  not  right,  and  that  the  exhortation  ‘ Be  temperate  ! ’ 
would  be  a far  better  way  of  saluting  one  another.  The 
notion  of  him  who  dedicated  the  inscription  was,  as  I believe, 
that  the  god  speaks  to  those  who  enter  his  temple,  not  as  men 
speak  ; but,  when  a worshipper  enters,  the  first  word  which  he 
hears  is  ‘ Be  temperate  ! ’ This,  however,  like  a prophet  he 
expresses  in  a sort  of  riddle,  for  ‘ Know  thyself ! ’ and  ' Be 
temperate  ! ’ are  the  same,  as  I maintain,  and  as  the  letters 
imply  paxfjpovei,  yvadc  c Tavrovj,  and  yet  they  may  be  easily  mis- 
165  understood ; and  succeeding  sages  who  added  ‘ Never  too 
much,’  or,  ‘ Give  a pledge,  and  evil  is  nigh  at  hand,’  would 
appear  to  have  so  misunderstood  them  ; for  they  imagined  that 
1 Know  thyself ! ’ was  a piece  of  advice  which  the  god  gave, 
and  not  his  salutation  of  the  worshippers  at  their  first  coming 
in  ; and  they  dedicated  their  own  inscription  under  the  idea 
that  they  too  would  give  equally  useful  pieces  of  advice.  Shall 
I tell  you,  Socrates,  why  I say  all  this?  My  object  is  to  leave 
the  previous  discussion  (in  which  I know  not  whether  you  or 
I are  more  right,  but,  at  any  rate,  no  clear  result  was  attained), 
and  to  raise  a new  one  in  which  I will  attempt  to  prove, 
if  you  deny,  that  temperance  is  self-knowledge. 

Yes,  I said,  Critias  ; but  you  come  to  me  as  though  I pro- 
fessed to  know  about  the  questions  which  I ask,  and  as  though 
I could,  if  I only  would,  agree  with  you1.  Whereas  the  fact 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 

which  he 
explains  as 
meaning 
' Be  tem- 
perate.’ 


Fifth  defini- 
tion : 
Temper- 
ance is  self- 
knowledge. 


* Reading,  according  to  Heusde’s  conjecture,  opoXoy^aovros  001. 


24 

Charmidcs. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


But  tem- 
perance is 
also  a 
science  of 
something. 


What  then 
is  the  result 
of  it  ? 


No  ma- 
terial result 
any  more 
than  in  the 
abstract 
sciences. 


But  still 
abstract 
sciences 
have  a sub- 
ject-matter. 


A rather  warm  dispute  arises 

is  that  I enquire  with  you  into  the  truth  of  that  which  is  ad- 
vanced from  time  to  time,  just  because  I do  not  know ; and 
when  I have  enquired,  I will  say  whether  I agree  with  you  or 
not.  Please  then  to  allow  me  time  to  reflect. 

Reflect,  he  said. 

I am  reflecting,  I replied,  and  discover  that  temperance,  or 
wisdom,  if  implying  a knowledge  of  anything,  must  be  a 
science,  and  a science  of  something. 

Yes,  he  said  ; the  science  of  itself. 

Is  not  medicine,  I said,  the  science  of  health  ? 

True. 

And  suppose,  I said,  that  I were  asked  by  you  what  is  the 
use  or  effect  of  medicine,  which  is  this  science  of  health,  I 
should  answer  that  medicine  is  of  very  great  use  in  pro- 
ducing health,  which,  as  you  will  admit,  is  an  excellent 
effect. 

Granted. 

And  if  you  were  to  ask  me,  what  is  the  result  or  effect  of 
architecture,  which  is  the  science  of  building,  I should  say 
houses,  and  so  of  other  arts,  which  all  have  their  different 
results.  Now  I want  you,  Critias,  to  answer  a similar 
question  about  temperance,  or  wisdom,  which,  according  to 
you,  is  the  science  of  itself.  Admitting  this  view,  I ask  of 
you,  what  good  work,  worthy  of  the  name  wise,  does  tem- 
perance or  wisdom,  which  is  the  science  of  itself,  effect? 
Answer  me. 

That  is  not  the  true  way  of  pursuing  the  enquiry,  Socrates, 
he  said ; for  wisdom  is  not  like  the  other  sciences,  any  more 
than  they  are  like  one  another : but  you  proceed  as  if  they 
were  alike.  For  tell  me,  he  said,  what  result  is  there  of 
computation  or  geometry,  in  the  same  sense  as  a house  is  the 
result  of  building,  or  a garment  of  weaving,  or  any  other 
work  of  any  other  art?  Can  you  show  me  any  such  result  of  166 
them?  You  cannot. 

That  is  true,  I said  ; but  still  each  of  these  sciences  has  a 
subject  which  is  different  from  the  science.  I can  show  you 
that  the  art  of  computation  has  to  do  with  odd  and  even 
numbers  in  their  numerical  relations  to  themselves  and  to 
each  other.  Is  not  that  true  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 


between  Socrates  and  Critias. 


And  the  odd  and  even  numbers  are  not  the  same  with  the 
art  of  computation  ? 

They  are  not. 

The  art  of  weighing,  again,  has  to  do  with  lighter  and 
heavier ; but  the  art  of  weighing  is  one  thing,  and  the  heavy 
and  the  light  another.  Do  you  admit  that  ? 

Yes. 

Now,  I want  to  know,  what  is  that  which  is  not  wisdom, 
and  of  which  wisdom  is  the  science  ? 

You  are  just  falling  into  the  old  error,  Socrates,  he  said. 
You  come  asking  in  what  wisdom  or  temperance  differs  from 
the  other  sciences,  and  then  you  try  to  discover  some  respect 
in  which  they  are  alike ; but  they  are  not,  for  all  the  other 
sciences  are  of  something  else,  and  not  of  themselves ; wis- 
dom alone  is  a science  of  other  sciences,  and  of  itself.  And 
of  this,  as  I believe,  you  are  very  well  aware  : and  that  you 
are  only  doing  what  you  denied  that  you  were  doing  just  now, 
trying  to  refute  me,  instead  of  pursuing  the  argument. 

And  what  if  I am  ? How  can  you  think  that  I have  any 
other  motive  in  refuting  you  but  what  I should  have  in  ex- 
amining into  myself  ? which  motive  would  be  just  a fear  of  my 
unconsciously  fancying  that  I knew  something  of  which  I was 
ignorant.  And  at  this  moment  I pursue  the  argument  chiefly 
for  my  own  sake,  and  perhaps  in  some  degree  also  for  the 
sake  of  my  other  friends.  For  is  not  the  discovery  of  things 
as  they  truly  are,  a good  common  to  all  mankind  ? 

Yes,  certainly,  Socrates,  he  said. 

Then,  I said,  be  cheerful,  sweet  sir,  and  give  your  opinion 
in  answer  to  the  question  which  I asked,  never  minding 
whether  Critias  or  Socrates  is  the  person  refuted ; attend 
only  to  the  argument,  and  see  what  will  come  of  the  refu- 
tation. 

I think  that  you  are  right,  he  replied ; and  I will  do  as  you 
say. 

Tell  me,  then,  I said,  what  you  mean  to  affirm  about 
wisdom. 

I mean  to  say  that  wisdom  is  the  only  science  which  is 
the  science  of  itself  as  well  as  of  the  other  sciences. 

But  the  science  of  science,  I said,  will  also  be  the  science 
of  the  absence  of  science. 


25 

Cliarmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


Temper- 
ance or 
wisdom  is 
defined  to 
be  the 
science  of 
other 
sciences, 
and  of 
itself. 


Personali- 
ties are 
beginning, 
to  which 
Socrates 
quickly 
puts  an  end. 


A difficulty: 
A science 
of  itself  and 
other 
sciences 
must  also 
be  a science 
of  the 
absence  of 
science. 


26 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


But  is  this 
conceiv- 
able? 


No  sense  without  an  object , 

Very  true,  he  said. 

Then  the  wise  or  temperate  man,  and  he  only,  will  know  167 
himself,  and  be  able  to  examine  what  he  knows  or  does  not 
know,  and  to  see  what  others  know  and  think  that  they  know 
and  do  really  know;  and  what  they  do  not  know,  and  fancy 
that  they  know,  when  they  do  not.  No  other  person  will  be 
able  to  do  this.  And  this  is  wisdom  and  temperance  and 
self-knowledge — for  a man  to  know  what  he  knows,  and  what 
he  does  not  know.  That  is  your  meaning? 

Yes,  he  said. 

Now  then,  I said,  making  an  offering  of  the  third  or  last 
argument  to  Zeus  the  Saviour,  let  us  begin  again,  and  ask,  in 
the  first  place,  whether  it  is  or  is  not  possible  for  a person  to 
know  that  he  knows  and  does  not  know  what  he  knows  and 
does  not  know ; and  in  the  second  place,  whether,  if  perfectly 
possible,  such  knowledge  is  of  any  use. 

That  is  what  we  have  to  consider,  he  said. 

And  here,  Critias,  I said,  I hope  that  you  will  find  a way 
out  of  a difficulty  into  which  I have  got  myself.  Shall  I tell 
you  the  nature  of  the  difficulty? 

By  all  means,  he  replied. 

Does  not  what  you  have  been  saying,  if  true,  amount  to 
this : that  there  must  be  a single  science  which  is  wholly  a 
science  of  itself  and  of  other  sciences,  and  that  the  same  is 
also  the  science  of  the  absence  of  science  ? 

Yes. 

But  consider  how  monstrous  this  proposition  is,  my  friend  : 
in  any  parallel  case,  the  impossibility  will  be  transparent 
to  you. 

How  is  that  ? and  in  what  cases  do  you  mean  ? 

In  such  cases  as  this:  Suppose  that  there  is  a kind  of 
vision  which  is  not  like  ordinary  vision,  but  a vision  of  itself 
and  of  other  sorts  of  vision,  and  of  the  defect  of  them,  which 
in  seeing  sees  no  colour,  but  only  itself  and  other  sorts  of 
vision  : Do  you  think  that  there  is  such  a kind  of  vision  ? 

Certainly  not. 

Or  is  there  a kind  of  hearing  which  hears  no  sound  at  all, 
but  only  itself  and  other  sorts  of  hearing,  or  the  defects  of 
them  ? 

There  is  not. 


2 7 


and  no  science  without  a subject-matter. 

Or  take  all  the  senses : can  you  imagine  that  there  is  any 
sense  of  itself  and  of  other  senses,  but  which  is  incapable  of 
perceiving  the  objects  of  the  senses? 

I think  not. 

Could  there  be  any  desire  which  is  not  the  desire  of  any 
pleasure,  but  of  itself,  and  of  all  other  desires  ? 

Certainly  not. 

Or  can  you  imagine  a wish  which  wishes  for  no  good,  but 
only  for  itself  and  all  other  wishes  ? 

I should  answer,  No. 

Or  would  you  say  that  there  is  a love  which  is  not  the  love 
of  beauty,  but  of  itself  and  of  other  loves  ? 

I should  not. 

168  Or  did  you  ever  know  of  a fear  which  fears  itself  or  other 
fears,  but  has  no  object  of  fear  ? 

I never  did,  he  said. 

Or  of  an  opinion  which  is  an  opinion  of  itself  and  of  other 
opinions,  and  which  has  no  opinion  on  the  subjects  of  opinion 
in  general  ? 

Certainly  not. 

But  surely  we  are  assuming  a science  of  this  kind,  which, 
having  no  subject-matter,  is  a science  of  itself  and  of  the 
other  sciences  ? 

Yes,  that  is  what  is  affirmed. 

But  how  strange  is  this,  if  it  be  indeed  true  : we  must  not 
however  as  yet  absolutely  deny  the  possibility  of  such  a 
science ; let  us  rather  consider  the  matter. 

You  are  quite  right. 

Well  then,  this  science  of  which  we  are  speaking  is  a 
science  of  something,  and  is  of  a nature  to  be  a science  of 
something  ? 

Yes. 

Just  as  that  which  is  greater  is  of  a nature  to  be  greater 
than  something  else1  ? 

1 Socrates  is  intending  to  show  that  science  differs  from  the  object  of 
science,  as  any  other  relative  differs  from  the  object  of  relation.  But  where 
there  is  comparison — greater,  less,  heavier,  lighter,  and  the  like — a relation  to 
self  as  well  as  to  other  things  involves  an  absolute  contradiction  ; and  in  other 
cases,  as  in  the  case  of  the  senses,  is  hardly  conceivable.  The  use  of  the 
genitive  after  the  comparative  in  Greek,  tivos,  creates  an  unavoidable 

obscurity  in  the  translation. 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 

It  is  not 
supported 
by  the 
analogy  of 
sense  or  of 
the  affec- 
tions ; 


and 

involves  a 
contradic- 
tion in  the 
case  of 
compara- 
tive terms. 


28 


The  relation  to  self. 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


The  rela- 
tion to  self 
generally 
incredible 
and  hardly 
ever 
certain. 


Yes. 

Which  is  less,  if  the  other  is  conceived  to  be  greater? 

To  be  sure. 

And  if  we  could  find  something  which  is  at  once  greater 
than  itself,  and  greater  than  other  great  things,  but  not 
greater  than  those  things  in  comparison  of  which  the  others 
are  greater,  then  that  thing  would  have  the  property  of  being 
greater  and  also  less  than  itself? 

That,  Socrates,  he  said,  is  the  inevitable  inference. 

Or  if  there  be  a double  which  is  double  of  itself  and  of 
other  doubles,  these  will  be  halves;  for  the  double  is  relative 
to  the  half? 

That  is  true. 

And.that  which  is  greater  than  itself  will  also  be  less,  and 
that  which  is  heavier  will  also  be  lighter,  and  that  which  is 
older  will  also  be  younger  : and  the  same  of  other  things ; 
that  which  has  a nature  relative  to  self  will  retain  also  the 
nature  of  its  object : I mean  to  say,  for  example,  that  hearing 
is,  as  we  say,  of  sound  or  voice.  Is  that  true  ? 

Yes. 

Then  if  hearing  hears  itself,  it  must  hear  a voice  ; for  there 
is  no  other  way  of  hearing. 

Certainly. 

And  sight  also,  my  excellent  friend,  if  it  sees  itself  must 
see  a colour,  for  sight  cannot  see  that  which  has  no  colour. 

No. 

Do  you  remark,  Critias,  that  in  several  of  the  examples 
which  have  been  recited  the  notion  of  a relation  to  self  is 
altogether  inadmissible,  and  in  other  cases  hardly  credible — 
inadmissible,  for  example,  in  the  case  of  magnitudes,  num- 
bers, and  the  like  ? 

Very  true. 

But  in  the  case  of  hearing  and  sight,  or  in  the  power  of 
self-motion,  and  the  power  of  heat  to  burn,  this  relation  to 
self  will  be  regarded  as  incredible  by  some,  but  perhaps  not  169 
by  others.  And  some  great  man,  my  friend,  is  wanted,  who 
will  satisfactorily  determine  for  us,  whether  there  is  nothing 
which  has  an  inherent  property  of  relation  to  self,  or  some 
things  only  and  not  others ; and  whether  in  this  class  of 
self-related  things,  if  there  be  such  a class,  that  science  which 


29 


The  knowledge  or  science  of  knowledge. 

is  called  wisdom  or  temperance  is  included.  I altogether 
distrust  my  own  power  of  determining  these  matters  : I am 
not  certain  whether  there  is  such  a science  of  science  at  all ; 
and  even  if  there  be,  I should  not  acknowledge  this  to  be 
wisdom  or  temperance,  until  I can  also  see  whether  such  a 
science  would  or  would  not  do  us  any  good ; for  I have  an 
impression  that  temperance  is  a benefit  and  a good.  And 
therefore,  O son  of  Callaeschrus,  as  you  maintain  that 
temperance  or  wisdom  is  a science  of  science,  and  also  of 
the  absence  of  science,  I will  request  you  to  show  in  the  first 
place,  as  I was  saying  before,  the  possibility,  and  in  the 
second  place,  the  advantage,  of  such  a science  ; and  then 
perhaps  you  may  satisfy  me  that  you  are  right  in  your  view 
of  temperance. 

Critias  heard  me  say  this,  and  saw  that  I was  in  a diffi- 
culty ; and  as  one  person  when  another  yawns  in  his 
presence  catches  the  infection  of  yawning  from  him,  so  did 
he  seem  to  be  driven  into  a difficulty  by  my  difficulty.  But 
as  he  had  a reputation  to  maintain,  he  was  ashamed  to 
admit  before  the  company  that  he  could  not  answer  my 
challenge  or  determine  the  question  at  issue ; and  he  made 
an  unintelligible  attempt  to  hide  his  perplexity.  In  order 
that  the  argument  might  proceed,  I said  to  him,  Well  then, 
Critias,  if  you  like,  let  us  assume  that  there  is  this  science  of 
science ; whether  the  assumption  is  right  or  wrong  may 
hereafter  be  investigated.  Admitting  the  existence  of  it,  will 
you  tell  me  how  such  a science  enables  us  to  distinguish  what 
we  know  or  do  not  know,  which,  as  we  were  saying,  is  self- 
knowledge  or  wisdom  : so  we  were  saying  ? 

Yes,  Socrates,  he  said  ; and  that  I think  is  certainly  true  : 
for  he  who  has  this  science  or  knowledge  which  knows  itself 
will  become  like  the  knowledge  which  he  has,  in  the  same 
way  that  he  who  has  swiftness  will  be  swift,  and  he  who  has 
beauty  will  be  beautiful,  and  he  who  has  knowledge  will  know. 
In  the  same  way  he  who  has  that  knowledge  which  is  self- 
knowing, will  know  himself. 

I do  not  doubt,  I said,  that  a man  will  know  himself,  when 
he  possesses  that  which  has  self-knowledge : but  what  neces- 
sity is  there  that,  having  this,  he  should  know  what  he  knows 
and  what  he  does  not  know  ? 


Charmides , 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


A know- 
ledge of 
knowledge 
or  a know- 
ledge of 
self  can 


30 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


never  give 
us  a know- 
ledge of 
other 
things  ; 
for  it  is  in- 
capable of 
distinguish- 
ing them. 


The  science 
or  know- 
ledge of 
knowledge 
is  unmean- 
ing and 
unprofit- 
able. 


The  knowledge  of  knowledge 

Because,  Socrates,  they  are  the  same. 

Very  likely,  I said  ; but  I remain  as  stupid  as  ever;  for  still 
I fail  to  comprehend  how  this  knowing  what  you  know  and  do 
not  know  is  the  same  as  the  knowledge  of  self. 

What  do  you  mean  ? he  said. 

This  is  what  I mean,  I replied  : I will  admit  that  there  is  a 
science  of  science; — can  this  do  more  than  determine  that  of 
two  things  one  is  and  the  other  is  not  science  or  knowledge  ? 

No,  just  that. 

But  is  knowledge  or  want  of  knowledge  of  health  the  same 
as  knowledge  or  want  of  knowledge  of  justice  ? 

Certainly  not. 

The  one  is  medicine,  and  the  other  is  politics  ; whereas 
that  of  which  we  are  speaking  is  knowledge  pure  and  simple. 

Very  true. 

And  if  a man  knows  only,  and  has  only  knowledge  of  know- 
ledge, and  has  no  further  knowledge  of  health  and  justice,  the 
probability  is  that  he  will  only  know  that  he  knows  some- 
thing, and  has  a certain  knowledge,  whether  concerning  him- 
self or  other  men. 

True. 

Then  how  will  this  knowledge  or  science  teach  him  to  know 
what  he  knows  ? Say  that  he  knows  health  ; — not  wisdom  or 
temperance,  but  the  art  of  medicine  has  taught  it  to  him  ;— and 
he  has  learned  harmony  from  the  art  of  music,  and  building 
from  the  art  of  building, — neither,  from  wisdom  or  temper- 
ance : and  the  same  of  other  things. 

That  is  evident. 

How  will  wisdom,  regarded  only  as  a knowledge  of  know- 
ledge or  science  of  science,  ever  teach  him  that  he  knows 
health,  or  that  he  knows  building  ? 

It  is  impossible. 

Then  he  who  is  ignorant  of  these  things  will  only  know 
that  he  knows,  but  not  what  he  knows  ? 

True. 

Then  wisdom  or  being  wise  appears  to  be  not  the  know- 
ledge of  the  things  which  we  do  or  do  not  know,  but  only  the 
knowledge  that  we  know  or  do  not  know  ? 

That  is  the  inference. 

Then  he  who  has  this  knowledge  will  not  be  able  to  examine 


has  no  real  content. 


3i 


whether  a pretender  knows  or  does  not  know  that  which  he 
says  that  he  knows  : he  will  only  know  that  he  has  a know- 
ledge of  some  kind ; but  wisdom  will  not  show  him  of  what 
the  knowledge  is  ? 

Plainly  not. 

Neither  will  he  be  able  to  distinguish  the  pretender  in  medi- 
cine from  the  true  physician,  nor  between  any  other  true  and 
false  professor  of  knowledge.  Let  us  consider  the  matter  in 
this  way  : If  the  wise  man  or  any  other  man  wants  to  distin- 
guish the'  true  physician  from  the  false,  how  will  he  proceed  ? 
He  will  not  talk  to  him  about  medicine ; and  that,  as  we  were 
saying,  is  the  only  thing  which  the  physician  understands. 

True. 

And,  on  the  other  hand,  the  physician  knows  nothing  of 
science,  for  this  has  -been  assumed  to  be  the  province  of 
wisdom. 

True. 

171  And  further,  since  medicine  is  science,  we  must  infer  that 
he  does  not  know  anything  of  medicine. 

Exactly. 

Then  the  wise  man  may  indeed  know  that  the  physician  has 
some  kind  of  science  or  knowledge ; but  when  he  wants  to 
discover  the  nature  of  this  he  will  ask,  What  is  the  subject- 
matter  ? For  the  several  sciences  are  distinguished  not  by 
the  mere  fact  that  they  are  sciences,  but  by  the  nature  of  their 
subjects.  Is  not  that  true  ? 

Quite  true. 

And  medicine  is  distinguished  from  other  sciences  as 
having  the  subject-matter  of  health  and  disease? 

Yes. 

And  he  who  would  enquire  into  the  nature  of  medicine 
must  pursue  the  enquiry  into  health  and  disease,  and  not 
into  what  is  extraneous  ? 

True. 

And  he  who  judges  rightly  will  judge  of  the  physician  as 
a physician  in  what  relates  to  these  ? 

He  will. 

He  will  consider  whether  what  he  says  is  true,  and 
whether  what  he  does  is  right,  in  relation  to  health  and 
disease  ? 


Cliarmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


32 


Charmidcs. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


This 

science  of 
science  and 
of  the 
absence 
of  science 
which  has 
raised  such 
great 
expecta- 
tions in  our 
minds  is 
shown  to 
be  impos- 
sible. 


No  science  of  what  we  know  and  do  not  know. 

He  will. 

But  can  any  one  attain  the  knowledge  of  either  unless  he 
have  a knowledge  of  medicine  ? 

He  cannot. 

No  one  at  all,  it  would  seem,  except  the  physician  can 
have  this  knowledge ; and  therefore  not  the  wise  man  ; he 
would  have  to  be  a physician  as  well  as  a wise  man. 

Very  true. 

Then,  assuredly,  wisdom  or  temperance,  if  only  a science 
of  science,  and  of  the  absence  of  science  or  knowledge,  will 
not  be  able  to  distinguish  the  physician  who  knows  from  one 
who  does  not  know  but  pretends  or  thinks  that  he  knows,  or  . 
any  other  professor  of  anything  at  all ; like  any  other  artist, 
he  will  only  know  his  fellow  in  art  or  wisdom,  and  no  one 
else. 

That  is  evident,  he  said. 

But  then  what  profit,  Critias,  I said,  is  there  any  longer  in 
wisdom  or  temperance  which  yet  remains,  if  this  is  wisdom  ? 

If,  indeed,  as  we  were  supposing  at  first,  the  wise  man  had 
been  able  to  distinguish  what  he  knew  and  did  not  know, 
and  that  he  knew  the  one  and  did  not  know  the  other,  and 
to  recognize  a similar  faculty  of  discernment  in  others,  there 
would  certainly  have  been  a great  advantage  in  being  wise  ; 
for  then  we  should  never  have  made  a mistake,  but  have 
passed  through  life  the  unerring  guides  of  ourselves  and  of 
those  who  are  under  us  ; and  we  should  not  have  attempted 
to  do  what  we  did  not  know,  but  we  should  have  found  out 
those  who  knew,  and  have  handed  the  business  over  to  them 
and  trusted  in  them ; nor  should  we  have  allowed  those  who 
were  under  us  to  do  anything  which  they  were  not  likely  to 
do  well ; and  they  would  be  likely  to  do  well  just  that  of 
which  they  had  knowledge  j and  the  house  01  state  which 
was  ordered  or  administered  under  the  guidance  of  wisdom, 
and  everything  else  of  which  wisdom  was  the  loid,  would 
have  been  well  ordered ; for  truth  guiding,  and  error  having 
been  eliminated,  in  all  their  doings,  men  would  have  done  172 
well,  and  would  have  been  happy.  Was  not  this,  Critias, 
what  we  spoke  of  as  the  great  advantage  of  wisdom— -to 
know  what  is  known  and  what  is  unknown  to  us  . 

Very  true,  he  said. 


33 


‘ On  the  wrong  track! 

And  now  3^011  perceive,  I said,  that  no  such  science  is  to 
be  found  anywhere. 

I perceive,  he  said. 

May  we  assume  then,  I said,  that  wisdom,  viewed  in  this 
new  light  merely  as  a knowledge  of  knowledge  and  ignor- 
ance, has  this  advantage  : — that  he  who  possesses  such 
knowledge  will  more  easily  learn  anything  which  he  learns  ; 
and  that  everything  will  be  clearer  to  him,  because,  in 
addition  to  the  knowledge  of  individuals,  he  sees  the  science, 
and  this  also  will  better  enable  him  to  test  the  knowledge 
which  others  have  of  what  he  knows  himself;  whereas  the 
enquirer  who  is  without  this  knowledge  may  be  supposed  to 
have  a feebler  and  weaker  insight  ? Are  not  these,  my 
friend,  the  real  advantages  which  are  to  be  gained  from 
wisdom  ? And  are  not  we  looking  and  seeking  after  some- 
thing more  than  is  to  be  found  in  her? 

That  is  very  likely,  he  said. 

That  is  very  likely,  I said ; and  very  likely,  too,  we  have 
been  enquiring  to  no  purpose ; as  I am  led  to  infer,  because 
I observe  that  if  this  is  wisdom,  some  strange  consequences 
would  follow.  Let  us,  if  you  please,  assume  the  possibility  of 
this  science  of  sciences,  and  further  admit  and  allow,  as  was 
originally  suggested,  that  wisdom  is  the  knowledge  of  what 
we  know  and  do  not  know.  Assuming  all  this,  still,  upon 
further  consideration,  I am  doubtful,  Critias,  whether  wisdom, 
such  as  this,  would  do  us  much  good.  For  we  were  wrong, 
I think,  in  supposing,  as  we  were  saying  just  now,  that  such 
wisdom  ordering  the  government  of  house  or  state  would  be 
a great  benefit. 

How  so  ? he  said. 

Why,  I said,  we  were  far  too  ready  to  admit  the  great 
benefits  which  mankind  would  obtain  from  their  severally 
doing  the  things  which  they  knew,  and  committing  the 
things  of  which  they  are  ignorant  to  those  who  were  better 
acquainted  with  them. 

Were  we  not  right  in  making  that  admission  ? 

I think  not. 

How  very  strange,  Socrates  ! 

By  the  dog  of  Egypt,  I said,  there  I agree  with  you  ; and 

1 was  thinking  as  much  just  now  when  I said  that  strange 

vol.  i.  n 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 

Yet  the  a 
■priori  idea 
of  know- 
ledge may 
make  it 
easier  to 
test  the 
knowledge 
of  others. 


A doubt 
raised 
about  the 
advantage 
of  a science 
of  sciences, 
even  if  it  is 
assumed  to 
be  possible. 


34 


Knowledge  is  happiness ; that  is  to  say, 


Charmides.  consequences  would  follow,  and  that  I was  afraid  we  were 
Socrates,  on  the  wrong  track  ; for  however  ready  we  may  be  to  admit 

that  this  is  wisdom,  I certainly  cannot  make  out  what  good  173 
this  sort  of  thing  does  to  us. 

What  do  you  mean  ? he  said  ; I wish  that  you  could  make 
me  understand  what  you  mean. 

I dare  say  that  what  I am  saying  is  nonsense,  I replied  ; 
and  yet  if  a man  has  any  feeling  of  what  is  due  to  himself,  he 
cannot  let  the  thought  which  comes  into  his  mind  pass  away 
unheeded  and  unexamined. 

I like  that,  he  said. 

A dream  of  Hear,  then,  I said,  my  own  dream ; whether  coming  through 

universal  horn  or  the  ivory  gate,  I cannot  tell.  The  dream 

knowledge.  . , 

is  this : Let  us  suppose  that  wisdom  is  such  as  we  are  now 
defining,  and  that  she  has  absolute  sway  over  us ; then 
each  action  will  be  done  according  to  the  arts  or  sciences, 
and  no  one  professing  to  be  a pilot  when  he  is  not,  or  any 
physician  or  general,  or  any  one  else  pretending  to  know 
matters  of  which  he  is  ignorant,  will  deceive  or  elude  us  ; our 
health  will  be  improved  ; our  safety  at  sea,  and  also  in  battle, 
will  be  assured  ; our  coats  and  shoes,  and  all  other  instru- 
ments and  implements  will  be  skilfully  made,  because  the 
workmen  will  be  good  and  true.  Aye,  and  if  you  please, 


But  the 
possession 
of  all  this 
knowledge 
will  not 
necessarily 
give  the 
knowledge 
of  good 
and  evil 
which  can 
alone  make 
men  happy. 


you  may  suppose  that  prophecy,  which  is  the  knowledge  of 
the  future,  will  be  under  the  control  of  wisdom,  and  that  she 
will  deter  deceivers  and  set  up  the  true  prophets  in  their 
place  as  the  revealers  of  the  future.  Now  I quite  agree  that 
mankind,  thus  provided,  would  live  and  act  according  to 
knowledge,  for  wisdom  would  watch  and  prevent  ignorance 
from  intruding  on  us.  But  whether  by  acting  according 
to  knowledge  we  shall  act  well  and  be  happy,  my  dear 
Critias,— this  is  a point  which  we  have  not  yet  been  able 
to  determine. 

Yet  I think,  he  replied,  that  if  you  discard  knowledge, 
you  will  hardly  find  the  crown  of  happiness  in  anything 
else. 

But  of  what  is  this  knowledge  ? I said.  Just  answer  me 
that  small  question.  Do  you  mean  a knowledge  of  shoe- 
making ? 

God  forbid. 


The  knowledge  of  good  and  evil . 

Or  of  working  in  brass  ? 

Certainty  not. 

Or  in  wool,  or  wood,  or  anything  of  that  sort  ? 

No,  I do  not. 

Then,  I said,  we  are  giving  up  the  doctrine  that  he  who 
lives  according  to  knowledge  is  happy,  for  these  live  accord- 
ing to  knowledge,  and  yet  they  are  not  allowed  by  you  to  be 
happy ; but  I think  that  you  mean  to  confine  happiness  to 
particular  individuals  who  live  according  to  knowledge,  such 
174  for  example  as  the  prophet,  who,  as  I was  saying,  knows  the 
future.  Is  it  of  him  you  are  speaking  or  of  some  one  else  ? 

Yes,  I mean  him,  but  there  are  others  as  well. 

Yes,  I said,  some  one  who  knows  the  past  and  present 
as  well  as  the  future,  and  is  ignorant  of  nothing.  Let  us 
suppose  that  there  is  such  a person,  and  if  there  is,  you 
will  allow  that  he  is  the  most  knowing  of  all  living  men. 

Certainty  he  is. 

Yet  I should  like  to  know  one  thing  more  : which  of  the 
different  kinds  of  knowledge  makes  him  happy  ? or  do  all 
equally  make  him  happy  ? 

Not  all  equally,  he  replied. 

But  which  most  tends  to  make  him  happy  ? the  knowledge 
of  what  past,  present,  or  future  thing?  May  I infer  this  to 
be  the  knowledge  of  the  game  of  draughts  ? 

Nonsense  about  the  game  of  draughts. 

Or  of  computation  ? 

No. 

Or  of  health  ? 

That  is  nearer  the  truth,  he  said. 

And  that  knowledge  which  is  nearest  of  all,  I said,  is  the 
knowledge  of  what  ? 

The  knowledge  with  which  he  discerns  good  and  evil. 

Monster ! I said ; you  have  been  carrying  me  round  in  a Not  uni- 
circle, and  all  this  time  hiding  from  me  the  fact  that  the  life  fowled  e 
according  to  knowledge  is  not  that  which  makes  men  act  but  the  & 
rightly  and  be  happy,  not  even  if  knowledge  include  all  the  know'edge 
sciences,  but  one  science  only,  that  of  good  and  evil.  For,  and  evil,  is 
let  me  ask  you,  Critias,  whether,  if  you  take  away  this,  real'y re- 
medicine  will  not  equally  give  health,  and  shoemaking  ^!^ed  b> 
equally  produce  shoes,  and  the  art  of  the  weaver  clothes  ? — 

d 2 


35 

Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Critias. 


36 


Nothing  is  determined. 


Charmides. 

Socrates* 

Critias. 

Without 
this  no 
other 

science  can 
be  of  much 
avail. 


This 

science  of 
good  or 
advantage 
is  affirmed 
by  Critias 
and  denied 
by  Socrates 
to  be  wis- 
dom. 


Recapitula- 
tion : 

The  argu- 
ment says 
' No  ’ to  all 
our  defini- 
tions. 


whether  the  art  of  the  pilot  will  not  equally  save  our  lives 
at  sea,  and  the  art  of  the  general  in  war  ? 

Quite  so. 

And  yet,  my  dear  Critias,  none  of  these  things  will  be 
well  or  beneficially  done,  if  the  science  of  the  good  be 
wanting. 

True. 

But  that  science  is  not  wisdom  or  temperance,  but  a 
science  of  human  advantage  ; not  a science  of  other  sciences, 
or  of  ignorance,  but  of  good  and  evil  : and  if  this  be  of  use, 
then  wisdom  or  temperance  will  not  be  of  use. 

And  why,  he  replied,  will  not  wisdom  be  of  use?  For, 
however  much  we  assume  that  wisdom  is  a science  of 
sciences,  and  has  a sway  over  other  sciences,  surely  she  will 
have  this  particular  science  of  the  good  under  her  control, 
and  in  this  way  will  benefit  us. 

And  will  wisdom  give  health  ? I said  ; is  not  this  rather 
the  effect  of  medicine  ? Or  does  wisdom  do  the  work  of  any 
of  the  other  arts, — do  they  not  each  of  them  do  their  own 
work  ? Have  we  not  long  ago  asseverated  that  wisdom 
is  only  the  knowledge  of  knowledge  and  of  ignorance,  and  of 
nothing  else  ? 

That  is  obvious. 

Then  wisdom  will  not  be  the  producer  of  health. 

Certainly  not. 

The  art  of  health  is  different. 

Yes,  different. 

Nor  does  wisdom  give  advantage,  my  good  friend  ; for  175 
that  again  we  have  just  now  been  attributing  to  another 
art. 

Very  true. 

How  then  can  wisdom  be  advantageous,  when  giving  no 
advantage  ? 

That,  Socrates,  is  certainly  inconceivable. 

You  see  then,  Critias,  that  I was  not  far  wrong  in  fearing 
that  I could  have  no  sound  notion  about  wisdom  ; I was 
quite  right  in  depreciating  myself ; for  that  which  is  admitted 
to  be  the  best  of  all  things  would  never  have  seemed  to  us 
useless,  if  I had  been  good  for  anything  at  an  enquiry. 

But  now  I have  been  utterly  defeated,  and  have  tailed  to 


37 


Socrates  gives  up  the  enquiry. 

discover  what  that  is  to  which  the  imposer  of  names  gave 
this  name  of  temperance  or  wisdom.  And  yet  many  more 
admissions  were  made  by  us  than  could  be  fairly  granted ; 
for  we  admitted  that  there  was  a science  of  science,  although 
the  argument  said  No,  and  protested  against  us ; and  we 
admitted  further,  that  this  science  knew  the  works  of  the 
other  sciences  (although  this  too  was  denied  by  the  argu- 
ment), because  we  wanted  to  show  that  the  wise  man  had 
knowledge  of  what  he  knew  and  did  not  know ; also  we 
nobly  disregarded,  and  never  even  considered,  the  impossi- 
bility of  a man  knowing  in  a sort  of  way  that  which  he  does 
not  know  at  all ; for  our  assumption  was,  that  he  knows  that 
which  he  does  not  know;  than  which  nothing,  as  I think, 
can  be  more  irrational.  And  yet,  after  finding  us  so  easy 
and  good-natured,  the  enquiry  is  still  unable  to  discover  the 
truth  ; but  mocks  us  to  a degree,  and  has  gone  out  of  its  way 
to  prove  the  inutility  of  that  which  we  admitted  only  by  a sort 
of  supposition  and  fiction  to  be  the  true  definition  of  temper- 
ance or  wisdom  : which  result,  as  far  as  I am  concerned,  is 
not  so  much  to  be  lamented,  I said.  But  for  your  sake, 
Charmides,  I am  very  sorry — that  you,  having  such  beauty 
and  such  wisdom  and  temperance  of  soul,  should  have 
no  profit  or  good  in  life  from  your  wisdom  and  temperance. 
And  still  more  am  I grieved  about  the  charm  which  I learned 
with  so  much  pain,  and  to  so  little  profit,  from  the  Thracian, 
for  the  sake  of  a thing  which  is  nothing  worth.  I think 
indeed  that  there  is  a mistake,  and  that  I must  be  a bad 
enquirer,  for  wisdom  or  temperance  I believe  to  be  really  a 
great  good  ; and  happy  are  you,  Charmides,  if  you  certainly 
176  possess  it.  Wherefore  examine  yourself,  and  see  whether 
you  have  this  gift  and  can  do  without  the  charm ; for  if  31011 
can,  I would  rather  advise  you  to  regard  me  simply  as  a fool 
who  is  never  able  to  reason  out  anything;  and  to  rest 
assured  that  the  more  wise  and  temperate  you  are,  the 
happier  you  will  be. 

Charmides  said  : I am  sure  that  I do  not  know,  Socrates, 
whether  I have  or  have  not  this  gift  of  wisdom  and  temper- 
ance ; for  how  can  I know  whether  I have  a thing,  of  which 
even  you  and  Critias  are,  as  you  say,  unable  to  discover  the 
nature  ? — (not  that  I believe  you.)  And  further,  I am  sure, 


Charmides. 

Socrates, 

Charmides. 


Very  likely 
Charmides 
has  no 
need  of  the 
charm,  and 
Socrates  is 
a fool  who 
is  incapable 
of  reason- 
ing. 


Neverthe- 
less Char- 
mides is 
desirous 
to  be 
charmed. 


Charmides  is  irresistible. 


33 

Charmulcs.  Socrates,  that  I do  need  the  charm,  and  as  far  as  I am 
Socrates,  concerned,  I shall  be  willing  to  be  charmed  by  you  daily, 
Srr5’  until  y°u  say  that  I have  had  enough. 

Very  good,  Charmides,  said  Critias  ; if  you  do  this  I shall 
have  a proof  of  your  temperance,  that  is,  if  you  allow 
yourself  to  be  charmed  by  Socrates,  and  never  desert  him 
at  all. 

You  may  depend  on  my  following  and  not  deserting  him, 
said  Charmides  : if  you  who  are  my  guardian  command  me, 
I should  be  very  wrong  not  to  obey  you. 

And  I do  command  you,  he  said. 

Then  I will  do  as  you  say,  and  begin  this  very  day. 

You  sirs,  I said,  what  are  you  conspiring  about  ? 

We  are  not  conspiring,  said  Charmides,  we  have  conspired 
already. 

And  are  you  about  to  use  violence,  without  even  going 
through  the  forms  of  justice? 

Yes,  I shall  use  violence,  he  replied,  since  he  orders  me  ; 
and  therefore  you  had  better  consider  well. 

But  the  time  for  consideration  has  passed,  I said,  when 
violence  is  employed  ; and  you,  when  you  are  determined  on 
anything,  and  in  the  mood  of  violence,  are  irresistible. 

Do  not  you  resist  me  then,  he  said. 

I will  not  resist  you,  I replied. 


LYSIS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


No  answer  is  given  in  the  Lysis  to  the  question,  ‘ What  is  Lysis. 
Friendship?’  any  more  than  in  the  Charmides  to  the  question, 

* What  is  Temperance  ? ’ There  are  several  resemblances  in  the  two 
Dialogues  : the  same  youthfulness  and  sense  of  beauty  pervades 
both  of  them  ; thejr  are  alike  rich  in  the  description  of  Greek  life. 

The  question  is  again  raised  of  the  relation  of  knowledge  to  virtue 
and  good,  which  also  recurs  in  the  Laches  ; and  Socrates  appears 
again  as  the  elder  friend  of  the  two  boys,  Lysis  and  Menexenus. 

In  the  Charmides,  as  also  in  the  Laches,  he  is  described  as  middle- 
aged  ; in  the  Lysis  he  is  advanced  in  years. 

The  Dialogue  consists  of  two  scenes  or  conversations  which  Analysis. 
seem  to  have  no  relation  to  each  other.  The  first  is  a conversation 
between  Socrates  and  Lysis,  who,  like  Charmides,  is  an  Athenian 
youth  of  noble  descent  and  of  great  beauty,  goodness,  and  intelli- 
steph.  gence : this  is  carried  on  in  the  absence  of  Menexenus,  who  is 
2°7  called  away  to  take  part  in  a sacrifice.  Socrates  asks  Lysis 
whether  his  father  and  mother  do  not  love  him  very  much  ? ‘ To  be 
sure  they  do.’  ‘Then  of  course  they  allow  him  to  do  exactly  as  he 

208  likes.’  ‘ Of  course  not : the  very  slaves  have  more  liberty  than  he 

209  has.’  ‘ But  how  is  this  ? ’ ‘ The  reason  is  that  he  is  not  old  enough.’ 

‘ No ; the  real  reason  is  that  he  is  not  wise  enough  : for  are  there 
not  some  things  which  he  is  allowed  to  do,  although  he  is  not 
allowed  to  do  others?’  ‘Yes,  because  he  knows  them,  and  does 

210  not  know  the  others.’  This  leads  to  the  conclusion  that  all  men 
everywhere  will  trust  him  in  what  he  knows,  but  not  in  what  he 
does  not  know;  for  in  such  matters  he  will  be  unprofitable  to  them, 
and  do  them  no  good.  And  no  one  will  love  him,  if  he  does  them 
no  good ; and  he  can  only  do  them  good  by  knowledge ; and  as  he 
is  still  without  knowledge,  he  can  have  as  yet  no  conceit  of  know- 
ledge. In  this  manner  Socrates  reads  a lesson  to  Ilippothales,  the 


42 


Lysis. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  210-218. 

foolish  lover  of  Lysis,  respecting  the  style  of  conversation  which  he 
should  address  to  his  beloved. 

After  the  return  of  Menexenus,  Socrates,  at  the  request  of  Lysis,  21 1 
asks  him  a new  question  : ‘ What  is  friendship  ? You,  Menexenus, 
who  have  a friend  already,  can  tell  me,  who  am  always  longing  to  212 
find  one,  what  is  the  secret  of  this  great  blessing.’ 

When  one  man  loves  another,  which  is  the  friend — he  who  loves,  213 
or  he  who  is  loved?  or  are  both  friends?  From  the  first  of  these 
suppositions  they  are  driven  to  the  second ; and  from  the  second 
to  the  third ; and  neither  the  two  boys  nor  Socrates  are  satisfied 
with  any  of  the  three  or  with  all  of  them.  Socrates  turns  to  the  214 
poets,  who  affirm  that  God  brings  like  to  like  (Homer),  and  to 
philosophers  (Empedocles),  who  also  assert  that  like  is  the  friend 
of  like.  But  the  bad  are  not  friends,  for  they  are  not  even  like 
themselves,  and  still  less  are  they  like  one  another.  And  the 
good  have  no  need  of  one  another,  and  therefore  do  not  care  about  215 
one  another.  Moreover  there  are  others  who  say  that  likeness  is 
a cause  of  aversion,  and  unlikeness  of  love  and  friendship ; and 
they  too  adduce  the  authority  of  poets  and  philosophers  in  support 
of  their  doctrines;  for  Hesiod  says  that  ‘ potter  is  jealous  of 
potter,  bard  of  bard;’  and  subtle  doctors  tell  us  that  ‘moist  is  the  216 
friend  of  dry,  hot  of  cold,’  and  the  like.  But  neither  can  their 
doctrine  be  maintained ; for  then  the  just  would  be  the  friend  of 
the  unjust,  good  of  evil. 

Thus  we  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  like  is  not  the  friend  of 
like,  nor  unlike  of  unlike ; and  therefore  good  is  not  the  friend  of 
good,  nor  evil  of  evil,  nor  good  of  evil,  nor  evil  of  good.  What 
remains  but  that  the  indifferent,  which  is  neither  good  nor  evil, 
should  be  the  friend  (not  of  the  indifferent,  for  that  would  be  ‘like  217 
the  friend  of  like,’  but)  of  the  good,  or  rather  of  the  beautiful  ? 

But  why  should  the  indifferent  have  this  attachment  to  the 
beautiful  or  good  ? There  are  circumstances  under  which  such  an 
attachment  would  be  natural.  Suppose  the  indifferent,  say  the 
human  body,  to  be  desirous  of  getting  rid  of  some  evil,  such  as 
disease,  which  is  not  essential  but  only  accidental  to  it  (for  if  the 
evil  were  essential  the  body  would  cease  to  be  indifferent,  and 
would  become  evil) — in  such  a case  the  indifferent  becomes  a 218 
friend  of  the  good  for  the  sake  of  getting  rid  of  the  evil.  In  this 
intermediate  ‘indifferent’  position  the  philosopher  or  lovci  of 


43 


Analysis  218-222. 

wisdom  stands  : he  is  not  wise,  and  yet  not  unwise,  but  he  has 
ignorance  accidentally  clinging  to  him,  and  he  yearns  for  wisdom 
as  the  cure  of  the  evil.  (Cp.  Symp.  204.) 

After  this  explanation  has  been  received  with  triumphant  accord, 

219  a fresh  dissatisfaction  begins  to  steal  over  the  mind  of  Socrates: 
Must  not  friendship  be  for  the  sake  of  some  ulterior  end  ? and  what 
can  that  final  cause  or  end  of  friendship  be,  other  than  the  good  ? 
But  the  good  is  desired  by  us  only  as  the  cure  of  evil ; and 

220  therefore  if  there  were  no  evil  there  would  be  no  friendship. 
Some  other  explanation  then  has  to  be  devised.  May  not  desire 

221  be  the  source  of  friendship  ? And  desire  is  of  what  a man  wants 
and  of  what  is  congenial  to  him.  But  then  the  congenial  cannot 

222  be  the  same  as  the  like  ; for  like,  as  has  been  already  shown,  cannot 
be  the  friend  of  like.  Nor  can  the  congenial  be  the  good  ; for  good 
is  not  the  friend  of  good,  as  has  been  also  shown.  The  problem  is 
unsolved,  and  the  three  friends,  Socrates,  Lysis,  and  Menexenus, 
are  still  unable  to  find  out  what  a friend  is. 

Thus,  as  in  the  Charmides  and  Laches,  and  several  of  the  other 
Dialogues  of  Plato  (compare  especially  the  Protagoras  and  Theaete- 
tus),  no  conclusion  is  arrived  at.  Socrates  maintains  his  character 
of  a ‘ know  nothing ; ’ but  the  boys  have  already  learned  the  lesson 
which  he  is  unable  to  teach  them,  and  they  are  free  from  the 
conceit  of  knowledge.  (Cp.  Charm,  pp.  175,  176.)  The  dialogue  is 
what  would  be  called  in  the  language  of  Thrasyllus  tentative  or 
inquisitive.  The  subject  is  continued  in  the  Phaedrus  and 
Symposium,  and  treated,  with  a manifest  reference  to  the  Lysis,  in 
the  eighth  and  ninth  books  of  the  Nicomachean  Ethics  of  Aristotle. 
As  in  other  writings  of  Plato  (for  example,  the  Republic),  there  is 
a progress  from  unconscious  morality,  illustrated  by  the  friendship 
of  the  two  youths,  and  also  by  the  sayings  of  the  poets  (‘who  are 
our  fathers  in  wisdom,’  and  yet  only  tell  us  half  the  truth,  and 
in  this  particular  instance  are  not  much  improved  upon  by  the 
philosophers),  to  a more  comprehensive  notion  of  friendship. 
This,  however,  is  far  from  being  cleared  of  its  perplexity.  Two 
notions  appear  to  be  struggling  or  balancing  in  the  mind  of 
Socrates  First,  the  sense  that  friendship  arises  out  of  human 
needs  and  wants;  Secondly,  that  the  higher  form  or  ideal  of 
friendship  exists  only  for  the  sake  of  the  good.  That  friends  are 
not  necessarily  either  like  or  unlike,  is  also  a truth  confirmed  by 


Lysis. 

Analysis. 


Intro- 

duction. 


44 


Lysis. 

Intro- 

duction. 


Characters  of  the  Dialogue. 

experience.  But  the  use  of  the  terms  ‘like’  or  ‘good’  is  too 
strictly  limited;  Socrates  has  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  away 
by  a sort  of  eristic  or  illogical  logic  against  which  no  definition  of 
friendship  would  be  able  to  stand.  In  the  course  of  the  argument 
(217  D,  E)  he  makes  a distinction  between  property  and  accident 
which  is  a real  contribution  to  the  science  of  logic.  Some  higher 
truths  appear  through  the  mist.  The  manner  in  which  the  field  of 
argument  is  widened,  as  in  the  Charmides  and  Laches  by  the  in- 
troduction of  the  idea  of  knowledge,  so  here  by  the  introduction  of 
the  good,  is  deserving  of  attention.  The  sense  of  the  inter- 
dependence of  good  and  evil,  and  the  allusion  to  the  possibility  of 
the  non-existence  of  evil,  are  also  very  remarkable. 

The  dialectical  interest  is  fully  sustained  by  the  dramatic 
accompaniments.  Observe,  first,  the  scene,  which  is  a Greek 
Palaestra,  at  a time  when  a sacrifice  is  going  on,  and  the  Hermaea 
are  in  course  of  celebration ; secondly,  the  ‘ accustomed  irony  ’ of 
Socrates,  who  declares,  as  in  the  Symposium  (177  D),  that  he  is 
ignorant  of  all  other  things,  but  claims  to  have  a knowledge 
of  the  mysteries  of  love.  There  are  likewise  several  contrasts  of 
character ; first  of  the  dry,  caustic  Ctesippus,  of  whom  Socrates 
professes  a humorous  sort  of  fear,  and  Hippothales  the  flighty 
lover,  who  murders  sleep  by  bawling  out  the  name  of  his  beloved  ; 
there  is  also  a contrast  between  the  false,  exaggerated,  sentimental 
love  of  Hippothales  towards  Lysis,  and  the  childlike  and  innocent 
friendship  of  the  boys  with  one  another.  Some  difference  appears 
to  be  intended  between  the  characters  of  the  more  talkative 
Menexenus  and  the  reserved  and  simple  Lysis.  Socrates  draws 
out  the  latter  by  a new  sort  of  irony,  which  is  sometimes  adopted 
in  talking  to  children,  and  consists  in  asking  a leading  question 
which  can  only  be  answered  in  a sense  contrary  to  the  intention 
of  the  question  : ‘ Your  father  and  mother  of  course  allow  you  to 

drive  the  chariot  ? ’ ‘No  they  do  not.’  When  Menexenus  returns, 
the  serious  dialectic  begins.  He  is  described  as  ‘ very  pugnacious,’ 
and  we  are  thus  prepared  for  the  part  which  a mere  youth  takes 
in  a difficult  argument.  But  Plato  has  not  forgotten  dramatic 
propriety,  and  Socrates  proposes  at  last  to  refer  the  question  to 
some  older  person  (223  A). 


45 


Some  questions  relating  to  Friendship. 

The  subject  of  friendship  has  a lower  place  in  the  modern  than 
in  the  ancient  world,  partly  because  a higher  place  is  assigned  by 
us  to  love  and  marriage.  The  very  meaning  of  the  word  has 
become  slighter  and  more  superficial ; it  seems  almost  to  be 
borrowed  from  the  ancients,  and  has  nearly  disappeared  in 
modern  treatises  on  Moral  Philosophy.  The  received  examples 
of  friendship  are  to  be  found  chiefly  among  the  Greeks  and 
Romans.  Hence  the  casuistical  or  other  questions  which  arise 
out  of  the  relations  of  friends  have  not  often  been  considered 
seriously  in  modern  times.  Many  of  them  will  be  found  to  be  the 
same  which  are  discussed  in  the  Lysis.  We  may  ask  with 
Socrates,  i)  whether  friendship  is  ‘ of  similars  or  dissimilars,’  or  of 
both ; 2)  whether  such  a tie  exists  between  the  good  only  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  good ; or  3)  whether  there  may  not  be  some 
peculiar  attraction,  which  draws  together  ‘the  neither  good  nor 
evil  ’ for  the  sake  of  the  good  and  because  of  the  evil ; 4)  whether 
friendship  is  always  mutual, — may  there  not  be  a one-sided  and 
unrequited  friendship  ? This  question,  which,  like  many  others,  is 
only  one  of  a laxer  or  stricter  use  of  words,  seems  to  have  greatly 
exercised  the  minds  both  of  Aristotle  and  Plato. 

5)  Can  we  expect  friendship  to  be  permanent,  or  must  we 
acknowledge  with  Cicero,  1 Nihil  difficilius  quam  amicitiam  usque 
ad  extremum  vitae  permanere  ’ ? Is  not  friendship,  even  more 
than  love,  liable  to  be  swayed  by  the  caprices  of  fancy?  The 
person  who  pleased  us  most  at  first  sight  or  upon  a slight  acquaint- 
ance, when  we  have  seen  him  again,  and  under  different  circum- 
stances, may  make  a much  less  favourable  impression  on  our 
minds.  Young  people  swear  ‘eternal  friendships,’  but  at  these 
innocent  perjuries  their  elders  laugh.  No  one  forms  a friendship 
with  the  intention  of  renouncing  it ; yet  in  the  course  of  a varied 
life  it  is  practically  certain  that  many  changes  will  occur  of 
feeling,  opinion,  locality,  occupation,  fortune,  which  will  divide  us 
from  some  persons  and  unite  us  to  others.  6)  There  is  an  ancient 
saying,  Qui  amicos  amicum  non  habet.  But  is  not  some  less 
exclusive  form  of  friendship  better  suited  to  the  condition  and 
nature  of  man  ? And  in  those  especially  who  have  no  family  ties, 
may  not  the  feeling  pass  beyond  one  or  a few,  and  embrace  all 


Lysis. 

Intro- 

duction. 


46 


Lysis. 

Intro- 

duction. 


Nature  of  friendship. 

with  whom  we  come  into  contact,  and,  perhaps  in  a few  pas- 
sionate and  exalted  natures,  all  men  everywhere  ? 7)  The  ancients 
had  their  three  kinds  of  friendship,  ‘ for  the  sake  of  the  pleasant, 
the  useful,  and  the  good  is  the  last  to  be  resolved  into  the  two  first ; 
or  are  the  two  first  to  be  included  in  the  last  ? The  subject  was 
puzzling  to  them : they  could  not  say  that  friendship  was  only  a 
quality,  or  a relation,  or  a virtue,  or  a kind  of  virtue ; and  they  had 
not  in  the  age  of  Plato  reached  the  point  of  regarding  it,  like 
justice,  as  a form  or  attribute  of  virtue.  They  had  another  per- 
plexity : 8)  How  could  one  of  the  noblest  feelings  of  human  nature 
be  so  near  to  one  of  the  most  detestable  corruptions  of  it?  (cp. 
Symposium  180  ff.,  218  ff. ; Laws  VIII,  835  ff.). 

Leaving  the  Greek  or  ancient  point  of  view,  we  may  regard  the 
question  in  a more  general  way.  Friendship  is  the  union  of  two 
persons  in  mutual  affection  and  remembrance  of  one  another. 
The  friend  can  do  for  his  friend  what  he  cannot  do  for  himself. 
He  can  give  him  counsel  in  time  of  difficulty ; he  can  teach  him 
‘ to  see  himself  as  others  see  him  ’ ; he  can  stand  by  him,  when  all 
the  world  are  against  him ; he  can  gladden  and  enlighten  him  by 
his  presence;  he  ‘can  divide  his  sorrows,’  he  can  ‘double  his 
joys;’  he  can  anticipate  his  wants.  He  will  discover  ways  of 
helping  him  without  creating  a sense  of  his  own  superiority;  he 
will  find  out  his  mental  trials,  but  only  that  he  may  minister  to 
them.  Among  true  friends  jealousy  has  no  place:  they  do  not 
complain  of  one  another  for  making  new  friends,  or  for  not 
revealing  some  secret  of  their  lives  ; (in  friendship  too  there  must 
be  reserves  ;)  they  do  not  intrude  upon  one  another,  and  they 
mutually  rejoice  in  any  good  which  happens  to  either  of  them, 
though  it  may  be  to  the  loss  of  the  other.  They  may  live  apart 
and  have  little  intercourse,  but  when  they  meet,  the  old  tie  is 
as  strong  as  ever — according  to  the  common  saying,  they  find 
one  another  always  the  same.  The  greatest  good  of  friendship  is 
not  daily  intercourse,  for  circumstances  rarely  admit  of  this ; but  on 
the  great  occasions  of  life,  when  the  advice  of  a friend  is  needed, 
then  the  word  spoken  in  season  about  conduct,  about  health, 
about  marriage,  about  business,— the  letter  written  from  a distance 
by  a disinterested  person  who  sees  with  clearer  eyes  may  be  of 
inestimable  value.  When  the  heart  is  failing  and  despair  is 
setting  in,  then  to  hear  the  voice  or  grasp  the  hand  of  a friend,  in 


47 


Difficulties  of  friendship. 

a shipwreck,  in  a defeat,  in  some  other  failure  or  misfortune,  may 
restore  the  necessary  courage  and  composure  to  the  paralysed  and 
disordered  mind,  and  convert  the  feeble  person  into  a hero ; (cp. 
Symposium  179  ff.). 

It  is  true  that  friendships  are  apt  to  be  disappointing  : either  we 
expect  too  much  from  them  ; or  we  are  indolent  and  do  not  ‘ keep 
them  in  repair ; ’ or  being  admitted  to  intimacy  with  another,  we  see 
his  faults  too  clearly  and  lose  our  respect  for  him ; and  he  loses 
his  affection  for  us.  Friendships  may  be  too  violent ; and  they 
may  be  too  sensitive.  The  egotism  of  one  of  the  parties  may  be 
too  much  for  the  other.  The  word  of  counsel  or  sympathy  has 
been  uttered  too  obtrusively,  at  the  wrong  time,  or  in  the  wrong 
manner ; or  the  need  of  it  has  not  been  perceived  until  too  late. 
‘ Oh  if  he  had  only  told  me  ’ has  been  the  silent  thought  of  many 
a troubled  soul.  And  some  things  have  to  be  indicated  rather  than 
spoken,  because  the  very  mention  of  them  tends  to  disturb  the 
equability  of  friendship.  The  alienation  of  friends,  like  many 
other  human  evils,  is  commonly  due  to  a want  of  tact  and  insight. 
There  is  not  enough  of  the  Scimus  et  hanc  veniam  petimusque 
damusque  vicissitn.  The  sweet  draught  of  sympathy  is  not  inex- 
haustible ; and  it  tends  to  weaken  the  person  who  too  freely  partakes 
of  it.  Thus  we  see  that  there  are  many  causes  which  impair  the 
happiness  of  friends. 

We  may  expect  a friendship  almost  divine,  such  as  philo- 
sophers have  sometimes  dreamed  of : we  find  what  is  human. 
The  good  of  it  is  necessarily  limited ; it  does  not  take  the  place 
of  marriage  ; it  affords  rather  a solace  than  an  arm  of  support. 
It  had  better  not  be  based  on  pecuniary  obligations ; these  more 
often  mar  than  make  a friendship.  It  is  most  likely  to  be  per- 
manent when  the  two  friends  are  equal  and  independent,  or  when 
they  are  engaged  together  in  some  common  work  or  have  some 
public  interest  in  common.  It  exists  among  the  bad  or  inferior  sort 
of  men  almost  as  much  as  among  the  good ; the  bad  and  good, 
and  1 the  neither  bad  nor  good,’  are  drawn  together  in  a strange 
manner  by  personal  attachment.  The  essence  of  it  is  loyalty, 
without  which  it  would  cease  to  be  friendship. 

Another  question  9)  maybe  raised,  whether  friendship  can  safely 
exist  between  young  persons  of  different  sexes,  not  connected 
by  ties  of  relationship,  and  without  the  thought  of  love  or  marriage  ; 


Lysis. 

Intro- 

duction. 


48 

Lysis. 

1 NTRO- 
DUCTION, 


Dissolutions  of  friendship. 

whether,  again,  a wife  or  a husband  should  have  any  intimate 
friend,  besides  his  or  her  partner  in  marriage.  The  answer  to 
this  latter  question  is  rather  perplexing,  and  would  probably  be 
different  in  different  countries  (cp.  Sympos.  p.  182).  While  we  do 
not  deny  that  great  good  may  result  from  such  attachments,  for 
the  mind  may  be  drawn  out  and  the  character  enlarged  by  them ; 
yet  we  feel  also  that  they  are  attended  with  many  dangers, 
and  that  this  Romance  of  Heavenly  Love  requires  a strength,  a 
freedom  from  passion,  a self-control,  which,  in  youth  especially,  are 
rarely  to  be  found.  The  propriety  of  such  friendships  must 
be  estimated  a good  deal  by  the  manner  in  which  public  opinion 
regards  them ; they  must  be  reconciled  with  the  ordinary  duties 
of  life ; and  they  must  be  justified  by  the  result. 

Yet  another  question,  10).  Admitting  that  friendships  cannot  be 
always  permanent,  we  may  ask  when  and  upon  what  conditions 
should  they  be  dissolved.  It  would  be  futile  to  retain  the  name 
when  the  reality  has  ceased  to  be.  That  two  friends  should 
part  company  whenever  the  relation  between  them  begins  to 
drag  may  be  better  for  both  of  them.  But  then  arises  the  con- 
sideration, how  should  these  friends  in  youth  or  friends  of  the  past 
regard  or  be  regarded  by  one  another  ? They  are  parted,  but 
there  still  remain  duties  mutually  owing  by  them.  They  will  not 
admit  the  world  to  share  in  their  difference  any  more  than  in  their 
friendship  ; the  memory  of  an  old  attachment,  like  the  memory 
of  the  dead,  has  a kind  of  sacredness  for  them  on  which  they  will 
not  allow  others  to  intrude.  Neither,  if  they  were  ever  worthy 
to  bear  the  name  of  friends,  will  either  of  them  entertain  any 
enmity  or  dislike  of  the  other  who  was  once  so  much  to  him. 
Neither  will  he  by  ‘shadowed  hint  reveal’  the  secrets  great 
or  small  which  an  unfortunate  mistake  has  placed  within  his 
reach.  He  who  is  of  a noble  mind  will  dwell  upon  his  own  faults 
rather  than  those  of  another,  and  will  be  ready  to  take  upon  him- 
self the  blame  of  their  separation.  He  will  feel  pain  at  the  loss 
of  a friend ; and  he  will  remember  with  gratitude  his  ancient 
kindness.  But  he  will  not  lightly  renew  a tie  which  has  not  been 

lightly  broken These  are  a few  of  the  Problems  of  Friendship, 

some  of  them  suggested  by  the  Lysis,  others  by  modern  life, 
which  he  who  wishes  to  make  or  keep  a friend  may  profitably 
study.  (Cp.  Bacon,  Essay  on  Friendship  ; Cic.  de  Amicitia.) 


LYSIS,  OR  FRIENDSHIP. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 

Socrates,  who  is  the  narrator.  Menexenus. 

Hippothales.  Lysis. 

Ctesippus. 

Scene  : — A newly-erected  Palaestra  outside  the  walls  of  Athens. 

steph.  T WAS  going  from  the  Academy  straight  to  the  Lyceum, 
-°3  -L  intending  to  take  the  outer  road,  which  is  close  under 
the  wall.  When  I came  to  the  postern  gate  of  the  city, 
which  is  by  the  fountain  of  Panops,  I fell  in  with  Hippo- 
thales, the  son  of  Hieronymus,  and  Ctesippus  the  Paeanian, 
and  a company  of  young  men  who  were  standing  with  them. 
Hippothales,  seeing  me  approach,  asked  whence  I came  and 
whither  I was  going. 

I am  going,  I replied,  from  the  Academy  straight  to  the 
Lyceum. 

Then  come  straight  to  us,  he  said,  and  put  in  here  ; you 
may  as  well. 

Who  are  you,  I said ; and  where  am  I to  come  ? 

He  showed  me  an  enclosed  space  and  an  open  door  over 
against  the  wall.  And  there,  he  said,  is  the  building  at  which 
we  all  meet : and  a goodly  company  we  are. 

And  what  is  this  building,  I asked  ; and  what  sort  of  enter- 
tainment have  you  ? 

204  The  building,  he  replied,  is  a newly-erected  Palaestra ; and 
the  entertainment  is  generally  conversation,  to  which  you  are 
welcome. 

Thank  you,  I said  ; and  is  there  any  teacher  there? 
vol.  1.  E 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Hippo- 

thales. 


50 


Meeting  of  Hippothales  and  Socrates. 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Hippo- 

thales, 

Ctesippus. 


The  love 
fancies  of 
Hippo- 
thales are 
very- 

ridiculous. 


Yes,  lie  said,  your  old  friend  and  admirer,  Miccus. 

Indeed,  I replied  ; he  is  a very  eminent  professor. 

Are  you  disposed,  he  said,  to  go  with  me  and  see  them  ? 

Yes,  I said;  but  I should  like  to  know  first,  what  is 
expected  of  me,  and  who  is  the  favourite  among  you  ? 

Some  persons  have  one  favourite,  Socrates,  and  some 
another,  he  said. 

And  who  is  yours?  I asked  : tell  me  that,  Hippothales. 

At  this  he  blushed  ; and  I said  to  him,  O Hippothales,  thou 
son  of  Hieronymus  ! do  not  say  that  you  are,  or  that  you  are 
not,  in  love ; the  confession  is  too  late  ; for  I see  that  you  are 
not  only  in  love,  but  are  already  far  gone  in  your  love. 
Simple  and  foolish  as  I am,  the  Gods  have  given  me  the 
power  of  understanding  affections  of  this  kind. 

Whereupon  he  blushed  more  and  more. 

Ctesippus  said  : I like  to  see  you  blushing,  Hippothales, 
and  hesitating  to  tell  Socrates  the  name ; when,  if  he  were 
with  you  but  for  a very  short  time,  you  would  have  plagued 
him  to  death  by  talking  about  nothing  else.  Indeed,  Socrates, 
he  has  literally  deafened  us,  and  stopped  our  ears  with  the 
praises  of  Lysis ; and  if  he  is  a little  intoxicated,  there  is 
every  likelihood  that  we  may  have  our  sleep  murdered  with 
a cry  of  Lj^sis.  His  performances  in  prose  are  bad  enough, 
but  nothing  at  all  in  comparison  with  his  verse ; and  when 
he  drenches  us  with  his  poems  and  other  compositions,  it  is 
really  too  bad  ; and  worse  still  is  his  manner  of  singing  them 
to  his  love ; he  has  a voice  which  is  truly  appalling,  and  we 
cannot  help  hearing  him  : and  now  having  a question  put  to 
him  by  you,  behold  he  is  blushing. 

Who  is  Lysis  ? I said  : I suppose  that  he  must  be  young  ; 
for  the  name  does  not  recall  any  one  to  me. 

Why,  he  said,  his  father  being  a very  well-known  man,  he 
retains  his  patronymic,  and  is  not  as  yet  commonly  called  by 
his  own  name  ; but,  although  you  do  not  know  his  name,  I 
am  sure  that  you  must  know  his  face,  for  that  is  quite  enough 
to  distinguish  him. 

But  tell  me  whose  son  he  is,  I said. 

He  is  the  eldest  son  of  Democratcs,  of  the  deme  of 
Aexone. 

Ah,  Hippothales,  I said;  what  a noble  and  really  perfect 


Hippothciles  in  love. 

love  you  have  found  ! I wish  that  you  would  favour  me 
with  the  exhibition  which  you  have  been  making  to  the  rest 
205  of  the  company,  and  then  I shall  be  able  to  judge  whether 
you  know  what  a lover  ought  to  say  about  his  love,  either  to 
the  youth  himself,  or  to  others. 

Nay,  Socrates,  he  said;  you  surely  do  not  attach  any 
importance  to  what  he  is  saying. 

Do  you  mean,  I said,  that  you  disown  the  love  of  the 
person  whom  he  says  that  you  love  ? 

No  ; but  I deny  that  I make  verses  or  address  compositions 
to  him. 

He  is  not  in  his  right  mind,  said  Ctesippus;  he  is  talking 
nonsense,  and  is  stark  mad. 

O Hippothales,  I said,  if  you  have  ever  made  any  verses 
or  songs  in  honour  of  your  favourite,  I do  not  want  to  hear 
them ; but  I want  to  know  the  purport  of  them,  that  I may 
be  able  to  judge  of  your  mode  of  approaching  your  fair  one. 

Ctesippus  will  be  able  to  tell  you,  he  said ; for  if,  as  he 
avers,  the  sound  of  my  words  is  always  dinning  in  his  ears, 
he  must  have  a very  accurate  knowledge  and  recollection  of 
them. 

Yes,  indeed,  said  Ctesippus;  I know  only  too  well;  and 
very  ridiculous  the  tale  is : for  although  he  is  a lover,  and 
very  devotedly  in  love,  he  has  nothing  particular  to  talk 
about  to  his  beloved  which  a child  might  not  say.  Now  is 
not  that  ridiculous?  He  can  only  speak  of  the  wealth  of 
Democrates,  which  the  whole  city  celebrates,  and  grandfather 
Lysis,  and  the  other  ancestors  of  the  youth,  and  their  stud  of 
horses,  and  their  victory  at  the  Pythian  games,  and  at  the 
Isthmus,  and  at  Nemea  with  four  horses  and  single  horses — - 
these  are  the  tales  which  he  composes  and  repeats.  And  there 
is  greater  twaddle  still.  Only  the  day  before  yesterday  he 
made  a poem  in  which  he  described  the  entertainment  of 
Heracles,  who  was  a connexion  of  the  family,  setting  forth 
how  in  virtue  of  this  relationship  he  was  hospitably  received 
by  an  ancestor  of  Lysis;  this  ancestor  was  himself  begotten 
of  Zeus  by  the  daughter  of  the  founder  of  the  deme.  And 
these  are  the  sort  of  old  wives’  tales  which  he  sings  and 
recites  to  us,  and  we  are  obliged  to  listen  to  him. 

When  I heard  this,  I said  : O ridiculous  Hippothales ! how 

e 2 


51 

Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Hippo- 

thales, 

Ctesippus. 


But  though 
he  is  so 
devoted  a 
lover,  the 
love  poems 
which  he 
composes 
are  made 
up  of 
common- 
places. 


52 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Hippo- 

THALES. 


The  verses 
are  really 
in  honour 
of  himself 
if  he  win 
his  love  ; 
or  in  dis- 
honour of 
himself  if 
his  fair  one 
jilts  him. 


He  injures 
both  his 
beloved 
and  him- 
self by 
writing 
poetry. 


He  must  be  taught  by  Socrates. 

can  you  be  making  and  singing  hymns  in  honour  of  yourself 
before  you  have  won  ? 

But  my  songs  and  verses,  he  said,  are  not  in  honour  of 
myself,  Socrates. 

You  think  not?  I said. 

Nay,  but  what  do  you  think?  he  replied. 

Most  assuredly,  I said,  those  songs  are  all  in  your  own 
honour ; for  if  you  win  your  beautiful  love,  your  discourses 
and  songs  will  be  a glory  to  you,  and  may  be  truly  regarded 
as  hymns  of  praise  composed  in  honour  of  you  who  have  con- 
quered and  won  such  a love  ; but  if  he  slips  away  from  you, 
the  more  you  have  praised  him,  the  more  ridiculous  you  will 
look  at  having  lost  this  fairest  and  best  of  blessings ; and 
therefore  the  wise  lover  does  not  praise  his  beloved  until  he  206 
has  won  him,  because  he  is  afraid  of  accidents.  There  is 
also  another  danger ; the  fair,  when  any  one  praises  or 
magnifies  them,  are  filled  with  the  spirit  of  pride  and  vain- 
glory. Do  you  not  agree  with  me  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  the  more  vain-glorious  they  are,  the  more  difficult  is 
the  capture  of  them  ? 

I believe  you. 

What  should  you  say  of  a hunter  who  frightened  away  his 
prey,  and  made  the  capture  of  the  animals  which  he  is  hunting 
more  difficult? 

He  would  be  a bad  hunter,  undoubtedly. 

Yes ; and  if,  instead  of  soothing  them,  he  were  to  infuriate 
them  with  words  and  songs,  that  would  show  a great  want  of 
wit : do  you  not  agree  ? 

Yes. 

And  now  reflect,  Hippothales,  and  see  whether  you  are  not 
guilty  of  all  these  errors  in  writing  poetry.  For  I can  hardly 
suppose  that  you  will  affirm  a man  to  be  a good  poet  who 
injures  himself  by  his  poetry. 

Assuredly  not,  he  said ; such  a poet  would  be  a fool.  And 
this  is  the  reason  why  I take  you  into  my  counsels,  Socrates, 
and  I shall  be  glad  of  any  further  advice  which  you  may  have 
to  offer.  Will  you  tell  me  by  what  words  or  actions  I may 

become  endeared  to  my  love  ? 

That  is  not  easy  to  determine,  I said  ; but  if  you  will 


53 


Lysis  and  Menexenus  enter  the  Palaestra. 

bring  your  love  to  me,  and  will  let  me  talk  with  him,  1 may 
perhaps  be  able  to  show  you  how  to  converse  with  him, 
instead  of  singing  and  reciting  in  the. fashion  of  which  you 
are  accused. 

There  will  be  no  difficulty  in  bringing  him,  he  replied  ; if 
you  will  only  go  with  Ctesippus  into  the  Palaestra,  and  sit 
down  and  talk,  I believe  that  he  will  come  of  his  own  accord  ; 
for  he  is  fond  of  listening,  Socrates.  And  as  this  is  the 
festival  of  the  Hermaea,  the  young  men  and  boys  are  all 
together,  and  there  is  no  separation  between  them.  He  will 
be  sure  to  come  : but  if  he  does  not,  Ctesippus  with  whom  he 
is  familiar,  and  whose  relation  Menexenus  is  his  great  friend, 
shall  call  him. 

That  will  be  the  way,  I said.  Thereupon  I led  Ctesippus 
into  the  Palaestra,  and  the  rest  followed. 

Upon  entering  we  found  that  the  boys  had  just  been  sacri- 
ficing ; and  this  part  of  the  festival  was  nearly  at  an  end. 
They  were  all  in  their  white  array,  and  games  at  dice  were 
going  on  among  them.  Most  of  them  were  in  the  outer 
court  amusing  themselves ; but  some  were  in  a corner  of  the 
Apodyterium  playing  at  odd  and  even  with  a number  of  dice, 
which  they  took  out  of  little  wicker  baskets.  There  was  also 
a circle  of  lookers-on ; among  them  was  Lysis.  He  was 
207  standing  with  the  other  boys  and  youths,  having  a crown 
upon  his  head,  like  a fair  vision,  and  not  less  worthy  of 
praise  for  his  goodness  than  for  his  beauty.  We  left  them, 
and  went  over  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  where, 
finding  a quiet  place,  we  sat  down ; and  then  we  began  to 
talk.  This  attracted  Lysis,  who  was  constantly  turning 
round  to  look  at  us — he  was  evidently  wanting  to  come  to 
us.  For  a time  he  hesitated  and  had  not  the  courage  to 
come  alone ; but  first  of  all,  his  friend  Menexenus,  leaving 
his  play,  entered  the  Palaestra  from  the  court,  and  when  he 
saw  Ctesippus  and  myself,  was  going  to  take  a seat  by  us ; 
and  then  Lysis,  seeing  him,  followed,  and  sat  down  by 
his  side ; and  the  other  boys  joined.  I should  observe 
that  Hippothales,  when  he  saw  the  crowd,  got  behind 
them,  where  he  thought  that  he  would  be  out  of  sight  of 
Lysis,  lest  he  should  anger  him ; and  there  he  stood 
and  listened. 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Hippo- 

THALES. 


The  boys 
at  their 
games. 


The  beauty 
and  good- 
ness of 
Lysis. 


Lysis  and 
his  friend 
Menexenus 
leave  the 
boys  and 
join  the 
circle  of 
young 
men. 


54 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Menexenus, 

Lysis. 

Socrates 
asks  which 
is  the  elder, 
nobler, 
fairer. 


Menexenus 
is  called 
away  and 
Socrates 
continues 
the  con- 
versation 
with  Lysis 
alone. 

His  parents 
love  him 
very  much  ; 
will  they 
allow  him 
to  do  what- 
ever he 
likes  ? 
Certainly 
not. 


The  two  boys  are  questioned  by  Socrates. 

1 turned  to  Menexenus,  and  said  : Son  of  Demophon, 
which  of  you  two  youths  is  the  elder? 

That  is  a matter  of  dispute  between  us,  he  said. 

And  which  is  the  nobler?  Is  that  also  a matter  of  dispute? 

Yes,  certainly. 

And  another  disputed  point  is,  which  is  the  fairer? 

The  two  boys  laughed. 

I shall  not  ask  which  is  the  richer  of  the  two,  I said  ; for 
you  are  friends,  are  you  not  ? 

Certainly,  they  replied. 

And  friends  have  all  things  in  common,  so  that  one  of  you 
can  be  no  richer  than  the  other,  if  you  say  truly  that  you  are 
friends. 

They  assented.  I was  about  to  ask  which  was  the  juster 
of  the  two,  and  which  was  the  wiser  of  the  two ; but  at  this 
moment  Menexenus  was  called  away  by  some  one  who  came 
and  said  that  the  gymnastic-master  wanted  him.  I supposed 
that  he  had  to  offer  sacrifice.  So  he  went  away,  and  I asked 
Lysis  some  more  questions.  I dare  say,  Lysis,  I said,  that 
your  father  and  mother  love  you  very  much. 

Certainly,  he  said. 

And  they  would  wish  you  to  be  perfectly  happy. 

Yes. 

But  do  you  think  that  any  one  is  happy  who  is  in  the  con- 
dition of  a slave,  and  who  cannot  do  what  he  likes  ? 

I should  think  not  indeed,  he  said. 

And  if  your  father  and  mother  love  you,  and  desire  that  you 
should  be  happy,  no  one  can  doubt  that  they  are  very  ready 
to  promote  your  happiness. 

Certainly,  he  replied. 

And  do  they  then  permit  you  to  do  what  you  like,  and 
never  rebuke  you  or  hinder  you  from  doing  what  you 
desire  ? 

Yes,  indeed,  Socrates;  there  are  a great  many  things 
which  they  hinder  me  from  doing. 

What  do  you  mean  ? I said.  Do  they  want  you  to  be 
happy,  and  yet  hinder  you  from  doing  what  you  like  ? for  208 
example,  if  you  want  to  mount  one  of  your  father  s chariots, 
and  take  the  reins  at  a race,  they  will  not  allow  you  to  do 
so — they  will  prevent  you  ? 


55 


* The  heir  so  long  as  he  is  a child.' 


Certainly,  he  said,  they  will  not  allow  me  to  do  so. 

Whom  then  will  they  allow  ? 

There  is  a charioteer,  whom  my  father  pays  for  driving. 

And  do  they  trust  a hireling  more  than  you  ? and  may  he 
do  what  he  likes  with  the  horses  ? and  do  they  pay  him  for 
this? 

They  do. 

But  I dare  say  that  you  may  take  the  whip  and  guide  the 
mule -cart  if  you  like  they  will  permit  that  ? 

Permit  me  ! indeed  they  will  not. 

Then,  I said,  may  no  one  use  the  whip  to  the  mules  ? 

Yes,  he  said,  the  muleteer. 

And  is  he  a slave  or  a free  man  ? 

A slave,  he  said. 

And  do  they  esteem  a slave  of  more  value  than  you  who 
are  their  son?  And  do  they  entrust  "their  property  to  him 
rather  than  to  you  ? and  allow  him  to  do  what  he  likes,  when 
they  prohibit  you  ? Answer  me  now : Are  you  your  own 
master,  or  do  they  not  even  allow  that  ? 

Nay,  he  said ; of  course  they  do  not  allow  it. 

Then  you  have  a master  ? 

Yes,  my  tutor  ; there  he  is. 

And  is  he  a slave  ? 

To  be  sure ; he  is  our  slave,  he  replied. 

Surely,  I said,  this  is  a strange  thing,  that  a free  man 
should  be  governed  by  a slave.  And  what  does  he  do 
with  you  ? 

He  takes  me  to  my  teachers. 

You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  your  teachers  also  rule  over 
you? 

Of  course  they  do. 

Then  I must  say  that  your  father  is  pleased  to  inflict  many 
lords  and  masters  on  you.  But  at  any  rate  when  you  go 
home  to  your  mother,  she  will  let  you  have  your  own  way, 
and  will  not  interfere  with  your  happiness  ; her  wool,  or  the 
piece  of  cloth  which  she  is  weaving,  are  at  your  disposal : 
I am  sure  that  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  you  from  touching 
her  wooden  spathe,  or  her  comb,  or  any  other  of  her 
spinning  implements. 

Nay,  Socrates,  he  replied,  laughing;  not  only  does  she 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Lysis. 


He  is  a 
freeman 
and  is 
governed 
by  a slave. 


He  may 
not  touch 
one  of  his 
mother's 
spinning 
imple- 
ments, 


56 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Lysis, 


and  he 
derives  no 
good  from 
all  his 
parents’ 
wealth. 


But  he  may 
write  or 
read  or 
tune  the 
lyre  at 
his  own 
discretion. 


People  will 
trust  him 
in  what  he 
under- 
stands. 


But  he  may  do 

hinder  me,  but  I should  be  beaten,  if  I were  to  touch  one  of 
them. 

Well,  I said,  this  is  amazing.  And  did  you  ever  behave 
ill  to  your  father  or  your  mother  ? 

No,  indeed,  he  replied. 

But  why  then  are  they  so  terribly  anxious  to  prevent  you 
from  being  happy,  and  doing  as  you  like  ? — keeping  you  all 
day  long  in  subjection  to  another,  and,  in  a word,  doing 
nothing  which  you  desire ; so  that  you  have  no  good,  as 
would  appear,  out  of  their  great  possessions,  which  are  under  209 
the  control  of  anybody  rather  than  of  you,  and  have  no  use 
of  your  own  fair  person,  which  is  tended  and  taken  care  of 
by  another ; while  you,  Lysis,  are  master  of  nobody,  and  can 
do  nothing  ? 

Why,  he  said,  Socrates,  the  reason  is  that  I am  not  of 
age. 

I doubt  whether  that  is  the  real  reason,  I said  ; for  I 
should  imagine  that  your  father  Democrates,  and  your 
mother,  do  permit  you  to  do  many  things  already,  and  do 
not  wait  until  you  are  of  age : for  example,  if  they  want 
anything  read  or  written,  you,  I presume,  would  be  the  first 
person  in  the  house  who  is  summoned  by  them. 

Very  true. 

And  you  would  be  allowed  to  write  or  read  the  letters 
in  any  order  which  you  please,  or  to  take  up  the  lyre  and 
tune  the  notes,  and  play  with  the  fingers,  or  strike  with  the 
plectrum,  exactly  as  you  please,  and  neither  father  nor 
mother  would  interfere  with  you. 

That  is  time,  he  said. 

Then  what  can  be  the  reason,  Lysis,  I said,  why  they 
allow  you  to  do  the  one  and  not  the  other  ? 

I suppose,  he  said,  because  I understand  the  one,  and  not 
the  other. 

Yes,  my  dear  youth,  I said,  the  reason  is  not  any  de- 
ficiency of  years,  but  a deficiency  of  knowledge  ; and  when- 
ever your  father  thinks  that  you  are  wiser  than  he  is,  he  will 
instantly  commit  himself  and  his  possessions  to  you. 

I think  so. 

Aye,  I said  ; and  about  your  neighbour,  too,  does  not  the 
same  rule  hold  as  about  your  father?  If  he  is  satisfied  that 


zvhat  he  knozvs  hozv  to  do. 


57 


you  know  more  of  housekeeping  than  he  does,  will  he 
continue  to  administer  his  affairs  himself,  or  will  he  commit 
them  to  you  ? 

I think  that  he  will  commit  them  to  me. 

Will  not  the  Athenian  people,  too,  entrust  their  affairs  to 
you  when  they  see  that  you  have  wisdom  enough  to  manage 
them  ? 

Yes. 

And  oh  ! let  me  put  another  case,  I said  : There  is  the 
great  king,  and  he  has  an  eldest  son,  who  is  the  Prince 
of  Asia  suppose  that  you  and  I go  to  him  and  establish  to 
his  satisfaction  that  we  are  better  cooks  than  his  son,  will  he 
not  entrust  to  us  the  prerogative  of  making  soup,  and  putting 
in  anything  that  we  like  while  the  pot  is  boiling,  rather  than  to 
the  Prince  of  Asia,  who  is  his  son  ? 

To  us,  clearly. 

And  we  shall  be  allowed  to  throw  in  salt  by  handfuls, 
whereas  the  son  will  not  be  allowed  to  put  in  as  much  as  he 
can  take  up  between  his  fingers  ? 

Of  course. 

Or  suppose  again  that  the  son  has  bad  eyes,  will  he  allow 
him,  or  will  he  not  allow  him,  to  touch  his  own  eyes  if  he 
thinks  that  he  has  no  knowledge  of  medicine  ? 

He  will  not  allow  him. 

Whereas,  if  he  supposes  us  to  have  a knowledge  of  medi- 
cine, he  will  allow  us  to  do  what  we  like  with  him — even  to 
open  the  eyes  wide  and  sprinkle  ashes  upon  them,  because  he 
supposes  that  we  know  what  is  best  ? 

That  is  true. 

And  everything  in  which  we  appear  to  him  to  be  wiser 
than  himself  or  his  son  he  will  commit  to  us  ? 

That  is  very  true,  Socrates,  he  replied. 

Then  now,  my  dear  Lysis,  I said,  you  perceive  that  in 
things  which  we  know  everyone  will  trust  us, — Hellenes  and 
barbarians,  men  and  women, — and  we  may  do  as  we  please 
about  them,  and  no  one  will  like  to  interfere  with  us ; we 
shall  be  free,  and  masters  of  others  ; and  these  things  will  be 
really  ours,  for  we  shall  be  benefited  by  them.  But  in  things 
of  which  we  have  no  understanding,  no  one  will  trust  us 
to  do  as  seems  good  to  us — they  will  hinder  us  as  far  as  they 


Lysis. 

SOCRATKS, 

Lysis. 


Even  the 
Athenians 
or  the 
great  king 
will  allow 
him  to 
manage 
their 

affairs,  to 
cook  for 
them,  to 
cure  their 
eyes,  if  he 
knows  how 
and  can 
be  of  any 
use  to 
them. 


58 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Lysis. 


He  must 
learn  then 
to  be 

useful  and 
wise. 

Having  no 
knowledge 
he  has  no 
conceit  of 
knowledge. 


Lysis  asks 

Socrates 

to  argue 

with 

Mene- 

xenus. 


The  two  friends , 

can  ; and  not  only  strangers,  but  father  and  mother,  and  the 
friend,  if  there  be  one,  who  is  dearer  still,  will  also  hinder  us  ; 
and  we  shall  be  subject  to  others ; and  these  things  will  not 
be  ours,  for  we  shall  not  be  benefited  by  them.  Do  you 
agree  ? 

He  assented. 

And  shall  we  be  friends  to  others,  and  will  any  others  love 
us,  in  as  far  as  we  are  useless  to  them  ? 

Certainly  not. 

Neither  can  your  father  or  mother  love  you,  nor  can  any- 
body love  anybody  else,  in  so  far  as  they  are  useless  to 
them  ? 

No. 

And  therefore,  my  boy,  if  you  are  wise,  all  men  will  be 
your  friends  and  kindred,  for  you  will  be  useful  and  good  ; 
but  if  you  are  not  wise,  neither  father,  nor  mother,  nor  kindred, 
nor  any  one  else,  will  be  your  friends.  And  in  mattei  s 
of  which  you  have  as  yet  no  knowledge,  can  you  have  any 
conceit  of  knowledge  ? 

That  is  impossible,  he  replied. 

And  you,  Lysis,  if  you  require  a teacher,  have  not  yet 
attained  to  wisdom. 

T rue. 

And  therefore  you  are  not  conceited,  having  nothing  of 
which  to  be  conceited. 

Indeed,  Socrates,  I think  not. 

When  I heard  him  say  this,  I turned  to  Hippothales,  and 
was  very  nearly  making  a blunder,  for  I was  going  to  say  to 
him  : That  is  the  way,  Hippothales,  in  which  you  should  talk 
to  your  beloved,  humbling  and  lowering  him,  and  not  as  you 
do,  puffing  him  up  and  spoiling  him.  But  I saw  that  he  was 
in  great  excitement  and  confusion  at  what  had  been  said,  and 
I remembered  that,  although  he  was  in  the  neighbourhood,  he 
did  not  want  to  be  seen  by  Lysis  ; so  upon  second  thoughts  21 1 
I refrained. 

In  the  meantime  Menexenus  came  back  and  sat  down 
in  his  place  by  Lysis  ; and  Lysis,  in  a childish  and  affec- 
tionate manner,  whispered  privately  in  my  ear,  so  that 
Menexenus  should  not  hear : Do,  Sociates,  tell  Menexenus 
what  you  have  been  telling  me. 


59 


Lysis  and  Menexenus. 

Suppose  that  you  tell  him  yourself,  Lysis,  I replied  ; for  I 
am  sure  that  you  were  attending. 

Certainly,  he  replied. 

Try,  then,  to  remember  the  words,  and  be  as  exact  as  you 
can  in  repeating  them  to  him,  and  if  you  have  forgotten  any- 
thing, ask  me  again  the  next  time  that  you  see  me. 

I will  be  sure  to  do  so,  Socrates  ; but  go  on  telling  him 
something  new,  and  let  me  hear,  as  long  as  I am  allowed  to 
stay. 

I certainly  cannot  refuse,  I said,  since  you  ask  me  ; but 
then,  as  you  know,  Menexenus  is  very  pugnacious,  and  there- 
fore you  must  come  to  the  rescue  if  he  attempts  to  upset  me. 

Yes,  indeed,  he  said  ; he  is  very  pugnacious,  and  that  is  the 
reason  why  I want  you  to  argue  with  him. 

That  I may  make  a fool  of  myself? 

No,  indeed,  he  said ; but  I want  you  to  put  him  down. 

That  is  no  easy  matter,  I replied ; for  he  is  a terrible 
fellow — a pupil  of  Ctesippus.  And  there  is  Ctesippus  him- 
self : do  you  see  him  ? 

Never  mind,  Socrates,  you  shall  argue  with  him. 

Well,  I suppose  that  I must,  I replied. 

Hereupon  Ctesippus  complained  that  we  were  talking  in 
secret,  and  keeping  the  feast  to  ourselves. 

I shall  be  happy,  I said,  to  let  you  have  a share.  Here  is 
Lysis,  who  does  not  understand  something  that  I was  saying, 
and  wants  me  to  ask  Menexenus,  who,  as  he  thinks,  is  likely 
to  know. 

And  why  do  you  not  ask  him  ? he  said. 

Very  well,  I said,  I will;  and  do  you,  Menexenus,  answer. 
But  first  I must  tell  you  that  I am  one  who  from  my  child- 
hood upward  have  set  my  heart  upon  a certain  thing.  All 
people  have  their  fancies ; some  desire  horses,  and  others 
dogs ; and  some  are  fond  of  gold,  and  others  of  honour. 
Now,  I have  no  violent  desire  of  any  of  these  things  ; but 
I have  a passion  for  friends ; and  I would  rather  have  a good 
friend  than  the  best  cock  or  quail  in  the  world  : I would  even 
go  further,  and  say  the  best  horse  or  dog.  Yea,  by  the  dog 
212  of  Egypt,  I should  greatly  prefer  a real  friend  to  all  the  gold 
of  Darius,  or  even  to  Darius  himself:  I am  such  a lover  of 
friends  as  that.  And  when  J see  you  and  Lysis,  at  your 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Lysis, 

Ctesippus, 

Menexenus. 


Socrates 
has  set  his 
heart  upon 
having  a 
friend  but 
has  never 
been  able 
to  find 
one. 


6o 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Menexenus. 


As  Lysis 
and  Me- 
nexenus 
have 

experience 
in  friend- 
ship he 
would  ask 
a question 
of  them  : — 
Is  the  lover 
or  the 
beloved  the 
friend  ? 


Or  must 
there  be 
in  friend- 
ship a 
return  of 
love  ? 


Yet  many 
things  are 
dear  which 
do  not  love 
in  return  ; 
and  so  we 
arrive  at 


Is  love  always  mutual  ? 

early  age,  so  easily  possessed  of  this  treasure,  and  so  soon, 
he  of  you,  and  you  of  him,  I am  amazed  and  delighted,  seeing 
that  I myself,  although  I am  now  advanced  in  years,  am  so 
far  from  having  made  a similar  acquisition,  that  I do  not  even 
know  in  what  way  a friend  is  acquired.  But  I want  to  ask 
you  a question  about  this,  for  you  have  experience : tell  me 
then,  when  one  loves  another,  is  the  lover  or  the  beloved  the 
friend  ; or  may  either  be  the  friend  ? 

Either  may,  I should  think,  be  the  friend  of  either. 

Do  you  mean,  I said,  that  if  only  one  of  them  loves  the 
other,  they  are  mutual  friends  ? 

Yes,  he  said;  that  is  my  meaning. 

But  what  if  the  lover  is  not  loved  in  return  ? which  is 
a very  possible  case. 

Yes. 

Or  is,  perhaps,  even  hated  ? which  is  a fancy  which 
sometimes  is  entertained  by  lovers  respecting  their  beloved. 
Nothing  can  exceed  their  love ; and  yet  they  imagine  either 
that  they  are  not  loved  in  return,  or  that  they  are  hated. 
Is  not  that  true? 

Yes,  he  said,  quite  true. 

In  that  case,  the  one  loves,  and  the  other  is  loved? 

Yes. 

Then  which  is  the  friend  of  which  ? Is  the  lover  the  friend 
of  the  beloved,  whether  he  be  loved  in  return,  or  hated  ; or 
is  the  beloved  the  friend  ; or  is  there  no  friendship  at  all  on 
either  side,  unless  they  both  love  one  another  ? 

There  would  seem  to  be  none  at  all. 

Then  this  notion  is  not  in  accordance  with  our  previous  one. 
We  were  saying  that  both  were  friends,  if  one  only  loved  ; 
but  now,  unless  they  both  love,  neither  is  a friend. 

That  appears  to  be  true. 

Then  nothing  which  does  not  love  in  return  is  beloved  by 
a lover  ? 

I think  not. 

Then  they  are  not  lovers  of  horses,  whom  the  horses  do 
not  love  in  return ; nor  lovers  of  quails,  nor  of  dogs,  nor  of 
wine,  nor  of  gymnastic  exercises,  who  have  no  return  of  love, 
no,  nor  of  wisdom,  unless  wisdom  loves  them  in  return. 
Or  shall  we  say  that  they  do  love  them,  although  they  are 


The  ambiguity  of  the  words  ‘ loving  and  beloved .’ 

not  beloved  by  them ; and  that  the  poet  was  wrong  who 
sings — 

* Happy  the  man  to  whom  his  children  are  dear,  and  steeds  having  single 
hoofs,  and  dogs  of  chase,  and  the  stranger  of  another  land  ’ ? 

I do  not  think  that  he  was  wrong. 

You  think  that  he  is  right? 

Yes. 

Then,  Menexenus,  the  conclusion  is,  that  what  is  beloved, 
whether  loving  or  hating,  may  be  dear  to  the  lover  of  it : for 
example,  very  young  children,  too  young  to  love,  or  even 
13  hating  their  father  or  mother  when  they  are  punished  by  them, 
are  never  dearer  to  them  than  at  the  time  when  they  are  being 
hated  by  them. 

I think  that  what  you  say  is  true. 

And,  if  so,  not  the  lover,  but  the  beloved,  is  the  friend  or 
dear  one  ? 

Yes. 

And  the  hated  one,  and  not  the  hater,  is  the  enemy  ? 

Clearly. 

Then  many  men  are  loved  by  their  enemies,  and  hated  by 
their  friends,  and  are  the  friends  of  their  enemies,  and  the 
enemies  of  their  friends.  Yet  how  absurd,  my  dear  friend, 
or  indeed  impossible  is  this  paradox  of  a man  being  an 
enemy  to  his  friend  or  a friend  to  his  enemy. 

I quite  agree,  Socrates,  in  what  you  say. 

But  if  this  cannot  be,  the  lover  will  be  the  friend  of  that 
which  is  loved  ? 

True. 

And  the  hater  will  be  the  enemy  of  that  which  is  hated  ? 

Certainly. 

Yet  we  must  acknowledge  in  this,  as  in  the  preceding 
instance,  that  a man  may  be  the  friend  of  one  who  is  not  his 
friend,  or  who  may  be  his  enemy,  when  he  loves  that  which 
does  not  love  him  or  which  even  hates  him.  And  he  may  be 
the  enemy  of  one  who  is  not  his  enemy,  and  is  even  his 
friend  : for  example,  when  he  hates1  that  which  does  not 
hate  him,  or  which  even  loves  him. 

That  appears  to  be  true. 

1 Omitting  , or  reading  yuto-fj  instead. 


6l 

Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Menexenus. 

the  con- 
clusion that 
what  is 
beloved  is 
dear  and 
not  what 
loves  ; 


as,  for 

example, 

young 

children 

when 

they  are 

punished 

by  their 

parents. 


What  then 
is  the 
result  ? — 
That 
neither 
the  lover 
nor  the 
beloved 
nor  both 
together 
are  friends. 


62 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Menexenus, 

Lysis. 


The  poets 
say  that 
‘ God  is 
ever 
drawing 
like 

towards 

like,' 


The  like  are  friends. 

But  if  the  lover  is  not  a friend,  nor  the  beloved  a friend, 
nor  both  together,  what  are  we  to  say?  Whom  are  we  to 
call  friends  to  one  another?  Do  any  remain  ? 

Indeed,  Socrates,  I cannot  find  any. 

But,  O Menexenus  ! I said,  may  we  not  have  been  alto- 
gether wrong  in  our  conclusions? 

I am  sure  that  we  have  been  wrong,  Socrates,  said  Lysis. 
And  he  blushed  as  he  spoke,  the  words  seeming  to  come 
from  his  lips  involuntarily,  because  his  whole  mind  was  taken 
up  with  the  argument ; there  was  no  mistaking  his  attentive 
look  while  he  was  listening. 

I was  pleased  at  the  interest  which  was  shown  by  Lysis, 
and  I wanted  to  give  Menexenus  a rest,  so  I turned  to  him 
and  said,  I think,  Lysis,  that  what  you  say  is  true,  and  that, 
if  we  had  been  right,  we  should  never  have  gone  so  far 
wrong;  let  us  proceed  no  further  in  this  direction  (for  the 
road  seems  to  be  getting  troublesome),  but  take  the  other 
path  into  which  we  turned,  and  see  what  the  poets  have  to 
say;  for  they  are  to  us  in  a manner  the  fathers  and  authors  2 
of  wisdom,  and  they  speak  of  friends  in  no  light  or  trivial 
manner,  but  God  himself,  as  they  say,  makes  them  and  draws 
them  to  one  another;  and  this  they  express,  if  I am  not 
mistaken,  in  the  following  words  : — 

‘ God  is  ever  drawing  like  towards  like,  and  making  them  acquainted.’ 

I dare  say  that  you  have  heard  those  words. 

Yes,  he  said  ; I have. 

And  have  you  not  also  met  with  the  treatises  of  philo- 
sophers who  say  that  like  must  love  like  ? they  are  the 
people  who  argue  and  write  about  nature  and  the  universe. 

Very  true,  he  replied. 

And  are  they  right  in  saying  this  ? 

They  may  be. 

Perhaps,  I said,  about  half,  or  possibly,  altogether,  right,  if 
their  meaning  were  rightly  apprehended  by  us.  For  the 
more  a bad  man  has  to  do  with  a bad  man,  and  the  more 
nearly  he  is  brought  into  contact  with  him,  the  more  he  will 
be  likely  to  hate  him,  for  he  injures  him  ; and  injurer  and 
injured  cannot  be  friends.  Is  not  that  true  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 


JVo,  not  the  like , but  only  the  good. 

Then  one  half  of  the  saying  is  untrue,  if  the  wicked  are  like 
one  another? 

That  is  true. 

But  the  real  meaning  of  the  saying,  as  I imagine,  is,  that 
the  good  are  like  one  another,  and  friends  to  one  another; 
and  that  the  bad,  as  is  often  said  of  them,  are  never  at  unity 
with  one  another  or  with  themselves  ; for  they  are  passionate 
and  restless,  and  anything  which  is  at  variance  and  enmity 
with  itself  is  not  likely  to  be  in  union  or  harmony  with  any 
other  thing.  Do  you  not  agree  ? 

Yes,  I do. 

Then,  my  friend,  those  who  say  that  the  like  is  friendly  to 
the  like  mean  to  intimate,  if  I rightly  apprehend  them,  that 
the  good  only  is  the  friend  of  the  good,  and  of  him  only ; but 
that  the  evil  never  attains  to  any  real  friendship,  either  with 
good  or  evil.  Do  you  agree  ? 

He  nodded  assent. 

Then  now  we  know  how  to  answer  the  question  ‘Who 
are  friends?’  for  the  argument  declares  ‘ That  the  good  are 
friends.’ 

Yes,  he  said,  that  is  true. 

Yes,  I replied ; and  yet  I am  not  quite  satisfied  with  this 
answer.  By  heaven,  and  shall  I tell  you  what  I suspect  ? 
I will.  Assuming  that  like,  inasmuch  as  he  is  like,  is  the 
friend  of  like,  and  useful  to  him — or  rather  let  me  try  another 
way  of  putting  the  matter : Can  like  do  any  good  or  harm  to 
like  which  he  could  not  do  to  himself,  or  suffer  anything 
from  his  like  which  he  would  not  suffer  from  himself?  And 
215  if  neither  can  be  of  any  use  to  the  other,  how  can  they  be 
loved  by  one  another?  Can  they  now? 

They  cannot. 

And  can  he  who  is  not  loved  be  a friend  ? 

Certainly  not. 

But  say  that  the  like  is  not  the  friend  of  the  like  in  so  far 
as  he  is  like ; still  the  good  may  be  the  friend  of  the  good  in 
so  far  as  he  is  good  ? 

True. 

But  then  again,  will  not  the  good,  in  so  far  as  he  is  good, 
be  sufficient  for  himself?  Certainly  he  will.  And  he  who  is 
sufficient  wants  nothing — that  is  implied  in  the  word  sufficient. 


63 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Lysis. 


meaning 
that  not 
the  wicked, 


but  only 
the  good 
are  friends. 


But  what 
good  or 
harm  can 
the  good 
do  to  one 
another 
which  they 
could  not 
do  for 
themselves? 


The  good 
have  no 
need  of 
friends. 


64 


The  like  is  the  enemy  of  like. 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Lysis. 


Another 
word  of  a 
poet : 

* Potter 
quarrels 
with 
potter.'. 


Friendship 
then  is  of 
opposites. 


Of  course  not. 

And  he  who  wants  nothing  will  desire  nothing  ? 

He  will  not. 

Neither  can  he  love  that  which  he  does  not  desire? 

He  cannot. 

And  he  who  loves  not  is  not  a lover  or  friend  ? 

Clearly  not. 

What  place  then  is  there  for  friendship,  if,  when  absent, 
good  men  have  no  need  of  one  another  (for  even  when  alone 
they  are  sufficient  for  themselves),  and  when  present  have  no 
use  of  one  another?  How  can  such  persons  ever  be  induced 
to  value  one  another? 

They  cannot. 

And  friends  they  cannot  be,  unless  they  value  one  an- 
other ? 

Very  true. 

But  see  now,  Lysis,  whether  we  are  not  being  deceived  in 
all  this— are  we  not  indeed  entirely  wrong? 

How  so?  he  replied. 

Have  I not  heard  some  one  say,  as  I just  now  recollect, 
that  the  like  is  the  greatest  enemy  of  the  like,  the  good  of  the 
good? — Yes,  and  he  quoted  the  authority  of  Hesiod,  who 
says : 

‘Potter  quarrels  with  potter,  bard  with  bard, 

Beggar  with  beggar ; ’ 

and  of  all  other  things  he  affirmed,  in  like  manner,  ‘ That  of 
necessity  the  most  like  are  most  full  of  envy,  strife,  and 
hatred  of  one  another,  and  the  most  unlike,  of  friendship. 
For  the  poor  man  is  compelled  to  be  the  friend  of  the  rich, 
and  the  weak  requires  the  aid  of  the  strong,  and  the  sick  man 
of  the  physician  ; and  every  one  who  is  ignorant,  has  to  love 
and  court  him  who  knows.’  And  indeed  he  went  on  to  say 
in  grandiloquent  language,  that  the  idea  of  friendship  exist- 
ing between  similars  is  not  the  truth,  but  the  very  reverse  of 
the  truth,  and  that  the  most  opposed  are  the  most  friendly ; 
for  that  everything  desires  not  like  but  that  which  is  most 
unlike  : for  example,  the  dry  desires  the  moist,  the  cold  the 
hot,  the  bitter  the  sweet,  the  sharp  the  blunt,  the  void  the  full, 
the  full  the  void,  and  so  of  all  other  things ; for  the  opposite 
is  the  food  of  the  opposite,  whereas  like  receives  nothing  from 


65 


The  Neutral  is  the  friend  of  the  Neutral , 

216  like.  And  I thought  that  he  who  said  this  was  a charming 
man,  and  that  he  spoke  well.  What  do  the  rest  of  you 
say? 

I should  say,  at  first  hearing,  that  he  is  right,  said  Mene- 
xenus. 

Then  we  are  to  say  that  the  greatest  friendship  is  of  op- 
posites ? 

Exactly. 

Yes,  Menexenus  ; but  will  not  that  be  a monstrous  answer  ? 
and  will  not  the  all -wise  eristics  be  down  upon  us  in 
triumph,  and  ask,  fairly  enough,  whether  love  is  not  the  very 
opposite  of  hate  ; and  what  answer  shall  we  make  to  them— 
must  we  not  admit  that  they  speak  the  truth  ? 

We  must. 

They  will  then  proceed  to  ask  whether  the  enemy  is 
the  friend  of  the  friend,  or  the  friend  the  friend  of  the 
enemy  ? 

Neither,  he  replied. 

Well,  but  is  a just  man  the  friend  of  the  unjust,  or  the 
temperate  of  the  intemperate,  or  the  good  of  the  bad  ? 

I do  not  see  how  that  is  possible. 

And  yet,  I said,  if  friendship  goes  by  contraries,  the  con- 
traries must  be  friends. 

They  must. 

Then  neither  like  and  like  nor  unlike  and  unlike  are 
friends. 

I suppose  not. 

And  yet  there  is  a further  consideration  : may  not  all 
these  notions  of  friendship  be  erroneous  ? but  may  not  that 
which  is  neither  good  nor  evil  still  in  some  cases  be  the 
friend  of  the  good  ? 

How  do  you  mean  ? he  said. 

Why  really,  I said,  the  truth  is  that  I do  not  know ; but 
my  head  is  dizzy  with  thinking  of  the  argument,  and  there- 
fore I hazard  the  conjecture,  that  'the  beautiful  is  the  friend,’ 
as  the  old  proverb  says.  Beauty  is  certainly  a soft,  smooth, 
slippery  thing,  and  therefore  of  a nature  which  easily  slips 
in  and  permeates  our  souls.  For  I affirm  that  the  good  is 
the  beautiful.  You  will  agree  to  that? 

Yes. 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Menexenus. 


But  this  is 
a mon- 
strous 
doctrine. 
For 

friendship 
is  of  love 
and  not  of 
hate. 


Then 

neither  like 
and  like, 
nor  unlike 
and  unlike, 
are  friends. 


The 

beautiful 
which  is 
also  the 
good  is  the 
friend  of 
the  neither 
good  nor 
evil. 


VOL.  I. 


F 


66 


Lysis. 

SOCRATF.S, 

Mrnexrnus. 


Analogy  of 
medicine. 


The  human 
body, 
which  is 
neither 
good  nor 
evil  in 
itself,  may, 
by  reason 
of  the 
presence  oi 
evil,  have 
need  of 
good. 


By  reason  of  the  presence  of  evil , 

This  I say  from  a sort  of  notion  that  what  is  neither 
good  nor  evil  is  the  friend  of  the  beautiful  and  the  good,  and 
I will  tell  you  why  I am  inclined  to  think  so  : I assume 
that  there  are  three  principles — the  good,  the  bad,  and  that 
which  is  neither  good  nor  bad.  You  would  agree — would 
you  not  ? 

I agree. 

And  neither  is  the  good  the  friend  of  the  good,  nor  the 
evil  of  the  evil,  nor  the  good  of  the  evil these  alternatives 
are  excluded  by  the  previous  argument;  and  therefore,  if 
there  be  such  a thing  as  friendship  or  love  at  all,  we  must 
infer  that  what  is  neither  good  nor  evil  must  be  the  friend, 
either  of  the  good,  or  of  that  which  is  neither  good  nor 
evil,  for  nothing  can  be  the  friend  of  the  bad. 

T rue. 

But  neither  can  like  be  the  friend  of  like,  as  we  were  just 
now  saying. 

T rue. 

And  if  so,  that  which  is  neither  good  nor  evil  can  have  no 
friend  which  is  neither  good  nor  evil. 

Clearly  not. 

Then  the  good  alone  is  the  friend  of  that  only  which  is 
neither  good  nor  evil. 

That  may  be  assumed  to  be  certain. 

And  does  not  this  seem  to  put  us  in  the  right  way?  Just 
remark,  that  the  body  which  is  in  health  requires  neither 
medical  nor  any  other  aid,  but  is  well  enough  ; and  the 
healthy  man  has  no  love  of  the  physician,  because  he  is  in 
health. 

He  has  none. 

But  the  sick  loves  him,  because  he  is  sick? 

Certainly. 

And  sickness  is  an  evil,  and  the  art  of  medicine  a good 
and  useful  thing? 

Yes. 

But  the  human  body,  regarded  as  a body,  is  neither  good 
nor  evil  ? 

True. 

And  the  body  is  compelled  by  reason  of  disease  to  court 
and  make  friends  of  the  art  of  medicine? 


which , as  yet,  has  not  infected  it. 


67 


Yes. 

Then  that  which  is  neither  good  nor  evil  becomes  the 
friend  of  good,  by  reason  of  the  presence  of  evil  ? 

So  we  may  infer. 

And  clearly  this  must  have  happened  before  that  which 
was  neither  good  nor  evil  had  become  altogether  corrupted 
with  the  element  of  evil— if  itself  had  become  evil  it  would 
not  still  desire  and  love  the  good ; for,  as  we  were  saying, 
the  evil  cannot  be  the  friend  of  the  good. 

Impossible. 

Further,  I must  observe  that  some  substances  are  assimi- 
lated when  others  are  present  with  them ; and  there  are 
some  which  are  not  assimilated : take,  for  example,  the 
case  of  an  ointment  or  colour  which  is  put  on  another 
substance. 

Very  good. 

In  such  a case,  is  the  substance  which  is  anointed  the 
same  as  the  colour  or  ointment  ? 

What  do  you  mean  ? he  said. 

This  is  what  I mean  : Suppose  that  I were  to  cover  your 
auburn  locks  with  white  lead,  would  they  be  really  white, 
or  would  they  only  appear  to  be  white  ? 

They  would  only  appear  to  be  white,  he  replied. 

And  yet  whiteness  would  be  present  in  them  ? 

True. 

But  that  would  not  make  them  at  all  the  more  white,  not- 
withstanding the  presence  of  white  in  them— they  would  not 
be  white  any  more  than  black  ? 

No. 

But  when  old  age  infuses  whiteness  into  them,  then  they 
become  assimilated,  and  are  white  by  the  presence  of  white. 

Certainly. 

Now  I want  to  know  whether  in  all  cases  a substance  is 
assimilated  by  the  presence  of  another  substance ; or  must 
the  presence  be  after  a peculiar  sort  ? 

The  latter,  he  said. 

Then  that  which  is  neither  good  nor  evil  may  be  in  the 
presence  of  evil,  but  not  as  yet  evil,  and  that  has  happened 
before  now  ? 

Yes. 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Mes'kxexl's. 


Evil  may- 
be present, 
but  yet  not 
assimi- 
lated. 


¥ 2 


68 


But , alas ! we  have  gained  a shadow  only. 


Lysis.  And  when  anything  is  in  the  presence  of  evil,  not  being  as 
Socrates,  yet  evil,  the  presence  of  good  arouses  the  desire  of  good  in 
mf.nexenus.  t]iat  tjnjng  . kut  t]ie  presence  of  evil,  which  makes  a thing  218 

presence  of  evil,  takes  away  the  desire  and  friendship  of  the  good  ; for 
evil  arouses  which  was  once  both  good  and  evil  has  now  become  evil 
'not'tvil  the  only,  and  the  good  was  supposed  to  have  no  friendship 


desire  of  with  the  evil  ? 
good-  None. 

And  therefore  we  say  that  those  who  are  already  wise, 
whether  Gods  or  men,  are  no  longer  lovers  of  wisdom  ; nor 
can  they  be  lovers  of  wisdom  who  are  ignorant  to  the  extent 
of  being  evil,  for  no  evil  or  ignorant  person  is  a lover  of 
wisdom.  There  remain  those  who  have  the  misfortune  to 
be  ignorant,  but  are  not  yet  hardened  in  their  ignorance,  or 
void  of  understanding,  and  do  not  as  yet  fancy  that  they  know 
what  they  do  not  know  : and  therefore  those  who  are  the 
lovers  of  wisdom  are  as  yet  neither  good  nor  bad.  But  the 
bad  do  not  love  wisdom  any  more  than  the  good  ; for,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  neither  is  unlike  the  friend  of  unlike,  nor 


Friendship 
is  the  love 
of  the  good 
when  evil 
is  present. 


Argu- 
ments, 
like  men, 
are  often 
pretenders. 


like  of  like.  You  remember  that  ? 

Yes,  they  both  said. 

And  so,  Lysis  and  Menexenus,  we  have  discovered  the 
nature  of  friendship — there  can  be  no  doubt  of  it . k riend- 
ship  is  the  love  which  by  reason  of  the  presence  of  evil  the 
neither  good  nor  evil  has  of  the  good,  either  in  the  soul,  or 
in  the  body,  or  anywhere. 

They  both  agreed  and  entirely  assented,  and  for  a 
moment  I rejoiced  and  was  satisfied  like  a huntsman  just 
holding  fast  his  prey.  But  then  a most  unaccountable 
suspicion  came  across  me,  and  I felt  that  the  conclusion 
was  untrue.  I was  pained,  and  said,  Alas ! Lysis  and 
Menexenus,  I am  afraid  that  we  have  been  grasping  at  a 
shadow  only. 

Why  do  you  say  so  ? said  Menexenus. 

I am  afraid,  I said,  that  the  argument  about  friendship  is 
false  : arguments,  like  men,  are  often  pretenders. 

How  do  you  mean  ? he  asked. 

Well,  I said  ; look  at  the  matter  in  this  way  : a friend  is 
the  friend  of  some  one  ; is  he  not  ? 

Certainly  he  is. 


For  the  end \ not  the  means , is  ivhat  we  wish.  69 

And  has  he  a motive  and  object  in  being  a friend,  or  has  Lysis. 
he  no  motive  and  Object  ? Socrates, 

e has  a motive  and  object.  Lysis 


And  is  the  object  which  makes  him  a friend,  dear  to  him, 
or  neither  dear  nor  hateful  to  him  ? 

1 do  not  quite  follow  you,  he  said. 

I do  not  wonder  at  that,  I said.  But  perhaps,  if  I put  the 
matter  in  another  way,  you  will  be  able  to  follow  me,  and  my 
own  meaning  will  be  clearer  to  myself.  The  sick  man,  as 
I was  just  now  saying,  is  the  friend  of  the  physician — is  he 
not  ? 

Yes. 

And  he  is  the  friend  of  the  physician  because  of  disease, 
and  for  the  sake  of  health  ? 

Yes. 

And  disease  is  an  evil  ? 

Certainly. 

And  what  of  health  ? I said.  Is  that  good  or  evil,  or 
neither  ? 

219  Good,  he  replied. 

And  we  were  saying,  I believe,  that  the  body  being  neither 
good  nor  evil,  because  of  disease,  that  is  to  say  because  of  evil, 
is  the  friend  of  medicine,  and  medicine  is  a good  : and 
medicine  has  entered  into  this  friendship  for  the  sake  of 
health,  and  health  is  a good. 

True. 

And  is  health  a friend,  or  not  a friend  ? 

A friend. 

And  disease  is  an  enemy  ? 

Yes. 

I hen  that  which  is  neither  good  nor  evil  is  the  friend  of 
the  good  because  of  the  evil  and  hateful,  and  for  the  sake  of 
the  good  and  the  friend  ? 

Clearly. 

Then  the  friend  is  a friend  for  the  sake  of  the  friend,  and 
because  of  the  enemy  ? 

That  is  to  be  inferred. 

Then  at  this  point,  my  boys,  let  us  take  heed,  and  be  on 
our  guard  against  deceptions.  I will  not  again  repeat  that 
the  friend  is  the  friend  of  the  friend,  and  the  like  of  the  like, 


70 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Menexenus. 


Nothing 
can  be 
dear  in  the 
highest 
sense  for 
the  sake  of 
something 
else. 


The  final  principle  of  friendship. 

which  has  been  declared  by  us  to  be  an  impossibility  ; but, 
in  order  that  this  new  statement  may  not  delude  us,  let  us 
attentively  examine  another  point,  which  I will  proceed  to 
explain  : Medicine,  as  we  were  saying,  is  a friend,  or  dear  to 
us  for  the  sake  of  health  ? 

Yes. 

And  health  is  also  dear  ? 

Certainly. 

And  if  dear,  then  dear  for  the  sake  of  something  ? 

Yes. 

And  surely  this  object  must  also  be  dear,  as  is  implied  in 
our  previous  admissions  ? 

Yes. 

And  that  something  dear  involves  something  else  dear? 

Yes. 

But  then,  proceeding  in  this  way,  shall  we  not  arrive 
at  some  first  principle  of  friendship  or  dearness  which  is  not 
capable  of  being  referred  to  any  other,  for  the  sake  of  which, 
as  we  maintain,  all  other  things  are  dear,  and,  having  there 
arrived,  we  shall  stop  ? 

True. 

My  fear  is  that  all  those  other  things,  which,  as  we  say,  are 
dear  for  the  sake  of  another,  are  illusions  and  deceptions 
only,  but  where  that  first  principle  is,  there  is  the  true  ideal  of 
friendship.  Let  me  put  the  matter  thus  : Suppose  the  case 
of  a great  treasure  (this  may  be  a son,  who  is  more  precious 
to  his  father  than  all  his  other  treasures) ; would  not  the 
father,  who  values  his  son  above  all  things,  value  other  things 
also  for  the  sake  of  his  son  ? I mean,  for  instance,  if  he 
knew  that  his  son  had  drunk  hemlock,  and  the  father  thought 
that  wine  would  save  him,  he  would  value  the  wine  ? 

He  would. 

And  also  the  vessel  which  contains  the  wine  ? 

Certainly. 

But  does  he  therefore  value  the  three  measures  of  wine,  or 
the  earthen  vessel  which  contains  them,  equally  with  his  son  ? 

Is  not  this  rather  the  true  state  of  the  case?  All  his  anxiety 
has  regard  not  to  the  means  which  are  provided  for  the  sake  220 
of  an  object,  but  to  the  object  for  the  sake  of  which  they  are 
provided.  And  although  we  may  often  say  that  gold  and 


7* 


Good  and  evil  not  always  inseparable. 

silver  are  highly  valued  by  us,  that  is  not  the  truth  ; for 
there  is  a further  object,  whatever  it  may  be,  which  we  value 
most  of  all,  and  for  the  sake  of  which  gold  and  all  our 
other  possessions  are  acquired  by  us.  Am  I not  right  ? 

Yes,  certainly. 

And  may  not  the  same  be  said  of  the  friend  ? That  which 
is  only  dear  to  us  for  the  sake  of  something  else  is  improperly 
said  to  be  dear,  but  the  truly  dear  is  that  in  which  all  these 
so-called  dear  friendships  terminate. 

That,  he  said,  appears  to  be  true. 

And  the  truly  dear  or  ultimate  principle  of  friendship  is  not 
for  the  sake  of  any  other  or  further  dear. 

True. 

Then  we  have  done  with  the  notion  that  friendship  has 
any  further  object.  May  we  then  infer  that  the  good  is  the 
friend  ? 

I think  so. 

And  the  good  is  loved  for  the  sake  of  the  evil  ? Let  me 
put  the  case  in  this  way  : Suppose  that  of  the  three  principles, 
good,  evil,  and  that  which  is  neither  good  nor  evil,  there  re- 
mained only  the  good  and  the  neutral,  and  that  evil  went  far 
away,  and  in  no  way  affected  soul  or  body,  nor  ever  at  all 
that  class  of  things  which,  as  we  say,  are  neither  good  nor 
evil  in  themselves  ; — would  the  good  be  of  any  use,  or  other 
than  useless  to  us?  For  if  there  were  nothing  to  hurt  us  any 
longer,  we  should  have  no  need  of  anything  that  would  do  us 
good.  Then  would  be  clearly  seen  that  we  did  but  love  and 
desire  the  good  because  of  the  evil,  and  as  the  remedy  of  the 
evil,  which  was  the  disease  ; but  if  there  had  been  no  disease, 
there  would  have  been  no  need  of  a remedy.  Is  not  this  the 
nature  of  the  good — to  be  loved  by  us  who  are  placed  between 
the  two,  because  of  the  evil  ? but  there  is  no  use  in  the  good 
for  its  own  sake. 

I suppose  not. 

Then  the  final  principle  of  friendship,  in  which  all  other 
friendships  terminated,  those,  I mean,  which  are  relatively 
dear  and  for  the  sake  of  something  else,  is  of  another  and  a 
different  nature  from  them.  For  they  are  called  dear  be- 
cause of  another  dear  or  friend.  But  with  the  true  friend 
or  dear,  the  case  is  quite  the  reverse ; for  that  is  proved  to 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

M ENEXENUS. 


The  good 
which  is 
loved  for 
the  sake 
of  the  evil 
is  relative 
only. 
Some 
higher 
principle 
of  friend- 
ship than 
this  is 
required. 


72 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Mknexenus. 


A passing 
speculation 
respecting 
the  nature 
of  evil. 


Evil  not 
the  true 
cause  of 
friendship. 


Love  is  of  that  which  is  dear  and  congenial. 

be  dear  because  of  the  hated,  and  if  the  hated  were  away 
it  would  be  no  longer  dear. 

Very  true,  he  replied  : at  any  rate  not  if  our  present  view 
holds  good. 

But,  oh  ! will  you  tell  me,  1 said,  whether  if  evil  were  to 
perish,  we  should  hunger  any  more,  or  thirst  any  more,  or 
have  any  similar  desire?  Or  may  we  suppose  that  hunger  221 
will  remain  while  men  and  animals  remain,  but  not  so  as  to 
be  hurtful  ? And  the  same  of  thirst  and  the  other  desires, — 
that  they  will  remain,  but  will  not  be  evil  because  evil  has 
perished  ? Or  rather  shall  I say,  that  to  ask  what  either  will 
be  then  or  will  not  be  is  ridiculous,  for  who  knows?  This 
we  do  know,  that  in  our  present  condition  hunger  may  injure 
us,  and  may  also  benefit  us  : — Is  not  that  true  ? 

Yes. 

And  in  like  manner  thirst  or  any  similar  desire  may  some- 
times be  a good  and  sometimes  an  evil  to  us,  and  sometimes 
neither  one  nor  the  other  ? 

To  be  sure. 

But  is  there  any  reason  why,  because  evil  perishes,  that 
which  is  not  evil  should  perish  with  it? 

None. 

Then,  even  if  evil  perishes,  the  desires  which  are  neither 
good  nor  evil  will  remain  ? 

Clearly  they  will. 

And  must  not  a man  love  that  which  he  desires  and 
affects  ? 

He  must. 

Then,  even  if  evil  perishes,  there  may  still  remain  some 
elements  of  love  or  friendship  ? 

Yes. 

But  not  if  evil  is  the  cause  of  friendship  : for  in  that  case 
nothing  will  be  the  friend  of  any  other  thing  after  the  de- 
struction of  evil ; for  the  effect  cannot  remain  when  the 
cause  is  destroyed. 

True. 

And  have  we  not  admitted  already  that  the  friend  loves 
something  for  a reason  ? and  at  the  time  of  making  the 
admission  we  were  of  opinion  that  the  neither  good  nor  evil 
loves  the  good  because  of  the  evil  ? 


The  good  is  the  congenial. 


73 


Very  true. 

But  now  our  view  is  changed,  and  we  conceive  that  there 
must  be  some  other  cause  of  friendship  ? 

I suppose  so. 

May  not  the  truth  be  rather,  as  we  were  saying  just  now, 
that  desire  is  the  cause  of  friendship  ; for  that  which  desires 
is  dear  to  that  which  is  desired  at  the  time  of  desiring  it  ? 
and  may  not  the  other  theory  have  been  only  a long  story 
about  nothing? 

Likely  enough. 

But  surely,  I said,  he  who  desires,  desires  that  of  which 
he  is  in  want  ? 

Yes. 

And  that  of  which  he  is  in  want  is  dear  to  him  ? 

True. 

And  he  is  in  want  of  that  of  which  he  is  deprived  ? 

Certainly. 

Then  love,  and  desire,  and  friendship  would  appear  to  be 
of  the  natural  or  congenial.  Such,  Lysis  and  Menexenus,  is 
the  inference. 

They  assented. 

Then  if  you  are  friends,  you  must  have  natures  which  are 
congenial  to  one  another  ? 

Certainly,  they  both  said. 

And  I say,  my  boys,  that  no  one  who  loves  or  desires 
222  another  would  ever  have  loved  or  desired  or  affected  him,  if 
he  had  not  been  in  some  way  congenial  to  him,  either  in 
his  soul,  or  in  his  character,  or  in  his  manners,  or  in  his 
form. 

Yes,  yes,  said  Menexenus.  But  Lysis  was  silent. 

Then,  I said,  the  conclusion  is,  that  what  is  of  a congenial 
nature  must  be  loved. 

It  follows,  he  said. 

Then  the  lover,  who  is  true  and  no  counterfeit,  must  of 
necessity  be  loved  by  his  love. 

Lysis  and  Menexenus  gave  a faint  assent  to  this;  and 
Hippothales  changed  into  all  manner  of  colours  with  de- 
light. 

Here,  intending  to  revise  the  argument,  I said  : Can  we 
point  out  any  difference  between  the  congenial  and  the  like  ? 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Menexenus, 

LVsis. 

Is  desire 
the  true 
cause  ? 


Yes, — 
desire  of 
the  natural 
or  the  con- 
genial. 


But  our 

former 

argument 


74 


Further  difficulties. 


Lysis. 

Socrates, 

Menexenus, 

Lysis. 

showed 
that  the 
like  was 
useless  to 
the  like  : 
we  must 
therefore 
find  a 
way  to 
distinguish 
between 
the  con- 
genial and 
the  like. 


Shall  we 
say  that 
the  con- 
genial is 
the  good  ? 

But  that 
proposition 
has  been 
already 
disproved. 


A con- 
clusion in 
which 
nothing  is 
concluded. 


For  if  that  is  possible,  then  I think,  Lysis  and  Menexenus, 
there  may  be  some  sense  in  our  argument  about  friendship. 
But  if  the  congenial  is  only  the  like,  how  will  you  get  rid  of 
the  other  argument,  of  the  uselessness  of  like  to  like  in  as  far 
as  they  are  like  ; for  to  say  that  what  is  useless  is  dear,  would 
be  absurd  ? Suppose,  then,  that  we  agree  to  distinguish 
between  the  congenial  and  the  like — in  the  intoxication 
of  argument,  that  may  perhaps  be  allowed. 

Very  true. 

And  shall  we  further  say  that  the  good  is  congenial,  and 
the  evil  uncongenial  to  every  one  ? Or  again  that  the  evil  is 
congenial  to  the  evil,  and  the  good  to  the  good  ; and  that 
which  is  neither  good  nor  evil  to  that  which  is  neither  good 
nor  evil  ? 

They  agreed  to  the  latter  alternative. 

Then,  my  boys,  we  have  again  fallen  into  the  old  discarded 
error;  for  the  unjust  will  be  the  friend  of  the  unjust,  and  the 
bad  of  the  bad,  as  well  as  the  good  of  the  good. 

That  appears  to  be  the  result. 

But  again,  if  we  say  that  the  congenial  is  the  same  as  the 
good,  in  that  case  the  good  and  he  only  will  be  the  friend 
of  the  good. 

True. 

But  that  too  was  a position  of  ours  which,  as  you  will  re- 
member, has  been  already  refuted  by  ourselves. 

We  remember. 

Then  what  is  to  be  done  ? Or  rather  is  there  anything  to 
be  done  ? I can  only,  like  the  wise  men  who  argue  in 
courts,  sum  up  the  arguments  : — If  neither  the  beloved,  nor 
the  lover,  nor  the  like,  nor  the  unlike,  nor  the  good,  nor  the 
congenial,  nor  any  other  of  whom  we  spoke — for  there  were 
such  a number  of  them  that  I cannot  remember  all — if 
none  of  these  are  friends,  I know  not  what  remains  to  be 
said. 

Here  I was  going  to  invite  the  opinion  of  some  older 
person,  when  suddenly  we  were  interrupted  by  the  tutors  of 
Lysis  and  Menexenus,  who  came  upon  us  like  an  evil 
apparition  with  their  brothers,  and  bade  them  go  home,  as  it 
was  getting  late.  At  first,  we  and  the  by-standers  drove 
them  off;  but  afterwards,  as  they  would  not  mind,  and  only 


The  end. 


75 


went  on  shouting  in  their  barbarous  dialect,  and  got  angry, 
and  kept  calling  the  boys— they  appeared  to  us  to  have  been 
drinking  rather  too  much  at  the  Hermaea,  which  made  them 
difficult  to  manage — we  fairly  gave  way  and  broke  up  the 
company. 

I said,  however,  a few  words  to  the  boys  at  parting : O 
Menexenus  and  Lysis,  how  ridiculous  that  you  two  boys,  and 
I,  an  old  boy,  who  would  fain  be  one  of  you,  should  imagine 
ourselves  to  be  friends — this  is  what  the  by-standers  will 
go  away  and  say — and  as  yet  we  have  not  been  able  to 
discover  what  is  a friend ! 


Lysis. 

Socrates. 


LACHES. 


INTRODUCTION. 


ssteph.  Lysimachus,  the  son  of  Aristides  the  Just,  and  Melesias,  the  son 
178  of  the  elder  Thucydides,  two  aged  men  who  live  together,  are 
desirous  of  educating  their  sons  in  the  best  manner.  Their  own 
179  education,  as  often  happens  with  the  sons  of  great  men,  has  been 
neglected;  and  they  are  resolved  that  their  children  shall  have 
more  care  taken  of  them,  than  they  received  themselves  at  the 
hands  of  their  fathers. 

At  their  request,  Nicias  and  Laches  have  accompanied  them  to 
see  a man  named  Stesilaus  fighting  in  heavy  armour.  The  two 
1S0  fathers  ask  the  two  generals  what  they  think  of  this  exhibition,  and 
whether  they  would  advise  that  their  sons  should  acquire  the  ac- 
complishment. Nicias  and  Laches  are  quite  willing  to  give  their 
opinion ; but  they  suggest  that  Socrates  should  be  invited  to  take 
part  in  the  consultation.  He  is  a stranger  to  Lysimachus,  but  is 
181  afterwards  recognised  as  the  son  of  his  old  friend  Sophroniscus, 
with  whom  he  never  had  a difference  to  the  hour  of  his  death. 
Socrates  is  also  known  to  Nicias,  to  whom  he  had  introduced  the 
excellent  Damon,  musician  and  sophist,  as  a tutor  for  his  son,  and 
to  Laches,  who  had  witnessed  his  heroic  behaviour  at  the  battle  of 
Delium  (cp.  Symp.  221). 

Socrates,  as  he  is  younger  than  either  Nicias  or  Laches,  prefers 
to  wait  until  they  have  delivered  their  opinions,  which  they  give  in 
a characteristic  manner.  Nicias,  the  tactician,  is  very  much  in 
1 <.,2  fa\our  of  the  new  art,  which  he  describes  as  the  gymnastics  of 
v<  ar  useful  when  the  ranks  are  formed,  and  still  more  useful  when 
the},  are  broken  ; creating  a general  interest  in  military  studies, 
and  greatly  adding  to  the  appearance  of  the  soldier  in  the  field. 
183  Laches,  the  blunt  warrior,  is  of  opinion  that  such  an  art  is  not 
knowledge,  and  cannot  be  of  any  value,  because  the  Lacedae- 
monians, those  great  masters  of  arms,  neglect  it.  His  own 
experience  in  actual  service  has  taught  him  that  these  pretenders 


Laches. 

Analysis. 


8o 

Laches. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  183-193. 

are  useless  and  ridiculous.  This  man  Stesilaus  has  been  seen  by 
him  on  board  ship  making  a very  sorry  exhibition  of  himself.  The 
possession  of  the  art  will  make  the  coward  rash,  and  subject  the  184 
courageous,  if  he  chance  to  make  a slip,  to  invidious  remarks. 

And  now  let  Socrates  be  taken  into  counsel.  As  they  differ  he 
must  decide. 

Socrates  would  rather  not  decide  the  question  by  a plurality  of 
votes:  in  such  a serious  matter  as  the  education  of  a friend’s  185 
children,  he  would  consult  the  one  skilled  person  who  has  had 
masters,  and  has  works  to  show  as  evidences  of  his  skill.  This  is 
not  himself;  for  he  has  never  been  able  to  pay  the  sophists  for  186 
instructing  him,  and  has  never  had  the  wit  to  do  or  discover  any- 
thing. But  Nicias  and  Laches  are  older  and  richer  than  he  is  : 187 
they  have  had  teachers,  and  perhaps  have  made  discoveries , and 
he  would  have  trusted  them  entirely,  if  they  had  not  been  diametri- 
cally opposed. 

Lysimachus  here  proposes  to  resign  the  argument  into  the 
hands  of  the  younger  part  of  the  company,  as  he  is  old,  and  has 
a bad  memory.  He  earnestly  requests  Socrates  to  remain in 
this  showing,  as  Nicias  says,  how  little  he  knows  the  man,  who  188 
will  certainly  not  go  away  until  he  has  cross-examined  the  company 
about  their  past  lives.  Nicias  has  often  submitted  to  this  process ; 
and  Laches  is  quite  willing  to  learn  from  Socrates,  because  his  189 
actions,  in  the  true  Dorian  mode,  correspond  to  his  words. 

Socrates  proceeds  : We  might  ask  who  are  our  teachers?  But  190 
a better  and  more  thorough  way  of  examining  the  question  will  be 
to  ask,  ‘What  is  Virtue?’— or  rather,  to  restrict  the  enquiry  to  that 
part  of  virtue  which  is  concerned  with  the  use  of  weapons—'  What 
is  Courage?’  Laches  thinks  that  he  knows  this:  (1)  'He  is 
courageous  who  remains  at  his  post.’  But  some  nations  fight  191 
flying,  after  the  manner  of  Aeneas  in  Homer ; or  as  the  heavy- 
armed Spartans  also  did  at  the  battle  of  Plataea.  (2)  Socrates 
wants  a more  general  definition,  not  only  of  military  courage,  but  192 
of  courage  of  all  sorts,  tried  both  amid  pleasures  and  pains.  Laches 
replies  that  this  universal  courage  is  endurance.  But  courage  is 
a good  thing,  and  mere  endurance  may  be  hurtful  and  injurious. 
Therefore  (3)  the  element  of  intelligence  must  be  added.  But  then  193 
again  unintelligent  endurance  may  often  be  more  courageous  than 
the  intelligent,  the  bad  than  the  good.  How  is  this  contradiction 


8 1 


A nalysis  193-201. 

to  be  solved  ? Socrates  and  Laches  are  not  set  ‘ to  the  Dorian 
mode’  of  words  and  actions;  for  their  words  are  all  confusion, 
although  their  actions  are  courageous.  Still  they  must  ‘ endure  ’ 
in  an  argument  about  endurance.  Laches  is  very  willing,  and  is 
quite  sure  that  he  knows  what  courage  is,  if  he  could  only  tell. 

194  Nicias  is  now  appealed  to;  and  in  reply  he  offers  a definition 
which  he  has  heard  from  Socrates  himself,  to  the  effect  that  (1) 
‘ Courage  is  intelligence.’  Laches  derides  this ; and  Socrates 
enquires,  ‘What  sort  of  intelligence?’  to  which  Nicias  replies, 

195  ‘ Intelligence  of  things  terrible.’  ‘But  every  man  knows  the 
things  to  be  dreaded  in  his  own  art.’  ‘ No  they  do  not.  They 
may  predict  results,  but  cannot  tell  whether  they  are  really 
terrible ; only  the  courageous  man  can  tell  that.’  Laches  draws 

196  the  inference  that  the  courageous  man  is  either  a soothsayer  or 
a god. 

Again,  (2)  in  Nicias’  way  of  speaking,  the  term  ‘courageous’ 
must  be  denied  to  animals  or  children,  because  they  do  not  know 

197  the  danger.  Against  this  inversion  of  the  ordinary  use  of  language 
Laches  reclaims,  but  is  in  some  degree  mollified  by  a compliment 
to  his  own  courage.  Still,  he  does  not  like  to  see  an  Athenian 
statesman  and  general  descending  to  sophistries  of  this  sort. 

198  Socrates  resumes  the  argument.  Courage  has  been  defined  to  be 
intelligence  or  knowledge  of  the  terrible ; and  courage  is  not  all 

199  virtue,  but  only  one  of  the  virtues.  The  terrible  is  in  the  future, 
and  therefore  the  knowledge  of  the  terrible  is  a knowledge  of  the 
future.  But  there  can  be  no  knowledge  of  future  good  or  evil 
separated  from  a knowledge  of  the  good  and  evil  of  the  past  or 
present ; that  is  to  say,  of  all  good  and  evil.  Courage,  therefore,  is 
the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  generally.  But  he  who  has  the 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil  generally,  must  not  only  have  courage, 

200  but  also  temperance,  justice,  and  every  other  virtue.  Thus,  a 
single  virtue  would  be  the  same  as  all  virtues  (cp.  Protagoras,  350 
foil.,.  And  alter  all  the  two  generals,  and  Socrates,  the  hero  of 
Delium,  are  still  in  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  courage.  They 

201  must  go  to  school  again,  boys,  old  men  and  all. 

Some  points  of  resemblance,  and  some  points  of  difference, 
appear  in  the  Laches  when  compared  with  the  Charmides  and 
Lysis.  There  is  less  of  poetical  and  simple  beauty,  and  more 
of  dramatic  interest  and  power.  They  are  richer  in  the  externals 

VOL.  1. 


Laches. 

Analysis. 


Intro- 

duction. 


G 


82 


Laches. 

I INTRO- 
DUCTION. 


Characters  of  the  Dialogue. 

of  the  scene;  the  Laches  has  more  play  and  development  of 
character.  In  the  Lysis  and  Charmides  the  youths  are  the  central 
figures,  and  frequent  allusions  are  made  to  the  place  of  meeting, 
which  is  a palaestra.  Here  the  place  of  meeting,  which  is  also  a 
palaestra,  is  quite  forgotten,  and  the  boys  play  a subordinate  part. 
The  stance  is  of  old  and  elder  men,  of  whom  Socrates  is  the 
youngest. 

First  is  the  aged  Lysimachus,  who  may  be  compared  with 
Cephalus  in  the  Republic,  and,  like  him,  withdraws  from  the 
argument.  Melesias,  who  is  only  his  shadow,  also  subsides  into 
silence.  Both  of  them,  by  their  own  confession,  have  been  ill- 
educated,  as  is  further  shown  by  the  circumstance  that  Lysimachus, 
the  friend  of  Sophroniscus,  has  never  heard  of  the  fame  of  So- 
crates, his  son ; they  belong  to  different  circles.  In  the  Meno 
(p.  94)  their  want  of  education  in  all  but  the  arts  of  riding  and 
wrestling  is  adduced  as  a proof  that  virtue  cannot  be  taught.  The 
recognition  of  Socrates  by  Lysimachus  is  extremely  graceful ; and 
his  military  exploits  naturally  connect  him  with  the  two  generals, 
of  whom  one  has  witnessed  them.  The  characters  of  Nicias  and 
Laches  are  indicated  by  their  opinions  on  the  exhibition  of  the 
man  fighting  in  heavy  armour.  The  more  enlightened  Nicias  is 
quite  ready  to  accept  the  new  art,  which  Laches  treats  with 
ridicule,  seeming  to  think  that  this,  or  any  other  military  question, 
may  be  settled  by  asking,  ‘What  do  the  Lacedaemonians  say?’ 
The  one  is  the  thoughtful  general,  willing  to  avail  himself  of  any 
discovery  in  the  art  of  war  (Aristoph.  Aves,  363) ; the  other  is  the 
practical  man,  who  relies  on  his  own  experience,  and  is  the  enemy 
of  innovation ; he  can  act  but  cannot  speak,  and  is  apt  to  lose  his 
temper.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  one  of  them  is  supposed  to  be 
a hearer  of  Socrates  ; the  other  is  only  acquainted  with  his  actions. 
Laches  is  the  admirer  of  the  Dorian  mode  ; and  into  his  mouth  the 
remark  is  put  that  there  are  some  persons  who,  having  never  been 
taught,  are  better  than  those  who  have.  Like  a novice  m the  art 
of  disputation,  he  is  delighted  with  the  hits  of  Socrates;  and  is 
disposed  to  be  angry  with  the  refinements  of  Nicias. 

In  the  discussion  of  the  main  thesis  of  the  Dialogue— ‘What  is 
Courage?’  the  antagonism  of  the  two  characters  is  still  more 
clearly  brought  out;  and  in  this,  as  in  the  preliminary  question,  the 
truth  is  parted  between  them.  Gradually,  and  not  without  difficulty, 


83 


The  definition  ofi  courage. 

Laches  is  made  to  pass  on  from  the  more  popular  to  the  more 
philosophical ; it  has  never  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  any 
other  courage  than  that  of  the  soldier ; and  only  by  an  effort  of 
the  mind  can  he  frame  a general  notion  at  all.  No  sooner  has  this 
general  notion  been  formed  than  it  evanesces  before  the  dialectic  of 
Socrates  ; and  Nicias  appears  from  the  other  side  with  the  Socratic 
doctrine,  that  courage  is  knowledge.  This  is  explained  to  mean 
knowledge  of  things  terrible  in  the  future.  But  Socrates  denies  that 
the  knowledge  of  the  future  is  separable  from  that  of  the  past  and 
present ; in  other  words,  true  knowledge  is  not  that  of  the  sooth- 
sayer but  of  the  philosopher.  And  all  knowledge  will  thus  be 
equivalent  to  all  virtue — a position  which  elsewhere  Socrates  is 
not  unwilling  to  admit,  but  which  will  not  assist  us  in  distinguish- 
ing the  nature  of  courage.  In  this  part  of  the  Dialogue  the  contrast 
between  the  mode  of  cross-examination  which  is  practised  by 
Laches  and  by  Socrates,  and  also  the  manner  in  which  the  definition 
of  Laches  is  made  to  approximate  to  that  of  Nicias,  are  worthy  of 
attention. 

Thus,  with  some  intimation  of  the  connexion  and  unity  of  virtue 
and  knowledge,  we  arrive  at  no  distinct  result.  The  two  aspects 
of  courage  are  never  harmonized.  The  knowledge  which  in  the 
Protagoras  is  explained  as  the  faculty  of  estimating  pleasures  and 
pains  is  here  lost  in  an  unmeaning  and  transcendental  conception. 
Yet  several  true  intimations  of  the  nature  of  courage  are  allowed 
to  appear : (x)  That  courage  is  moral  as  well  as  physical : (2) 
That  true  courage  is  inseparable  from  knowledge,  and  yet  (3) 
is  based  on  a natural  instinct.  Laches  exhibits  one  aspect  of 
courage;  Nicias  the  other.  The  perfect  image  and  harmony  of 
both  is  only  realized  in  Socrates  himself. 

The  Dialogue  offers  one  among  many  examples  of  the  freedom 
with  which  Plato  treats  facts.  For  the  scene  must  be  supposed  to 
have  occurred  between  b.c.  424,  the  year  of  the  battle  of  Delium 
fi8r  Bj,  and  b.c.  418,  the  year  of  the  battle  of  Mantinea,  at  which 
Laches  fell.  But  if  Socrates  was  more  than  seventy  years  of  age 
at  his  trial  in  399  (see  Apology),  he  could  not  have  been  a young 
man  at  any  time  after  the  battle  of  Delium. 


Laches. 

Intro- 

duction. 


G 2 


LACHES,  OR  COURAGE. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 

Lysimachus,  son  of  Aristides.  Nicias. 

Melesias,  son  of  Thucydides.  Laches. 

Their  Sons.  Socrates. 

steph.  Lys.  You  have  seen  the  exhibition  of  the  man  fighting  in 
1/8  armour,  Nicias  and  Laches,  but  we  did  not  tell  you  at  the 
time  the  reason  why  my  friend  Melesias  and  I asked  you  to 
go  with  us  and  see  him.  I think  that  we  may  as  well  confess 
what  this  was,  for  we  certainly  ought  not  to  have  any  reserve 
with  }rou.  The  reason  was,  that  we  were  intending  to  ask 
your  advice.  Some  laugh  at  the  very  notion  of  advising 
others,  and  when  they  are  asked  will  not  say  what  they 
think.  They  guess  at  the  wishes  of  the  person  who  asks 
them,  and  answer  according  to  his,  and  not  according  to 
their  own,  opinion.  But  as  we  know  that  you  are  good 
judges,  and  will  say  exactly  what  you  think,  we  have  taken 
you  into  our  counsels.  The  matter  about  which  I am  making 
all  this  preface  is  as  follows  : Melesias  and  I have  two  sons; 
that  is  his  son,  and  he  is  named  Thucydides,  after  his  grand- 
179  father;  and  this  is  mine,  who  is  also  called  after  his  grand- 
father, Aristides.  Now,  we  are  resolved  to  take  the  greatest 
care  of  the  youths,  and  not  to  let  them  run  about  as  they 
like,  which  is  too  often  the  way  with  the  young,  when  they 
are  no  longer  children,  but  to  begin  at  once  and  do  the  utmost 
that  we  can  for  them.  And  knowing  you  to  have  sons 
of  your  own,  we  thought  that  you  were  most  likely  to  have 
attended  to  their  training  and  improvement,  and,  if  perchance 


Laches. 

Lysimachus. 

Lysima- 
chus and 
Melesias 
request 
Nicias  and 
Laches 
to  advise 
with  them 
respecting 
the  educa- 
tion of 
their  sons. 


86 


Lysimachus , Melesias , 


Laches. 

Lysimachus, 

Nicias, 

Laches. 


Should  the 
art  of 
fighting  in 
armour 
be  taught 
them? 


you  have  not  attended  to  them,  we  may  remind  you  that  you 
ought  to  have  done  so,  and  would  invite  you  to  assist  us  in 
the  fulfilment  of  a common  duty.  I will  tell  you,  Nicias  and 
Laches,  even  at  the  risk  of  being  tedious,  how  we  came  to 
think  of  this.  Melesias  and  1 live  together,  and  our  sons 
live  with  us  ; and  now,  as  I was  saying  at  first,  we  are  going 
to  confess  to  you.  Both  of  us  often  talk  to  the  lads  about  the 
many  noble  deeds  which  our  own  fathers  did  in  war  and 
peace  — in  the  management  of  the  allies,  and  in  the  administra- 
tion of  the  city;  but  neither  of  us  has  any  deeds  of  his  own 
which  he  can  show.  The  truth  is  that  we  are  ashamed  of  this 
contrast  being  seen  by  them,  and  we  blame  our  fathers  foi 
letting  us  be  spoiled  in  the  days  of  our  youth,  while  they 
were  occupied  with  the  concerns  of  others ; and  we  urge  all 
this  upon  the  lads,  pointing  out  to  them  that  they  will  not 
grow  up  to  honour  if  they  are  rebellious  and  take  no  pains 
about  themselves  ; but  that  if  they  take  pains  they  may, 
perhaps,  become  worthy  of  the  names  which  they  bear. 
They,  on  their  part,  promise  to  comply  with  our  wishes  ; 
and  our  care  is  to  discover  what  studies  or  pursuits  are 
likely  to  be  most  improving  to  them.  Some  one  com- 
mended to  us  the  art  of  fighting  in  armour,  which  he 
thought  an  excellent  accomplishment  for  a young  man  to 
learn  ; and  he  praised  the  man  whose  exhibition  you  have 
seen,  and  told  us  to  go  and  see  him.  And  we  determined 
that  we  would  go,  and  get  you  to  accompany  us  ; and  we 
were  intending  at  the  same  time,  if  you  did  not  object,  to 
take  counsel  with  you  about  the  education  of  our  sons.  That 
is  the  matter  which  we  wanted  to  talk  over  with  you  ; and  we 
hope  that  you  will  give  us  your  opinion  about  this  art  ofiSo 
fighting  in  armour,  and  about  any  other  studies  or  pursuits 
which  may  or  may  not  be  desirable  for  a young  man  to  learn. 
Please  to  say  whether  you  agree  to  our  proposal. 

Nic.  As  far  as  I am  concerned,  Lysimachus  and  Melesias, 

I applaud  your  purpose,  and  will  gladly  assist  you  ; and  1 

believe  that  you,  Laches,  will  be  equally  glad. 

La.  Certainly,  Nicias  ; and  I quite  approve  of  the  remark 
which  Lysimachus  made  about  his  own  father  and  the  father 
of  Melesias,  and  which  is  applicable,  not  only  to  them,  but 
to  us,  and  to  every  one  who  is  occupied  with  public  affairs. 


and  their  two  sons. 


87 


As  he  says,  such  persons  are  too  apt  to  be  negligent  and  care- 
less of  their  own  children  and  their  private  concerns.  There 
is  much  truth  in  that  remark  of  yours,  Lysimachus.  But 
why,  instead  of  consulting  us,  do  you  not  consult  our  friend 
Socrates  about  the  education  of  the  youths?  He  is  of  the 
same  deme  with  you,  and  is  always  passing  his  time  in 
places  where  the  youth  have  any  noble  study  or  pursuit, 
such  as  you  are  enquiring  after. 

Lys.  Why,  Laches,  has  Socrates  ever  attended  to  matters 
of  this  sort  ? 

La.  Certainly,  Lysimachus. 

Nic.  That  I have  the  means  of  knowing  as  well  as  Laches  ; 
for  quite  lately  he  supplied  me  with  a teacher  of  music  for 
my  sons, — Damon,  the  disciple  of  Agathocles,  who  is  a 
most  accomplished  man  in  every  way,  as  well  as  a musician, 
and  a companion  of  inestimable  value  for  young  men  at  their 
age. 

Lys.  Those  who  have  reached  my  time  of  life,  Socrates 
and  Nicias  and  Laches,  fall  out  of  acquaintance  with  the 
young,  because  they  are  generally  detained  at  home  by  old 
age  ; but  you,  O son  of  Sophroniscus,  should  let  your  fellow 
demesman  have  the  benefit  of  any  advice  which  you  are  able 
to  give.  Moreover  I have  a claim  upon  you  as  an  old  friend 
of  your  father ; for  I and  he  were  always  companions  and 
friends,  and  to  the  hour  of  his  death  there  never  was  a 
difference  between  us ; and  now  it  comes  back  to  me,  at  the 
mention  of  your  name,  that  I have  heard  these  lads  talking 
181  to  one  another  at  home,  and  often  speaking  of  Socrates 
in  terms  of  the  highest  praise ; but  I have  never  thought  to 
ask  them  whether  the  son  of  Sophroniscus  was  the  person 
whom  they  meant.  Tell  me,  my  boys,  whether  this  is  the 
Socrates  of  whom  you  have  often  spoken  ? 

Son.  Certainly,  father,  this  is  he. 

Lys.  I am  delighted  to  hear,  Socrates,  that  you  maintain 
the  name  of  your  father,  who  was  a most  excellent  man  ; 
and  I further  rejoice  at  the  prospect  of  our  family  ties  being 
renewed. 

La.  Indeed,  Lysimachus,  you  ought  not  to  give  him  up  ; 
for  I can  assure  you  that  I have  seen  him  maintaining,  not 
only  his  father’s,  but  also  his  country’s  name.  He  was  my 


Laches. 

Lysimachus, 

Nicias, 

Laches. 

Laches 
recom- 
mends 
that  they 
shall  take 
Socrates 
into  their 
counsels. 


Lysima- 
chus had 
heard  the 
name  of 
Socrates, 
and  makes 
the  dis- 
covery that 
he  is  the 
son  of  his 
old  friend 
Sophron- 
iscus. 


Laches 
praises  the 
courage 
which  was 
shown  by 
Socrates  at 
the  battle 
of  Dclium. 


88 


Laches. 

Lysimachus, 

Socrates, 

Nicias. 


The 

opinion  of 
Socrates 
is  asked 
respecting 
the  art  of 
fighting  in 
armour ; he 
would  like, 
to  hear 
what 

Nicias  has 
to  say 
before 
giving  an 
opinion. 


Nicias 
thinks  that 
the  art  is 
an  excellent 
gymnastic, 
and  of  the 
greatest 
value  when 
the  soldier 
is  fighting 
singly  ; it 
will  arouse 
in  him 
noble 
thoughts, 
and  will 
enable  him 
to  make 
a better 
figure  in 
battle. 


Advantages  and  disadvantages 

companion  in  the  retreat  from  Delium,  and  I can  tell  you 
that  if  others  had  only  been  like  him,  the  honour  of  our 
country  would  have  been  upheld,  and  the  great  defeat  would 
never  have  occurred. 

Lys.  That  is  very  high  praise  which  is  accorded  to  you, 
Socrates,  by  faithful  witnesses  and  for  actions  like  those  which 
they  praise.  Let  me  tell  you  the  pleasure  which  I feel 
in  hearing  of  your  fame  ; and  I hope  that  you  will  regard  me 
as  one  of  your  warmest  friends.  You  ought  to  have  visited 
us  long  ago,  and  made  yourself  at  home  with  us  ; but  now, 
from  this  day  forward,  as  we  have  at  last  found  one  another 
out,  do  as  I say — come  and  make  acquaintance  with  me,  and 
with  these  young  men,  that  I may  continue  your  friend,  as  I 
was  your  father’s.  I shall  expect  you  to  do  so,  and  shall 
venture  at  some  future  time  to  remind  you  of  3^our  duty.  But 
what  say  you  of  the  matter  of  which  we  were  beginning 
to  speak— the  art  of  fighting  in  armour?  Is  that  a practice 
in  which  the  lads  may  be  advantageously  instructed? 

Soc.  I will  endeavour  to  advise  you,  L}rsimachus,  as  far  as 
I can  in  this  matter,  and  also  in  every  way  will  comply  with 
your  wishes ; but  as  I am  younger  and  not  so  experienced,  I 
think  that  I ought  certainly  to  hear  first  what  my  elders  have 
to  say,  and  to  learn  of  them,  and  if  I have  anything  to  add, 
then  I may  venture  to  give  my  opinion  to  them  as  well  as  to 
you.  Suppose,  Nicias,  that  one  or  other  of  you  begin. 

Nic.  I have  no  objection,  Socrates  ; and  my  opinion  is  that 
the  acquirement  of  this  art  is  in  many  ways  useful  to  young 
men.  It  is  an  advantage  to  them  that  among  the  favourite 
amusements  of  their  leisure  hours  they  should  have  one  which 
tends  to  improve  and  not  to  injure  their  bodily  health.  No 
gymnastics  could  be  better  or  harder  exercise  ; and  this,  and  182 
the  art  of  riding,  are  of  all  arts  most  befitting  to  a freeman  ; 
for  they  only  who  are  thus  trained  in  the  use  of  arms  are  the 
athletes  of  our  military  profession,  trained  in  that  on  which 
the  conflict  turns.  Moreover  in  actual  battle,  when  you  have 
to  fight  in  a line  with  a number  of  others,  such  an  acquirement 
will  be  of  some  use,  and  will  be  of  the  greatest  whenever  the 
ranks  are  broken  and  you  have  to  fight  singly,  either  in  pursuit, 
when  you  are  attacking  some  one  who  is  defending  himself, 
or  in  flight,  when  you  have  to  defend  yourself  against  an 


of  the  art  of  fighting  in  armour. 


89 


assailant.  Certainly  he  who  possessed  the  art  could  not  Laches. 
meet  with  any  harm  at  the  hands  of  a single  person,  or  Nicias, 
perhaps  of  several ; and  in  any  case  he  would  have  a great  Lachks- 
advantage.  Further,  this  sort  of  skill  inclines  a man  to  the 
love  of  other  noble  lessons ; for  every  man  who  has  learned 
how  to  fight  in  armour  will  desire  to  learn  the  proper 
arrangement  of  an  army,  which  is  the  sequel  of  the  lesson  : 
and  when  he  has  learned  this,  and  his  ambition  is  once  fired, 
he  will  go  on  to  learn  the  complete  art  of  the  general. 

There  is  no  difficulty  in  seeing  that  the  knowledge  and  prac- 
tice of  other  military  arts  will  be  honourable  and  valuable  to 
a man ; and  this  lesson  may  be  the  beginning  of  them.  Let 
me  add  a further  advantage,  which  is  by  no  means  a slight 
one, — that  this  science  will  make  any  man  a great  deal  more 
valiant  and  self-possessed  in  the  field.  And  I will  not 
disdain  to  mention,  what  by  some  may  be  thought  to  be  a 
small  matter ; — he  will  make  a better  appearance  at  the 
right  time ; that  is  to  say,  at  the  time  when  his  appearance 
will  strike  terror  into  his  enemies.  My  opinion  then, 
L}’simachus,  is,  as  I say,  that  the  youths  should  be  instructed 
in  this  art,  and  for  the  reasons  which  I have  given.  But 
Laches  may  take  a different  view ; and  I shall  be  ver}'-  glad 
to  hear  what  he  has  to  say. 

La.  I should  not  like  to  maintain,  Nicias,  that  any  kind  of  Laches 
knowledge  is  not  to  be  learned  ; for  all  knowledge  appears  fttacbes  110 
to  be  a good:  and  if,  as  Nicias  and  as  the  teachers  of  the  tothetanCe 
art  affirm,  this  use  of  arms  is  really  a species  of  knowledge,  art-  which 
then  it  ought  to  be  learned  ; but  if  not,  and  if  those  who  Zgleo™ 
profess  to  teach  it  are  deceivers  only  ; or  if  it  be  knowledge,  been 
but  not  of  a valuable  sort,  then  what  is  the  use  of  learning  it  ? ^ered 
183  I say  this,  because  I think  that  if  it  had  been  really  valuable,  Lacedae- 
the  Lacedaemonians,  whose  whole  life  is  passed  in  finding  "j^wouid 
out  and  practising  the  arts  which  give  them  an  advantage  have  been 
over  other  nations  in  war,  would  have  discovered  this  one.  mtroduced 
And  even  if  they  had  not,  still  these  professors  of  the  art  them,  if  it 
would  certainly  not  have  failed  to  discover  that  of  all  the  hj^d  been 
Hellenes  the  Lacedaemonians  have  the  greatest  interest  in  valued 
such  matters,  and  that  a master  of  the  art  who  was  honoured 
among  them  would  be  sure  to  make  his  fortune  among  other 
nations,  just  as  a tragic  poet  would  who  is  honoured  among 


90 


Laches. 

Laches. 


These 
masters  of 
fence  never 
venture  on 
Lacedae- 
monian 
ground. 


Laches  had 
seen  this 
same 
Stesilaus 
cutting 
a very 
ridiculous 
figure  in  a 
naval 
engage- 
ment. 


The  misadventure  of  Stesilaus. 

ourselves  ; which  is  the  reason  why  he  who  fancies  that  he 
can  write  a tragedy  does  not  go  about  itinerating  in  the 
neighbouring  states,  but  rushes  hither  straight,  and  exhibits 
at  Athens  ; and  this  is  natural.  Whereas  I perceive  that 
these  fighters  in  armour  regard  Lacedaemon  as  a sacred 
inviolable  territory,  which  they  do  not  touch  with  the  point 
of  their  foot ; but  they  make  a circuit  of  the  neighbouring 
states,  and  would  rather  exhibit  to  any  others  than  to  the 
Spartans;  and  particularly  to  those  who  would  themselves 
acknowledge  that  they  are  by  no  means  firstrate  in  the  arts 
of  war.  Further,  Lysimachus,  I have  encountered  a good 
many  of  these  gentlemen  in  actual  sendee,  and  have  taken 
their  measure,  which  I can  give  you  at  once ; for  none  of 
these  masters  of  fence  have  ever  been  distinguished  in  war, — 
there  has  been  a sort  of  fatality  about  them ; while  in  all 
other  arts  the  men  of  note  have  been  always  those  who  have 
practised  the  art,  they  appear  to  be  a most  unfortunate 
exception.  For  example,  this  very  Stesilaus,  whom  you  and 
I have  just  witnessed  exhibiting  in  all  that  crowd  and  making 
such  great  professions  of  his  powers,  I have  seen  at  another 
time  making,  in  sober  truth,  an  involuntary  exhibition  of 
himself,  which  was  a far  better  spectacle.  He  was  a marine 
on  board  a ship  which  struck  a transport  vessel,  and  was 
armed  with  a weapon,  half  spear,  half  scythe  ; the  singularity 
of  this  weapon  was  worthy  of  the  singularity  of  the  man.  To 
make  a long  story  short,  I will  only  tell  you  what  happened 
to  this  notable  invention  of  the  scythe-spear.  He  was  fight- 
ing, and  the  scythe  was  caught  in  the  rigging  of  the  other 
ship,  and  stuck  fast ; and  he  tugged,  but  was  unable  to  get 
his  weapon  free.  The  two  ships  were  passing  one  another. 

He  first  ran  along  his  own  ship  holding  on  to  the  spear  ; but 
as  the  other  ship  passed  by  and  drew  him  after  as  he  was 
holding  on,  he  let  the  spear  slip  through  his  hand  until  he  184 
retained  only  the  end  of  the  handle.  The  people  in  the 
transport  clapped  their  hands,  and  laughed  at  his  lidiculous 
figure ; and  when  some  one  threw  a stone,  which  fell  on  the 
deck  at  his  feet,  and  he  quitted  his  hold  of  the  scythe-spear, 
the  crew  of  his  own  trireme  also  burst  out  laughing ; they 
could  not  refrain  when  they  beheld  the  weapon  waving  in  the 
air,  suspended  from  the  transport.  Now  I do  not  deny  that 


9i 


‘ When  doctors  disagree 

there  may  be  something  in  such  an  art,  as  Nicias  asserts,  but 
I tell  you  m3'  experience ; and,  as  I said  at  first,  whether  this 
be  an  art  of  which  the  advantage  is  so  slight,  or  not  an  art  at 
all,  but  onl)7  an  imposition,  in  either  case  such  an  acquirement 
is  not  worth  having.  For  my  opinion  is,  that  if  the  professor 
of  this  art  be  a coward,  he  will  be  likely  to  become  rash,  and 
his  character  will  be  only  more  notorious ; or  if  he  be  brave, 
and  fail  ever  so  little,  other  men  will  be  on  the  watch,  and  he 
will  be  greatty  traduced  ; for  there  is  a jealousy  of  such 
pretenders  ; and  unless  a man  be  pre-eminent  in  valour,  he 
cannot  help  being  ridiculous,  if  he  says  that  he  has  this  sort 
of  skill.  Such  is  m3' judgment,  Lysimachus,  of  the  desirable- 
ness of  this  art ; but,  as  I said  at  first,  ask  Socrates,  and  do 
not  let  him  go  until  he  has  given  you  his  opinion  of  the 
matter. 

Lys.  I am  going  to  ask  this  favour  of  you,  Socrates ; as  is 
the  more  necessary  because  the  two  councillors  disagree,  and 
some  one  is  in  a manner  still  needed  who  will  decide  between 
them.  Had  they  agreed,  no  arbiter  would  have  been  required. 
But  as  Laches  has  voted  one  way  and  Nicias  another,  I should 
like  to  hear  with  which  of  our  two  friends  you  agree. 

Soc.  What,  Lysimachus,  are  you  going  to  accept  the 
opinion  of  the  majority  ? 

Lys.  Why,  3'es,  Socrates ; what  else  am  I to  do  ? 

Soc.  And  would  you  do  so  too,  Melesias?  If  you  were 
deliberating  about  the  gymnastic  training  of  your  son,  would 
you  follow  the  advice  of  the  majority  of  us,  or  the  opinion  of 
the  one  who  had  been  trained  and  exercised  under  a skilful 
master  ? 

Mel.  The  latter,  Socrates  ; as  would  surely  be  reasonable. 

Soc.  His  one  vote  would  be  worth  more  than  the  vote  of 
all  us  four  ? 

Mel.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  for  this  reason,  as  I imagine, — because  a good 
decision  is  based  on  knowledge  and  not  on  numbers  ? 

Mel.  To  be  sure. 

185  Soc.  Must  we  not  then  first  of  all  ask,  whether  there  is 
any  one  of  us  who  has  knowledge  of  that  about  which  we  are 
deliberating?  If  there  is,  let  us  take  his  advice,  though  he 
be  one  only,  and  not  mind  the  rest ; if  there  is  not,  let  us  seek 


Laches. 

Socrates, 
Lysimachus, 
M ELESIAS. 

The  art  an 
imposition. 


Our  two 
councillors 
disagree, 
and 

therefore 
we  must 
appeal  to 
Socrates. 

What,  and 
are  we  to 
decide  by  a 
majority? 


No,  the 
opinion  of 
one  expert 
is  worth 
that  of  all 
the  rest. 


92 


The  means  and  the  end. 


Laches. 

Socrates, 

Melesias, 

Nicias. 


What  is  the 
question  ? 


There 
are  two 
questions, 
one  re- 
lating to 
the  means 
and  the 
other  to 
the  end. 


further  counsel.  Is  this  a slight  matter  about  which  you  and 
Lysimachus  are  deliberating  ? Are  you  not  risking  the 
greatest  of  your  possessions  ? For  children  are  your  riches  ; 
and  upon  their  turning  out  well  or  ill  depends  the  whole 
order  of  their  father’s  house. 

Met.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Great  care,  then,  is  required  in  this  matter  ? 

Mel.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Suppose,  as  I was  just  now  saying,  that  we  were  con- 
sidering, or  wanting  to  consider,  who  was  the  best  trainer. 
Should  we  not  select  him  who  knew  and  had  practised  the 
art,  and  had  the  best  teachers? 

Mel.  I think  that  we  should. 

Soc.  But  would  there  not  arise  a prior  question  about  the 
nature  of  the  art  of  which  we  want  to  find  the  masters  ? 

Mel.  I do  not  understand. 

Soc.  Let  me  try  to  make  my  meaning  plainer  then.  I do 
not  think  that  we  have  as  yet  decided  what  that  is  about 
which  we  are  consulting,  when  we  ask  which  of  us  is  or  is  not 
skilled  in  the  art,  and  has  or  has  not  had  a teacher  of  the 
art. 

Nic.  Why,  Socrates,  is  not  the  question  whether  young 
men  ought  or  ought  not  to  learn  the  art  of  fighting  in 
armour  ? 

Soc.  Yes,  Nicias  ; but  there  is  also  a prior  question,  which 
I may  illustrate  in  this  way : When  a person  considers 
about  applying  a medicine  to  the  eyes,  would  you  say  that  he 
is  consulting  about  the  medicine  or  about  the  eyes  ? 

Nic.  About  the  eyes. 

Soc.  And  when  he  considers  whether  he  shall  set  a bridle 
on  a horse  and  at  what  time,  he  is  thinking  of  the  horse  and 
not  of  the  bridle  ? 

Nic.  True. 

Soc.  And  in  a word,  when  he  considers  anything  for  the 
sake  of  another  thing,  he  thinks  of  the  end  and  not  of  the 

means  ? 

Nic.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  when  you  call  in  an  adviser,  you  should  see 
whether  he  too  is  skilful  in  the  accomplishment  of  the  end 
which  you  have  in  view  ? 


93 


Who  are  qualified  to  teach  ? 

Nic.  Most  true. 

Soc.  And  at  present  we  have  in  view  some  knowledge,  of 
which  the  end  is  the  soul  of  youth  ? 

Nic.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  we  are  enquiring,  Which  of  us  is  skilful  or 
successful  in  the  treatment  of  the  soul,  and  which  of  us  has 
had  good  teachers  ? 

La.  Well  but,  Socrates ; did  you  never  observe  that  some 
persons,  who  have  had  no  teachers,  are  more  skilful  than 
those  who  have,  in  some  things? 

Soc.  Yes,  Laches,  I have  observed  that;  but  you  would 
not  be  very  willing  to  trust  them  if  they  only  professed  to  be 
masters  of  their  art,  unless  they  could  show  some  proof  of 
1 86  their  skill  or  excellence  in  one  or  more  works. 

La.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  And  therefore,  Laches  and  Nicias,  as  Lysimachus 
and  Melesias,  in  their  anxiety  to  improve  the  minds  of  their 
sons,  have  asked  our  advice  about  them,  we  too  should  tell 
them  who  our  teachers  were,  if  we  say  that  we  have  had  any, 
and  prove  them  to  be  in  the  first  place  men  of  merit  and 
experienced  trainers  of  the  minds  of  youth  and  also  to  have 
been  really  our  teachers.  Or  if  any  of  us  says  that  he  has 
no  teacher,  but  that  he  has  works  of  his  own  to  show ; then 
he  should  point  out  to  them  what  Athenians  or  strangers, 
bond  or  free,  he  is  generally  acknowledged  to  have  improved. 
But  if  he  can  show  neither  teachers  nor  works,  then  he  should 
tell  them  to  look  out  for  others ; and  not  run  the  risk  of  spoil- 
ing the  children  of  friends,  and  thereby  incurring  the  most 
formidable  accusation  which  can  be  brought  against  any  one 
by  those  nearest  to  him.  As  for  myself,  Lysimachus  and 
Melesias,  I am  the  first  to  confess  that  I have  never  had 
a teacher  of  the  art  of  virtue ; although  I have  always  from 
my  earliest  youth  desired  to  have  one.  But  I am  too  poor 
t°  g*vo  money  to  the  Sophists,  who  are  the  only  professors 
of  moral  improvement ; and  to  this  day  I have  never  been 
able  to  discover  the  art  myself,  though  I should  not  be 
surprised  if  Nicias  or  Laches  may  have  discovered  or  learned 
it;  for  they  are  far  wealthier  than  I am,  and  may  therefore 
have  learnt  of  others.  And  they  are  older  too ; so  that  they 
have  had  more  time  to  make  the  discovery.  And  I really 


Laches. 

N ICIAS, 

Socrates, 

Laches. 

The  means 
is  some 
kind  of 
knowledge; 
the  end  the 
improve- 
ment ot 
the  soul  of 
youth. 

Which  of 
us  can 
teach  and 
has  had 
good 
teachers  ? 


We  must 
either  tell 
who  our 
teachers 
are,  or 
appeal  to 
works  of 
our  own. 


Socrates 
could  never 
afford  a 
teacher, 
but  Nicias 
and  Laches 
may  have 
learned 
of  the 
Sophists, 
and  their 
opinions 
might  be 
of  value  if 
they  only 
agreed 
with  one 
another. 


94 


Socrates,  Nicias,  and  Laches. 


Laches. 

Socrates, 

Lysimachus. 


Who  were 
their 
teachers, 
or  do  they 
experiment 
for  them- 
selves ? 


believe  that  they  are  able  to  educate  a man  ; for  unless  they 
had  been  confident  in  their  own  knowledge,  they  would  never 
have  spoken  thus  decidedly  of  the  pursuits  which  are  advan- 
tageous or  hurtful  to  a young  man.  I repose  confidence 
in  both  of  them ; but  I am  surprised  to  find  that  they  differ 
from  one  another.  And  therefore,  Lysimachus,  as  Laches 
suggested  that  you  should  detain  me,  and  not  let  me  go  until 
I answered,  I in  turn  earnestly  beseech  and  advise  you  to 
detain  Laches  and  Nicias,  and  question  them.  I would  have 
you  say  to  them : Socrates  avers  that  he  has  no  knowledge 
of  the  matter — he  is  unable  to  decide  which  of  you  speaks 
truly;  neither  discoverer  nor  student  is  he  of  anything  of  the 
kind.  But  you,  Laches  and  Nicias,  should  each  of  you  tell 
us  who  is  the  most  skilful  educator  whom  you  have  ever 
known  ; and  whether  you  invented  the  art  yourselves,  or 
learned  of  another;  and  if  you  learned,  who  were  your  187 
respective  teachers,  and  who  were  their  brothers  in  the  art ; 


In  the 
latter  case 
they  should 
be  warned 
against 
trying 
experi- 
ments on 
their  own 
children. 


Lysi- 

machus 

suggests 

that 

Socrates 
shall  in- 
terrogate 
Nicias  and 
Laches. 


and  then,  if  you  are  too  much  occupied  in  politics  to  teach  us 
yourselves,  let  us  go  to  them,  and  present  them  with  gifts,  or 
make  interest  with  them,  or  both,  in  the  hope  that  they  may 
be  induced  to  take  charge  of  our  children  and  of  yours ; and 
then  they  will  not  grow  up  inferior,  and  disgrace  their  ances- 
tors. But  if  you  are  yourselves  original  discoverers  in  that 
field,  give  us  some  proof  of  your  skill.  Who  are  they  who, 
having  been  inferior  persons,  have  become  under  your  care 
good  and  noble  ? For  if  this  is  your  first  attempt  at  educa- 
tion, there  is  a danger  that  you  may  be  trying  the  experiment, 
not  on  the  'vile  corpus’  of  a Carian  slave,  but  on  your  own 
sons,  or  the  sons  of  your  friend,  and,  as  the  proverb  says, 
‘break  the  large  vessel  in  learning  to  make  pots.’  Tell  us 
then,  what  qualities  you  claim  or  do  not  claim.  Make  them 
tell  you  that,  Lysimachus,  and  do  not  let  them  off. 

Lys.  I very  much  approve  of  the  words  of  Socrates,  my 
friends  ; but  you,  Nicias  and  Laches,  must  determine  whether 
you  will  be  questioned,  and  give  an  explanation  about  matters 
of  this  sort.  Assuredly,  I and  Melesias  would  be  greatly 
pleased  to  hear  you  answer  the  questions  which  Socrates 
asks,  if  you  will : for  I began  by  saying  that  we  took  you  into 
our  counsels  because  we  thought  that  you  would  have 


attended  to  the  subject,  especially  as  you  have  children  who, 


The  zvays  of  Socrates. 

like  our  own,  are  nearly  of  an  age  to  be  educated.  Well, 
then,  if  you  have  no  objection,  suppose  that  you  take  Socrates 
into  partnership  ; and  do  you  and  he  ask  and  answer  one 
another’s  questions : for,  as  he  has  well  said,  we  are  de- 
liberating about  the  most  important  of  our  concerns.  I hope 
that  you  will  see  fit  to  comply  with  our  request. 

Nic.  I see  very  clearl}',  Lysimachus,  that  you  have  only 
known  Socrates’  father,  and  have  no  acquaintance  with 
Socrates  himself:  at  least,  you  can  only  have  known  him 
when  he  was  a child,  and  may  have  met  him  among  his 
fellow- wardsmen,  in  company  with  his  father,  at  a sacrifice, 
or  at  some  other  gathering.  You  clearly  show  that  you  have 
never  known  him  since  he  arrived  at  manhood. 

Lys.  Why  do  you  say  that,  Nicias? 

Nic.  Because  you  seem  not  to  be  aware  that  any  one  who  has 
an  intellectual  affinity  to  Socrates  and  enters  into  conversa- 
tion with  him  is  liable  to  be  drawn  into  an  argument;  and 
whatever  subject  he  may  start,  he  will  be  continually  carried 
round  and  round  by  him,  until  at  last  he  finds  that  he  has  to 
1 88  give  an  account  both  of  his  present  and  past  life;  and  when 
he  is  once  entangled,  Socrates  will  not  let  him  go  until  he 
has  completely  and  thoroughly  sifted  him.  Now  I am  used 
to  his  ways ; and  I know  that  he  will  certainly  do  as  I say, 
and  also  that  I myself  shall  be  the  sufferer;  for  I am  fond 
of  his  conversation,  Lysimachus.  And  I think  that  there  is 
no  harm  in  being  reminded  of  any  wrong  thing  which  we 
are,  or  have  been,  doing : he  who  does  not  fly  from  reproof 
will  be  sure  to  take  more  heed  of  his  after-life ; as  Solon 
says,  he  will  wish  and  desire  to  be  learning  so  long  as  he 
lives,  and  will  not  think  that  old  age  of  itself  brings  wisdom. 
To  me,  to  be  cross-examined  by  Socrates  is  neither  unusual 
nor  unpleasant ; indeed,  I knew  all  along  that  where  Socrates 
was,  the  argument  would  soon  pass  from  our  sons  to  our- 
selves ; and  therefore,  I say  that  for  my  part,  I am  quite  willing 
to  discourse  with  Socrates  in  his  own  manner;  but  you  had 
better  ask  our  friend  Laches  what  his  feeling  may  be. 

La.  I have  but  one  feeling,  Nicias,  or  (shall  I say?)  two 
feelings,  about  discussions.  Some  would  think  that  I am  a 
lover,  and  to  others  I may  seem  to  be  a hater  of  discourse ; 
for*  when  I hear  a man  discoursing  of  virtue,  or  of  any  sort 


95 


Laches. 

Nicias, 

Lysimachus, 

Laches. 


Socrates 
will  be 
sure  to 
ask  you 
about  your 
soul. 


Nicias  is 
of  opinion 
that  such 
conver- 
sation is 
very  pro- 
fitable. 


Laches, 
like  Nicias, 
is  very 
ready  to 
be  cross- 
examined, 
especially 
by  a true 
man  whose 
deeds 
correspond 
with  his 
actions. 


96 


Words  and  deeds. 


Laches. 

Laches, 

Socrates, 

Lysimachus. 


He  is 

willing  like 
Solon  ‘ to 
learn  many 
things,’  but 
of  the  good 
onlv. 


Lysi- 
machus 
retires 
from  the 
argument. 


of  wisdom,  who  is  a true  man  and  worthy  of  his  theme,  I am 
delighted  beyond  measure : and  I compare  the  man  and  his 
words,  and  note  the  harmony  and  correspondence  of  them. 

And  such  an  one  I deem  to  be  the  true  musician,  attuned 
to  a fairer  harmony  than  that  of  the  lyre,  or  any  pleasant 
instrument  of  music  ; for  truly  he  has  in  his  own  life  a 
harmony  of  words  and  deeds  arranged,  not  in  the  Ionian,  or 
in  the  Phrygian  mode,  nor  yet  in  the  Lydian,  but  in  the  true 
Hellenic  mode,  which  is  the  Dorian,  and  no  other.  Such 
an  one  makes  me  merry  with  the  sound  of  his  voice ; and 
when  I hear  him  I am  thought  to  be  a lover  of  discourse  ; 
so  eager  am  I in  drinking  in  his  words.  But  a man  whose 
actions  do  not  agree  with  his  words  is  an  annoyance  to 
me;  and  the  better  he  speaks  the  more  I hate  him,  and 
then  I seem  to  be  a hater  of  discourse.  As  to  Socrates, 

I have  no  knowledge  of  his  words,  but  of  old,  as  would 
seem,  I have  had  experience  of  his  deeds ; and  his  deeds 
show’  that  free  and  noble  sentiments  are  natural  to  him.  189 
And  if  his  words  accord,  then  I am  of  one  mind  with  him, 
and  shall  be  delighted  to  be  interrogated  by  a man  such  as 
he  is,  and  shall  not  be  annoyed  at  having  to  learn  of  him  : 
for  I too  agree  with  Solon,  ‘that  I would  fain  grow  old, 
learning  many  things.’  But  I must  be  allowed  to  add  ‘ of 
the  good  only.’  Socrates  must  be  willing  to  allow  that  he  is 
a good  teacher,  or  I shall  be  a dull  and  uncongenial  pupil : 
but  that  the  teacher  is  younger,  or  not  as  yet  in  repute  — 
anything  of  that  sort  is  of  no  account  with  me.  And  there- 
fore, Socrates,  I give  you  notice  that  you  may  teach  and 
confute  me  as  much  as  ever  you  like,  and  also  learn  of  me 
anything  which  I know.  So  high  is  the  opinion  which 
have  entertained  of  you  ever  since  the  day  on  which  you 
were  my  companion  in  danger,  and  gave  a proof  of  your 
valour  such  as  only  the  man  of  merit  can  give.  Therefore, 
say  whatever  you  like,  and  do  not  mind  about  the  difference 

of  our  ages.  . . _ 

Soc.  I cannot  say  that  either  of  you  show  any  reluctance 

to  take  counsel  and  advise  with  me. 

Lys.  But  this  is  our  proper  business  ; and  yours  as  we  as 
ours,  for  I reckon  you  as  one  of  us.  Please  then  to  take  my 
place,  and  find  out  from  Nicias  and  Laches  what  we  want  to 


97 


The  nature  of  virtue  to  be  examined : 


know,  for  the  sake  of  the  youths,  and  talk  and  consult  with  Laches. 
them : for  I am  old,  and  my  memory  is  bad ; and  I do  not  Socrates, 
remember  the  questions  which  I am  going  to  ask,  or  the  Laches- 
answers  to  them  ; and  if  there  is  any  interruption  I am  quite 
lost.  I will  therefore  beg  of  you  to  carry  on  the  proposed 
discussion  by  your  selves ; and  I will  listen,  and  Melesias  and 
I will  act  upon  your  conclusions. 

Soc.  Let  us,  Nicias  and  Laches,  comply  with  the  request 
of  Lysimachus  and  Melesias.  There  will  be  no  harm  in 
asking  ourselves  the  question  which  was  first  proposed  to 
us  : ‘ Who  have  been  our  own  instructors  in  this  sort  of 
training,  and  whom  have  we  made  better  ? ’ But  the  other 
mode  of  carrying  on  the  enquiry  will  bring  us  equally  to  the 
same  point,  and  will  be  more  like  proceeding  from  first 
principles.  For  if  we  knew  that  the  addition  of  something  Socrates 
would  improve  some  other  thing,  and  were  able  to  make  the  Proceeds:- 
addition,  then,  clearly,  we  must  know  how  that  about  which  ^impart 
we  are  advising  may  be  best  and  most  easily  attained.  a gift  we 
Perhaps  you  do  not  understand  what  I mean.  Then  let  me  Znamr^ 
190  make  my  meaning  plainer  in  this  way.  Suppose  we  knew  ofit- 
that  the  addition  of  sight  makes  better  the  eyes  which 
possess  this  gift,  and  also  were  able  to  impart  sight  to  the 
eyes,  then,  clearly,  we  should  know  the  nature  of  sight,  and 
should  be  able  to  advise  how  this  gift  of  sight  may  be  best 
and  most  easily  attained  j but  if  we  knew  neither  what  sight 
is,  nor  what  hearing  is,  we  should  not  be  very  good  medical 
advisers  about  the  eyes  or  the  ears,  or  about  the  best  mode 
of  giving  sight  and  hearing  to  them. 

La.  That  is  true,  Socrates. 


Soc.  And  are  not  our  two  friends,  Laches,  at  this  very  mo- 
ment inviting  us  to  consider  in  what  way  the  gift  of  virtue  may 
be  imparted  to  their  sons  for  the  improvement  of  their  minds? 

La.  Very  true. 

•S'or.  Then  must  we  not  first  know  the  nature  of  virtue?  ifwewould 
For  how  can  we  advise  any  one  about  the  best  mode  of  iraPart 
attaining  something  of  which  we  are  wholly  ignorant  ? v‘rtue  we 

La.  I do  not  think  that  we  can,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Then,  Laches,  we  may  presume  that  we  know  the 
nature  of  virtue  ? 

La.  Yes. 


must  know 
the  nature 
of  virtue. 


VOL.  I. 


II 


98 


or  rather  of  a part  of  virtue. 


Laches.  Soc.  And  that  which  we  know  we  must  surely  be  able  to 

Socrates,  t^ll  ? 

laches.  £a  Certainly. 

Soc.  I would  not  have  us  begin,  my  friend,  with  enquiring 
about  the  whole  of  virtue ; for  that  may  be  more  than  we  can 
accomplish ; let  us  first  consider  whether  we  have  a suffi- 
cient knowledge  of  a part ; the  enquiry  will  thus  probably 


And  the 
particular 
virtue  with 
which  we 
are  at 
present 
concerned 
is  courage. 


be  made  easier  to  us. 

La.  Let  us  do  as  you  say,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Then  which  of  the  parts  of  virtue  shall  we  select  ? 
Must  we  not  select  that  to  which  the  art  of  fighting  in 
armour  is  supposed  to  conduce?  And  is  not  that  generally 
thought  to  be  courage  ? 

La.  Yes,  certainly. 

Soc.  Then,  Laches,  suppose  that  we  first  set  about  deter- 
mining the  nature  of  courage,  and  in  the  second  place 
proceed  to  enquire  how  the  young  men  may  attain  this 
quality  by  the  help  of  studies  and  pursuits.  Tell  me,  if  you 

can,  what  is  courage.  # 

La.  Indeed,  Socrates,  I see  no  difficulty  in  answering;  he 

is  a man  of  courage  who  does  not  run  away,  but  remains  at 
his  post  and  fights  against  the  enemy;  there  can  be  no 


Who  is  the 

courageous 

man? 


(i)  He 
who  stands 
and  fights  ; 
and  also 


(2)  he  who 
flies  and 
fights. 


listake  about  that.  ... 

Soc.  Very  good,  Laches ; and  yet  I fear  that  I did  not 
xpress  myself  clearly;  and  therefore  you  have  answered 
iot  the  question  which  I intended  to  ask,  but  another. 

La.  What  do  you  mean,  Socrates  ? 

Soc.  I will  endeavour  to  explain  ; you  would  call  a man 
:ourageous  who  remains  at  his  post,  and  fights  with  the 

inemy  ? 

La.  Certainly  I should. 

Soc.  And  so  should  I ; but  what  would  you  say  of  another 

nan,  who  fights  flying,  instead  of  remaining? 

La.  How  flying?  „ , _ . ,, 

Soc  Why,  as  the  Scythians  are  said  to  fight,  flying  as  well 

as  pursuing;  and  as  Homer  says  in  praise  of  the  horses  of 
Aeneas,  that  they  knew  ‘how  to  pursue,  and  fly  quick  y 
hither  and  thither;’  and  he  passes  an  encomium  on  Aeneas 
himself,  as  having  a knowledge  of  fear  or  flight,  and  calls 
him  ‘an  author  of  fear  or  flight.’ 


Different  kinds  of  courage. 

La.  Yes,  Socrates,  and  there  Homer  is  right : for  he  was 
speaking  of  chariots,  as  you  were  speaking  of  the  Scythian 
cavalry,  who  have  that  way  of  fighting;  but  the  heavy-armed 
Greek  fights,  as  I say,  remaining  in  his  rank. 

Soc.  And  yet,  Laches,  you  must  except  the  Lacedae- 
monians at  Plataea,  who,  when  they  came  upon  the  light 
shields  of  the  Persians,  are  said  not  to  have  been  willing  to 
stand  and  fight,  and  to  have  fled  ; but  when  the  ranks  of  the 
Persians  were  broken,  they  turned  upon  them  like  cavalry, 
and  won  the  battle  of  Plataea. 

La.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  That  was  my  meaning  when  I said  that  I was  to 
blame  in  having  put  my  question  badly,  and  that  this  was 
the  reason  of  your  answering  badly.  For  I meant  to  ask  you 
not  only  about  the  courage  of  heavy-armed  soldiers,  but 
about  the  courage  of  cavalry  and  every  other  style  of  soldier ; 
and  not  only  who  are  courageous  in  war,  but  who  are 
courageous  in  perils  by  sea,  and  who  in  disease,  or  in 
poverty,  or  again  in  politics,  are  courageous  ; and  not  only 
who  are  courageous  against  pain  or  fear,  but  mighty  to  con- 
tend against  desires  and  pleasures,  either  fixed  in  their  rank 
or  turning  upon  their  enemy.  There  is  this  sort  of  courage — 
is  there  not,  Laches  ? 

La.  Certainly,  Socrates. 

Soc.  And  all  these  are  courageous,  but  some  have  courage 
in  pleasures,  and  some  in  pains : some  in  desires,  and  some 
in  fears,  and  some  are  cowards  under  the  same  conditions,  as 
I should  imagine. 

La.  Very  true. 

Soc.  Now  I was  asking  about  courage  and  cowardice  in 
general.  And  I will  begin  with  courage,  and  once  more  ask, 
What  is  that  common  quality,  which  is  the  same  in  all  these 
ca.-5e.-3,  and  which  is  called  courage?  Do  you  now  understand 
what  I mean  ? 

La.  Not  over  well. 

192  Soc.  I mean  this : As  I might  ask  what  is  that  quality 
which  is  called  quickness,  and  which  is  found  in  running, 
in  playing  the  lyre,  in  speaking,  in  learning,  and  in  many 
other  similar  actions,  or  rather  which  we  possess  in  nearly 
every  action  that  is  worth  mentioning  of  arms,  legs,  mouth, 

H 2 


99 

Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches. 


Courage  is 
also  shown 
in  perils 
by  sea, 
in  disease 
and 

poverty, 
and  in 
civil  strife  ; 
also  in 
the  battle 
against 
pleasures 
and 
desires. 


IOO 


Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches. 


What  is 
that 

common 
quality  in 
all  which 
is  called 
courage  ? 

Endur- 

ance. 


Yes,  but 
it  must  be 
a noble 
or  wise 
endurance. 


Courage  is  endurance 


voice,  mind ; — would  you  not  apply  the  term  quickness  to  all 
of  them  ? 

La.  Quite  true, 

Soc.  And  suppose  I were  to  be  asked  by  some  one : What 
is  that  common  quality,  Socrates,  which,  in  all  these  uses  of 
the  word,  you  call  quickness  ? I should  say  the  quality  which 
accomplishes  much  in  a little  time— whether  in  running, 
speaking,  or  in  any  other  sort  of  action. 

La.  You  would  be  quite  correct. 

Soc.  And  now,  Laches,  do  you  try  and  tell  me  in  like 
manner,  What  is  that  common  quality  which  is  called 
courage,  and  which  includes  all  the  various  uses  of  the  term 
when  applied  both  to  pleasure  and  pain,  and  in  all  the  cases 

to  which  I was  just  now  referring  ? 

La.  I should  say  that  courage  is  a sort  of  endurance  of  the 
soul,  if  I am  to  speak  of  the  universal  nature  which  pervades 
them  all. 

Soc.  But  that  is  what  we  must  do  if  we  are  to  answer  the 
question.  And  yet  I cannot  say  that  every  kind  of  endurance 
is,  in  my  opinion,  to  be  deemed  courage.  Hear  my  reason  : 
I am  sure,  Laches,  that  you  would  consider  courage  to  be  a 

very  noble  quality. 

La.  Most  noble,  certainly. 

Soc.  And  you  would  say  that  a wise  endurance  is  also  good 


and  noble  ? 

La.  Very  noble. 

Soc.  But  what  would  you  say  of  a foolish  endurance  . Is 
not  that,  on  the  other  hand,  to  be  regarded  as  evil  and 

hurtful  ? 

La.  True.  _ 

Soc.  And  is  anything  noble  which  is  evil  and  hurt  u . 

La.  1 ought  not  to  say  that,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Then  you  would  not  admit  that  sort  of  endurance  to 
be  courage— for  it  is  not  noble,  but  courage  is  noble  ? 

La.  You  are  right. 

Soc.  Then,  according  to  you,  only  the  wise  endurance  is 


courage  ? 

sic  But  as  to  the  epithet  ‘wise/— wise  in  what?  In 
all  things  small  as  well  as  great?  For  example,  if  a man 


IOI 


possessed  of  knowledge. 


shows  the  quality  of  endurance  in  spending  his  money  wisely, 
knowing  that  by  spending  he  will  acquire  more  in  the  end,  do 
you  call  him  courageous  ? 

La.  Assuredly  not. 

Soc.  Or,  lor  example,  if  a man  is  a physician,  and  his  son, 
or  some  patient  of  his,  has  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and 
begs  that  he  may  be  allowed  to  eat  or  drink  something,  and 
the  other  is  firm  and  refuses ; is  that  courage  ? 

193  La.  No;  that  is  not  courage  at  all,  any  more  than  the 
last. 

Soc.  Again,  take  the  case  of  one  who  endures  in  war,  and 
is  willing  to  fight,  and  wisely  calculates  and  knows  that 
others  will  help  him,  and  that  there  will  be  fewer  and  inferior 
men  against  him  than  there  are  with  him ; and  suppose  that 
he  has  also  advantages  of  position  ; — would  you  say  of  such  a 
one  who  endures  with  all  this  wisdom  and  preparation,  that 
he,  or  some  man  in  the  opposing  army  who  is  in  the  opposite 
circumstances  to  these  and  yet  endures  and  remains  at  his 
post,  is  the  braver  ? 


La.  I should  say  that  the  latter,  Socrates,  was  the  braver. 

Soc.  But,  surely,  this  is  a foolish  endurance  in  comparison 
with  the  other  ? 

La.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Then  you  would  say  that  he  who  in  an  engagement  of 
cavalry  endures,  having  the  knowledge  of  horsemanship, 
is  not  so  courageous  as  he  who  endures,  having  no  such 
knowledge  ? 

La.  So  I should  say. 


Soc.  And  he  who  endures,  having  a knowledge  of  the 
Use  of  the  sling,  or  the  bow,  or  of  any  other  art,  is  not 
so  courageous  as  he  who  endures,  not  having  such  a 
knowledge  ? 

La.  True. 


Soc.  And  he  who  descends  into  a well,  and  dives,  and  holds 
out  in  this  or  any  similar  action,  having  no  knowledge  of 
di\ing,  or  the  like,  is,  as  you  would  say,  more  courageous  than 
those  who  have  this  knowledge  ? 

La.  Why,  Socrates,  what  else  can  a man  say? 

Soc.  Nothing,  if  that  be  what  he  thinks. 

La.  But  that  is  what  I do  think. 


Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches. 


Is  he  who 
by  prudent 
foresight 
escapes  a 
danger,  or 
he  who, 
having  no 
foresight, 
endures 
and 

remains 
at  his 
post,  the 
braver  ? 

The  latter. 


102 


Words  and  deeds. 


Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches. 

And  yet 
he  is 
the  more 
foolish. 


This  con- 
clusion can 
never  be 
right. 


And  yet 
if  we  show 
endurance 
we  may 
very  likely 
discover 
that 
courage 
after  all  is 
endurance 


Soc.  And  yet  men  who  thus  run  risks  and  endure  are  fool- 
ish, Laches,  in  comparison  of  those  who  do  the  same  things, 
having  the  skill  to  do  them. 

La.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  But  foolish  boldness  and  endurance  appeared  before 
to  be  base  and  hurtful  to  us. 

La.  Quite  true. 

Soc.  Whereas  courage  was  acknowledged  to  be  a noble 

quality. 

La.  True. 

Soc.  And  now  on  the  contrary  we  are  saying  that  the  foolish 
endurance,  which  was  before  held  in  dishonour,  is  courage. 
La.  Very  true. 

Soc.  And  are  we  right  in  saying  so  ? 

La.  Indeed,  Socrates,  I am  sure  that  we  are  not  right. 

Soc.  Then  according  to  your  statement,  you  and  I,  Laches, 
are  not  attuned  to  the  Dorian  mode,  which  is  a harmony  of 
words  and  deeds ; for  our  deeds  are  not  in  accordance  with 
our  words.  Any  one  would  say  that  we  had  courage  who  saw 
us  in  action,  but  not,  I imagine,  he  who  heard  us  talking 

about  courage  just  now. 

La.  That  is  most  true. 

Soc.  And  is  this  condition  of  ours  satisfactory  ? 

La.  Ouite  the  reverse. 

Soc.  Suppose,  however,  that  we  admit  the  principle  of  which 

we  are  speaking  to  a certain  extent. 

La.  To  what  extent  and  what  principle  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  The  principle  of  endurance.  We  too  must  endure 
and  persevere  in  the  enquiry,  and  then  courage  will  not  laugh 
at  our  faint-heartedness  in  searching  for  courage  ; which  after 

all  may,  very  likely,  be  endurance. 

La.  I am  ready  to  go  on,  Socrates  ; and  yet  I am  unused 
to  investigations  of  this  sort.  But  the  spirit  of  controversy 
has  been  aroused  in  me  by  what  has  been  said  ; and  I am 
really  grieved  at  being  thus  unable  to  express  my  meaning. 
For  I fancy  that  I do  know  the  nature  of  courage  ; but,  some- 
how or  other,  she  has  slipped  away  from  me,  and  I cannot 

get  hold  of  her  and  tell  her  nature. 

Soc.  But,  my  dear  friend,  should  not  the  good  spoi  tsman 

follow  the  track,  and  not  be  lazy  ? 


Courage  and  wisdom. 


103 


>95 


La.  Certainly,  he  should. 

Soc.  And  shall  we  invite  Nicias  to  join  us?  he  may  be 
better  at  the  sport  than  we  are.  What  do  you  say  ? 

La.  I should  like  that. 

Soc.  Come  then,  Nicias,  and  do  what  you  can  to  help  your 
friends,  who  are  tossing  on  the  waves  of  argument,  and  at  the 
last  gasp : you  see  our  extremity,  and  may  save  us  and  also 
settle  your  own  opinion,  if  you  will  tell  us  what  you  think 
about  courage. 

Nic.  I have  been  thinking,  Socrates,  that  you  and  Laches 
are  not  defining  courage  in  the  right  way;  for  you  have  for- 
gotten an  excellent  saying  which  I have  heard  from  your  own 
lips. 

Soc.  What  is  it,  Nicias  ? 

Nic.  I have  often  heard  you  say  that  ‘ Every  man  is  good 
in  that  in  which  he  is  wise,  and  bad  in  that  in  which  he  is 
unwise.’ 

Soc.  That  is  certainly  true,  Nicias. 

Nic.  And  therefore  if  the  brave  man  is  good,  he  is  also 
wise. 

Soc.  Do  you  hear  him,  Laches  ? 

La.  Yes,  I hear  him,  but  I do  not  very  well  understand  him. 

Soc.  I think  that  I understand  him ; and  he  appears  to  me 
to  mean  that  courage  is  a sort  of  wisdom. 

La.  What  can  he  possibly  mean,  Socrates  ? 

Soc.  That  is  a question  which  you  must  ask  of  himself. 

La.  Yes. 

Soc.  Tell  him  then,  Nicias,  what  you  mean  by  this 
wisdom  ; for  you  surely  do  not  mean  the  wisdom  which  plays 
the  flute  ? 

Nic.  Certainly  not. 

Soc.  Nor  the  wisdom  which  plays  the  lyre? 

Nic.  No. 

Soc.  But  what  is  this  knowledge  then,  and  of  what  ? 

La.  I think  that  you  put  the  question  to  him  very  well, 
Socrates ; and  I would  like  him  to  say  what  is  the  nature  of 
this  knowledge  or  wisdom. 

Nic.  I mean  to  say,  Laches,  that  courage  is  the  knowledge 
of  that  which  inspires  fear  or  confidence  in  war,  or  in  any- 
thing. 


Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches, 

Nicias. 


Nicias  is 
invited  to 
join  in  the 
enquiry. 


He 

suggests 

that 

courage  is 
a sort  of 
wisdom . 


Courage 
is  the 
knowledge 
which 
inspires 
fear  or 
confidence 
in  war, 
or  in 

anything. 


104 


Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches, 

N ICIAS. 


What  is 
disease  ? 
Are  the 
physicians 
the  same  as 
the  coura- 
geous ? 


The 

physicians 
can  only 
tell  the 
nature  of 
disease, 
not 

whether 
health  is 
better  than 
disease, 
life  than 
death. 


Who  is  the  courageous  man  ? 

La.  How  strangely  he  is  talking,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Why  do  you  say  so,  Laches  ? 

La.  Why,  surely  courage  is  one  thing,  and  wisdom  an- 
other. 

Soc.  That  is  just  what  Nicias  denies. 

La.  Yes,  that  is  what  he  denies  ; but  he  is  so  silly. 

Soc.  Suppose  that  we  instruct  instead  of  abusing  him  ? 

Nic.  Laches  does  not  want  to  instruct  me,  Socrates  ; but 
having  been  proved  to  be  talking  nonsense  himself,  he  wants 
to  prove  that  I have  been  doing  the  same. 

La.  Very  true,  Nicias  ; and  you  are  talking  nonsense,  as  I 
shall  endeavour  to  show.  Let  me  ask  you  a question  : Do 
not  physicians  know  the  dangers  ol  disease  ? or  do  the 
courageous  know  them  ? or  are  the  physicians  the  same  as 
the  courageous  ? 

Nic.  Not  at  all. 

La.  No  more  than  the  husbandmen  who  know  the  dan- 
gers of  husbandry,  or  than  other  craftsmen,  who  have  a 
knowledge  of  that  which  inspires  them  with  fear  or  con- 
fidence in  their  own  arts,  and  yet  they  are  not  courageous  a 
whit  the  more  for  that. 

Soc.  What  is  Laches  saying,  Nicias  ? He  appears  to  be 
saying  something  of  importance. 

Nic.  Yes,  he  is  saying  something,  but  it  is  not  true. 

Soc.  How  so  ? 

Nic.  Why,  because  he  does  not  see  that  the  physician  s 
knowledge  only  extends  to  the  nature  of  health  and  disease  . 
he  can  tell  the  sick  man  no  more  than  this.  Do  you  imagine, 
Laches,  that  the  physician  knows  whether  health  or  disease 
is  the  more  terrible  to  a man  ? Had  not  many  a man  bettei 
never  get  up  from  a sick  bed  ? I should  like  to  know 
whether  you  think  that  life  is  always  better  than  death. 
May  not  death  often  be  the  better  of  the  two  ? 

La.  Yes  certainly  so  in  my  opinion. 

Nic.  And  do  you  think  that  the  same  things  are  terrible 
to  those  who  had  better  die,  and  to  those  who  had  better 

live  ? 

La.  Certainly  not. 

Nic.  And  do  you  suppose  that  the  physician  or  any  other 
artist  knows  this,  or  any  one  indeed,  except  he  who  is  skilled 


Laches  cannot  understand  Nicias. 


in  the  grounds  of  fear  and  hope  ? And  him  I call  the 
courageous. 

Soc.  Do  you  understand  his  meaning,  Laches  ? 

La.  Yes ; I suppose  that,  in  his  way  of  speaking,  the 
soothsayers  are  courageous.  For  who  but  one  of  them  can 
know  to  whom  to  die  or  to  live  is  better  ? And  yet,  Nicias, 
would  you  allow  that  you  are  yourself  a soothsayer,  or  are 
you  neither  a soothsaj'er  nor  courageous  ? 

Nic.  What ! do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  soothsayer  ought 
to  know  the  grounds  of  hope  or  fear  ? 

La.  Indeed  I do:  who  but  he? 

Nic.  Much  rather  I should  say  he  ofwhom  I speak  ; for  the 
soothsayer  ought  to  know  only  the  signs  of  things  that  are 
about  to  come  to  pass,  whether  death  or  disease,  or  loss  of 
196  property,  or  victory,  or  defeat  in  war,  or  in  any  sort  of  con- 
test; but  to  whom  the  suffering  or  not  suffering  of  these 
things  will  be  for  the  best,  can  no  more  be  decided  by  the 
soothsayer  than  by  one  who  is  no  soothsayer. 

La.  I cannot  understand  what  Nicias  would  be  at,  So- 
crates ; for  he  represents  the  courageous  man  as  neither  a 
soothsayer,  nor  a physician,  nor  in  any  other  character, 
unless  he  means  to  say  that  he  is  a god.  My  opinion  is  that 
he  does  not  like  honestly  to  confess  that  he  is  talking  non- 
sense, but  that  he  shuffles  up  and  down  in  order  to  conceal 
the  difficulty  into  which  he  has  got  himself.  You  and  I, 
Socrates,  might  have  practised  a similar  shuffle  just  now,  it 
we  had  only  wanted  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  inconsistency. 
And  if  we  had  been  arguing  in  a court  of  law  there  might 
have  been  reason  in  so  doing ; but  why  should  a man  deck 
himself  out  with  vain  words  at  a meeting  of  friends  such  as 
this  ? 

Soc.  I quite  agree  with  you,  Laches,  that  he  should  not. 
But  perhaps  Nicias  is  serious,  and  not  merely  talking  for  the 
sake  of  talking.  Let  us  ask  him  just  to  explain  what  he 
means,  and  if  he  has  reason  on  his  side  we  will  agree  with 
him  ; if  not,  we  will  instruct  him. 

La.  Do  you,  Socrates,  if  you  like,  ask  him  : I think  that  I 
have  asked  enough. 

Soc.  I do  not  see  why  I should  not ; and  my  question  will 
do  for  both  of  us. 


105 

Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches, 

Nicias. 

Nay,  the 
soothsayer 
only  knows 
what  will 
be  best. 


The  sooth- 
sayer only 
knows  the 
signs  of 
the  future. 


According 
to  Laches, 
Nicias  is 
talking 
nonsense. 


io6 


Nicias  denies  that  animals  are  courageous. 


Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches, 

Nicias. 

Socrates 
undertakes 
to  cross- 
examine 
him. 


La.  Very  good. 

Soc.  Then  tell  me,  Nicias,  or  rather  tell  us,  for  Laches  and 
I are  partners  in  the  argument : Do  you  mean  to  affirm  that 
courage  is  the  knowledge  of  the  grounds  of  hope  and  fear  ? 

Nic.  I do. 

Soc.  And  not  every  man  has  this  knowledge;  the  phy- 
sician and  the  soothsayer  have  it  not ; and  they  will  not  be 
courageous  unless  they  acquire  it— that  is  what  you  were 


saying  ? 

Nic.  I was. 

Soc.  Then  this  is  certainly  not  a thing  which  every  pig 
would  know,  as  the  proverb  says,  and  therefore  he  could  not 
be  courageous. 

Nic.  I think  not. 

if  courage  Soc.  Clearly  not,  Nicias;  not  even  such  a big  pig  as  the 
is  wisdom,  Crommyonian  sow  would  be  called  by  you  courageous.  And 
i1s°coura-al  this  I say  not  as  a joke,  but  because  I think  that  he  who 
geous.  assents  to  your  doctrine,  that  courage  is  the  knowledge  of  the 
grounds  of  fear  and  hope,  cannot  allow  that  any  wild  beast  is 
courageous,  unless  he  admits  that  a lion,  or  a Leopard,  or 
perhaps  a boar,  or  any  other  animal,  has  such  a degree  of 
wisdom  that  he  knows  things  which  but  a few  human  beings 
ever  know  by  reason  of  their  difficulty.  He  who  takes  your 
view  of  courage  must  affirm  that  a lion,  and  a stag,  and  a 
bull,  and  a monkey,  have  equally  little  pretensions  to  courage. 

La.  Capital,  Socrates;  by  the  gods,  that  is  truly  good.  197 
And  I hope,  Nicias,  that  you  will  tell  us  whether  these 
animals,  which  we  all  admit  to  be  courageous,  are  really 
wiser  than  mankind  ; or  whether  you  will  have  the  boldness, 
in  the  face  of  universal  opinion,  to  deny  their  courage. 

Thoughtful  Nic.  Why,  Laches,  I do  not  call  animals  or  any  other 
courage  things  which  have  no  fear  of  dangers,  because  they  are 

rareVery  ignorant  of  them,  courageous,  but  only  fearless  and  senseless, 
quality.  Do  you  imagine  that  I should  call  little  children  courageous, 
which  fear  no  dangers  because  they  know  none  ? There  is 
a difference,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  between  fearlessness 
and  courage.  I am  of  opinion  that  thoughtful  courage  is 
a quality  possessed  by  very  few,  but  that  rashness  and  bold- 
ness, and  fearlessness,  which  has  no  forethought,  are  very 
common  qualities  possessed  by  many  men,  many  women,  many 


Courage  a part  of  virtue. 


107 


children,  many  animals.  And  3'ou,  and  men  in  general,  call  Laches. 
by  the  term  1 courageous  ’ actions  which  I call  rash  ; — my  Socrates, 

• • • Laches 

courageous  actions  are  wise  actions.  Nicias.’ 

La.  Behold,  Socrates,  how  admirably,  as  he  thinks,  he 
dresses  himself  out  in  words,  while  seeking  to  deprive  of  the 
honour  of  courage  those  whom  all  the  world  acknowledges  to 
be  courageous. 

Nic.  Not  so,  Laches,  but  do  not  be  alarmed  ; for  I am  quite 
willing  to  say  of  you  and  also  of  Lamachus,  and  of  many 
other  Athenians,  that  you  are  courageous  and  therefore  wise. 

La.  I could  answer  that ; but  I would  not  have  you  cast  in 
my  teeth  that  I am  a haughty  Aexonian. 

Soc.  Do  not  answer  him,  Laches ; I rather  fancy  that  you 
are  not  aware  of  the  source  from  which  his  wisdom  is  derived. 

He  has  got  all  this  from  my  friend  Damon,  and  Damon  is 
always  with  Prodicus,  who,  of  all  the  Sophists,  is  considered 
to  be  the  best  puller  to  pieces  of  words  of  this  sort. 

La.  Yes,  Socrates;  and  the  examination  of  such  niceties 
is  a much  more  suitable  employment  for  a Sophist  than  for 
a great  statesman  whom  the  city  chooses  to  preside  over 
her. 

Soc.  Yes,  my  sweet  friend,  but  a great  statesman  is  likely 
to  have  a great  intelligence.  And  I think  that  the  view 
which  is  implied  in  Nicias’  definition  of  courage  is  worthy 
of  examination. 


La.  Then  examine  for  yourself,  Socrates. 

Soc.  That  is  what  I am  going  to  do,  my  dear  friend.  Do 
not,  however,  suppose  I shall  let  you  out  of  the  partnership ; 
for  I shall  expect  you  to  apply  your  mind,  and  join  with  me 
in  the  consideration  of  the  question. 

La.  I will  if  you  think  that  I ought. 

Soc.  Yes,  I do ; but  I must  beg  of  you,  Nicias,  to  begin 
again.  You  remember  that  we  originally  considered  courage 
to  be  a part  of  virtue. 

Nic.  Very  true. 

Soc.  And  you  yourself  said  that  it  was  a part ; and  there 
were  many  other  parts,  all  of  which  taken  together  are  called 
virtue. 

Nic.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Do  you  agree  with  me  about  the  parts?  For  I sa}' 


We  must 
begin 
again  : 

(1)  Courage 
is  a part 
of  virtue. 


io8 

Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches. 

Nicias. 

(2)  Courage 
is  a know- 
ledge of 
good  and 
evil  in  the 
future. 


(3)  ln  the 
future,  and 
equally  in 
the  past 
and  in 
the  present. 


Courage  a science. 

that  justice,  temperance,  and  the  like,  are  all  of  them  parts  of 
virtue  as  well  as  courage.  Would  you  not  say  the  same? 

Nic.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Well  then,  so  far  we  are  agreed.  And  now  let  us 
proceed  a step,  and  try  to  arrive  at  a similar  agreement 
about  the  fearful  and  the  hopeful : I do  not  want  you  to  be 
thinking  one  thing  and  myself  another.  Let  me  then  tell 
you  my  own  opinion,  and  if  I am  wrong  you  shall  set  me 
right : in  my  opinion  the  terrible  and  the  hopeful  are  the 
things  which  do  or  do  not  create  fear,  and  fear  is  not  of  the 
present,  nor  of  the  past,  but  is  of  future  and  expected  evil. 

Do  you  not  agree  to  that,  Laches? 

La.  Yes,  Socrates,  entirely. 

Soc.  That  is  my  view,  Nicias;  the  terrible  things,  as  I 
should  say,  are  the  evils  which  are  future ; and  the  hopeful 
are  the  good  or  not  evil  things  which  are  future.  Do  you  or 
do  you  not  agree  with  me  ? 

Nic.  I agree. 

Soc.  And  the  knowledge  of  these  things  you  call  courage  ? 

Nic.  Precisely. 

Soc.  And  now  let  me  see  whether  you  agree  with  Laches 
and  myself  as  to  a third  point. 

Nic.  What  is  that  ? 

Soc.  I will  tell  you.  He  and  I have  a notion  that  there  is 
not  one  knowledge  or  science  of  the  past,  another  of  the 
present,  a third  of  what  is  likely  to  be  best  and  what  will  be 
best  in  the  future ; but  that  of  all  three  there  is  one  science 
only : for  example,  there  is  one  science  of  medicine  which 
is  concerned  with  the  inspection  of  health  equally  in  all 
times,  present,  past,  and  future;  and  one  science  of  hus- 
bandry in  like  manner,  which  is  concerned  with  the  pro- 
ductions of  the  earth  in  all  times.  As  to  the  art  of  the 
general,  you  yourselves  will  be  my  witnesses  that  he 
has  an  excellent  foreknowledge  of  the  future,  and  that  he 
claims  to  be  the  master  and  not  the  servant  of  the  sooth- 
sayer, because  he  knows  better  what  is  happening  or  is  199 
likely  to  happen  in  war:  and  accordingly  the  law  places 
the  soothsayer  under  the  general,  and  not  the  general 
under  the  soothsayer.  Am  I not  correct  in  saying  so, 
Laches  ? 


Nicias  is  involved  in  a contradiction . 


109 


La.  Quite  correct. 

Soc.  And  do  you,  Nicias,  also  acknowledge  that  the  same 
science  has  understanding  of  the  same  things,  whether  future, 
present,  or  past  ? 

Nic.  Yes,  indeed,  Socrates;  that  is  my  opinion. 

Soc.  And  courage,  my  friend,  is,  as  you  say,  a knowledge 
of  the  fearful  and  of  the  hopeful  ? 

Nic.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  the  fearful,  and  the  hopeful,  are  admitted  to  be 
future  goods  and  future  evils  ? 

Nic.  True. 

Soc.  And  the  same  science  has  to  do  with  the  same  things 
in  the  future  or  at  any  time  ? 

Nic.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Then  courage  is  not  the  science  which  is  concerned 
with  the  fearful  and  hopeful,  for  they  are  future  only  ; courage, 
like  the  other  sciences,  is  concerned  not  only  with  good  and 
evil  of  the  future,  but  of  the  present  and  past,  and  of  any 
time  ? 

Nic.  That,  as  I suppose,  is  true. 

Soc.  Then  the  answer  which  you  have  given,  Nicias, 
includes  only  a third  part  of  courage;  but  our  question 
extended  to  the  whole  nature  of  courage  : and  according  to 
your  view,  that  is,  according  to  your  present  view,  courage  is 
not  only  the  knowledge  of  the  hopeful  and  the  fearful,  but 
seems  to  include  nearly  every  good  and  evil  without  reference 
to  time.  What  do  you  say  to  that  alteration  in  your  state- 
ment ? 

Nic.  I agree,  Socrates. 

Soc.  But  then,  my  dear  friend,  if  a man  knew  all  good  and 
evil,  and  how  they  are,  and  have  been,  and  will  be  produced, 
would  he  not  be  perfect,  and  wanting  in  no  virtue,  whether 
justice,  or  temperance,  or  holiness?  He  would  possess  them 
all,  and  he  would  know  which  were  dangers  and  which  were 
not,  and  guard  against  them  whether  they  were  supernatural 
or  natural  ; and  he  would  provide  the  good,  as  he  would  know 
how  to  deal  both  with  gods  or  men. 

Nic.  I think,  Socrates,  that  there  is  a great  deal  of  truth  in 
what  you  say. 

Soc.  But  then,  Nicias,  courage,  according  to  this  new 


Laches. 

Socrates, 

Laches, 

Nicias. 


But  if 
courage  is 
the  know- 
ledge of 
the  past, 
present, 
and  future, 
it  must 
compre- 
hend all 
virtue. 


iio  The  education  of  the  boys  referred  to  Socrates. 

Laches,  definition  of  yours,  instead  of  being  a part  of  virtue  only,  will 
Socrates,  be  all  virtue  ? 

niciasS’  Tic.  It  would  seem  so. 

Soc.  But  we  were  saying  that  courage  is  one  of  the  parts  of 

virtue  ? 

Nic.  Yes,  that  was  what  we  were  saying. 

Soc.  And  that  is  in  contradiction  with  our  present  view  ? 

Nic.  That  appears  to  be  the  case. 

Soc.  Then,  Nicias,  we  have  not  discovered  what  courage 
is. 

Nic.  We  have  not. 

An  alter-  La.  And  yet,  friend  Nicias,  I imagined  that  you  would  have  200 
cation  made  the  discovery,  when  you  were  so  contemptuous  of  the 

SeTand  answers  which  I made  to  Socrates.  I had  very  great  hopes 
Nicias.  that  yOU  would  have  been  enlightened  by  the  wisdom  of 

Damon. 

Nic.  I perceive,  Laches,  that  you  think  nothing  of  having 
displayed  your  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  courage,  but  you 
look  only  to  see  whether  I have  not  made  a similar  display ; 
and  if  we  are  both  equally  ignorant  of  the  things  which  a man 
who  is  good  for  anything  should  know,  that,  I suppose,  will 
be  of  no  consequence.  You  certainly  appear  to  me  very  like 
the  rest  of  the  world,  looking  at  your  neighbour  and  not  at 
yourself.  I am  of  opinion  that  enough  has  been  said  on  the 
subject  which  we  have  been  discussing  ; and  if  anything  has 
been  imperfectly  said,  that  may  be  hereafter  corrected  by  the 
help  of  Damon,  whom  you  think  to  laugh  down,  although  you 
have  never  seen  him,  and  with  the  help  of  others.  And  when 
I am  satisfied  myself,  I will  freely  impart  my  satisfaction  to  you, 
for  I think  that  you  are  very  much  in  want  of  knowledge. 

They  agree  La.  You  are  a philosopher,  Nicias;  of  that  I am  aware: 
in  recom-  nevertheless  I would  recommend  Lysimachus  and  Melesias 

Lysnim-S  not  to  take  you  and  me  as  advisers  about  the  education  of  their 

achus  and  children  ; but,  as  I said  at  first,  they  should  ask  Socrates  an 
refer  the  t0  not  let  him  off;  if  my  own  sons  were  old  enough,  I would 
question  have  asked  him  myself. 

respecting  ^ Tq  that  { quite  agree,  if  Socrates  is  Willing  to  take 

cationUof  them  under  his  charge.  I should  not  wish  for  any  one  else  to 
their  two  be  the  tutor  of  Niceratus.  But  I observe  that  when  I mention 

Socrates.  the  matter  to  him  he  recommends  to  me  some  other  tutor  and 


Socrates  proposes  that  they  shall  all  go  to  school. 

refuses  himself.  Perhaps  he  may  be  more  ready  to  listen  to 
you,  Lysimachus. 

Lys.  He  ought,  Nicias  : for  certainly  I would  do  things  for 
him  which  I would  not  do  for  many  others.  What  do  you 
say,  Socrates — will  you  comply  ? And  are  you  ready  to  give 
assistance  in  the  improvement  of  the  youths  ? 

Soc.  Indeed,  Lysimachus,  I should  be  very  wrong  in  re- 
fusing to  aid  in  the  improvement  of  anybody.  And  if  I had 
shown  in  this  conversation  that  I had  a knowledge  which 
Nicias  and  Laches  have  not,  then  I admit  that  you  would  be 
right  in  inviting  me  to  perform  this  duty ; but  as  we  are  all  in 
the  same  perplexity,  why  should  one  of  us  be  preferred  to 
201  another  ? I certainly  think  that  no  one  should  ; and  under 
these  circumstances,  let  me  offer  you  a piece  of  advice  (and 
this  need  not  go  further  than  ourselves).  I maintain,  my 
friends,  that  every  one  of  us  should  seek  out  the  best  teacher 
whom  he  can  find,  first  for  ourselves,  who  are  greatly  in  need 
of  one,  and  then  for  the  youth,  regardless  of  expense  or  any- 
thing. But  I cannot  advise  that  we  remain  as  we  are.  And 
if  any  one  laughs  at  us  for  going  to  school  at  our  age,  I would 
quote  to  them  the  authority  of  Homer,  who  says,  that 

* Modesty  is  not  good  for  a needy  man.’ 

Let  us  then,  regardless  of  what  may  be  said  of  us,  make  the 
education  of  the  youths  our  own  education. 

Lys.  I like  your  proposal,  Socrates  ; and  as  I am  the  oldest, 

I am  also  the  most  eager  to  go  to  school  with  the  boys.  Let 
me  beg  a favour  of  you  : Come  to  my  house  to-morrow  at  dawn, 
and  we  will  advise  about  these  matters.  For  the  present,  let 
us  make  an  end  of  the  conversation. 

Soc.  I will  come  to  you  to-morrow,  Lysimachus,  as  you 
propose,  God  willing. 


: ( I I I 

Laches. 

Socrates, 

Lysimachus. 


Then,  says 
Socrates, 
let  us  all 
go  to 
school 
together. 


PROTAGORAS. 


vol.  r. 


i 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  Protagoras,  like  several  of  the  Dialogues  of  Plato,  is  put  Protagoras. 
into  the  mouth  of  Socrates,  who  describes  a conversation  which  Analysis. 
had  taken  place  between  himself  and  the  great  Sophist  at  the 
house  of  Callias — ‘the  man  who  had  spent  more  upon  the  Sophists  * 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  world  — and  in  which  the  learned  Hippias 
and  the  grammarian  Prodicus  had  also  shared,  as  well  as  Alci- 
biades  and  Critias,  both  of  whom  said  a few  words — in  the 
presence  of  a distinguished  company  consisting  of  disciples  of 
Steph  ^>rota»oras  anc*  leading  Athenians  belonging  to  the  Socratic 
310’  circle-  The  dialogue  commences  with  a request  on  the  part  of 
Hippocrates  that  Socrates  would  introduce  him  to  the  celebrated 
teacher.  He  has  come  before  the  dawn  had  risen — so  fervid  is  his 
jii  zeal.  Socrates  moderates  his  excitement  and  advises  him  to  find 
out  ‘ what  Protagoras  will  make  of  him,’  before  he  becomes  his 
pupil. 

314  They  go  together  to  the  house  of  Callias;  and  Socrates,  after 
explaining  the  purpose  of  their  visit  to  Protagoras,  asks  the 

318  fiuestion,  What  he  will  make  of  Hippocrates.’  Protagoras 
answers,  ‘That  he  will  make  him  a better  and  a wiser  man.’ 

Tut  in  what  will  he  be  better  ? ’ — Socrates  desires  to  have  a more 

319  precise  answer.  Protagoras  replies,  ‘That  he  will  teach  him 
prudence  in  affairs  private  and  public ; in  short,  the  science  or 
knowledge  of  human  life.’ 

This,  as  Socrates  admits,  is  a noble  profession  ; but  he  is  or 
rather  would  have  been  doubtful,  whether  such  knowledge  can  be 
taught,  if  Protagoras  had  not  assured  him  of  the  fact,  for  two 
reasons : (1)  Because  the  Athenian  people,  who  recognize  in  their 
assemblies  the  distinction  between  the  skilled  and  the  unskilled 
in  the  arts,  do  not  distinguish  between  the  trained  politician  and 
t VOL.  I.  r o 


1 16 

Analysis,  320-330. 

Protagoras. 

Analysis. 

the  untrained  ; (2)  Because  the  wisest  and  best  Athenian  citizens  320 
do  not  teach  their  sons  political  virtue.  Will  Protagoras  answer 
these  objections  ? 

Protagoras  explains  his  views  in  the  form  of  an  apologue,  in 
which,  after  Prometheus  had  given  men  the  arts,  Zeus  is  repre-  321 
sented  as  sending  Hermes  to  them,  bearing  with  him  Justice  and 
Reverence.  These  are  not,  like  the  arts,  to  be  imparted  to  a few  322 
only,  but  all  men  are  to  be  partakers  of  them.  Therefore  the  323 
Athenian  people  are  right  in  distinguishing  between  the  skilled 
and  unskilled  in  the  arts,  and  not  between  skilled  and  unskilled 
politicians.  (1)  For  all  men  have  the  political  virtues  to  a certain 
degree,  and  are  obliged  to  say  that  they  have  them,  whether  they 
have  them  or  not.  A man  would  be  thought  a madman  who 
professed  an  art  which  he  did  not  know  ; but  he  would  be  equally 
thought  a madman  if  he  did  not  profess  a virtue  which  he  had  not. 

(2)  And  that  the  political  virtues  can  be  taught  and  acquired,  in  324. 
the  opinion  of  the  Athenians,  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  they 
punish  evil-doers,  with  a view  to  prevention,  of  course-mere  325 
retribution  is  for  beasts,  and  not  for  men.  (3)  Again,  would  parents 
who  teach  their  sons  lesser  matters  leave  them  ignorant  of  the 
common  duty  of  citizens?  To  the  doubt  of  Socrates  the  best 
answer  is  the  fact,  that  the  education  of  youth  in  virtue  begins 
almost  as  soon  as  they  can  speak,  and  is  continued  by  the  state  326 
when  they  pass  out  of  the  parental  control.  (4)  Nor  need  we 
wonder  that  wise  and  good  fathers  sometimes  have  foolish  an 
worthless  sons.  Virtue,  as  we  were  saying,  is  not  the  private  327 
possession  of  any  man,  but  is  shared  by  all,  only  however  to  the 
extent  of  which  each  individual  is  by  nature  capable.  And,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  even  the  worst  of  civilized  mankind  will  appear 
virtuous  and  just,  if  we  compare  them  with  savages.  (5)  e 3“ 

error  of  Socrates  lies  in  supposing  that  there  are  no  teachers  of 
virtue,  whereas  all  men  are  teachers  in  a degree.  Some,  like 
Protagoras,  are  better  than  others,  and  with  this  result  we  ought 

t0  Socrat'es^i^ highly  delighted  with  the  explanation  of  Protagoras.  329 
But  he  has  still  a doubt  lingering  in  his  mind.  Protagoras  has 
spoken  of  the  virtues  : are  they  many,  or  one  ? are  they  parts  of  3. 
whole,  or  different  names  of  the  same  thing?  Protagoras  replies 
that  they  are  parts,  like  the  parts  of  a face,  which  have 

Analysis,  330-339.  n; 

several  functions,  and  no  one  part  is  like  any  other  part.  This  Protagoras. 
admission,  which  has  been  somewhat  hastily  made,  is  now  taken  Analysis. 

331  up  and  cross-examined  by  Socrates  : — 

‘Is  justice  just,  and  is  holiness  holy?  And  are  justice  and 
holiness  opposed  to  one  another  ? ‘ Then  justice  is  unholy.’ 

Protagoras  would  rather  say  that  justice  is  different  from  holiness, 
and  yet  in  a certain  point  of  view  nearly  the  same.  He  does  not, 

332  however,  escape  in  this  way  from  the  cunning  of  Socrates,  who 
inveigles  him  into  an  admission  that  everything  has  but  one 

333  opposite.  Folly,  for  example,  is  opposed  to  wisdom ; and  folly  is 
also  opposed  to  temperance ; and  therefore  temperance  and 
wisdom  are  the  same.  And  holiness  has  been  already  admitted 
to  be  nearly  the  same  as  justice.  Temperance,  therefore,  has  now 
to  be  compared  with  justice. 

334  Protagoras,  whose  temper  begins  to  get  a little  ruffled  at  the 
process  to  which  he  has  been  subjected,  is  aware  that  he  will  soon 
be  compelled  by  the  dialectics  of  Socrates  to  admit  that  the 
temperate  is  the  just.  He  therefore  defends  himself  with  his 
favourite  weapon ; that  is  to  say,  he  makes  a long  speech  not 
much  to  the  point,  which  elicits  the  applause  of  the  audience. 

Here  occurs  a sort  of  interlude,  which  commences  with  a 

335  declaration  on  the  part  of  Socrates  that  he  cannot  follow  a long 
speech,  and  therefore  he  must  beg  Protagoras  to  speak  shorter. 

336  As  Protagoras  declines  to  accommodate  him,  he  rises  to  depart, 
but  is  detained  by  Callias,  who  thinks  him  unreasonable  in  not 
allowing  Protagoras  the  liberty  which  he  takes  himself  of  speaking 
as  he  likes.  But  Alcibiades  answers  that  the  two  cases  are  not 
parallel.  For  Socrates  admits  his  inability  to  speak  long ; will  Pro- 
tagoras in  like  manner  acknowledge  his  inability  to  speak  short  ? 

337  Counsels  of  moderation  are  urged  first  in  a few  words  by 
Critias,  and  then  by  Prodicus  in  balanced  and  sententious  lan- 

338  guage : and  Ilippias  proposes  an  umpire.  But  who  is  to  be  the 
umpire.'  rejoins  Socrates;  he  would  rather  suggest  as  a compro- 
mise that  Protagoras  shall  ask  and  he  will  answer,  and  that  when 
Protagoras  is  tired  of  asking  he  himself  will  ask  and  Protagoras 

339  shall  answer.  To  this  the  latter  yields  a reluctant  assent. 

Protagoras  selects  as  his  thesis  a poem  of  Simonides  of  Ceos, 
in  which  he  professes  to  find  a contradiction.  First  the  poet  says, 

‘ Hard  is  it  to  become  good,’ 


j 1 S Analysis,  339~35°- 

Protagoras,  and  then  reproaches  Pittacus  for  having  said,  ‘ Hard  is  it  to  be 
Analysis,  good.’  How  is  this  to  be  reconciled  ? Socrates,  who  is  familiar 
with  the  poem,  is  embarrassed  at  first,  and  invokes  the  aid  of 
Prodicus,  the  countryman  of  Simonides,  but  apparently  only  with  340 
the  intention  of  flattering  him  into  absurdities,  first  a distinction 
is  drawn  between  (dvai)  to  be,  and  (yevecrdm)  to  become  : to  become 
good  is  difficult ; to  be  good  is  easy.  Then  the  word  difficult  or  341 
hard  is  explained  to  mean  ‘evil’  in  the  Cean  dialect.  To  all  this 
Prodicus  assents;  but  when  Protagoras  reclaims,  Socrates  slily 
withdraws  Prodicus  from  the  fray,  under  the  pretence  that  his 
assent  was  only  intended  to  test  the  wits  of  his  adversary.  He 
then  proceeds  to  give  another  and  more  elaborate  explanation  342 
of  the  whole  passage.  The  explanation  is  as  follows  : 

The  Lacedaemonians  are  great  philosophers  (although  this  is  a 
fact  which  is  not  generally  known) ; and  the  soul  of  their  philo- 
sophy is  brevity,  which  was  also  the  style  of  primitive  antiquity  343 
and  of  the  seven  sages.  Now  Pittacus  had  a saying,  Hard  is  it  to 
be  good  : ’ and  Simonides,  who  was  jealous  of  the  fame  of  this 
saying,  wrote  a poem  which  was  designed  to  controvert  it.  No,  344 
says  he,  Pittacus ; not  ‘ hard  to  be  good,’  but  ‘ hard  to  become 
good.’  Socrates  proceeds  to  argue  in  a highly  impressive  manner  345 
that  the  whole  composition  is  intended  as  an  attack  upon  Pittacus. 

This,  though  manifestly  absurd,  is  accepted  by  the  company,  and  347 
meets  with  the  special  approval  of  Hippias,  who  has  however 
a favourite  interpretation  of  his  own,  which  he  is  requested  by 
Alcibiades  to  defer. 

The  argument  is  now  resumed,  not  without  some  disdainful 
remarks  of  Socrates  on  the  practice  of  introducing  the  poets,  who 
ought  not  to  be  allowed,  any  more  than  flute-girls,  to  come  into 
good  society.  Men’s  own  thoughts  should  supply  them  with  the  34§ 
materials  for  discussion.  A few  soothing  flatteries  are  addressed 
to  Protagoras  by  Callias  and  Socrates,  and  then  the  old  question  349 
is  repeated,  ‘Whether  the  virtues  are  one  or  many?’  To  which 
Protagoras  is  now  disposed  to  reply,  that  four  out  of  the  five 
virtues  are  in  some  degree  similar ; but  he  still  contends  that  the 
fifth,  courage,  is  unlike  the  rest.  Socrates  proceeds  to  undermine 
the  last  stronghold  of  the  adversary,  first  obtaining  from  him  the 
admission  that  all  virtue  is  in  the  highest  degree  good 

The  courageous  are  the  confident ; and  the  confident  are  those  35° 


A nalysis,  3 50-360/  1 1 9 

who  know  their  business  or  profession  : those  who  have  no  such  Protagoras. 
knowledge  and  are  still  confident  are  madmen.  This  is  admitted.  Analysis. 

351  Then,  says  Socrates,  courage  is  knowledge— an  inference  which 
Protagoras  evades  by  drawing  a futile  distinction  between  the 
courageous  and  the  confident  in  a fluent  speech. 

Socrates  renews  the  attack  from  another  side : he  would  like  to 
know  whether  pleasure  is  not  the  only  good,  and  pain  the  only 
evil?  Protagoras  seems  to  doubt  the  moralit}^  or  propriety  of 
assenting  to  this ; he  would  rather  say  that  ‘ some  pleasures  are 
good,  some  pains  are  evil,’  which  is  also  the  opinion  of  the 

352  generality  of  mankind.  What  does  he  think  of  knowledge?  Does 
he  agree  with  the  common  opinion  that  knowledge  is  overcome  by 
passion  ? or  does  he  hold  that  knowledge  is  power  ? Protagoras 
agrees  that  knowledge  is  certainly  a governing  power. 

353  This,  however,  is  not  the  doctrine  of  men  in  general,  who 
maintain  that  many  who  know  what  is  best,  act  contrary  to  their 
knowledge  under  the  influence  of  pleasure.  But  this  opposition  of 
good  and  evil  is  really  the  opposition  of  a greater  or  lesser  amount 

354  of  pleasure.  Pleasures  are  evils  because  they  end  in  pain,  and 
pains  are  goods  because  they  end  in  pleasures.  Thus  pleasure  is 
seen  to  be  the  only  good ; and  the  only  evil  is  the  preference  of 

355  the  lesser  pleasure  to  the  greater.  But  then  conies  in  the  illusion 

359  of  distance.  Some  art  of  mensuration  is  required  in  order  to 

show  us  pleasures  and  pains  in  their  true  proportion.  This  art  of 
mensuration  is  a kind  of  knowledge,  and  knowledge  is  thus  proved 
once  more  to  be  the  governing  principle  of  human  life,  and  ignor- 
ance the  origin  of  all  evil  : for  no  one  prefers  the  less  pleasure  to 
the  greater,  or  the  greater  pain  to  the  less,  except  from  ignorance. 

The  argument  is  drawn  out  in  an  imaginary  ‘dialogue  within  a 
dialogue,’  conducted  by  Socrates  and  Protagoras  on  the  one  part, 
and  the  rest  of  the  world  on  the  other.  Hippias  and  Prodicus,  as 
well  as  Protagoras,  admit  the  soundness  of  the  conclusion. 

Socrates  then  applies  this  new  conclusion  to  the  case  of  courage 
the  only  virtue  which  still  holds  out  against  the  assaults  of  the 
Socratic  dialectic.  No  one  chooses  the  evil  or  refuses  the  good 
except  through  ignorance.  This  explains  why  cowards  refuse  to 
go  to  war : — because  they  form  a wrong  estimate  of  good,  and 

3°°  honour,  and  pleasure.  And  why  are  the  courageous  willing  to  go 
to  war?— because  they  form  a right  estimate  of  pleasures  and 


I 20 


'rotagoras. 

Analysis. 


Intro- 

duction. 


Analysis,  360-61. 

pains,  of  things  terrible  and  not  terrible.  Courage  then  is  know- 
ledge, and  cowardice  is  ignorance.  And  the  five  virtues,  which 
were  originally  maintained  to  have  five  different  natures,  after 
having  been  easily  reduced  to  two  only,  at  last  coalesce  in  one. 
The  assent  of  Protagoras  to  this  last  position  is  extracted  with  361 
great  difficulty. 

Socrates  concludes  by  professing  his  disinterested  love  of  the 
truth,  and  remarks  on  the  singular  manner  in  which  he  and  his 
adversary  had  changed  sides.  Protagoras  began  by  asserting,  and 
Socrates  by  denying,  the  teachableness  of  virtue,  and  now  the 
latter  ends  by  affirming  that  virtue  is  knowledge,  which  is  the 
most  teachable  of  all  things,  while  Protagoras  has  been  striving  to 
show  that  virtue  is  not  knowledge,  and  this  is  almost  equivalent  to 
saying  that  virtue  cannot  be  taught.  He  is  not  satisfied  with  the 
result,  and  would  like  to  renew  the  enquiry  with  the  help  of 
Protagoras  in  a different  order,  asking  (1)  What  virtue  is,  and  (2) 
Whether  virtue  can  be  taught.  Protagoras  declines  this  offer,  but 
commends  Socrates’  earnestness  and  his  style  of  discussion. 

The  Protagoras  is  often  supposed  to  be  full  of  difficulties.  These 
are  partly  imaginary  and  partly  real.  The  imaginary  ones  are 

(1)  Chronological, — which  were  pointed  out  in  ancient  times  by 
Athenaeus  (v.  59),  and  are  noticed  by  Schleiermacher  and  others, 
and  relate  to  the  impossibility  of  all  the  persons  in  the  Dialogue 
meeting  at  any  one  time,  whether  in  the  year  425  b.c.,  or  in  any 
other.  But  Plato,  like  all  writers  of  fiction,  aims  only  at  the 
probable,  and  shows  in  many  Dialogues  (e.g.  the  Symposium  and 
Republic,  and  already  in  the  Laches)  an  extreme  disregard  of 
the  historical  accuracy  which  is  sometimes  demanded  of  him. 

(2)  The  exact  place  of  the  Protagoras  among  the  Dialogues,  and 
the  date  of  composition,  have  also  been  much  disputed.  But  there 
are  no  criteria  which  afford  any  real  grounds  for  determining  the 
date  of  composition  ; and  the  affinities  of  the  Dialogues,  when  they 
are  not  indicated  by  Plato  himself,  must  always  to  a great  extent 
remain  uncertain.  (3)  There  is  another  class  of  difficulties,  which 
may  be  ascribed  to  preconceived  notions  of  commentators,  who 
imagine  that  Protagoras  the  Sophist  ought  always  to  be  in  the 
wrong,  and  his  adversary  Socrates  in  the  right ; or  that  in  this 
or  that  passage— e.g.  in  the  explanation  of  good  as  pleasure— 


I 2 I 


Character  of  the  great  Sophist. 

Plato  is  inconsistent  with  himself;  or  that  the  Dialogue  fails  in 
unity,  and  has  not  a proper  beginning,  middle,  and  ending.  They 
seem  to  forget  that  Plato  is  a dramatic  writer  who  throws  his 
thoughts  into  both  sides  of  the  argument,  and  certainly  does  not 
aim  at  any  unity  which  is  inconsistent  with  freedom,  and  with  a 
natural  or  even  wild  manner  of  treating  his  subject ; also  that  his 
mode  of  revealing  the  truth  is  by  lights  and  shadows,  and  far-off 
and  opposing  points  of  view,  and  not  by  dogmatic  statements  or 
definite  results. 

The  real  difficulties  arise  out  of  the  extreme  subtlety  of  the 
work,  which,  as  Socrates  says  of  the  poem  of  Simonides,  is  a most 
perfect  piece  of  art.  There  are  dramatic  contrasts  and  interests, 
threads  of  philosophy  broken  and  resumed,  satirical  reflections  on 
mankind,  veils  thrown  over  truths  which  are  lightly  suggested, 
and  all  woven  together  in  a single  design,  and  moving  towards 
one  end. 

In  the  introductory  scene  Plato  raises  the  expectation  that  a 
1 great  personage  ’ is  about  to  appear  on  the  stage ; perhaps  with 
a further  view  of  showing  that  he  is  destined  to  be  overthrown 
by  a greater  still,  who  makes  no  pretensions.  Before  introducing 
Hippocrates  to  him,  Socrates  thinks  proper  to  warn  the  youth 
against  the  dangers  of  ‘ influence,’  of  which  the  invidious  nature  is 
recognized  by  Protagoras  himself.  Hippocrates  readily  adopts  the 
suggestion  of  Socrates  that  he  shall  learn  of  Protagoras  only 
the  accomplishments  which  befit  an  Athenian  gentleman,  and  let 
alone  his  ‘sophistry.’  There  is  nothing  however  in  the  intro- 
duction which  leads  to  the  inference  that  Plato  intended  to 
blacken  the  character  of  the  Sophists;  he  only  makes  a little 
merry  at  their  expense. 

The  ‘great  personage’  is  somewhat  ostentatious,  but  frank  and 
honest.  He  is  introduced  on  a stage  which  is  worthy  of  him— at 
the  house  of  the  rich  Callias,  in  which  are  congregated  the  noblest 
and  wisest  of  the  Athenians.  He  considers  openness  to  be  the 
best  policy,  and  particularly  mentions  his  own  liberal  mode  of 
dealing  with  his  pupils,  as  if  in  answer  to  the  favourite  accusation 
of  the  Sophists  that  they  received  pay.  He  is  remarkable  for  the 
good  temper  which  he  exhibits  throughout  the  discussion  under 
the  trying  and  often  sophistical  cross-examination  of  Socrates. 
Although  once  or  twice  ruffled,  and  reluctant  to  continue  the 


Protagoras. 

Intro- 

duction. 


122 


Protagoras. 

Intro- 

duction. 


Protagoras  often  has  the  best  of  the  argument. 

discussion,  he  parts  company  on  perfectly  good  terms,  and 
appears  to  be,  as  he  says  of  himself,  the  ‘ least  jealous  ol 
mankind.’ 

Nor  is  there  anything  in  the  sentiments  of  Protagoras  which 
impairs  this  pleasing  impression  of  the  grave  and  weighty  old 
man.  His  real  defect  is  that  he  is  inferior  to  Socrates  in  dialectics. 
The  opposition  between  him  and  Socrates  is  not  the  opposition  of 
good  and  bad,  true  and  false,  but  of  the  old  art  of  rhetoric  and  the 
new  science  of  interrogation  and  argument ; also  of  the  irony  of 
Socrates  and  the  self-assertion  of  the  Sophists.  1 here  is  quite  as 
much  truth  on  the  side  of  Protagoras  as  of  Socrates  ; but  the  ti  uth 
of  Protagoras  is  based  on  common  sense  and  common  maxims  of 
morality,  while  that  of  Socrates  is  paradoxical  or  transcendental, 
and  though  full  of  meaning  and  insight,  hardly  intelligible  to  the 
rest  of  mankind.  Here  as  elsewhere  is  the  usual  contrast  between 
the  Sophists  representing  average  public  opinion  and  Socrates 
seeking  for  increased  clearness  and  unity  of  ideas.  But  to  a great 
extent  Protagoras  has  the  best  of  the  argument  and  represents  the 
better  mind  of  man. 

For  example  : (i)  one  of  the  noblest  statements  to  be  found  in 
antiquity  about  the  preventive  nature  of  punishment  is  put  into 
his  mouth  ; (2)  he  is  clearly  right  also  in  maintaining  that  virtue 
can  be  taught  (which  Socrates  himself,  at  the  end  of  the  Dialogue, 
is  disposed  to  concede) ; and  also  (3)  in  his  explanation  of  the 
phenomenon  that  good  fathers  have  bad  sons;  (4)  he  is  right  also 
in  observing  that  the  virtues  are  not  like  the  arts,  gifts  or  attain- 
ments of  special  individuals,  but  the  common  property  of  all : 
this,  which  in  all  ages  has  been  the  strength  and  weakness  of 
ethics  and  politics,  is  deeply  seated  in  human  nature  ; (5)  there  is 
a sort  of  half-truth  in  the  notion  that  all  civilized  men  are  teachers 
of  virtue  ; and  more  than  a half-truth  (6)  in  ascribing  to  man,  who 
in  his  outward  conditions  is  more  helpless  than  the  other  animals, 
the  power  of  self-improvement ; (7)  the  religious  allegory  should 
be  noticed,  in  which  the  arts  are  said  to  be  given  by  Prometheus 
(who  stole  them),  whereas  justice  and  reverence  and  the  political 
virtues  could  only  be  imparted  by  Zeus;  (8)  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  Dialogue,  when  Socrates  is  arguing  that  ‘pleasure  is  the  only 
good,’  Protagoras  deems  it  more  in  accordance  with  his  character 
to  maintain  that  ‘ some  pleasures  only  are  good  ; ’ and  admits  that 


123 


Socrates  and  Protagoras:  the  poem  of  Simonides. 

‘ he,  above  all  other  men,  is  bound  to  say  “ that  wisdom  and 
knowledge  are  the  highest  of  human  things.”  ’ 

There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  in  all  this  Plato  is  depicting 
an  imaginary  Protagoras ; he  seems  to  be  showing  us  the  teaching 
of  the  Sophists  under  the  milder  aspect  under  which  he  once 
regarded  them.  Nor  is  there  any  reason  to  doubt  that  Socrates  is 
equally  an  historical  character,  paradoxical,  ironical^  tiresome,  but 
seeking  for  the  unity  of  virtue  and  knowledge  as  for  a precious 
treasure  ; willing  to  rest  this  even  on  a calculation  of  pleasure, 
and  irresistible  here,  as  everjwvhere  in  Plato,  in  his  intellectual 
superiority. 

The  aim  of  Socrates,  and  of  the  Dialogue,  is  to  show  the  unity 
of  virtue.  In  the  determination  of  this  question  the  identity  of 
virtue  and  knowledge  is  found  to  be  involved.  But  if  virtue  and 
knowledge  are  one,  then  virtue  can  be  taught;  the  end  of  the 
Dialogue  returns  to  the  beginning.  Had  Protagoras  been  allowed 
by  Plato  to  make  the  Aristotelian  distinction,  and  say  that  virtue 
is  not  knowledge,  but  is  accompanied  with  knowledge  ; or  to  point 
out  with  Aristotle  that  the  same  quality  majr  have  more  than  one 
opposite ; or  with  Plato  himself  in  the  Phaedo  to  deny  that  good  is 
a mere  exchange  of  a greater  pleasure  for  a less— the  unity  of 
virtue  and  the  identity  of  virtue  and  knowledge  would  have  re- 
quired to  be  proved  by  other  arguments. 

The  victory  of  Socrates  over  Protagoras  is  in  every  way  complete 
when  their  minds  are  fairly  brought  together.  Protagoras  falls 
before  him  after  two  or  three  blow's.  Socrates  partially  gains  his 
object  in  the  first  part  of  the  Dialogue,  and  completely  in  the 
second.  Nor  does  he  appear  at  any  disadvantage  when  subjected 
to  ‘ the  question  ’ by  Protagoras.  He  succeeds  in  making  his  two 
• friends,’  Prodicus  and  Hippias,  ludicrous  by  the  w^ay ; he  also 
makes  a long  speech  in  defence  of  the  poem  of  Simonides,  after 
the  manner  of  the  Sophists,  showing,  as  Alcibiades  says,  that  he 
is  only  pretending  to  have  a bad  memory,  and  that  he  and  not 
Protagoras  is  really  a master  in  the  tw^o  styles  of  speaking ; and 
that  he  can  undertake,  not  one  side  of  the  argument  only,  but  both, 
u'hen  Protagoras  begins  to  break  down.  Against  the  authority  of 
the  poets  with  whom  Protagoras  has  ingeniously  identified  himself 
at  the  commencement  of  the  Dialogue,  Socrates  sets  up  the 
proverbial  philosophers  and  those  masters  of  brevity  the  Lacedac- 


I'rotagoras. 

Intro- 

duction. 


124 

Protagoras. 

Intro- 

duction. 


The  interpretation  of  Simonides  a caricature. 

monians.  The  poets,  the  Laconizers,  and  Protagoras  are  satirized 
at  the  same  time. 

Not  having  the  whole  of  this  poem  before  us,  it  is  impossible 
for  us  to  answer  certainly  the  question  of  Protagoras,  how  the  two 
passages  of  Simonides  are  to  be  reconciled.  We  can  only  follow 
the  indications  given  by  Plato  himself.  But  it  seems  likely  that 
the  reconcilement  offered  by  Socrates  is  a caricature  of  the 
methods  of  interpretation  which  were  practised  by  the  Sophists — 
for  the  following  reasons:  (i)  The  transparent  irony  of  the 
previous  interpretations  given  by  Socrates.  (2)  The  ludicrous 
opening  of  the  speech  in  which  the  Lacedaemonians  are  described 
as  the  true  philosophers,  and  Laconic  brevity  as  the  true  form  of 
philosophy,  evidently  with  an  allusion  to  Protagoras’  long  speeches. 
(3)  The  manifest  futility  and  absurdity  of  the  explanation  of 
efxosv  enaivrjfxi  dXa0eo)?,  which  is  hardly  consistent  with  the  rational 
interpretation  of  the  rest  of  the  poem.  The  opposition  of  tlvai  and 
■yeveadai  seems  also  intended  to  express  the  rival  doctrines  of 
Socrates  and  Protagoras,  and  is  a facetious  commentary  on  their 
differences.  (4)  The  general  treatment  in  Plato  both  of  the  Poets 
and  the  Sophists,  who  are  their  interpreters,  and  whom  he  delights 
to  identify  with  them.  (5)  The  depreciating  spirit  in  which 
Socrates  speaks  of  the  introduction  of  the  poets  as  a substitute  for 
original  conversation,  which  is  intended  to  contrast  with  Pro- 
tagoras’ exaltation  of  the  study  of  them-this  again  is  hardly 
consistent  with  the  serious  defence  of  Simonides.  (6)  The  marked 
approval  of  Hippias,  who  is  supposed  at  once  to  catch  the  familiar 
sound,  just  as  in  the  previous  conversation  Prodicus  is  represented 
as  ready  to  accept  any  distinctions  of  language  however  absuid. 
At  the  same  time  Hippias  is  desirous  of  substituting  a new  inter- 
pretation of  his  own ; as  if  the  words  might  really  be  made  to 
mean  anything,  and  were  only  to  be  regarded  as  affording  a field 

for  the  ingenuity  of  the  interpreter. 

This  curious  passage  is,  therefore,  to  be  regarded  as  Plato  s 
satire  on  the  tedious  and  hypercritical  arts  of  interpretation  which 
prevailed  in  his  own  day,  and  maybe  compared  with  his  condemna- 
tion of  the  same  arts  when  applied  to  mythology  in  the  Phaedrus, 
and  with  his  other  parodies,  e.  g.  with  the  two  first  speeches  in  the 
Phaedrus  and  with  the  Menexenus.  Several  lesser  touches  of 
satire  may  be  observed,  such  as  the  claim  of  philosophy  advanced 


Minor  characters  of  the  Dialogue.  125 

for  the  Lacedaemonians,  which  is  a parody  of  the  claims  advanced  Protagoras. 
for  the  Poets  by  Protagoras  ; the  mistake  of  the  Laconizing  set  in  iNXRO_ 
supposing  that  the  Lacedaemonians  are  a great  nation  because  DULT1°f'- 
they  bruise  their  ears  ; the  far-fetched  notion,  which  is  ‘ really  too 
bad,’  that  Simonides  uses  the  Lesbian  (?)  word,  h nuvrj^i,  because 
he  is  addressing  a Lesbian.  The  whole  may  also  be  considered 
as  a satire  on  those  who  spin  pompous  theories  out  of  nothing. 

As  in  the  arguments  of  the  Euthydemus  and  of  the  Cratylus,  the 
veil  of  irony  is  never  withdrawn  ; and  we  are  left  in  doubt  at  last 
how  far  in  this  interpretation  of  Simonides  Socrates  is  ‘ fooling,’ 
how  far  he  is  in  earnest. 

All  the  interests  and  contrasts  of  character  in  a great  dramatic 
work  like  the  Protagoras  are  not  easily  exhausted.  The  im- 
pressiveness of  the  scene  should  not  be  lost  upon  us,  or  the 
gradual  substitution  of  Socrates  in  the  second  part  for  Protagoras 
in  the  first.  The  characters  to  whom  we  are  introduced  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Dialogue  all  play  a part  more  or  less  conspicuous 
towards  the  end.  There  is  Alcibiades,  who  is  compelled  by  the 
necessity  of  his  nature  to  be  a partisan,  lending  effectual  aid  to 
Socrates ; there  is  Critias  assuming  the  tone  of  impartiality ; 

Callias,  here  as  always  inclining  to  the  Sophists,  but  eager  for  any 
intellectual  repast ; Prodicus,  who  finds  an  opportunity  for  dis- 
playing his  distinctions  of  language,  which  are  valueless  and 
pedantic,  because  they  are  not  based  on  dialectic  ; Hippias,  who 
has  previously  exhibited  his  superficial  knowledge  of  natural 
philosophy,  to  which,  as  in  both  the  Dialogues  called  by  his  name, 
he  now  adds  the  profession  of  an  interpreter  of  the  Poets.  The 
two  latter  personages  have  been  already  damaged  by  the  mock 
heroic  description  of  them  in  the  introduction.  It  may  be  re- 
marked that  Protagoras  is  consistently  presented  to  us  throughout 
as  the  teacher  of  moral  and  political  virtue  ; there  is  no  allusion 
to  the  theories  of  sensation  which  are  attributed  to  him  in  the 
1 heaetetus  and  elsewhere,  or  to  his  denial  of  the  existence  of  the 
gods  in  a well-known  fragment  ascribed  to  him  ; he  is  the  religious 
rather  than  the  irreligious  teacher  in  this  Dialogue.  Also  it  may 
be  observed  that  Socrates  shows  him  as  much  respect  as  is 
consistent  with  his  own  ironical  character  ; he  admits  that  the 
dialectic  which  has  overthrown  Protagoras  has  carried  himself 
round  to  a conclusion  opposed  to  his  first  thesis.  The  force 


126 


Protagoras. 

Intro- 

duction. 


Relation  of  the  Protagoras  to  the  other  Dialogues. 

of  argument,  therefore,  and  not  Socrates  or  Protagoras,  has  won 
the  day. 

But  is  Socrates  serious  in  maintaining  (i)  that  virtue  cannot 
be  taught ; (2)  that  the  virtues  are  one ; (3)  that  virtue  is  the 
knowledge  of  pleasures  and  pains  present  and  future  ? These 
propositions  to  us  have  an  appearance  of  paradox  they  are  really 
moments  or  aspects  of  the  truth  by  the  help  of  which  we  pass  from 
the  old  conventional  morality  to  a higher  conception  of  virtue  and 
knowledge.  That  virtue  cannot  be  taught  is  a paradox  of  the 
same  sort  as  the  profession  of  Socrates  that  he  knew  nothing. 
Plato  means  to  say  that  virtue  is  not  brought  to  a man,  but  must 
be  drawn  out  of  him  ; and  cannot  be  taught  by  rhetorical  discourses 
or  citations  from  the  poets.  The  second  question,  whether  the 
virtues  are  one  or  many,  though  at  first  sight  distinct,  is  really  a 
part  of  the  same  subject ; for  if  the  virtues  are  to  be  taught,  they 
must  be  reducible  to  a common  principle;  and  this  common 
principle  is  found  to  be  knowledge.  Here,  as  Aristotle  remarks, 
Socrates  and  Plato  outstep  the  truth— they  make  a part  of  virtue 
into  the  whole.  Further,  the  nature  of  this  knowledge,  which  is 
assumed  to  be  a knowledge  of  pleasures  and  pains,  appears  to  us 
too  superficial  and  at  variance  with  the  spirit  of  Plato  himself. 
Yet,  in  this,  Plato  is  only  following  the  historical  Socrates  as  he  is 
depicted  to  us  in  Xenophon’s  Memorabilia.  Like  Socrates,  he 
finds  on  the  surface  of  human  life  one  common  bond  by  which  the 
virtues  are  united, — their  tendency  to  produce  happiness,  though 
such  a principle  is  afterwards  repudiated  by  him. 

It  remains  to  be  considered  in  what  relation  the  Protagoras 
stands  to  the  other  Dialogues  of  Plato.  That  it  is  one  of  the  earlier 
or  purely  Socratic  works— perhaps  the  last,  as  it  is  certainly  the 
greatest  of  them— is  indicated  by  the  absence  of  any  allusion  to 
the  doctrine  of  reminiscence  ; and  also  by  the  different  attitude 
assumed  towards  the  teaching  and  persons  of  the  Sophists  in 
some  of  the  later  Dialogues.  The  Charmides,  Laches,  Lysis,  all 
touch  on  the  question  of  the  relation  of  knowledge  to  virtue,  and 
may  be  regarded,  if  not  as  preliminary  studies  or  sketches  of  the 
more  important  work,  at  any  rate  as  closely  connected  with  it. 
The  Io  and  the  lesser  Hippias  contain  discussions  of  the  Poets, 
which  offer  a parallel  to  the  ironical  criticism  of  Simonides,  and 
are  conceived  in  a similar  spirit.  The  affinity  of  the  Protagoras  to 


The  real  and  the  Platonic  Socrates. 


127 


the  Meno  is  more  doubtful.  For  there,  although  the  same 
question  is  discussed,  ‘whether  virtue  can  be  taught,’  and  the 
relation  of  Meno  to  the  Sophists  is  much  the  same  as  that  of 
Hippocrates,  the  answer  to  the  question  is  supplied  out  of  the 
doctrine  of  ideas ; the  real  Socrates  is  already  passing  into  the 
Platonic  one.  At  a later  stage  of  the  Platonic  philosophy  we  shall 
find  that  both  the  paradox  and  the  solution  of  it  appear  to  have 
been  retracted.  The  Phaedo,  the  Gorgias,  and  the  Philebus  offer 
further  corrections  of  the  teaching  of  the  Protagoras ; in  all  of 
them  the  doctrine  that  virtue  is  pleasure,  or  that  pleasure  is  the 
chief  or  only  good,  is  distinctly  renounced. 

Thus  after  many  preparations  and  oppositions,  both  of  the 
characters  of  men  and  aspects  of  the  truth,  especially  of  the 
popular  and  philosophical  aspect ; and  after  many  interruptions 
and  detentions  by  the  way,  which,  as  Theodorus  says  in  the 
Theaetetus,  are  quite  as  agreeable  as  the  argument,  we  arrive  at 
the  great  Socratic  thesis  that  virtue  is  knowledge.  This  is  an 
aspect  of  the  truth  which  was  lost  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  found  ; 
and  yet  has  to  be  recovered  by  every  one  for  himself  who  would 
pass  the  limits  of  proverbial  and  popular  philosophy.  The  moral 
and  intellectual  are  always  dividing,  yet  they  must  be  reunited, 
and  in  the  highest  conception  of  them  are  inseparable.  The  thesis 
of  Socrates  is  not  merely  a hasty  assumption,  but  may  be  also 
deemed  an  anticipation  of  some  ‘metaphysic  of  the  future,’  in 
which  the  divided  elements  of  human  nature  are  reconciled. 


Protagoras . 

Intro- 

duction. 


PROTAGORAS. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 

Socrates,  who  is  the  narrator  of  Protagoras, 
the  Dialogue  to  his  Companion.  Hippias,  l Sophists. 

Hippocrates.  Prodicus,  j 

Alcibiades.  Callias,  a wealthy  Athenian. 

Critias. 

Scene  : — The  House  of  Callias. 


Steph. 

309 


Com.  Where  do  you  come  from,  Socrates?  And  yet  I Protagoras. 
need  hardly  ask  the  question,  for  I know  that  you  have  been  company, 
in  chase  of  the  iair  Alcibiades.  I saw  him  the  day  before  Socrates- 
yesterday ; and  he  had  got  a beard  like  a man, — and  he  is  a The  fair 
man,  as  I may  tell  you  in  your  ear.  But  I thought  that  he  Alcibiades- 
was  still  very  charming. 

Soc.  What  of  his  beard  ? Are  you  not  of  Homer’s  opinion, 
who  says  1 


‘Youth  is  most  charming  when  the  beard  first  appears’? 

And  that  is  now  the  charm  of  Alcibiades. 

Com.  Well,  and  how  do  matters  proceed  ? Have  you  been 
visiting  him,  and  was  he  gracious  to  you  ? 

Soc.  Yes,  I thought  that  he  was  very  gracious ; and  espe- 
cially to-day,  for  I have  just  come  from  him,  and  he  has  been 
helping  me  in  an  argument.  But  shall  I tell  you  a strange 
thing  ? I paid  no  attention  to  him,  and  several  times  I quite 
forgot  that  he  was  present. 

Com.  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  Has  anything  hap- 
pened between  you  and  him  ? For  surely  you  cannot  have 
discovered  a fairer  love  than  he  is  ; certainly  not  in  this  city 
of  Athens. 

Soc.  Yes,  much  fairer. 

Com.  What  do  you  mean — a citizen  or  a foreigner  ? 

1 II.  xxiv.  348. 


But  there  is 
a fairer 
still. 


VO  I..  I. 


K 


130 


The  arrival  of  Protagoras. 


rrotagoras. 

Socrates, 

Companion, 

Hippo- 

crates. 


The  fairer 
is  the  wiser, 
and  the 
wisest  of 
all  men  is 
Prota- 
goras. 


He  is 
actually  in 
Athens, 
and  Hippo- 
crates has 
come  to 
bring  the 
good  news 
to  Socrates. 


Soc.  A foreigner. 

Com.  Of  what  country  ? 

Soc.  Of  Abdera. 

Com.  And  is  this  stranger  really  in  your  opinion  a fairer 
love  than  the  son  of  Cleinias  ? 

Soc.  And  is  not  the  wiser  always  the  fairer,  sweet  friend  ? 
Com.  But  have  you  really  met,  Socrates,  with  some  wise 
one  ? 

Soc.  Say  rather,  with  the  wisest  of  all  living  men,  if  you  are 
willing  to  accord  that  title  to  Protagoras. 

Com.  What ! Is  Protagoras  in  Athens? 

Soc.  Yes  ; he  has  been  here  two  days. 

Com.  And  do  you  just  come  from  an  interview  with  him  ? 

Soc.  Yes  ; and  I have  heard  and  said  many  things.  310 

Com.  Then,  if  you  have  no  engagement,  suppose  that  you 
sit  down  and  tell  me  what  passed,  and  my  attendant  here 
shall  give  up  his  place  to  you. 

Soc.  To  be  sure ; and  I shall  be  grateful  to  you  for 
listening. 

Com.  Thank  you,  too,  for  telling  us. 

Soc.  That  is  thank  you  twice  over.  Listen  then  : — 

Last  night,  or  rather  very  early  this  morning,  Hippocrates, 
the  son  of  Apollodorus  and  the  brother  of  Phason,  gave 
a tremendous  thump  with  his  staff  at  my  door ; some  one 
opened  to  him,  and  he  came  rushing  in  and  bawled  out: 
Socrates,  are  you  awake  or  asleep  ? 

I knew  his  voice,  and  said  : Hippocrates,  is  that  you  ? and 

do  you  bring  any  news  ? 

Good  news,  he  said  ; nothing  but  good. 

Delightful,  I said  ; but  what  is  the  news  ? and  why  have 
you  come  hither  at  this  unearthly  hour  ? 

He  drew  nearer  to  me  and  said  : Protagoras  is  come. 

Yes,  I replied  ; he  came  two  days  ago  : have  you  only  just 
heard  of  his  arrival  ? 

Yes,  by  the  gods,  he  said  ; but  not  until  yesterday  evening. 

At  the  same  time  he  felt  for  the  truckle-bed,  and  sat  down 
at  my  feet,  and  then  he  said:  Yesterday  quite  late  in  the 
evening,  on  my  return  from  Oenoe  whither  I had  gone  in 
pursuit  of  my  runaway  slave  Satyrus,  as  I meant  to  have  told 
you,  if  some  other  matter  had  not  come  in  the  way on  my 


} I ippocratcs  and  Socrates  discourse.  131 

return,  when  we  had  done  supper  and  were  about  to  retire  Protagoras. 
to  rest,  my  brother  said  to  me : Protagoras  is  come.  I was  „ 
going  to  you  at  once,  and  then  I thought  that  the  night  was  h.pTO- 
far  spent.  But  the  moment  sleep  left  me  after  my  fatigue,  I CRATES‘ 
got  up  and  came  hither  direct. 

I,  who  knew  the  very  courageous  madness  of  the  man, 
said  : What  is  the  matter  ? Has  Protagoras  robbed  you  of 
anything  ? 

He  replied,  laughing:  Yes,  indeed  he  has,  Socrates,  of  the 
wisdom  which  he  keeps  from  me. 

But,  surely,  I said,  if  you  give  him  money,  and  make  friends 
with  him,  he  will  make  you  as  wise  as  he  is  himself. 

Would  to  heaven,  he  replied,  that  this  were  the  case  ! He  He  wants 
might  take  all  that  I have,  and  all  that  my  friends  have,  if  he  Socrates  t0 
pleased.  But  that  is  why  I have  come  to  you  now,  in’ order  Stt'^ 
that  you  may  speak  to  him  on  my  behalf ; for  I am  young,  once- 
and  also  I have  never  seen  nor  heard  him ; (when  he  visited 
31 1 Athens  before  I was  but  a child;)  and  all  men  praise  him, 

Socrates , he  is  reputed  to  be  the  most  accomplished  of 
speakers.  There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  go  to  him 
at  once,  and  then  we  shall  find  him  at  home.  He  lodges, 
as  I hear,  with  Callias  the  son  of  Hipponicus  : let  us  start. 

I replied  : Not  yet,  my  good  friend  ; the  hour  is  too  early.  But  the  day 
But  let  us  rise  and  take  a turn  in  the  court  and  wait  about  hasnotyet 
there  until  day-break  ; when  the  day  breaks,  then  we  will  go.  [^0° 
or  Protagoras  is  generally  at  home,  and  we  shall  be  sure  to  ta^e  a turn 
find  him  ; never  fear.  in  the 

Upon  this  we  got  up  and  walked  about  in  the  court,  and  I Socrates 
thought  that  I would  make  trial  of  the  strength  of  his  resolu-  seizes  the 
tion.  So  I examined  him  and  put  questions  to  him.  Tell  t°pp°r'of 
me,  Hippocrates,  I said,  as  you  are  going  to  Protagoras,  and  question- 
will  be  paying  your  money  to  him,  what  is  he  to  whom  you  ing  Hippo' 
are  going  ? and  what  will  he  make  of  you  ? If,  for  example,  Why's  he 
you  had  thought  of  going  to  Hippocrates  of  Cos,  the  Ascle-  goin-  to 
p.ad,  and  were  about  to  give  him  your  money,  and  some  one  Jems'? 

• ■ad  said  to  you  : You  are  paying  money  to  your  namesake  What  wil1 
Hippocrates,  O Hippocrates ; tell  me,  what  is  he  that  you 
give  him  money?  how  would  you  have  answered  ? 

I should  say,  he  replied,  that  I gave  money  to  him  as  a 
physician. 


k 2 


132 


What  is  a Sophist  ? 

Protagoras.  And  what  will  he  make  of  you  ? 

Socrates,  A physician,  lie  said. 

And  if  you  were  resolved  to  go  to  Polycleitus  the  Argive,  or 
Pheidias  the  Athenian,  and  were  intending  to  give  them 
money,  and  some  one  had  asked  you  : What  are  1 olycleitus 
and  Pheidias?  and  why  do  you  give  them  this  money?— how 

would  you  have  answered  ? 

I should  have  answered,  that  they  were  statuaries. 

And  what  will  they  make  of  you  ? 

A statuary,  of  course. 

Well  now,  I said,  you  and  I are  going  to  Protagoras,  and 
we  are  ready  to  pay  him  money  on  your  behalf.  If  our  own 
means  are  sufficient,  and  we  can  gain  him  with  these,  we 
shall  be  only  too  glad  ; but  if  not,  then  we  are  to  spend 
the  money  of  your  friends  as  well.  Now  suppose,  that  while 
we  are  thus  enthusiastically  pursuing  our  object  some  one 
were  to  say  to  us:  Tell  me,  Socrates,  and  you  Hippocrates, 
what  is  Protagoras,  and  why  are  you  going  to  pay  him 
money^how  should  we  answer?  I know  that  Pheidias  is 
a sculptor,  and  that  Homer  is  a poet ; but  what  appellation  is 
given  to  Protagoras  ? how  is  he  designated  ? 

They  call  him  a Sophist,  Socrates,  he  replied. 

Then  we  are  going  to  pay  our  money  to  him  in  the  character 

of  a Sophist  ? 

Certainly. 

But  suppose  a person  were  to  ask  this  further  question  : 
And  how  about  yourself?  What  will  Protagoras  make  of  31 
you,  if  you  go  to  see  him  ? 

The  break-  He  answered,  with  a blush  upon  his  face  (for  the  day  was 
ingdawn  just  beginning  to  dawn,  so  that  I could  see  him):  Unless 
blush  on  this  differs  in  some  way  from  the  former  instances,  I suppose 
the  face  of  j-bat  he  will  make  a Sophist  of  me. 

Hipp°'  V Bv  the  gods,  I said,  and  are  you  not  ashamed  at  having  to 
replies,  - A appear  before  the  Hellenes  in  the  character  of  a Sophist 
Sophist-‘  Indeed,  Socrates,  to  confess  the  truth,  I am. 

But  you  should  not  assume,  Hippocrates,  that  the  instruc- 
tion of  Protagoras  is  of  this  nature  : may  you  not  learn  ot 
him  in  the  same  way  that  you  learned  the  arts  of  the  gramma- 
rian, or  musician,  or  trainer,  not  with  the  view  of  making 
any  of  them  a profession,  but  only  as  a part  of  education,  and 


133 


and  what  does  he  teach  ? 

because  a private  gentleman  and  freeman  ought  to  know 
them  ? 

Just  so,  he  said;  and  that,  in  my  opinion,  is  a far  truer 
account  of  the  teaching  of  Protagoras. 

1 said  : I wonder  whether  you  know  what  you  are  doing  ? 

And  what  am  I doing? 

You  are  going  to  commit  your  soul  to  the  care  of  a man 
whom  you  call  a Sophist.  And  yet  I hardly  think  that  you 
know  what  a Sophist  is ; and  if  not,  then  you  do  not  even 
know  to  whom  you  are  committing  your  soul  and  whether 
the  thing  to  which  you  commit  yourself  be  good  or  evil. 

I certainly  think  that  I do  know,  he  replied. 

Then  tell  me,  what  do  you  imagine  that  he  is  ? 

I take  him  to  be  one  who  knows  wise  things,  he  replied, 
as  his  name  implies. 

And  might  you  not,  I said,  affirm  this  of  the  painter  and  of 
the  carpenter  also  : Do  not  they,  too,  know  wise  things  ? 
But  suppose  a person  were  to  ask  us  : In  what  are  the 
painters  wise?  We  should  answer  : In  what  relates  to  the 
making  of  likenesses,  and  similarly  of  other  things.  And  if 
he  were  further  to  ask  : What  is  the  wisdom  of  the  Sophist, 
and  what  is  the  manufacture  over  which  he  presides  ?— how 
should  we  answer  him  ? 

How  should  we  answer  him,  Socrates?  What  other 
answer  could  there  be  but  that  he  presides  over  the  art 
which  makes  men  eloquent  ? 

Yes,  I replied,  that  is  very  likely  true,  but  not  enough; 
for  in  the  answer  a further  question  is  involved  : Of  what 
does  the  Sophist  make  a man  talk  eloquently  ? The  player 
on  the  lyre  may  be  supposed  to  make  a man  talk  eloquently 
about  that  which  he  makes  him  understand,  that  is  about 
playing  the  lyre.  Is  not  that  true  ? 

Yes. 

Then  about  what  does  the  Sophist  make  him  eloquent? 
Must  not  he  make  him  eloquent  in  that  which  he  under- 
stands? 

Y es,  that  may  be  assumed. 

And  what  is  that  which  the  Sophist  knows  and  makes  his 
disciple  know? 

Indeed,  he  said,  I cannot  tell. 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Hippo- 

crates. 


Do  you 
know  what 
you  are 
doing,  or 
what  is 
the  nature 
of  the 
Sophist? 


He  is  one 
who  makes 
men  talk 
eloquently 
about  what 
he  knows. 


134 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Hippo- 

crates. 

But  if  you 
do  not 
know  what 
that  is,  you 
cannot 
safely  trust 
yourself  to 
him. 


The 

Sophist  is 
one  who 
sells  the 
food  of  the 
soul, 


The  food  of  the  soul. 

Then  I proceeded  to  say:  Well,  but  are  you  aware  of  the  3*3 
danger  which  you  are  incurring?  If  you  were  going  to 
commit  your  body  to  some  one,  who  might  do  good  or  harm 
to  it,  would  you  not  carefully  consider  and  ask  the  opinion 
of  your  friends  and  kindred,  and  deliberate  many  days  as  to 
whether  you  should  give  him  the  care  of  your  body  ? But 
when  the  soul  is  in  question,  which  you  hold  to  be  of  far 
more  value  than  the  body,  and  upon  the  good  or  evil  of 
which  depends  the  well-being  of  your  all,— about  this  you 
never  consulted  either  with  your  father  or  with  your  brother 
or  with  any  one  of  us  who  are  your  companions.  But  no 
sooner  does  this  foreigner  appear,  than  you  instantly  com- 
mit your  soul  to  his  keeping.  In  the  evening,  as  you  sav, 
you  hear  of  him,  and  in  the  morning  you  go  to  him,  never 
deliberating  or  taking  the  opinion  of  any  one  as  to  whether 
you  ought  to  intrust  yourself  to  him  or  not ; — you  have  quite 
made  up  your  mind  that  you  will  at  all  hazards  be  a pupil  of 
Protagoras,  and  are  prepared  to  expend  all  the  property  of 
yourself  and  of  your  friends  in  carrying  out  at  any  price  this 
determination,  although,  as  you  admit,  you  do  not  know  him, 
and  have  never  spoken  with  him  : and  you  call  him  a Sophist, 
but  are  manifestly  ignorant  of  what  a Sophist  is  ; and  yet 
you  are  going  to  commit  yourself  to  his  keeping. 

When  he  heard  me  say  this,  he  replied  : No  other  infer- 
ence, Socrates,  can  be  drawn  from  your  words. 

1 proceeded  : Is  not  a Sophist,  Hippocrates,  one  who 
deals  wholesale  or  retail  in  the  food  of  the  soul  ? To  me 
that  appears  to  be  his  nature. 

And  what,  Socrates,  is  the  food  of  the  soul  ? 

Surely,  I said,  knowledge  is  the  food  of  the  soul ; and  we 
must  take  care,  my  friend,  that  the  Sophist  does  not  deceive 
us  when  he  praises  what  he  sells,  like  the  dealers  wholesale 
or  retail  who  sell  the  food  of  the  body ; for  they  praise 
indiscriminately  all  their  goods,  without  knowing  what  aic 
really  beneficial  or  hurtful : neither  do  their  customers  know, 
with  the  exception  of  any  trainer  or  physician  who  may 
happen  to  buy  of  them.  In  like  manner  those  who  cany 
about  the  wares  of  knowledge,  and  make  the  round  of  the 
cities,  and  sell  or  retail  them  to  any  customer  who  is  in  want 
of  them,  praise  them  all  alike ; though  I should  not  wondci, 


i35 


The  house  of  Callias. 

O my  friend,  if  many  of  them  were  really  ignorant  of  their  Protagoras. 
effect  upon  the  soul ; and  their  customers  equally  ignorant,  Socrates, 
unless  he  who  buys  of  them  happens  to  be  a physician  of  the  Deeper.01'" 
soul.  If,  therefore,  you  have  understanding  of  what  is  good 
and  evil,  you  may  safely  buy  knowledge  of  Protagoras  or  of 
314  any  one;  but  if  not,  then,  O my  friend,  pause,  and  do  not 

hazard  your  dearest  interests  at  a game  of  chance.  For  which  may 
there  is  far  greater  peril  in  buying  knowledge  than  in  buying  be  P°1S0n- 
meat  and  drink : the  one  you  purchase  of  the  wholesale 
or  retail  dealer,  and  carry  them  away  in  other  vessels,  and 
before  you  receive  them  into  the  body  as  food,  you  may 
deposit  them  at  home  and  call  in  any  experienced  friend 
who  knows  what  is  good  to  be  eaten  or  drunken,  and  what 
not,  and  how  much,  and  when  ; and  then  the  danger  of  pur- 
chasing them  is  not  so  great.  But  you  cannot  buy  the 
wares  of  knowledge  and  carry  them  away  in  another  vessel ; 
when  you  have  paid  for  them  you  must  receive  them  into 
the  soul  and  go  your  way,  either  greatly  harmed  or  greatly 
benefited ; and  therefore  we  should  deliberate  and  take 
counsel  with  our  elders  ; for  we  are  still  young — too  young 
to  determine  such  a matter.  And  now  let  us  go,  as  we  were 
intending,  and  hear  Protagoras ; and  when  we  have  heard 
what  he  has  to  say,  we  may  take  counsel  of  others  ; for  not 
only  is  Protagoras  at  the  house  of  Callias,  but  there  is  Hip- 
pias  of  Elis,  and,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  Prodicus  of  Ceos,  and 
several  other  wise  men. 

To  this  we  agreed,  and  proceeded  on  our  way  until  we 
reached  the  vestibule  of  the  house ; and  there  we  stopped  in 
order  to  conclude  a discussion  which  had  arisen  between  us 
as  we  were  going  along ; and  we  stood  talking  in  the  vesti- 
bule until  we  had  finished  and  come  to  an  understanding. 

And  I think  that  the  door-keeper,  who  was  a eunuch,  The  porter 
and  who  was  probably  annoyed  at  the  great  inroad  of  the 
Sophists,  must  have  heard  us  talking.  At  any  rate,  when  we  shows  that 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  he  opened  and  saw  us,  he 
grumbled  : They  are  Sophists — he  is  not  at  home ; and  0f  the 
instantly  gave  the  door  a hearty  bang  with  both  his  hands.  Sophists. 
Again  we  knocked,  and  he  answered  without  opening  : Did 
you  not  hear  me  say  that  he  is  not  at  home,  fellows  ? But,  p!^^s 
my  friend,  I said,  you  need  not  be  alarmed  ; for  we  are  not  him. 


1 36  The  following  of  Protagoras. 

Protagoras.  Sophists,  and  we  are  not  come  to  see  Callias,  but  we  want  to 
Socrates.  see  Protagoras ; and  I must  request  you  to  announce  us.  At 
last,  after  a good  deal  of  difficulty,  the  man  was  persuaded  to 
open  the  door. 

When  we  entered,  we  found  Protagoras  taking  a walk  in 
the  cloister  ; and  next  to  him,  on  one  side,  were  walking 
Callias,  the  son  of  Hipponicus,  and  Paralus,  the  son  of  Peri- 
cles, who,  by  the  mother’s  side,  is  his  half-brother,  and 
Charmides,  the  son  of  Glaucon.  On  the  other  side  of  him  30 
were  Xanthippus,  the  other  son  of  Pericles,  Philippides,  the 
son  of  Philomelus ; also  Antimoerus  of  Mende,  who  of  all 
the  disciples  of  Protagoras  is  the  most  famous,  and  intends 
A well-  to  make  sophistry  his  profession.  A train  of  listeners 
trained  followed  him  ; the  greater  part  of  them  appeared  to  be 

listeners  foreigners,  whom  Protagoras  had  brought  with  him  out  of 

accompany  the  various  cities  visited  by  him  in  his  journeys,  he,  like 
while  walk-  Orpheus,  attracting  them  by  his  voice,  and  they  following1, 
ing  in  the  I should  mention  also  that  there  were  some  Athenians  in  the 
cloister-  company.  Nothing  delighted  me  more  than  the  precision  of 
their  movements  : they  never  got  into  his  way  at  all  ; but 
when  he  and  those  who  were  with  him  turned  back,  then  the 
band  of  listeners  parted  regularly  on  either  side ; he  was 
always  in  front,  and  they  wheeled  round  and  took  their 
places  behind  him  in  perfect  order. 

Hippias  After  him,  as  Homer  says2,  ‘ I lifted  up  my  eyes  and  saw’ 
is  seated  Hippias  the  Elean  sitting  in  the  opposite  cloister  on  a chair 
opposite  of  state,  and  around  him  were  seated  on  benches  Eryxi- 
cloister.  machus,  the  son  of  Acumenus,  and  Phaedrus  the  Myrrhinu- 
sian,  and  Andron  the  son  of  Androtion,  and  there  were 
strangers  whom  he  had  brought  with  him  from  his  native 
city  of  Elis,  and  some  others:  they  were  putting  to  Hippias 
certain  physical  and  astronomical  questions,  and  he,  cx  cathe- 
dra, was  determining  their  several  questions  to  them,  and 
discoursing  of  them. 

Prodicusin  Also,  ‘my  eyes  beheld  Tantalus3;  ’ for  Prodicus  the  Cean 
the  store-  was  at  Athens  : he  had  been  lodged  in  a room  which,  in  the 
fn°bSed.Stl11  days  of  Hipponicus,  was  a storehouse  ; but,  as  the  house  was 
full,  Callias  had  cleared  this  out  and  made  the  room  into 


Cp.  Rep.  x.  600  U. 


2 Od.  xi.  601  foil. 


3 Od.  xi.  582. 


His  courteous  bearing. 

o 


137 


a guest-chamber.  Now  Prodicus  was  still  in  bed,  wrapped  Protagoras. 
up  in  sheepskins  and  bedclothes,  of  which  there  seemed  to  be  SocR 
a great  heap  ; and  there  was  sitting  by  him  on  the  couches  Protagoras. 
near,  Pausanias  of  the  deme  of  Cerameis,  and  with  Pausanias  Pausanias 
was  a youth  quite  young,  who  is  certainly  remarkable  for  his  ^gathon  °f 
good  looks,  and,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  is  also  of  a fair  and 
gentle  nature.  I thought  that  I heard  him  called  Agathon,  and 
my  suspicion  is  that  he  is  the  beloved  of  Pausanias.  There 
was  this  youth,  and  also  there  were  the  two  Adeimantuses, 
one  the  son  of  Cepis,  and  the  other  of  Leucolophides,  and 
some  others.  I was  very  anxious  to  hear  what  Prodicus  was 
saying,  for  he  seems  to  me  to  be  an  all-wise  and  inspired 
16  man ; but  I was  not  able  to  get  into  the  inner  circle,  and  his 
fine  deep  voice  made  an  echo  in  the  room  which  rendered 
his  words  inaudible. 


No  sooner  had  we  entered  than  there  followed  us  Alci-  Alcibiades 
biades  the  beautiful,  as  you  say,  and  I believe  you  ; and  also  makes  his 
Critias  the  son  of  Callaeschrus.  ^ear" 

dllUC. 

On  entering  we  stopped  a little,  in  order  to  look  about  us, 
and  then  walked  up  to  Protagoras,  and  I said  : Protagoras, 
my  friend  Hippocrates  and  I have  come  to  see  you. 

Do  you  wish,  he  said,  to  speak  with  me  alone,  or  in  the 
presence  of  the  company  ? 

Whichever  you  please,  I said ; you  shall  determine  when 
you  have  heard  the  purpose  of  our  visit. 

And  what  is  your  purpose  ? he  said. 

I must  explain,  I said,  that  my  friend  Hippocrates  is  a Hippo- 
native  Athenian ; he  is  the  son  of  Apollodorus,  and  of  a crates  and 
great  and  prosperous  house,  and  he  is  himself  in  natural  approach 
ability  quite  a match  for  anybody  of  his  own  age.  I believe  Prota- 
that  he  aspires  to  political  eminence;  and  this  he  thinks  jf°^s’e'Jho 
that  conversation  with  you  is  most  likely  to  procure  for  him.  upon  the 
And  now  you  can  determine  whether  you  would  wish  to  of 

apeak  to  him  of  your  teaching  alone  or  in  the  presence  of  upon  the 
the  company.  jealousies 

Thank  you,  Socrates,  for  your  consideration  of  me.  For  picionsf 
certainly  a stranger  finding  his  way  into  great  cities,  and  which  are 
persuading  the  flower  of  the  youth  in  them  to  leave  the  of  hhn^'^ 
company  of  their  kinsmen  or  any  other  acquaintances,  old  or 
young,  and  live  with  him,  under  the  idea  that  they  will  be 


133 


The  profession  of  Protagoras. 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

The 

Sophists  of 
old  con- 
cealed 
themselves 
under  the 
names  of 
poets  and 
musicians, 
but  Prota- 
goras 
thinks  that 
openness  is 
the  best 
policy. 


improved  by  his  conversation,  ought  to  be  very  cautious; 
great  jealousies  are  aroused  by  his  proceedings,  and  he  is 
the  subject  of  many  enmities  and  conspiracies.  Now  the 
art  of  the  Sophist  is,  as  I believe,  of  great  antiquity ; but  in 
ancient  times  those  who  practised  it,  fearing  this  odium,  veiled 
and  disguised  themselves  under  various  names,  some  under 
that  of  poets,  as  Homer,  Hesiod,  and  Simonides,  some,  of 
hierophants  and  prophets,  as  Orpheus  and  Musaeus,  and 
some,  as  I observe,  even  under  the  name  of  gymnastic- 
masters,  like  Iccus  of  Tarentum,  or  the  more  recently  cele- 
brated Herodicus,  now  of  Selymbria  and  formerly  of  Megara, 
who  is  a first-rate  Sophist.  Your  own  Agathocles  pretended 
to  be  a musician,  but  was  really  an  eminent  Sophist ; also 
Pythocleides  the  Cean ; and  there  were  many  others ; and 
all  of  them,  as  I was  saying,  adopted  these  arts  as  veils  or 
disguises  because  they  were  afraid  of  the  odium  which  they 
would  incur.  But  that  is  not  my  way,  for  I do  not  believe  that  317 
they  effected  their  purpose,  which  was  to  deceive  the  govern- 
ment, who  were  not  blinded  by  them  ; and  as  to  the  people, 
they  have  no  understanding,  and  only  repeat  what  their  rulers 
are  pleased  to  tell  them.  Now  to  run  away,  and  to  be  caught 
in  running  away,  is  the  very  height  of  folly,  and  also  greatly 
increases  the  exasperation  of  mankind ; for  they  regard  him 
who  runs  away  as  a rogue,  in  addition  to  any  othei  objec- 
tions which  they  have  to  him ; and  therefore  I take  an 
entirely  opposite  course,  and  acknowledge  myself  to  be  a 
Sophist  and  instructor  of  mankind;  such  an  open  ac- 
knowledgment appears  to  me  to  be  a better  sort  of  caution 
than  concealment.  Nor  do  I neglect  other  precautions,  and 
therefore  I hope,  as  I may  say,  by  the  favour  of  heaven  that 
no  harm  will  come  of  the  acknowledgment  that  I am  a 
Sophist.  And  I have  been  now  many  years  in  the  pro- 
fession—for  all  my  years  when  added  up  are  many: 
there  is  no  one  here  present  of  whom  I might  not  be  the 
father  Wherefore  I should  much  prefer  conversing  with 
you,  if  you  want  to  speak  with  me,  in  the  presence  of  the 

As  I suspected  that  he  would  like  to  have  a little  display 
and  glorification  in  the  presence  of  Prodicus  and  Hippias, 
and  would  gladly  show  us  to  them  in  the  light  of  his 


i39 


Protagoras  and  Socrates. 

admirers,  I said  : But  why  should  we  not  summon  Prodicus 
and  Hippias  and  their  friends  to  hear  us? 

Very  good,  he  said. 

Suppose,  said  Callias,  that  we  hold  a council  in  which  you 
may  sit  and  discuss. — This  was  agreed  upon,  and  great  delight 
was  felt  at  the  prospect  of  hearing  wise  men  talk  ; we  our- 
selves took  the  chairs  and  benches,  and  arranged  them  by 
Hippias,  where  the  other  benches  had  been  already  placed. 
Meanwhile  Callias  and  Alcibiades  got  Prodicus  out  of  bed 
and  brought  in  him  and  his  companions. 

When  we  were  all  seated,  Protagoras  said  : Now  that  the 
company  are  assembled,  Socrates,  tell  me  about  the  young 
iS  man  of  whom  you  were  just  now  speaking. 

I replied  : I will  begin  again  at  the  same  point,  Pro- 
tagoras, and  tell  you  once  more  the  purport  of  my  visit : this 
is  my  friend  Hippocrates,  who  is  desirous  of  making  your 
acquaintance  ; he  would  like  to  know  what  will  happen  to 
him  if  he  associates  with  you.  I have  no  more  to  say. 

Protagoras  answered:  Young  man,  if  you  associate  with 
me,  on  the  very  first  day  you  will  return  home  a better  man 
than  you  came,  and  better  on  the  second  day  than  on  the 
first,  and  better  every  day  than  you  were  on  the  day  before. 

When  I heard  this,  I said  : Protagoras,  I do  not  at  all 
wonder  at  hearing  you  say  this  ; even  at  your  age,  and  with 
all  your  wisdom,  if  any  one  were  to  teach  you  what  you  did 
not  know  before,  you  would  become  better  no  doubt  : but 
please  to  answer  in  a different  way— I will  explain  how  by 
an  example.  Let  me  suppose  that  Hippocrates,  instead  of 
desiring  your  acquaintance,  wished  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  young  man  Zeuxippus  of  Heraclea,  who  has  lately 
been  in  Athens,  and  he  had  come  to  him  as  he  has  come  to 
\ou,  and  had  heard  him  say,  as  he  has  heard  you  say,  that 
e\ery  day  he  would  grow  and  become  better  if  he  associated 
with  him:  and  then  suppose  that  he  were  to  ask  him,  'In 
what  shall  I become  better,  and  in  what  shall  I grow?’— 
Zeuxippus  would  answer,  ' In  painting.’  And  suppose  that  he 
went  to  Orthagoras  the  Theban,  and  heard  him  say  the  same 
thing,  and  asked  him,  ‘In  what  shall  I become  better  day 
b}  day  ? he  would  reply,  ‘In  flute-playing.’  Now  I want 
}ou  to  make  the  same  sort  of  answer  to  this  young  man  and 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras, 

Callias. 

They  agree 
to  hold  a 
council. 


The  ques- 
tion is 
asked, 
What  will 
happen  to 
Hippo- 
crates if  he 
becomes 
the  disciple 
of  Prota- 
goras ? 
Answer  : 
He  will 
daily  grow 
wiser  and 
better. 


140 

Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

But  in 
what  ? 


In  the 
knowledge 
of  affairs 
private  as 
well  as 
public. 


But  such 
knowledge 
cannot  be 
taught  or 
communi- 
cated by 
one  man  to 
another. 


Protagoras  teaches  the  art  of  politics. 

to  me,  who  am  asking  questions  on  his  account.  When  you 
say  that  on  the  first  day  on  which  he  associates  with  you  he 
will  return  home  a better  man,  and  on  every  day  will  grow  in 
like  manner, — in  what,  Protagoras,  will  he  be  better  ? and 
about  what  ? 

When  Protagoras  heard  me  say  this,  he  replied  : You  ask 
questions  fairly,  and  I like  to  answer  a question  which  is 
fairly  put.  If  Plippocrates  comes  to  me  he  will  not  ex- 
perience the  sort  of  drudgery  with  which  other  Sophists  are 
in  the  habit  of  insulting  their  pupils ; who,  when  they  have 
lust  escaped  from  the  arts,  are  taken  and  driven  back  into 
them  by  these  teachers,  and  made  to  learn  calculation,  and 
astronomy,  and  geometry,  and  music  (he  gave  a look  at 
Hippias  as  he  said  this)  ; but  if  he  comes  to  me,  he  will 
learn  that  which  he  comes  to  learn.  And  this  is  prudence  in 
affairs  private  as  well  as  public ; he  will  learn  to  order  his 
own  house  in  the  best  manner,  and  he  will  be  able  to  speak 
and  act  for  the  best  in  the  affairs  of  the  state. 

Do  I understand  you,  I said  ; and  is  your  meaning  that  3*9 
you  teach  the  art  of  politics,  and  that  you  promise  to  make 
men  good  citizens  ? 

That,  Socrates,  is  exactly  the  profession  which  I make. 

Then,  I said,  you  do  indeed  possess  a noble  art,  if  there  is 
no  mistake  about  this ; for  I will  freely  confess  to  you, 
Protagoras,  that  I have  a doubt  whether  this  art  is  capable 
of  being  taught,  and  yet  I know  not  how  to  disbelieve  your 
assertion.  And  I ought  to  tell  you  why  I am  of  opinion  that 
this  art  cannot  be  taught  or  communicated  by  man  to  man. 

I say  that  the  Athenians  are  an  understanding  people,  and 
indeed  they  are  esteemed  to  be  such  by  the  other  Hellenes. 
Now  I observe  that  when  we  are  met  together  in  the 
assembly,  and  the  matter  in  hand  relates  to  building,  the 
builders  are  summoned  as  advisers  ; when  the  question  is  one 
of  ship-building,  then  the  ship-wrights ; and  the  like  of  other 
arts  which  they  think  capable  of  being  taught  and  learned. 
And  if  some  person  offers  to  give  them  advice  who  is  not 
supposed  by  them  to  have  any  skill  in  the  art,  even  though 
he  be  good-looking,  and  rich,  and  noble,  they  will  not  listen 
to  him,  but  laugh  and  hoot  at  him,  until  either  he  is  clamoured 
down  and  retires  of  himself;  or  if  he  persist,  he  is  dragged 


But  can  such  an  art  be  tauohi  ? 

o 


141 


away  or  put  out  by  the  constables  at  the  command  of  the  Protagoras. 
prytanes.  This  is  their  way  of  behaving  about  professors  of  SocRATES) 
the  arts.  But  when  the  question  is  an  affair  of  state,  then  Pr°tagoraS. 
everybody  is  free  to  have  a say — carpenter,  tinker,  cobbler, 
sailor,  passenger;  rich  and  poor,  high  and  low— any  one 
who  likes  gets  up,  and  no  one  reproaches  him,  as  in  the 
former  case,  with  not  having  learned,  and  having  no  teacher, 
and  yet  giving  advice  ; evidently  because  they  are  under  the 
impression  that  this  sort  of  knowledge  cannot  be  taught. 

And  not  only  is  this  true  of  the  state,  but  of  individuals ; the 
best  and  wisest  of  our  citizens  are  unable  to  impart  their 
320  political  wisdom  to  others : as  for  example,  Pericles,  the  Pericles 
father  of  these  young  men,  who  gave  them  excellent  instruc-  could  not 
tion  in  all  that  could  be  learned  from  masters,  in  his  own  own  sons 
department  of  politics  neither  taught  them,  nor  gave  them  P°litics- 
teachers ; but  they  were  allowed  to  wander  at  their  own  free  ward  S 
will  in  a sort  of  hope  that  they  would  light  upon  virtue  of  Cleinias 
their  own  accord.  Or  take  another  example:  there  was  v"'tue' 
Cleinias  the  younger  brother  of  our  friend  Alcibiades,  of 
whom  this  very  same  Pericles  was  the  guardian ; and  he 


being  in  fact  under  the  apprehension  that  Cleinias  would  be 
corrupted  by  Alcibiades,  took  him  away,  and  placed  him  in 
the  house  of  Ariphron  to  be  educated  ; but  before  six  months 
had  elapsed,  Ariphron  sent  him  back,  not  knowing  what  to 
do  with  him.  And  I could  mention  numberless  other 
instances  of  persons  who  were  good  themselves,  and  never 
yet  made  any  one  else  good,  whether  friend  or  stranger. 
Now  I,  Protagoras,  having  these  examples  before  me,  am 
inclined  to  think  that  virtue  cannot  be  taught.  But  then 
again,  when  I listen  to  your  words,  I waver;  and  am  dis- 
posed to  think  that  there  must  be  something  in  what  you  say, 
because  I know  that  you  have  great  experience,  and  learning, 
and  invention.  And  I wish  that  you  would,  if  possible,  show 
me  a little  more  clearly  that  virtue  can  be  taught.  Will  you 
be  so  good  ? 

That  I will,  Socrates,  and  gladly.  But  what  would  you 
like  ' Shall  I,  as  an  elder,  speak  to  you  as  younger  men  in 
an  apologue  or  myth,  or  shall  I argue  out  the  question  ? 

I o this  several  of  the  company  answered  that  he  should 
choose  for  himself. 


Will  Prota- 
goras be  so 
good  as  to 
prove  that 
virtue  can 
be  taught  ? 
Protagoras 
promises  to 
do  so  in  an 
apologue. 


1 42  The  tale  of  Prometheus  and  Epinietheus. 


rrotagoras. 

Protagoras. 

The  cre- 
ation of  the 
brute  ani- 
mals, who 
were 

equipped 
with  the 
qualities 
necessary 
for  their 
preser- 
vation, 
while  men 
remained 
naked  and 
defence- 
less. 


Well,  then,  he  said,  I think  that  the  myth  will  be  more 
interesting. 

Once  upon  a time  there  were  gods  only,  and  no  mortal 
creatures.  But  when  the  time  came  that  these  also  should 
be  created,  the  gods  fashioned  them  out  of  earth  and  fire 
and  various  mixtures  of  both  elements  in  the  interior  of  the 
earth  ; and  when  they  were  about  to  bring  them  into  the 
light  of  day,  they  ordered  Prometheus  and  Epimetheus  to 
equip  them,  and  to  distribute  to  them  severally  their  proper 
qualities.  Epimetheus  said  to  Prometheus  : ' Let  me  distri- 
bute, and  do  you  inspect.’  This  was  agreed,  and  Epimetheus 
made  the  distribution.  There  were  some  to  whom  he  gave 
strength  without  swiftness,  while  he  equipped  the  weaker 
with  swiftness  ; some  he  armed,  and  others  he  left  unarmed  ; 
and  devised  for  the  latter  some  other  means  of  preservation, 


making  some  large,  and  having  their  size  as  a protection,  and 
others  small,  whose  nature  was  to  fly  in  the  air  or  burrow  in 
the  ground  ; this  was  to  be  their  way  of  escape.  Thus  did  321 
he  compensate  them  with  the  view  of  preventing  any  race 
from  becoming  extinct.  And  when  he  had  provided  against 
their  destruction  by  one  another,  he  contrived  also  a means 
of  protecting  them  against  the  seasons  of  heaven  ; clothing 
them  with  close  hair  and  thick  skins  sufficient  to  defend  them 
against  the  winter  cold  and  able  to  resist  the  summer  heat, 
so  that  they  might  have  a natural  bed  of  their  own  when  they 
wanted  to  rest ; also  he  furnished  them  with  hoofs  and  hair 
and  hard  and  callous  skins  under  their  feet.  Then  he  gave 
them  varieties  of  food, — herb  of  the  soil  to  some,  to  otheis 
fruits  of  trees,  and  to  others  roots,  and  to  some  again  he  gave 
other  animals  as  food.  And  some  he  made  to  have  few 
young  ones,  while  those  who  were  their  prey  were  veiy 
prolific  ; and  in  this  manner  the  race  was  preserved.  Thus 
did  Epimetheus,  who,  not  being  very  wise,  forgot  that  he  had 
distributed  among  the  brute  animals  all  the  qualities  which 
he  had  to  give,— and  when  he  came  to  man,  who  was  still 
To  meet  unprovided,  he  was  terribly  perplexed.  Now  while  he  was 
this  need  of  • this  perplexity,  Prometheus  came  to  inspect  the  distnbu- 
"on  and  he  found  that  the  other  animals  were  suitably 
stole  the  furnished,  but  that  man  alone  was  naked  and  shoeless,  and 
Atheneand  had  neither  bed  nor  arms  of  defence.  The  appointed  hour 


The  state  of  primitive  man. 


M3 


was  approaching  when  man  in  his  turn  was  to  go  forth  into  Protagoras. 
the  light  of  day;  and  Prometheus,  not  knowing  how  he  pKOtagoKaS 
could  devise  his  salvation,  stole  the  mechanical  arts  of  Heph.le 
Hephaestus  and  Athene,  and  fire  with  them  (they  could  stus,  to- 
neither  have  been  acquired  nor  used  without  fire),  and  gave 
them  to  man.  Thus  man  had  the  wisdom  necessary  to  the 
support  of  life,  but  political  wisdom  he  had  not ; for  that  was 
in  the  keeping  of  Zeus,  and  the  power  of  Prometheus  did  not 
extend  to  entering  into  the  citadel  of  heaven,  where  Zeus 
dwelt,  who  moreover  had  terrible  sentinels  ; but  he  did  enter 
by  stealth  into  the  common  workshop  of  Athene  and  He- 
phaestus, in  which  they  used  to  practise  their  favourite  arts, 
and  carried  off  Hephaestus’  art  of  working  by  fire,  and  also 
the  art  of  Athene,  and  gave  them  to  man.  And  in  this  way 
man  was  supplied  with  the  means  of  life.  But  Prometheus 
is  said  to  have  been  afterwards  prosecuted  for  theft,  owing  to 
the  blunder  of  Epimetheus. 

322  Now  man,  having  a share  of  the  divine  attributes,  was  at  But  men 
first  the  only  one  of  the  animals  who  had  any  gods,  because 
he  alone  was  of  their  kindred  ; and  he  would  raise  altars  and  political  ° 
images  of  them.  He  was  not  long  in  inventing;  articulate  wisdom- 
speech  and  names ; and  he  also  constructed  houses  and  in  danger 
clothes  and  shoes  and  beds,  and  drew  sustenance  from  the  ofbeing 
earth.  Thus  provided,  mankind  at  first  lived  dispersed,  and  natedTy 
there  were  no  cities.  But  the  consequence  was  that  they  thewild 
were  destroyed  by  the  wild  beasts,  for  they  were  utterly  weak  beaStS' 
in  comparison  of  them,  and  their  art  was  only  sufficient 
to  provide  them  with  the  means  of  life,  and  did  not  enable  So  t0 
them  to  carry  on  war  against  the  animals : food  they  had,  Cselves 
but  not  as  yet  the  art  of  government,  of  which  the  art  of  war  they 
is  a part.  After  a while  the  desire  of  self-preservation  ^a*e-ted 
garnered  them  into  cities ; but  when  they  were  gathered  But  having 
together,  having  no  art  of  government,  they  evil  intreated  ®tentspe°f 
one  another,  and  were  again  in  process  of  dispersion  and  began  to 
destruction.  Zeus  feared  that  the  entire  race  would  be  destl'°y  one 
exterminated,  and  so  he  sent  Hermes  to  them,  bearing  rever-  Hermes  at 
ence  and  justice  to  be  the  ordering  principles  of  cities  and  tl,e  desire 
the  bonds  of  friendship  and  conciliation.  Hermes  asked 
Zeus  how  he  should  impart  justice  and  reverence  among  justice  and 
men  : Should  he  distribute  them  as  the  arts  are  distributed  ; to'tiiem  ^ 


144 

Protagoras. 

Protagoras. 

These 
virtues 
were  im- 
parted not, 
like  the 
arts,  to  a 
few  only 
but  to  all. 


And  cer- 
tainly all 
men  are 
expected  to 
profess 
them, 


The  Apologue  of  Protagoras. 

that  is  to  say,  to  a favoured  few  only,  one  skilled  individual 
having  enough  of  medicine  or  of  any  other  art  for  many 
unskilled  ones?  ‘Shall  this  be  the  manner  in  which  I am  to 
distribute  justice  and  reverence  among  men,  or  shall  I give 
them  to  all?’  ‘To  all,’  said  Zeus;  ‘I  should  like  them  all 
to  have  a share  ; for  cities  cannot  exist,  if  a few  only  share  in 
the  virtues,  as  in  the  arts.  And  further,  make  a law  by  my 
order,  that  he  who  has  no  part  in  reverence  and  justice  shall 
be  put  to  death,  for  he  is  a plague  of  the  state.’ 

And  this  is  the  reason,  Socrates,  why  the  Athenians  and 
mankind  in  general,  when  the  question  relates  to  carpenter- 
ing or  any  other  mechanical  art,  allow  but  a few  to  share  in 
their  deliberations ; and  when  any  one  else  interferes,  then, 
as  you  say,  they  object,  if  he  be  not  of  the  favoured  few  ; 
which,  as  I reply,  is  very  natural.  But  when  they  meet 
to  deliberate  about  political  virtue,  which  proceeds  only  323 
by  way  of  justice  and  wisdom,  they  are  patient  enough  of 
any  man  who  speaks  of  them,  as  is  also  natural,  because  they 
think  that  every  man  ought  to  share  in  this  sort  of  virtue,  and 
that  states  could  not  exist  if  this  were  otherwise.  I have  ex- 
plained to  you,  Socrates,  the  reason  of  this  phenomenon. 

And  that  you  may  not  suppose  yourself  to  be  deceived  in 
thinking  that  all  men  regard  every  man  as  having  a share 
of  justice  or  honesty  and  of  every  other  political  virtue,  let 
me  give  you  a further  proof,  which  is  this.  In  other  cases,  as 
you  are  aware,  if  a man  says  that  he  is  a good  flute-player,  01 
skilful  in  any  other  art  in  which  he  has  no  skill,  people  either 
laugh  at  him  or  are  angry  with  him,  and  his  relations  think 
that  he  is  mad  and  go  and  admonish  him ; but  when  honesty 
is  in  question,  or  some  other  political  virtue,  even  if  they 
know  that  he  is  dishonest,  yet,  if  the  man  comes  publicly 
forward  and  tells  the  truth  about  his  dishonesty,  then,  what 
in  the  other  case  was  held  by  them  to  be  good  sense,  they 
now  deem  to  be  madness.  They  say  that  all  men  ought 
to  profess  honesty  whether  they  are  honest  or  not,  and  that 
a man  is  out  of  his  mind  who  says  anything  else.  Their 
notion  is,  that  a man  must  have  some  degree  of  honesty;  and 
that  if  he  has  none  at  all  he  ought  not  to  be  in  the  world. 

I have  been  showing  that  they  are  right  in  admitting  every 
man  as  a counsellor  about  this  sort  of  virtue,  as  they  are  of 


The  Apologue  of  Protagoras. 


H5 


opinion  that  every  man  is  a partaker  of  it.  And  I will  now 
endeavour  to  show  further  that  they  do  not  conceive  this 
virtue  to  be  given  by  nature,  or  to  grow  spontaneously,  but 
to  be  a thing  which  may  be  taught ; and  which  comes  to  a 
man  by  taking  pains.  No  one  would  instruct,  no  one  would 
rebuke,  or  be  angry  with  those  whose  calamities  they  suppose 
to  be  due  to  nature  or  chance ; they  do  not  try  to  punish  or 
to  prevent  them  from  being  what  they  are  ; they  do  but  pity 
them.  Who  is  so  foolish  as  to  chastise  or  instruct  the  ugly, 
or  the  diminutive,  or  the  feeble?  And  for  this  reason. 
Because  he  knows  that  good  and  evil  of  this  kind  is  the  work 
of  nature  and  of  chance ; whereas  if  a man  is  wanting  in 
those  good  qualities  which  are  attained  by  study  and  exercise 
and  teaching,  and  has  only  the  contrary  evil  qualities,  other 
men  are  angry  with  him,  and  punish  and  reprove  him— of 


Protagoras . 
Pkotagoras. 


and  are 
punished 
for  the 
want  of 
them, 
which  is  a 
proof  that 
they  can  be 
acquired 
and  taught. 


324  these  evil  qualities  one  is  impiety,  another  injustice,  and 
they  may  be  described  generally  as  the  very  opposite  of 
political  virtue.  In  such  cases  any  man  will  be  angry  with 
another,  and  reprimand  him, — clearly  because  he  thinks 
that  by  study  and  learning,  the  virtue  in  which  the  other  is 
deficient  may  be  acquired.  If  you  will  think,  Socrates,  of 
the  nature  of  punishment,  you  will  see  at  once  that  in  the 
opinion  of  mankind  virtue  may  be  acquired  ; no  one  punishes 
the  evil-doer  under  the  notion,  or  for  the  reason,  that  he  has 
done  wrong,— only  the  unreasonable  fury  of  a beast  acts  in 
that  manner.  But  he  who  desires  to  inflict  rational  punish- 
ment does  not  retaliate  for  a past  wrong  which  cannot  be 
undone ; he  has  regard  to  the  future,  and  is  desirous  that  the 


man  who  is  punished,  and  he  who  sees  him  punished,  may 
be  deterred  from  doing  wrong  again.  He  punishes  for  the 
sake  of  prevention,  thereby  clearly  implying  that  virtue  is 
capable  of  being  taught.  This  is  the  notion  of  all  who 
retaliate  upon  others  either  privately  or  publicly.  And  the 
Athenians,  too,  your  own  citizens,  like  other  men,  punish  and 
take  vengeance  on  all  whom  they  regard  as  evil  doers ; and 
hence,  we  may  infer  them  to  be  of  the  number  of  those  who 
think  that  virtue  may  be  acquired  and  taught.  Thus  far, 
Socrates,  I have  shown  you  clearly  enough,  if  I am  not 
mistaken,  that  your  countrymen  are  right  in  admitting  the 


VOL.  1. 


146  The  argument  which  succeeds  the  Apologue. 

Protagoras,  tinker  and  the  cobbler  to  advise  about  politics,  and  also  that 
Protagoras,  they  deem  virtue  to  be  capable  of  being  taught  and  acquired. 

But  why  There  yet  remains  one  difficulty  which  has  been  raised  by 
do  not  you  about;  the  sons  of  good  men.  What  is  the  reason  why 

good  men  J . 0 .. 

teach  their  good  men  teach  their  sons  the  knowledge  which  is  gained 

sonsvirtue?  from  teachers,  and  make  them  wise  in  that,  but  do  nothing 
towards  improving  them  in  the  virtues  which  distinguish 
themselves  ? And  here,  Socrates,  I will  leave  the  apologue 
and  resume  the  argument.  Please  to  consider : Is  there  or 
is  there  not  some  one  quality  of  which  all  the  citizens  must 
be  partakers,  if  there  is  to  be  a city  at  all?  In  the  answer 
to  this  question  is  contained  the  only  solution  of  your 
difficulty;  there  is  no  other.  For  if  there  be  any  such 
quality,  and  this  quality  or  unity  is  not  the  art  of  the 
carpenter,  or  the  smith,  or  the  potter,  but  justice  and  325 
temperance  and  holiness  and,  in  a word,  manly  virtue  if 
this  is  the  quality  of  which  all  men  must  be  partakers,  and 
which  is  the  very  condition  of  their  learning  or  doing  any- 
thing else,  and  if  he  who  is  wanting  in  this,  whether  he  be  a 
child  only  or  a grown-up  man  or  woman,  must  be  taught  and 
punished,  until  by  punishment  he  becomes  better,  and  he 
who  rebels  against  instruction  and  punishment  is  either 
exiled  or  condemned  to  death  under  the  idea  that  he  is 
incurable— if  what  I am  saying  be  true,  good  men  have  their 
sons  taught  other  things  and  not  this,  do  consider  how  extra- 
ordinary their  conduct  would  appear  to  be.  For  we  ha\e 
shown  that  they  think  virtue  capable  of  being  taught  and 
cultivated  both  in  private  and  public ; and,  notwithstanding, 
they  have  their  sons  taught  lesser  matters,  ignorance  of 
which  does  not  involve  the  punishment  of  death  : but  greater 
things,  of  which  the  ignorance  may  cause  death  and  exile  to 
those  who  have  no  training  or  knowledge  of  them— aye,  and 
confiscation  as  well  as  death,  and,  in  a word,  may  be  the 
ruin  of  families— those  things,  I say,  they  are  supposed  not 
to  teach  them,— not  to  take  the  utmost  care  that  they  should 
learn.  How  improbable  is  this,  Socrates  ! 

They  do  in  Education  and  admonition  commence  in  the  first  years  of 
fact  teach  childhood,  and  last  to  the  very  end  of  life.  Mother  and 
nurse  and  father  and  tutor  are  vying  with  one  another 
their  life  by  about  the  improvement  of  the  child  as  soon  as  ever  he  is  ab  e 


The  argument  which  succeeds  the  Apologue. 


147 


to  understand  what  is  being  said  to  him : he  cannot  say  or  Protagoras. 
do  anything  without  their  setting  forth  to  him  that  this  is  pR0TAG0RAS 
just  and  that  is  unjust;  this  is  honourable,  that  is  dishonour-  the  help  of 
able;  this  is  holy,  that  is  unholy;  do  this  and  abstain  from  tutors> 
that.  And  if  he  obeys,  well  and  good ; if  not,  he  is  teachers, 
straightened  by  threats  and  blows,  like  a piece  of  bent  or  *nd  Pro_f 
warped  wood.  At  a later  stage  they  send  him  to  teachers,  aii  sorts, 
and  enjoin  them  to  see  to  his  manners  even  more  than  to  his 
reading  and  music ; and  the  teachers  do  as  they  are  desired. 

And  when  the  boy  has  learned  his  letters  and  is  beginning  to 
understand  what  is  written,  as  before  he  understood  only 
326  what  was  spoken,  they  put  into  his  hands  the  works  of  great 
poets,  which  he  reads  sitting  on  a bench  at  school ; in  these 
are  contained  many  admonitions,  and  many  tales,  and  praises, 
and  encomia  of  ancient  famous  men,  which  he  is  required  to 
learn  by  heart,  in  order  that  he  may  imitate  or  emulate  them 
and  desire  to  become  like  them.  Then,  again,  the  teachers 
of  the  lyre  take  similar  care  that  their  young  disciple  is 
temperate  and  gets  into  no  mischief;  and  when  they  have 
taught  him  the  use  of  the  lyre,  they  introduce  him  to  the 
poems  of  other  excellent  poets,  who  are  the  lyric  poets ; and 
these  they  set  to  music,  and  make  their  harmonies  and 
rhythms  quite  familiar  to  the  children’s  souls,  in  order  that 
they  may  learn  to  be  more  gentle,  and  harmonious,  and 
rhythmical,  and  so  more  fitted  for  speech  and  action  ; for  the 
life  of  man  in  every  part  has  need  of  harmony  and  rhythm. 

Then  they  send  them  to  the  master  of  gymnastic,  in  order 
that  their  bodies  may  better  minister  to  the  virtuous  mind, 
and  that  they  may  not  be  compelled  through  bodily  weakness 
to  play  the  coward  in  war  or  on  any  other  occasion.  This  is 
what  is  done  by  those  who  have  the  means,  and  those 
who  have  the  means  are  the  rich  ; their  children  begin  to 
go  to  school  soonest  and  leave  off  latest.  When  they  have  When  they 
done  with  masters,  the  state  again  compels  them  to  learn  uie'iaws 
the  laws,  and  live  after  the  pattern  which  they  furnish,  and  become 
not  after  their  own  fancies;  and  just  as  in  learning  to  write,  [eacher 
the  writing-master  first  draws  lines  with  a style  for  the  use  Beyond 
of  the  young  beginner,  and  gives  him  the  tablet  and  makes  question, 
him  follow  the  lines,  so  the  city  draws  the  laws,  which  were  ^^n^irtue 
the  invention  of  good  lawgivers  living  in  the  olden  time;  taught. 

l 2 


148 


Protagoras. 

Protagoras. 


But  the 
sons  of 
good  men 
are  not 
always 
good  men, 
any  more 
than  the 
sons  of 
good  artists 
are  always 
good 
artists. 


The  worst 
of  civilized 
men  are 
good 
enough 
compared 
with 
savages. 


The  Apologue  and  the  argument. 

these  are  given  to  the  young  man,  in  order  to  guide  him  in 
his  conduct  whether  he  is  commanding  or  obeying ; and  he 
who  transgresses  them  is  to  be  corrected,  or,  in  other  words, 
called  to  account,  which  is  a term  used  not  only  in  your 
country,  but  also  in  many  others,  seeing  that  justice  calls  men 
to  account.  Now  when  there  is  all  this  care  about  virtue 
private  and  public,  why,  Socrates,  do  you  still  wonder  and 
doubt  whether  virtue  can  be  taught  ? Cease  to  wonder, 
for  the  opposite  would  be  far  more  surprising. 

But  why  then  do  the  sons  of  good  fathers  often  turn  out 
ill  ? There  is  nothing  very  wonderful  in  this ; for,  as  I 
have  been  saying,  the  existence  of  a state  implies  that  virtue 
is  not  any  man’s  private  possession.  If  so — and  nothing  3 27 
can  be  truer — then  I will  further  ask  you  to  imagine,  as  an 
illustration,  some  other  pursuit  or  branch  of  knowledge 
which  may  be  assumed  equally  to  be  the  condition  of  the 
existence  of  a state.  Suppose  that  there  could  be  no  state 
unless  we  were  all  flute-players,  as  far  as  each  had  the 
capacity,  and  everybody  was  freely  teaching  everybody  the 
art,  both  in  private  and  public,  and  reproving  the  bad  player 
as  freely  and  openly  as  every  man  now  teaches  justice  and 
the  laws,  not  concealing  them  as  he  would  conceal  the  other 
arts,  but  imparting  them — for  all  of  us  have  a mutual  interest 
in  the  justice  and  virtue  of  one  another,  and  this  is  the 
reason  why  every  one  is  so  ready  to  teach  justice  and  the 
laws ; — suppose,  I say,  that  there  were  the  same  readiness 
and  liberality  among  us  in  teaching  one  another  flute-playing, 
do  you  imagine,  Socrates,  that  the  sons  of  good  flute-players 
would  be  more  likely  to  be  good  than  the  sons  of  bad  ones  ? 

I think  not.  Would  not  their  sons  grow  up  to  be  dis- 
tinguished or  undistinguished  according  to  their  own  natural 
capacities  as  flute-players,  and  the  son  of  a good  player 
would  often  turn  out  to  be  a bad  one,  and  the  son  of  a bad 
player  to  be  a good  one,  and  all  flute-players  would  be 
good  enough  in  comparison  of  those  who  were  ignorant 
and  unacquainted  with  the  art  of  flute-playing?  In  like 
manner  I would  have  you  consider  that  he  who  appears  to 
you  to  be  the  worst  of  those  who  have  been  brought  up  in 
laws  and  humanities,  would  appear  to  be  a just  man  and  a 
master  of  justice  if  he  were  to  be  compared  with  men  who 


149 


The  Apologue  and  the  argument. 

had  no  education,  or  courts  of  justice,  or  laws,  or  any 
restraints  upon  them  which  compelled  them  to  practise 
virtue — with  the  savages,  for  example,  whom  the  poet  Phere- 
crates  exhibited  on  the  stage  at  the  last  year’s  Lenaean 
festival.  If  you  were  living  among  men  such  as  the  man- 
haters  in  his  Chorus,  you  would  be  only  too  glad  to  meet 
with  Eurybates  and  Phrynondas,  and  you  would  sorrowfully 
long  to  revisit  the  rascality  of  this  part  of  the  world.  And 
you,  Socrates,  are  discontented,  and  why  ? Because  all  men 
are  teachers  of  virtue,  each  one  according  to  his  ability ; and 
you  say  Where  are  the  teachers?  You  might  as  well 
328  ask,  Who  teaches  Greek?  For  of  that  too  there  will  not  be 
any  teachers  found.  Or  you  might  ask,  Who  is  to  teach  the 
sons  of  our  artisans  this  same  art  which  they  have  learned 
of  their  fathers?  He  and  his  fellow- workmen  have  taught 
them  to  the  best  of  their  ability, — but  who  will  carry  them 
further  in  their  arts  ? And  you  would  certainly  have  a 
difficulty,  Socrates,  in  finding  a teacher  of  them ; but  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  in  finding  a teacher  of  those  who  are 
wholly  ignorant.  And  this  is  true  of  virtue  or  of  anything 
else ; if  a man  is  better  able  than  we  are  to  promote  virtue 
ever  so  little,  we  must  be  content  with  the  result.  A teacher 
of  this  sort  I believe  myself  to  be,  and  above  all  other  men 
to  have  the  knowledge  which  makes  a man  noble  and  good  ; 
and  I give  my  pupils  their  money’s-worth,  and  even  more,  as 
they  themselves  confess.  And  therefore  I have  introduced 
the  following  mode  of  payment : — When  a man  has  been  my 
pupil,  if  he  likes  he  pays  my  price,  but  there  is  no  com- 
pulsion ; and  if  he  does  not  like,  he  has  only  to  go  into  a 
temple  and  take  an  oath  of  the  value  of  the  instructions,  and 
he  pays  no  more  than  he  declares  to  be  their  value. 

Such  is  my  Apologue,  Socrates,  and  such  is  the  argument 
by  which  I endeavour  to  show  that  virtue  may  be  taught,  and 
that  this  is  the  opinion  of  the  Athenians.  And  I have  also 
attempted  to  show  that  you  are  not  to  wonder  at  good  fathers 
having  bad  sons,  or  at  good  sons  having  bad  fathers,  of 
which  the  sons  of  Polycleitus  afford  an  example,  who  are  the 
companions  of  our  friends  here,  Paralus  and  Xanthippus,  but 
are  nothing  in  comparison  with  their  father ; and  this  is  true 
of  the  sons  of  many  other  artists.  As  yet  I ought  not  to  say 


Protagoras. 

Protagoras. 


All  men  are 
teachers  of 
virtue  to  a 
certain 
extent. 


1 5° 


The  irony  of  Socrates. 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


Socrates 
is  over- 
whelmed 
by  the 
eloquence 
of  Prota- 
goras. 

But  he 
would  like 
to  put  a 
small 
question 
to  him  : — 
Are  the 
virtues  the 
parts  of  a 
whole  or 
the  names 
of  one  and 
the  same 
thing  ? 


the  same  of  Paralus  and  Xanthippus  themselves,  for  they  are 
young  and  there  is  still  hope  of  them. 

Protagoras  ended,  and  in  my  ear 

‘ So  charming  left  his  voice,  that  I the  while 
Thought  him  still  speaking;  still  stood  fixed  to  hear1.’ 

At  length,  when  the  truth  dawned  upon  me,  that  he  had 
really  finished,  not  without  difficulty  I began  to  collect  my- 
self, and  looking  at  Hippocrates,  I said  to  him  : O son  of 
Apollodorus,  how  deeply  grateful  I am  to  you  for  having 
brought  me  hither  ; I would  not  have  missed  the  speech 
of  Protagoras  for  a great  deal.  For  I used  to  imagine  that 
no  human  care  could  make  men  good  ; but  I know  better 
now.  Yet  I have  still  one  very  small  difficulty  which  I am 
sure  that  Protagoras  will  easily  explain,  as  he  has  already 
explained  so  much.  If  a man  were  to  go  and  consult  Peri-  329 
cles  or  any  of  our  great  speakers  about  these  matters,  he 
might  perhaps  hear  as  fine  a discourse ; but  then  when  one 
has  a question  to  ask  of  any  of  them,  like  books,  they  can 
neither  answer  nor  ask  ; and  if  any  one  challenges  the  least 
particular  of  their  speech,  they  go  ringing  on  in  a long 
harangue,  like  brazen  pots,  which  when  they  are  struck 
continue  to  sound  unless  someone  puts  his  hand  upon  them  ; 
whereas  our  friend  Protagoras  can  not  only  make  a good 
speech,  as  he  has  already  shown,  but  when  he  is  asked 
a question  he  can  answer  briefly;  and  when  he  asks  he  will 
wait  and  hear  the  answer ; and  this  is  a very  rare  gift.  Now 
I,  Protagoras,  want  to  ask  of  you  a little  question,  which 
if  you  will  only  answer,  I shall  be  quite  satisfied.  You  were 
saying  that  virtue  can  be  taught ; — that  I will  take  upon  your 
authority,  and  there  is  no  one  to  whom  I am  more  ready  to 
trust.  But  I marvel  at  one  thing  about  which  I should  like 
to  have  my  mind  set  at  rest.  You  were  speaking  of  Zeus 
sending  justice  and  reverence  to  men  ; and  several  times 
while  you  were  speaking,  justice,  and  temperance,  and  holi- 
ness, and  all  these  qualities,  were  described  by  you  as  if 
together  they  made  up  virtue.  Now  I want  you  to  tell  me 
truly  whether  virtue  is  one  whole,  of  which  justice  and 
temperance  and  holiness  are  parts  ; or  whether  all  these  are 


1 Borrowed  by  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  viii.  2,  3. 


Protagoras  is  submitted  by  Socrates  to  the  question.  ] 5 1 

only  the  names  of  one  and  the  same  thing : that  is  the  doubt  Protagoras. 
which  still  lingers  in  my  mind.  Socrates, 

There  is  no  difficulty,  Socrates,  in  answering  that  the  Protacoras- 
qualities  of  which  you  are  speaking  are  the  parts  of  virtue 
which  is  one. 

And  are  they  parts,  I said,  in  the  same  sense  in  which  They  are 
mouth,  nose,  and  eyes,  and  ears,  are  the  parts  of  a face ; of 

or  are  they  like  the  parts  of  gold,  which  differ  from  the  differing  in 
whole  and  from  one  another  only  in  being  larger  or  the  same 

manner  as 

Smaller  . the  parts  of 

I should  say  that  they  differed,  Socrates,  in  the  first  way ; a face- 
they  are  related  to  one  another  as  the  parts  of  a face  are 
related  to  the  whole  face. 

And  do  men  have  some  one  part  and  some  another  part  of 
virtue  ? Or  if  a man  has  one  part,  must  he  also  have  all  the 
others  ? 

By  no  means,  he  said ; for  many  a man  is  brave  and  not 
just,  or  just  and  not  wise. 

You  would  not  deny,  then,  that  courage  and  wisdom  are 
also  parts  of  virtue  ? 

330  Most  undoubtedly  they  are,  he  answered  ; and  wisdom  is 
the  noblest  of  the  parts. 

And  they  are  all  different  from  one  another  ? I said. 

Yes. 

And  has  each  of  them  a distinct  function  like  the  parts  of  Many  men 

the  face  ; — the  eye,  for  example,  is  not  like  the  ear,  and  has  °fne 

not  the  same  functions  ; and  the  other  parts  are  none  of  virtue  and 

them  like  one  another,  either  in  their  functions,  or  in  any  n°l  an' 

1 other- 

other  way  ? I want  to  know  whether  the  comparison  holds 
concerning  the  parts  of  virtue.  Do  they  also  differ  from  one 
another  in  themselves  and  in  their  functions?  For  that  is 
clearly  what  the  simile  would  imply. 

Yes,  Socrates,  you  are  right  in  supposing  that  they 
differ. 

Then,  I said,  no  other  part  of  virtue  is  like  knowledge, 
or  like  justice,  or  like  courage,  or  like  temperance,  or  like 
holiness  ? 

No,  he  answered. 

Well  then,  I said,  suppose  that  you  and  I enquire  into  their 
natures.  And  first,  you  would  agree  with  me  that  justice  is 


152 

Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


J ustice  is 
of  the  '* 
nature  of 
the  just. 


The  virtues 
differ,  yet 
many  of 
them,  e.  g. 


Socrates  and  Protagoras. 

of  the  nature  of  a thing,  would  you  not  ? That  is  my  opinion  : 
would  it  not  be  yours  also  ? 

Mine  also,  he  said. 

And  suppose  that  some  one  were  to  ask  us,  saying,  ‘ O 
Protagoras,  and  you,  Socrates,  what  about  this  thing  which 
you  were  calling  justice,  is  it  just  or  unjust?’ — and  I were 
to  answer,  just : would  you  vote  with  me  or  against  me  ? 

With  you,  he  said. 

Thereupon  I should  answer  to  him  who  asked  me,  that 
justice  is  of  the  nature  of  the  just : would  not  you  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  suppose  that  he  went  on  to  say : 'Well  now,  is  there 
also  such  a thing  as  holiness  ? ’—we  should  answer,  ‘Yes,’  if 
I am  not  mistaken  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

Which  you  would  also  acknowledge  to  be  a thing — should 
we  not  say  so  ? 

He  assented. 

'And  is  this  a sort  of  thing  which  is  of  the  nature  of 
the  holy,  or  of  the  nature  of  the  unholy  ? ’ I should  be 
angry  at  his  putting  such  a question,  and  should  say, 

' Peace,  man  ; nothing  can  be  holy  if  holiness  is  not  holy.’ 
What  would  you  say  ? Would  you  not  answer  in  the  same 
way  ? 

Certainly,  he  said. 

And  then  after  this  suppose  that  he  came  and  asked  us, 

1 What  were  you  saying  just  now  ? Perhaps  I may  not 
have  heard  you  rightly,  but  you  seemed  to  me  to  be  saying 
that  the  parts  of  virtue  were  not  the  same  as  one  another.’  I 
should  reply,  ‘You  certainly  heard  that  said,  but  not,  as  you  331 
imagine,  by  me  ; for  I only  asked  the  question  ; Protagoras 
gave  the  answer.’  And  suppose  that  he  turned  to  you  and 
said,  ‘ Is  this  true,  Protagoras  ? and  do  you  maintain  that  one 
part  of  virtue  is  unlike  another,  and  is  this  your  position  ? ’ 
how  would  you  answer  him  ? 

I could  not  help  acknowledging  the  truth  of  what  he  said, 
Socrates. 

Well  then,  Protagoras,  we  will  assume  this ; and  now 
supposing  that  he  proceeded  to  say  further,  ‘ Then  holiness 
is  not  of  the  nature  of  justice,  nor  justice  of  the  nature  of 


1 53 


The  continuation  of  the  argument. 


holiness,  but  of  the  nature  of  unholiness ; and  holiness  is  of 
the  nature  of  the  not  just,  and  therefore  of  the  unjust,  and  the 
unjust  is  the  unholy  : 5 how  shall  we  answer  him  ? I should 
certainly  answer  him  on  my  own  behalf  that  justice  is  holy, 
and  that  holiness  is  just ; and  I would  say  in  like  manner  on 
your  behalf  also,  if  you  would  allow  me,  that  justice  is  either 
the  same  with  holiness,  or  very  nearly  the  same  ; and  above 
all  I would  assert  that  justice  is  like  holiness  and  holiness  is 
like  justice ; and  I wish  that  you  would  tell  me  whether  I 
may  be  permitted  to  give  this  answer  on  your  behalf,  and 
whether  you  would  agree  with  me. 


Protagoras . 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

holiness 
and  justice, 
are  very 
much  alike. 


He  replied,  I cannot  simply  agree,  Socrates,  to  the  propo- 
sition that  justice  is  holy  and  that  holiness  is  just,  for  there 
appears  to  me  to  be  a difference  between  them..  But  what 


matter  ? if  you  please  I please  ; and  let  us  assume,  if  you 
will,  that  justice  is  holy,  and  that  holiness  is  just. 

Pardon  me,  I replied;  I do  not  want  this  ‘if you  wish’  or 
‘ if  you  will  ’ sort  of  conclusion  to  be  proven,  but  I want  you 
and  me  to  be  proven  : I mean  to  say  that  the  conclusion  will 
be  best  proven  if  there  be  no  ‘if.’ 

Well,  he  said,  I admit  that  justice  bears  a resemblance  to  Protagoras 
holiness,  for  there  is  always  some  point  of  view  in  which  admits  the 
everything  is  like  every  other  thing ; white  is  in  a certain  but  denies 
way  like  black,  and  hard  is  like  soft,  and  the  most  extreme  the  identity 
opposites  have  some  qualities  in  common;  even  the  parts  tues^ 
of  the  face  which,  as  we  were  saying  before,  are  distinct  and 
have  different  functions,  are  still  in  a certain  point  of  view 
similar,  and  one  of  them  is  like  another  of  them.  And  you 
may  prove  that  they  are  like  one  another  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple that  all  things  are  like  one  another ; and  yet  things 
which  are  alike  in  some  particular  ought  not  to  be  called 
alike,  nor  things  which  are  unlike  in  some  particular,  how- 
ever slight,  unlike. 

And  do  you  think,  I said  in  a tone  of  surprise,  that  justice 
and  holiness  have  but  a small  degree  of  likeness  ? 

Certainly  not ; any  more  than  I agree  with  what  I under- 
stand to  be  your  view. 

332  Well,  I said,  as  you  appear  to  have  a difficulty  about  this, 
let  us  take  another  of  the  examples  which  you  mentioned  in- 
stead. Do  you  admit  the  existence  of  folly  ? 


154 


The  dialectic  of  Socrates. 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

Protagoras 
is  drawn 
into 

making  the 
admission 
that  every- 
thing has 
but  one 
opposite. 


I do. 

And  is  not  wisdom  the  very  opposite  of  folly  ? 

That  is  true,  he  said. 

And  when  men  act  rightly  and  advantageously  they  seem 
to  you  to  be  temperate  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  temperance  makes  them  temperate  ? 

Certainly. 

And  they  who  do  not  act  rightly  act  foolishly,  and  in  acting 
thus  are  not  temperate  ? 

I agree,  he  said. 

Then  to  act  foolishly  is  the  opposite  of  acting  temperately  ? 
He  assented. 

And  foolish  actions  are  done  by  folly,  and  temperate  actions 
by  temperance  ? 

He  agreed. 

And  that  is  done  strongly  which  is  done  by  strength,  and 
that  which  is  weakly  done,  by  weakness  ? 

He  assented. 

And  that  which  is  done  with  swiftness  is  done  swiftly,  and 
that  which  is  done  with  slowness,  slowly  ? 

He  assented  again. 

And  that  which  is  done  in  the  same  manner,  is  done  by  the 
same  ; and  that  which  is  done  in  an  opposite  manner  by  the 
opposite  ? 

He  agreed. 

Once  more,  I said,  is  there  anything  beautiful  ? 

Yes. 

To  which  the  only  opposite  is  the  ugly  ? 

There  is  no  other. 

And  is  there  anything  good  ? 

There  is. 

To  which  the  only  opposite  is  the  evil  ? 

There  is  no  other. 

And  there  is  the  acute  in  sound  ? 

True. 

To  which  the  only  opposite  is  the  grave  ? 

There  is  no  other,  he  said,  but  that. 

Then  every  opposite  has  one  opposite  only  and  no  more  ? 
He  assented. 


The  dialectical  superiority  of  Socrates. 


1 55 


Then  now,  I said,  let  us  recapitulate  our  admissions. 
First  of  all  we  admitted  that  everything  has  one  opposite  and 
not  more  than  one  ? 

We  did  so. 

And  we  admitted  also  that  what  was  done  in  opposite  ways 
was  done  by  opposites  ? 

Yes. 

And  that  which  was  done  foolishly,  as  we  further  admitted, 
was  done  in  the  opposite  way  to  that  which  was  done 
temperately  ? 

Yes. 

And  that  which  was  done  temperately  was  done  by 
temperance,  and  that  which  was  done  foolishly  by  folly  ? 

He  agreed. 

And  that  which  is  done  in  opposite  ways  is  done  by 
opposites  ? 

Yes. 

And  one  thing  is  done  by  temperance,  and  quite  another 
thing  by  folly  ? 

Yes. 

And  in  opposite  ways  ? 

Certainly. 

And  therefore  by  opposites  then  folly  is  the  opposite  of 
temperance  ? 

Clearly. 

And  do  you  remember  that  folly  has  already  been  acknow- 
ledged by  us  to  be  the  opposite  of  wisdom  ? 

He  assented. 

And  we  said  that  everything  has  only  one  opposite  ? 

Yes. 

Then,  Protagoras,  which  of  the  two  assertions  shall  we 
renounce  ? One  says  that  everything  has  but  one  opposite  ; 
the  other  that  wisdom  is  distinct  from  temperance,  and  that 
both  of  them  are  parts  of  virtue  ; and  that  they  are  not  only 
distinct,  but  dissimilar,  both  in  themselves  and  in  their  func- 
tions, like  the  parts  of  a face.  Which  of  these  two  assertions 
shall  we  renounce  ? For  both  of  them  together  are  certainly 
not  in  harmony ; they  do  not  accord  or  agree  : for  how  can 
they  be  said  to  agree  if  everything  is  assumed  to  have  only 
one  opposite  and  not  more  than  one,  and  yet  folly,  which  is 


rrotagoras . 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


Thus,  if 
folly  has 
two  oppo- 
sites, wis- 
dom and 
temper- 
ance, those 
two  oppo- 
sites must 
be  the 
same. 


156 

Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


The  good 
is  the  ex- 
pedient ; 
yet  some 
things  in- 
expedient 
are  never- 
theless 
good. 


Protagoras  begins  to  grow  excited. 

one,  has  clearly  the  two  opposites — wisdom  and  temperance? 

Is  not  that  true,  Protagoras  ? What  else  would  you  say  ? 

He  assented,  but  with  great  reluctance. 

Then  temperance  and  wisdom  are  the  same,  as  before 
justice  and  holiness  appeared  to  us  to  be  nearly  the  same. 

And  now,  Protagoras,  I said,  we  must  finish  the  enquiry,  and 
not  faint.  Do  you  think  that  an  unjust  man  can  be  temperate 
in  his  injustice  ? 

I should  be  ashamed,  Socrates,  he  said,  to  acknowledge 
this,  which  nevertheless  many  may  be  found  to  assert. 

And  shall  I argue  with  them  or  with  you  ? I replied. 

I would  rather,  he  said,  that  you  should  argue  with  the 
many  first,  if  you  will. 

Whichever  you  please,  if  you  will  only  answer  me  and  say 
whether  you  are  of  their  opinion  or  not.  My  object  is  to  test 
the  validity  of  the  argument ; and  yet  the  result  may  be  that 
I who  ask  and  you  who  answer  may  both  be  put  on  our  trial. 

Protagoras  at  first  made  a show  of  refusing,  as  he  safd  that 
the  argument  was  not  encouraging  ; at  length,  he  consented 
to  answer. 

Now  then,  I said,  begin  at  the  beginning  and  answer  me. 

You  think  that  some  men  are  temperate,  and  yet  unjust  ? 

Yes,  he  said  ; let  that  be  admitted. 

And  temperance  is  good  sense  ? 

Yes. 

And  good  sense  is  good  counsel  in  doing  injustice  ? 

Granted. 

If  they  succeed,  I said,  or  if  they  do  not  succeed? 

If  they  succeed. 

And  you  would  admit  the  existence  of  goods  ? 

Yes. 

And  is  the  good  that  which  is  expedient  for  man  ? 

Yes,  indeed,  he  said:  and  there  are  some  things  which 
may  be  inexpedient,  and  yet  I call  them  good. 

I thought  that  Protagoras  was  getting  ruffled  and  excited  ; 
he  seemed  to  be  setting  himself  in  an  attitude  of  war.  Seeing 
this,  I minded  my  business,  and  gently  said 

When  you  say,  Protagoras,  that  things  inexpedient  are  334 
good,  do  you  mean  inexpedient  for  man  only,  or  inexpedient 
altogether  ? and  do  you  call  the  latter  good  ? 


More  Words  than  Matter. 


1 57 


Certainly  not  the  last,  he  replied ; for  I know  of  many 
things, — meats,  drinks,  medicines,  and  ten  thousand  other 
things,  which  are  inexpedient  for  man,  and  some  which  are 
expedient ; and  some  which  are  neither  expedient  nor  in- 
expedient for  man,  but  only  for  horses  ; and  some  for  oxen 
only,  and  some  for  dogs ; and  some  for  no  animals,  but  only 
for  trees ; and  some  for  the  roots  of  trees  and  not  for  their 
branches,  as  for  example,  manure,  which  is  a good  thing 
when  laid  about  the  roots  of  a tree,  but  utterly  destructive  if 
thrown  upon  the  shoots  and  young  branches ; or  I may 
instance  olive  oil,  which  is  mischievous  to  all  plants,  and 
generally  most  injurious  to  the  hair  of  every  animal  with  the 
exception  of  man,  but  beneficial  to  human  hair  and  to  the 
human  body  generally ; and  even  in  this  application  (so 
various  and  changeable  is  the  nature  of  the  benefit),  that 
which  is  the  greatest  good  to  the  outward  parts  of  a man,  is 
a very  great  evil  to  his  inward  parts  : and  for  this  reason 
physicians  always  forbid  their  patients  the  use  of  oil  in  their 
food,  except  in  very  small  quantities,  just  enough  to  extinguish 
the  disagreeable  sensation  of  smell  in  meats  and  sauces. 

When  he  had  given  this  answer,  the  company  cheered 
him.  And  I said  : Protagoras,  I have  a wretched  memory, 
and  when  any  one  makes  a long  speech  to  me  I never  re- 
member what  he  is  talking  about.  As  then,  if  I had  been 
deaf,  and  you  were  going  to  converse  with  me,  you  would 
have  had  to  raise  your  voice ; so  now,  having  such  a bad 
memory,  I will  ask  you  to  cut  your  answers  shorter,  if  you 
would  take  me  with  you. 

What  do  you  mean?  he  said  : how  am  I to  shorten  my 
answers  ? shall  I make  them  too  short  ? 

Certainly  not,  I said. 

But  short  enough  ? 

Yes,  I said. 

Shall  I answer  what  appears  to  me  to  be  short  enough,  or 
what  appears  to  you  to  be  short  enough  ? 

I have  heard,  I said,  that  you  can  speak  and  teach  others 
to  speak  about  the  same  things  at  such  length  that  words 
never  seemed  to  fail,  or  with  such  brevity  that  no  one  could 
335  use  fewer  of  them.  Please  therefore,  if  you  talk  with  me,  to 
adopt  the  latter  or  more  compendious  method. 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

Protagoras 
answers  in 
a lengthy 
manner, 


and  is  re- 
quested by 
Socrates, 
who  pre- 
tends to 
have  a bad 
memory, 
to  make 
his  answers 
shorter. 


158 


Socrates  and  Callias. 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras, 

Callias. 

As  Prota- 
goras 
declines  to 
adopt  his 
adversary’s 
method, 
Socrates 
rises  to 
depart, 


but  is 
detained 
by  Callias. 


Socrates 
would  be 
very  willing 
to  comply 
with  his 
wishes  if  he 
could. 


Socrates,  he  replied,  many  a battle  of  words  have  I fought, 
and  if  I had  followed  the  method  of  disputation  which  my 
adversaries  desired,  as  you  want  me  to  do,  I should  have 
been  no  better  than  another,  and  the  name  of  Protagoras 
would  have  been  nowhere. 

I saw  that  he  was  not  satisfied  with  his  previous  answers, 
and  that  he  would  not  play  the  part  of  answerer  any  more  if 
he  could  help ; and  I considered  that  there  was  no  call  upon 
me  to  continue  the  conversation  ; so  I said  : Protagoras,  I do 
not  wish  to  force  the  conversation  upon  you  if  you  had  rather 
not,  but  when  you  are  willing  to  argue  with  me  in  such  a 
way  that  I can  follow  you,  then  I will  argue  with  you.  Now 
you,  as  is  said  of  you  by  others  and  as  you  say  of  yourself, 
are  able  to  have  discussions  in  shorter  forms  of  speech  as  well 
as  in  longer,  for  you  are  a master  of  wisdom ; but  I cannot 
manage  these  long  speeches  : 1 only  wish  that  I could.  You, 
on  the  other  hand,  who  are  capable  of  either,  ought  to  speak 
shorter  as  I beg  you,  and  then  we  might  converse.  But  I see 
that  you  are  disinclined,  and  as  I have  an  engagement  which 
will  prevent  my  staying  to  hear  you  at  greater  length  (for  I 
have  to  be  in  another  place),  I will  depart ; although  I should 
have  liked  to  have  heard  you. 

Thus  I spoke,  and  was  rising  from  my  seat,  when  Callias 
seized  me  by  the  right  hand,  and  in  his  left  hand  caught  hold 
of  this  old  cloak  of  mine.  He  said  : We  cannot  let  you  go, 
Socrates,  for  if  you  leave  us  there  will  be  an  end  of  our  dis- 
cussions : I must  therefore  beg  you  to  remain,  as  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world  that  I should  like  better  than  to  hear 
you  and  Protagoras  discourse.  Do  not  deny  the  company 
this  pleasure. 

Now  I had  got  up,  and  was  in  the  act  of  departure.  Son 
of  Hipponicus,  I replied,  I have  always  admired,  and  do 
now  heartily  applaud  and  love  your  philosophical  spirit,  and 
I would  gladly  comply  with  your  request,  if  I could.  But 
the  truth  is  that  I cannot.  And  what  you  ask  is  as  great  an 
impossibility  to  me,  as  if  you  bade  me  run  a race  with  Ci  ison 
of  Himera,  when  in  his  prime,  or  with  some  one  of  the  long 
or  day  course  runners.  1 o such  a request  I should  repl} 
that  I would  fain  ask  the  same  of  my  own  legs  ; but  they 
refuse  to  comply.  And  therefore  if  you  want  to  see  Crison 


336 


Alcibiades,  Critias , and  Prodicus. 


159 


and  me  in  the  same  stadium,  you  must  bid  him  slacken  his 
speed  to  mine,  for  I cannot  run  quickly,  and  he  can  run 
slowly.  And  in  like  manner  if  you  want  to  hear  me  and 
Protagoras  discoursing,  you  must  ask  him  to  shorten  his 
answers,  and  keep  to  the  point,  as  he  did  at  first ; if  not, 
how  can  there  be  any  discussion?  For  discussion  is  one 
thing,  and  making  an  oration  is  quite  another,  in  my  humble 
opinion. 

But  you  see,  Socrates,  said  Callias,  that  Protagoras  may 
fairly  claim  to  speak  in  his  own  way,  just  as  you  claim  to 
speak  in  yours. 

Here  Alcibiades  interposed,  and  said  : That,  Callias,  is 
not  a true  statement  of  the  case.  For  our  friend  Socrates 
admits  that  he  cannot  make  a speech — in  this  he  yields 
the  palm  to  Protagoras  : but  I should  be  greatly  surprised  if 
he  yielded  to  any  living  man  in  the  power  of  holding  and 
apprehending  an  argument.  Now  if  Protagoras  will  make  a 
similar  admission,  and  confess  that  he  is  inferior  to  Socrates 
in  argumentative  skill,  that  is  enough  for  Socrates ; but 
if  he  claims  a superiority  in  argument  as  well,  let  him  ask 
and  answer — not,  when  a question  is  asked,  slipping  away 
from  the  point,  and  instead  of  answering,  making  a speech  at 
such  length  that  most  of  his  hearers  forget  the  question 
at  issue  (not  that  Socrates  is  likely  to  forget — I will  be 
bound  for  that,  although  he  may  pretend  in  fun  that  he 
has  a bad  memory).  And  Socrates  appears  to  me  to  be 
more  in  the  right  than  Protagoras ; that  is  my  view,  and 
every  man  ought  to  say  what  he  thinks. 

When  Alcibiades  had  done  speaking,  some  one— Critias,  I 
believe — went  on  to  say  : O Prodicus  and  Hippias,  Callias 
appears  to  me  to  be  a partisan  of  Protagoras  : and  this  led 
Alcibiades,  who  loves  opposition,  to  take  the  other  side. 
But  we  should  not  be  partisans  either  of  Socrates  or  of 
Protagoras;  let  us  rather  unite  in  entreating  both  of  them 
not  to  break  up  the  discussion. 

337  Prodicus  added  : That,  Critias,  seems  to  me  to  be  well 
said,  for  those  who  are  present  at  such  discussions  ought 
to  be  impartial  hearers  of  both  the  speakers ; remembering, 
however,  that  impartiality  is  not  the  same  as  equality,  for 
both  sides  should  be  impartially  heard,  and  yet  an  equal 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Callias, 

Alcibiades, 

Critias, 

Prodicus. 

He  cannot 
run,  but 
Protagoras 
can  walk. 

Yet  Prota- 
goras may 
claim  to 
speak  in 
his  own 
manner. 
Not  so, 
says  Alci- 
biades, 
unless  he 
will  admit 
his  inferi- 
ority to 
Socrates  in 
the  shorter 
method. 


Critias 
attempts  to 
reconcile 
Protagoras 
and 

Socrates. 


Prodicus  in 
a balanced 
form  of 
words 
advocates 
imparti- 
ality. 


i6o 


Hippias  advises  a co7npromise. 


Protagoras. 

Prodicus, 

Hippias. 


Hippias,  in 
a sententi- 
ous speech, 
advocates 
the  ap- 
pointment 
of  an 
arbiter. 


meed  should  not  be  assigned  to  both  of  them  ; but  to  the 
wiser  a higher  meed  should  be  given,  and  a lower  to  the  less 
wise.  And  I as  well  as  Critias  would  beg  you,  Protagoras 
and  Socrates,  to  grant  our  request,  which  is,  that  you  will 
argue  with  one  another  and  not  wrangle ; for  friends  argue 
with  friends  out  of  good-will,  but  only  adversaries  and 
enemies  wrangle.  And  then  our  meeting  will  be  delightful ; 
for  in  this  way  you,  who  are  the  speakers,  will  be  'most 
likely  to  win  esteem,  and  not  praise  only,  among  us  who 
are  your  audience ; for  esteem  is  a sincere  conviction  of 
the  hearers’  souls,  but  praise  is  often  an  insincere  expression 
of  men  uttering  falsehoods  contrary  to  their  conviction.  And 
thus  we  who  are  the  hearers  will  be  gratified  and  not 
pleased ; for  gratification  is  of  the  mind  when  receiving 
wisdom  and  knowledge,  but  pleasure  is  of  the  body  when 
eating  or  experiencing  some  other  bodily  delight.  Thus 
spoke  Prodicus,  and  many  of  the  company  applauded  his 
words. 

Hippias  the  sage  spoke  next.  He  said:  All  of  you  who 
are  here  present  I reckon  to  be  kinsmen  and  friends  and 
fellow-citizens,  by  nature  and  not  by  law ; for  by  nature 
like  is  akin  to  like,  whereas  law  is  the  t}Tant  of  mankind, 
and  often  compels  us  to  do  many  things  which  are  against 
nature.  How  great  would  be  the  disgrace  then,  if  we,  who 
know  the  nature  of  things,  and  are  the  wisest  of  the  Hel- 
lenes, and  as  such  are  met  together  in  this  city,  which  is 
the  metropolis  of  wisdom,  and  in  the  greatest  and  most 
glorious  house  of  this  city,  should  have  nothing  to  show 
worthy  of  this  height  of  dignity,  but  should  only  quarrel  with 
one  another  like  the  meanest  of  mankind!  I do  pray  and 
advise  you,  Protagoras,  and  you,  Socrates,  to  agree  upon 
a compromise.  Let  us  be  your  peacemakers.  And  do 
not  you,  Socrates,  aim  at  this  precise  and  extreme  brevity  in 
discourse,  if  Protagoras  objects,  but  loosen  and  let  go  the  338 
reins  of  speech,  that  your  words  may  be  grander  and  more 
becoming  to  you  '.  Neither  do  you,  Protagoras,  go  forth  on 
the  gale  with  every  sail  set  out  of  sight  of  land  into  an 
ocean  of  words,  but  let  there  be  a mean  observed  by  both 
of  you.  Do  as  I say.  And  let  me  also  persuade  you  to 

1 Reading  v/xtv. 


The  text  of  Simonides  and  its  interpretation. 

choose  an  arbiter  or  overseer  or  president ; he  will  keep 
watch  over  your  words  and  will  prescribe  their  proper 
length. 

This  proposal  was  received  by  the  company  with  universal 
approval ; Callias  said  that  he  would  not  let  me  off',  and  they 
begged  me  to  choose  an  arbiter.  But  I said  that  to  choose 
an  umpire  of  discourse  would  be  unseemly  ; for  if  the  person 
chosen  was  inferior,  then  the  inferior  or  worse  ought  not 
to  preside  over  the  better ; or  if  he  was  equal,  neither  would 
that  be  well ; for  he  who  is  our  equal  will  do  as  we  do,  and 
what  will  be  the  use  of  choosing  him  ? And  if  you  say,  ‘ Let 
us  have  a better  then,’— to  that  I answer  that  you  cannot  have 
any  one  who  is  wiser  than  Protagoras.  And  if  you  choose 
another  who  is  not  really  better,  and  whom  you  only  say  is 
better,  to  put  another  over  him  as  though  he  were  an  in- 
ferior person  would  be  an  unworthy  reflection  on  him  ; not 
that,  as  far  as  I am  concerned,  any  reflection  is  of  much  con- 
sequence to  me.  Let  me  tell  you  then  what  I will  do  in 
order  that  the  conversation  and  discussion  may  go  on  as  you 
desire.  If  Protagoras  is  not  disposed  to  answer,  let  him  ask 
and  I will  answer ; and  I will  endeavour  to  show  at  the  same 
time  how,  as  I maintain,  he  ought  to  answer  : and  when 
I have  answered  as  many  questions  as  he  likes  to  ask, 
let  him  in  like  manner  answer  me  ; and  if  he  seems  to  be  not 
very  ready  at  answering  the  precise  question  asked  of  him, 
you  and  I will  unite  in  entreating  him,  as  you  entreated  me, 
not  to  spoil  the  discussion.  And  this  will  require  no  special 
arbiter — all  of  you  shall  be  arbiters. 

This  was  generally  approved,  and  Protagoras,  though 
\ery  much  against  his  will,  was  obliged  to  agree  that  he 
would  ask  questions;  and  when  he  had  put  a sufficient 
number  of  them,  that  he  would  answer  in  his  turn  those 
which  he  was  asked  in  short  replies.  He  began  to  put  his 
questions  as  follows  : — 

I am  of  opinion,  Socrates,  he  said,  that  skill  in  poetry  is 
339  the  principal  part  of  education ; and  this  I conceive  to  be 
the  power  of  knowing  what  compositions  of  the  poets  are 
correct,  and  what  are  not,  and  how  they  are  to  be  dis- 
tinguished, and  of  explaining  when  asked  the  reason  of  the 
difference.  And  I propose  to  transfer  the  question  which 


1 6 r 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Caelias, 

Protagoras. 


But  there 
can  be  no 
arbiter  su- 
perior to 
Prota- 
goras, 
and  there- 
fore 

Socrates 
suggests 
that  Prota- 
goras shall 
ask,  and 
he  will 
answer  ; 
and  when 
he  is  tired 
of  asking, 
Socrates 
will  askand 
Protagoras 
shall 
answer. 


Protagoras 
reluctantly 
assents, 
and  pro- 
poses to 
base  his 
questions 
on  a pas- 
sage in  Si- 
monides. 


VOL.  I. 


M 


i62 


The  interpretation  of  Simonides. 

Protagoras,  you  and  I have  been  discussing  to  the  domain  of  poetry ; we 
Socrates,  will  speak  as  before  of  virtue,  but  in  reference  to  a passage 
Protagoras.  a p0et>  Now  Simonides  says  to  Scopas  the  son  of  Creon 
the  Thessalian  : — 

‘Hardly  on  the  one  hand  can  a man  become  truly  good,  built  four-square 
in  hands  and  feet  and  mind,  a work  without  a flaw.’ 

Do  you  know  the  poem  ? or  shall  I repeat  the  whole  ?, 

There  is  no  need,  I said  ; for  I am  perfectly  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  ode, — I have  made  a careful  study  of  it. 

Very  well,  he  said.  And  do  you  think  that  the  ode  is  a 
good  composition,  and  true? 

Yes,  I said,  both  good  and  true. 

But  if  there  is  a contradiction,  can  the  composition  be 
good  or  true  ? 

No,  not  in  that  case,  I replied. 

And  is  there  not  a contradiction  ? he  asked.  Reflect. 

Well,  my  friend,  I have  reflected. 

And  does  not  the  poet  proceed  to  say,  ' I do  not  agree 
with  the  word  of  Pittacus,  albeit  the  utterance  of  a wise 
man  : Hardly  can  a man  be  good  ?’  Now  you  will  observe 
that  this  is  said  by  the  same  poet. 

I know  it. 

And  do  you  think,  he  said,  that  the  two  sayings  are  con- 
sistent ? 

Yes,  1 said,  I think  so  (at  the  same  time  I could  not  help 
fearing  that  there  might  be  something  in  what  he  said). 
And  you  think  otherwise  ? 

There  is  an  Why,  he  said,  how  can  he  be  consistent  in  both  ? First  of 
apparent  ^11,  premising  as  his  own  thought,  ‘ Hardly  can  a man 

diction  in  become  truly  good  ; ’ and  then  a little  further  on  in  the  poem, 

the  words  forgetting,  and  blaming  Pittacus  and  refusing  to  agree  with 

defTr  him,  when  he  says,  ‘Hardly  can  a man  be  good,’  which  is 
blames  very  same  thing.  And  yet  when  he  blames  him  who 

also1  hC  says  the  same  with  himself,  he  blames  himself ; so  that  he 

affirms.  must  be  wrong  either  in  his  first  or  his  second  assertion. 

Many  of  the  audience  cheered  and  applauded  this.  And  I 
felt  at  first  giddy  and  faint,  as  if  I had  received  a blow  from 
the  hand  of  an  expert  boxer,  when  I heard  his  words  and 
the  sound  of  the  cheering  ; and  to  confess  the  truth,  I wanted 
to  get  time,  to  think  what  the  meaning  of  the  poet  really  was. 


Prodicus  to  the  rescue. 


16 


So  I turned  to  Prodicus  and  called  him.  Prodicus,  I said, 
Simonides  is  a countryman  of  yours,  and  you  ought  to  come 
34°  to  his  aid.  I must  appeal  to  you,  like  the  river  Scamander 
in  Homer,  who,  when  beleaguered  by  Achilles,  summons  the 
Simoi's  to  aid  him,  saying  : 

‘ Brother  dear,  let  us  both  together  stay  the  force  of  the  hero  l.’ 

And  I summon  you,  for  I am  afraid  that  Protagoras  will 
make  an  end  of  Simonides.  Now  is  the  time  to  rehabilitate 
Simonides,  by  the  application  of  your  philosophy  of  syno- 
nyms, which  enables  you  to  distinguish  'will’  and  'wish,’ 
and  make  other  charming  distinctions  like  those  which  you 
drew  just  now.  And  I should  like  to  know  whether  you 
would  agree  with  me ; for  I am  of  opinion  that  there  is  no 
contradiction  in  the  words  of  Simonides.  And  first  of  all 
I wish  that  you  would  say  whether,  in  your  opinion, 
Prodicus,  ‘being’  is  the  same  as  ‘becoming.’ 

Not  the  same,  certainly,  replied  Prodicus. 

Did  not  Simonides  first  set  forth,  as  his  own  view,  that 
‘ Hardly  can  a man  become  truly  good  ’ ? 

Quite  right,  said  Prodicus. 

And  then  he  blames  Pittacus,  not,  as  Protagoras  imagines, 
for  repeating  that  which  he  says  himself,  but  for  saying 
something  different  from  himself.  Pittacus  does  not  say  as 
Simonides  says,  that  hardly  can  a man  become  good,  but 
hardly  can  a man  be  good  : and  our  friend  Prodicus  would 
maintain  that  being,  Protagoras,  is  not  the  same  as  becom- 
ing ; and  if  they  are  not  the  same,  then  Simonides  is  not 
inconsistent  with  himself.  I dare  say  that  Prodicus  and 
many  others  would  say,  as  Hesiod  says, 

‘ On  the  one  hand,  hardly  can  a man  become  good, 

For  the  gods  have  made  virtue  the  reward  of  toil ; 

But  on  the  other  hand,  when  you  have  climbed  the  height. 

Then,  to  retain  virtue,  however  difficult  the  acquisition,  is  easy2.’ 

Prodicus  heard  and  approved ; but  Protagoras  said  : 
Your  correction,  Socrates,  involves  a greater  error  than  is 
contained  in  the  sentence  which  you  are  correcting. 

Alas ! I said,  Protagoras ; then  I am  a sorry  physician, 
and  do  but  aggravate  a disorder  which  I am  seeking  to  cure. 


Protagoras . 

Socrates, 
Prodicus, 
Protaco  ras. 


But  the  in- 
consistency 
is  not  a 
real  one  ; 
for  ‘ being  ’ 
is  not  the 
same  as' be- 
coming.' 


Simonides 
could  never 
have  meant 
to  say  that 
virtue  can 
be  easily 
possessed. 


1 II.  xxi.  308. 


3 Works  and  Days,  264  foil. 


M 2 


164 


Protagoras . 

Socrates, 

Prodicus, 

Protagoras. 


Socrates 
has  learned 
from  Pro- 
dicus that 
‘ hard  ' 
means 
‘ evil.’ 


Nonsense, 
says  Prota- 
goras. 


Socrates  makes  fun  of  Protagoras. 

Such  is  the  fact,  he  said. 

How  so  ? I asked. 

The  poet,  he  replied,  could  never  have  made  such  a 
mistake  as  to  say  that  virtue,  which  in  the  opinion  of  all  men 
is  the  hardest  of  all  things,  can  be  easily  retained. 

Well,  I said,  and  how  fortunate  are  we  in  having  Prodicus 
among  us,  at  the  right  moment ; for  he  has  a wisdom,  Pro- 
tagoras, which,  as  I imagine,  is  more  than  human  and  of 
very  ancient  date,  and  may  be  as  old  as  Simonides  or  even  341 
older.  Learned  as  you  are  in  many  things,  you  appear  to 
know  nothing  of  this ; but  I know,  for  I am  a disciple  of  his. 
And  now,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  you  do  not  understand  the 
word  ‘ hard  ’ (xaXe7iw)  in  the  sense  which  Simonides  intended  ; 
and  I must  correct  you,  as  Prodicus  corrects  me  when  I use 
the  word  ‘awful’  (Seivov)  as  a term  of  praise.  If  I say  that 
Protagoras  or  any  one  else  is  an  ‘awfully’  wise  man,  he  asks 
me  if  I am  not  ashamed  of  calling  that  which  is  good  ‘ awful  ’ ; 
and  then  he  explains  to  me  that  the  term  ‘ awful  ’ is  alwa}fs 
taken  in  a bad  sense,  and  that  no  one  speaks  of  being  ‘awfulty’ 
healthy  or  wealthy,  or  of  ‘ awful  ’ peace,  but  of  ‘ awful  ’ disease, 
‘awful ’war,  ‘awful’  poverty,  meaning  by  the  term  ‘awful,’ 
evil.  And  I think  that  Simonides  and  his  countrymen  the 
Ceans,  when  they  spoke  of  ‘hard’  meant  ‘evil,’  or  some- 
thing which  you  do  not  understand.  Let  us  ask  Prodicus, 
for  he  ought  to  be  able  to  answer  questions  about  the  dialect 
of  Simonides.  What  did  he  mean,  Prodicus,  by  the  term 
‘ hard  ’ ? 

Evil,  said  Prodicus. 

And  therefore,  I said,  Prodicus,  he  blames  Pittacus  for 
saying,  ‘ Hard  is  the  good,’  just  as  if  that  were  equivalent  to 
saying,  Evil  is  the  good. 

Yes,  he  said,  that  was  certainly  his  meaning ; and  he  is 
twitting  Pittacus  with  ignorance  of  the  use  of  terms,  which  in 
a Lesbian,  who  has  been  accustomed  to  speak  a barbarous 
language,  is  natural. 

Do  you  hear,  Protagoras,  I asked,  what  our  friend  Prodicus 
is  saying  ? And  have  you  an  answer  tor  him  ? 

You  are  entirely  mistaken,  Prodicus,  said  Protagoras ; and 
I know  very  well  that  Simonides  in  using  the  word  ‘hard  ’ 
meant  what  all  of  us  mean,  not  evil,  but  that  which  is  not 


His  own  interpretation  of  the  riddle. 

easy — that  which  takes  a great  deal  of  trouble  : of  this  I 
am  positive. 

I said : I also  incline  to  believe,  Protagoras,  that  this  was 
the  meaning  of  Simonides,  of  which  our  friend  Prodicus  was 
very  well  aware,  but  he  thought  that  he  would  make  fun,  and 
try  if  you  could  maintain  your  thesis ; for  that  Simonides 
could  never  have  meant  the  other  is  clearly  proved  by  the 
context,  in  which  he  says  that  God  only  has  this  gift.  Now 
he  cannot  surely  mean  to  say  that  to  be  good  is  evil,  when 
he  afterwards  proceeds  to  say  that  God  only  has  this  gift, 
and  that  this  is  the  attribute  of  him  and  of  no  other.  For  if 
this  be  his  meaning,  Prodicus  would  impute  to  Simonides  a 
character  of  recklessness  which  is  very  unlike  his  country- 
342  men.  And  I should  like  to  tell  you,  I said,  what  I imagine 
to  be  the  real  meaning  of  Simonides  in  this  poem,  if  you  will 
test  what,  in  your  way  of  speaking,  would  be  called  my  skill 
in  poetry ; or  if  you  would  rather,  I will  be  the  listener. 

To  this  proposal  Protagoras  replied  : As  you  please  ; — and 
Hippias,  Prodicus,  and  the  others  told  me  by  all  means  to 
do  as  I proposed. 

Then  now,  I said,  I will  endeavour  to  explain  to  you  my 
opinion  about  this  poem  of  Simonides.  There  is  a very 
ancient  philosophy  which  is  more  cultivated  in  Crete  and 
Lacedaemon  than  in  any  other  part  of  Hellas,  and  there  are 
more  philosophers  in  those  countries  than  anywhere  else  in 
the  world.  This,  however,  is  a secret  which  the  Lacedae- 
monians deny ; and  they  pretend  to  be  ignorant,  just  because 
they  do  not  wish  to  have  it  thought  that  they  rule  the  world 
by  wisdom,  like  the  Sophists  of  whom  Protagoras  was  speak- 
ing, and  not  by  valour  of  arms ; considering  that  if  the 
reason  of  their  superiority  were  disclosed,  all  men  would  be 
practising  their  wisdom.  And  this  secret  of  theirs  has 
never  been  discovered  by  the  imitators  of  Lacedaemonian 
fashions  in  other  cities,  who  go  about  with  their  ears  bruised 
in  imitation  of  them,  and  have  the  caestus  bound  on  their 
arms,  and  are  always  in  training,  and  wear  short  cloaks;  for 
they  imagine  that  these  are  the  practices  which  have  enabled 
the  Lacedaemonians  to  conquer  the  other  Hellenes.  Now 
when  the  Lacedaemonians  want  to  unbend  and  hold  free 
conversation  with  their  wise  men,  and  are  no  longer  satisfied 


165 

Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

We  were 
only 
making 
trial  of  you, 
replies 
Socrates  ; 
but  as  you 
are  not  to 
be  taken 
in,  shall  I 
offer  an 
interpre- 
tation ? 


The  true 
ancient 
philosophy 
is  to  be 
found,  not 
in  the  long 
discourses 
of  the 
Sophists, 


Pittacus  and  Simonides . 


1 66 


Protagoras. 

Socrates. 

but  in  the 
pregnant 
brevity 
of  the 
Lacedae- 
monians. 


with  mere  secret  intercourse,  they  drive  out  all  these  lacon- 
izers,  and  any  other  foreigners  who  may  happen  to  be  in 
their  country,  and  they  hold  a philosophical  seance  unknown 
to  strangers ; and  they  themselves  forbid  their  young 
men  to  go  out  into  other  cities — in  this  they  are  like  the 
Cretans — in  order  that  they  may  not  unlearn  the  lessons 
which  they  have  taught  them.  And  in  Lacedaemon  and 
Crete  not  only  men  but  also  women  have  a pride  in  their 
high  cultivation.  And  hereby  you  may  know  that  I am 
right  in  attributing  to  the  Lacedaemonians  this  excellence  in 
philosophy  and  speculation  : If  a man  converses  with  the 
most  ordinary  Lacedaemonian,  he  will  find  him  seldom  good 
for  much  in  general  conversation,  but  at  any  point  in  the 
discourse  he  will  be  darting  out  some  notable  saying,  terse 
and  full  of  meaning,  with  unerring  aim ; and  the  person  with 
whom  he  is  talking  seems  to  be  like  a child  in  his  hands. 
And  many  of  our  own  age  and  of  former  ages  have  noted 
that  the  true  Lacedaemonian  type  of  character  has  the  love 
of  philosophy  even  stronger  than  the  love  of  gymnastics  ; 
they  are  conscious  that  only  a perfectly  educated  man  is 
capable  of  uttering  such  expressions.  Such  were  Thales  of  343 
Miletus,  and  Pittacus  of  Mitylene,  and  Bias  of  Priene,  and 
our  own  Solon,  and  Cleobulus  the  Lindian,  and  Myson  the 
Chenian  ; and  seventh  in  the  catalogue  of  wise  men  was  the 
Lacedaemonian  Chilo.  All  these  were  lovers  and  emulators 
and  disciples  of  the  culture  of  the  Lacedaemonians,  and  any 
one  may  perceive  that  their  wisdom  was  of  this  character ; 
consisting  of  short  memorable  sentences,  which  they  severally 
uttered.  And  they  met  together  and  dedicated  in  the  temple 
of  Apollo  at  Delphi,  as  the  first-fruits  of  their  wisdom,  the 
far-famed  inscriptions,  which  are  in  all  men’s  mouths, 

1 Know  thyself,’  and  ‘ Nothing  too  much.’ 

Why  do  I say  all  this?  I am  explaining  that  this  Lacedae- 
monian brevity  was  the  style  of  primitive  philosophy.  Now 
there  was  a saying  of  Pittacus  which  was  privately  circulated 
and  received  the  approbation  of  the  wise,  ‘Hard  is  it  to  be 
good.’  And  Simonides,  who  was  ambitious  of  the  fame  of 
wisdom,  was  aware  that  if  he  could  overthrow  this  saying, 
then,  as  if  he  had  won  a victory  over  some  famous  athlete, 
he  would  carry  off  the  palm  among  his  contemporaries. 


Pittacus  and  Simonides . 


167 


And  if  I am  not  mistaken,  he  composed  the  entire  poem 
with  the  secret  intention  of  damaging  Pittacus  and  his  saying. 

Let  us  all  unite  in  examining  his  words,  and  see  whether 
I am  speaking  the  truth.  Simonides  must  have  been  a 
lunatic,  if,  in  the  very  first  words  of  the  poem,  wanting  to 
say  only  that  to  become  good  is  hard,  he  inserted  pev,  ' on  the 
one  hand  ’ ['on  the  one  hand  to  become  good  is  hard  ] ; there 
would  be  no  reason  for  the  introduction  of  pev,  unless  you 
suppose  him  to  speak  with  a hostile  reference  to  the  words  of 
Pittacus.  Pittacus  is  saying  ‘ Hard  is  it  to  be  good,’  and  he, 
in  refutation  of  this  thesis,  rejoins  that  the  truly  hard  thing, 
Pittacus,  is  to  become  good,  not  joining  'truly’  with  ‘good,’ 
but  with  ‘ hard.’  Not,  that  the  hard  thing  is  to  be  truly  good, 
as  though  there  were  some  truly  good  men,  and  there  were 
others  who  were  good  but  not  truly  good  (this  would  be  a 
very  simple  observation,  and  quite  unworthy  of  Simonides) ; 
but  you  must  suppose  him  to  make  a trajection  of  the  word 
‘ truly  ’ (aXn&'cBs),  construing  the  saying  of  Pittacus  thus  (and 
let  us  imagine  Pittacus  to  be  speaking  and  Simonides 
answering  him):  ‘O  my  friends,’  says  Pittacus,  'hard  is  it  to 
344  be  good,’  and  Simonides  answers,  ‘ In  that,  Pittacus,  you  are 
mistaken ; the  difficulty  is  not  to  be  good,  but  on  the  one 
hand,  to  become  good,  four-square  in  hands  and  feet  and 
mind,  without  a flaw— that  is  hard  truly.’  This  way  of  read- 
ing the  passage  accounts  for  the  insertion  of  /Li>,  ‘ on  the 
one  hand,’  and  for  the  position  at  the  end  of  the  clause  of 
the  word  ‘truly,’  and  all  that  follows  shows  this  to  be  the 
meaning.  A great  deal  might  be  said  in  praise  of  the  details 
of  the  poem,  which  is  a charming  piece  of  workmanship,  and 
very  finished,  but  such  minutiae  would  be  tedious.  I should 
like,  however,  to  point  out  the  general  intention  of  the  poem, 
which  is  certainly  designed  in  every  part  to  be  a refutation 
of  the  saying  of  Pittacus.  For  he  speaks  in  what  follows  a 
little  further  on  as  if  he  meant  to  argue  that  although  there 
is  a difficulty  in  becoming  good,  yet  this  is  possible  for  a 
time,  and  only  for  a time.  But  having  become  good,  to 
remain  in  a good  state  and  be  good,  as  you,  Pittacus,  affirm, 
is  not  possible,  and  is  not  granted  to  man  ; God  only  has 
this  blessing;  ‘but  man  cannot  help  being  bad  when  the 
force  of  circumstances  overpowers  him.’  Now  whom  does 


Protagoras. 

Socrates. 

Socrates 
proposes 
an  expla- 
nation, 
ingenious 
rather  than 
true,  of  the 
verses  of 
Simonides. 


He  seems 
to  be  a- 
dopting  the 
Sophists’ 
arts  of 
interpre- 
tation. 


i68 


Protagoras. 

Socrates. 


Socrates  by 
the  help  of 
logic  and 
rhetoric 
strives  to 
elicit  the 
meaning  of 
Simonides. 


Socrates  a master  of  Sophistical  arts. 

the  foice  of  circumstance  overpower  in  the  command  of  a 
vessel  ? not  the  private  individual,  for  he  is  always  over- 
powered ; and  as  one  who  is  already  prostrate  cannot  be 
overthrown,  and  only  he  who  is  standing  upright  but  not  he 
who  is  prostrate  can  be  laid  prostrate,  so  the  force  of  circum- 
stances can  only  overpower  him  who,  at  some  time  or  other, 
has  resources,  and  not  him  who  is  at  all  times  helpless. 
The  descent  of  a great  storm  may  make  the  pilot  helpless, 
or  the  severity  of  the  season  the  husbandman  or  the  physician ; 
for  the  good  may  become  bad,  as  another  poet  witnesses : — 

‘ The  good  are  sometimes  good  and  sometimes  bad.’ 

But  the  bad  does  not  become  bad ; he  is  always  bad.  So 
that  when  the  force  of  circumstances  overpowers  the  man  of 
resources  and  skill  and  virtue,  then  he  cannot  help  being 
bad.  And  you,  Pittacus,  are  saying,  ‘ Hard  is  it  to  be  good.’ 
Now  there  is  a difficulty  in  becoming  good  ; and  yet  this  is 
possible : but  to  be  good  is  an  impossibility— 

‘ For  he  who  does  well  is  the  good  man,  and  he  who  does  ill  is  the  bad.’ 

But  what  sort  of  doing  is  good  in  letters  ? and  what  sort  of  345 
doing  makes  a man  good  in  letters  ? Clearly  the  knowing  of 
them.  And  what  sort  of  well-doing  makes  a man  a good 
physician  ? Clearly  the  knowledge  of  the  art  of  healing  the 
sick.  ‘ But  he  who  does  ill  is  the  bad.’  Now  who  becomes 
a bad  physician  ? Clearly  he  who  is  in  the  first  place  a 
physician,  and  in  the  second  place  a good  physician  ; for  he 
may  become  a bad  one  also  : but  none  of  us  unskilled 
individuals  can  by  any  amount  of  doing  ill  become  physi- 
cians, any  more  than  we  can  become  carpenters  or  anything 
of  that  sort ; and  he  who  by  doing  ill  cannot  become  a 
physician  at  all,  clearly  cannot  become  a bad  physician.  In 
like  manner  the  good  may  become  deteriorated  by  time,  or 
toil,  or  disease,  or  other  accident  (the  only  real  doing  ill  is 
to  be  deprived  of  knowledge),  but  the  bad  man  will  never 
become  bad,  for  he  is  always  bad  ; and  if  he  were  to  become 
bad,  he  must  previously  have  been  good.  Thus  the  words 
of  the  poem  tend  to  show  that  on  the  one  hand  a man 
cannot  be  continuously  good,  but  that  he  may  become  good 
and  may  also  become  bad  ; and  again  that 

‘ They  are  the  best  for  the  longest  time  whom  the  gods  love.’ 


169 


The  sophistries  of  Socrates. 

All  this  relates  to  Pittacus,  as  is  further  proved  by  the 
sequel.  For  he  adds  : — 

‘ Therefore  I will  not  throw  away  my  span  of  life  to  no  purpose  in  searching 
after  the  impossible,  hoping  in  vain  to  find  a perfectly  faultless  man  among 
those  who  partake  of  the  fruit  of  the  broad-bosomed  earth  : if  I find  him,  I 
will  send  you  word.’ 

(this  is  the  vehement  way  in  which  he  pursues  his  attack 
upon  Pittacus  throughout  the  whole  poem) : 

4 But  him  who  does  no  evil,  voluntarily  I praise  and  love ; — not  even  the 
gods  war  against  necessity.’ 

All  this  has  a similar  drift,  for  Simonides  was  not  so  ignorant 
as  to  say  that  he  praised  those  who  did  no  evil  voluntarily, 
as  though  there  were  some  who  did  evil  voluntarily.  For 
no  wise  man,  as  I believe,  will  allow  that  any  human  being 
errs  voluntarily,  or  voluntarily  does  evil  and  dishonourable 
actions ; but  they  are  very  well  aware  that  all  who  do  evil 
and  dishonourable  things  do  them  against  their  will.  And 
Simonides  never  says  that  he  praises  him  who  does- no  evil 
voluntarily;  the  word  ‘ voluntarily  ’ applies  to  himself.  For 
346  he  was  under  the  impression  that  a good  man  might  often 
compel  himself  to  love  and  praise  another1,  and  to  be  the 
friend  and  approver  of  another ; and  that  there  might  be  an 
involuntary  love,  such  as  a man  might  feel  to  an  unnatural 
father  or  mother,  or  country,  or  the  like.  Now  bad  men, 
when  their  parents  or  country  have  any  defects,  look  on  them 
with  malignant  joy,  and  find  fault  with  them  and  expose  and 
denounce  them  to  others,  under  the  idea  that  the  rest  of 
mankind  will  be  less  likely  to  take  themselves  to  task  and 
accuse  them  of  neglect;  and  they  blame  their  defects  far 
more  than  they  deserve,  in  order  that  the  odium  which  is 
necessarily  incurred  by  them  may  be  increased  : but  the 
good  man  dissembles  his  feelings,  and  constrains  himself  to 
praise  them  ; and  if  they  have  wronged  him  and  he  is  angry, 
he  pacifies  his  anger  and  is  reconciled,  and  compels  himself 
to  love  and  praise  his  own  flesh  and  blood.  And  Simonides, 
as  is  probable,  considered  that  he  himself  had  often  had  to 
praise  and  magnify  a tyrant  or  the  like,  much  against  his 
will,  and  he  also  wishes  to  imply  to  Pittacus  that  he  does 
not  censure  him  because  he  is  censorious. 

1 Reading  ipiAelv  koX  Zirutvav  ku\  <l>tAor  nvl  k.t.A. 


Protagoras . 
Socrates. 

The  entire 
poem  is 
really  a 
polemic 
against 
Pittacus. 


1 70 


Hippias  and  Alcibiades. 


Protagoras . 

Socrates, 

Hippias, 

Alcibiades. 


Hippias 
thinks  this 
an  excel- 
lent inter- 
pretation 
of  the 
poem  ; but 
he  has  a 
still  better 
one  of  his 
own. 


‘ For  I am  satisfied,’  he. says,  'when  a man  is  neither  bad  nor  very  stupid  ; 
and  when  he  knows  justice  (which  is  the  health  of  states),  and  is  of  sound 
mind,  I will  find  no  fault  with  him,  for  I am  not  given  to  finding  fault,  and 
there  are  innumerable  fools’ 

(implying  that  if  he  delighted  in  censure  he  might  have 
abundant  opportunity  of  finding  fault). 

‘ All  things  are  good  with  which  evil  is  unmingled.’ 

In  these  latter  words  he  does  not  mean  to  say  that  all  things 
are  good  which  have  no  evil  in  them,  as  you  might  say  ‘All 
things  are  'white  which  have  no  black  in  them,’  for  that 
would  be  ridiculous  ; but  he  means  to  say  that  he  accepts 
and  finds  no  fault  with  the  moderate  or  intermediate  state. 

[‘  I do  not  hope,’  he  says,  ‘ to  find  a perfectly  blameless  man  among  those 
who  partake  of  the  fruits  of  the  broad-bosomed  earth  (if  I find  him,  I will 
send  you  word) ; in  this  sense  I praise  no  man.  But  he  who  is  moderately 
good,  and  does  no  evil,  is  good  enough  for  me,  who  love  and  approve  every 
one  ’] 

(and  here  observe  that  he  uses  a Lesbian  word,  cWw/pi 
(approve),  because  he  is  addressing  Pittacus, — 

‘ Who  love  and  approve  every  one  voluntarily , who  does  no  evil : ' 

and  that  the  stop  should  be  put  after  ‘voluntarily’);  ‘but 
there  are  some  whom  I involuntarily  praise  and  love.  And 
you,  Pittacus,  I would  never  have  blamed,  if  you  had  spoken  347 
what  was  moderately  good  and  true ; but  I do  blame  you 
because,  putting  on  the  appearance  of  truth,  you  are  speaking 
falsely  about  the  highest  matters.’— And  this,  I said,  Pro- 
dicus  and  Protagoras,  I take  to  be  the  meaning  of  Simonides 
in  this  poem. 

Hippias  said  : I think,  Socrates,  that  you  have  given  a 
very  good  explanation  of  the  poem ; but  I have  also  an 
excellent  interpretation  of  my  own  which  I will  propound  to 
you,  if  you  will  allow  me. 

Nay,  Hippias,  said  Alcibiades  ; not  now,  but  at  some  other 
time.  At  present  we  must  abide  by  the  compact  which  was 
made  between  Socrates  and  Protagoras,  to  the  effect  that  as 
long  as  Protagoras  is  willing  to  ask,  Socrates  should  answer  ; 
or  that  if  he  would  rather  answer,  then  that  Socrates  should 

ask. 

I said  : I wish  Protagoras  either  to  ask  or  answer  as  he  is 


Renezval  of  the  argument. 

inclined  ; but  I would  rather  have  done  with  poems  and 
odes,  if  he  does  not  object,  and  come  back  to  the  question 
about  which  I was  asking  you  at  first,  Protagoras,  and  by 
your  help  make  an  end  of  that.  The  talk  about  the  poets 
seems  to  me  like  a commonplace  entertainment  to  which  a 
vulgar  company  have  recourse  ; who,  because  they  are  not 
able  to  converse  or  amuse  one  another,  while  they  are 
drinking,  with  the  sound  of  their  own  voices  and  conver- 
sation, by  reason  of  their  stupidity,  raise  the  price  of  flute- 
girls  in  the  market,  hiring  for  a great  sum  the  voice  of  a 
flute  instead  of  their  own  breath,  to  be  the  medium  of 
intercourse  among  them  : but  where  the  company  are  real 
gentlemen  and  men  of  education,  you  will  see  no  flute-girls, 
nor  dancing-girls,  nor  harp-girls ; and  they  have  no  nonsense 
or  games,  but  are  contented  with  one  another’s  conversation, 
of  which  their  own  voices  are  the  medium,  and  which  they 
carry  on  by  turns  and  in  an  orderly  manner,  even  though 
they  are  very  liberal  in  their  potations.  And  a company 
like  this  of  ours,  and  men  such  as  we  profess  to  be,  do  not 
require  the  help  of  another’s  voice,  or  of  the  poets  whom  you 
cannot  interrogate  about  the  meaning  of  what  they  are 
saying ; people  who  cite  them  declaring,  some  that  the  poet 
has  one  meaning,  and  others  that  he  has  another,  and  the 
point  which  is  in  dispute  can  never  be  decided.  This  sort  of 
entertainment  they  decline,  and  prefer  to  talk  with  one 
another,  and  put  one  another  to  the  proof  in  conversation. 

348  And  these  are  the  models  which  I desire  that  you  and  I 
should  imitate.  Leaving  the  poets,  and  keeping  to  ourselves, 
let  us  try  the  mettle  of  one  another  and  make  proof  of  the 
truth  in  conversation.  If  you  have  a mind  to  ask,  I am  ready 
. to  answer ; or  if  you  would  rather,  do  you  answer,  and  give 
me  the  opportunity  of  resuming  and  completing  our  un- 
finished argument. 

I made  these  and  some  similar  observations ; but  Pro- 
tagoras would  not  distinctly  say  which  he  would  do. 
Thereupon  Alcibiades  turned  to  Callias,  and  said  : — Do  you 
think,  Callias,  that  Protagoras  is  fair  in  refusing  to  say 
whether  he  will  or  will  not  answer?  for  I certainly  think 
that  he  is  unfair ; he  ought  either  to  proceed  with  the 
argument,  or  distinctly  to  refuse  to  proceed,  that  we  may 


171 

Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Alcibiades. 

He  is 
prevented 
from  inter- 
rupting by 
Alcibiades. 
Socrates 
would 
rather  have 
done  with 
the  poets 
and  return 
to  the 
argument. 


I 72 

Protagoras. 

Alcibiades, 

Socrates. 

Protagoras 
is  com- 
pelled to 
resume  the 
argument. 


Half 
ironical 
eulogium 
of  Prota- 
goras. 


The  praises  of  Protagoras. 

know  his  intention  ; and  then  Socrates  will  be  able  to 
discourse  with  some  one  else,  and  the  rest  of  the  company 
will  be  free  to  talk  with  one  another. 

I think  that  Protagoras  was  really  made  ashamed  by  these 
words  of  Alcibiades,  and  when  the  prayers  of  Callias  and  the 
company  were  superadded,  he  was  at  last  induced  to  argue, 
and  said  that  I might  ask  and  he  would  answer. 

So  I said  : Do  not  imagine,  Protagoras,  that  I have  any 
other  interest  in  asking  questions  of  you  but  that  of  clearing 
up  my  own  difficulties.  For  I think  that  Homer  was  very 
right  in  saying  that 

‘ When  two  go  together,  one  sees  before  the  other 

for  all  men  who  have  a companion  are  readier  in  deed,  word, 
or  thought ; but  if  a man 

‘ Sees  a thing  when  he  is  alone,’ 

he  goes  about  straightway  seeking  until  he  finds  some  one  to 
whom  he  may  show  his  discoveries,  and  who  may  confirm 
him  in  them.  And  I would  rather  hold  discourse  with  you 
than  with  any  one,  because  I think  that  no  man  has  a better 
understanding  of  most  things  which  a good  man  may  be 
expected  to  understand,  and  in  particular  of  virtue.  For 
who  is  there,  but  you  ? — who  not  only  claim  to  be  a good 
man  and  a gentleman,  for  many  are  this,  and  yet  have  not 
the  power  of  making  others  good — whereas  you  are  not  only 
good  yourself,  but  also  the  cause  of  goodness  in  others. 
Moreover  such  confidence  have  you  in  yourself,  that  although 
other  Sophists  conceal  their  profession,  you  proclaim  in  the 
face  of  Hellas  that  you  are  a Sophist  or  teacher  of  virtue  and 
education,  and  are  the  first  who  demanded  pay  in  return. 
How  then  can  I do  otherwise  than  invite  you  to  the  349 
examination  of  these  subjects,  and  ask  questions  and  consult 
with  you  ? I must,  indeed.  And  I should  like  once  more  to 
have  my  memory  refreshed  by  you  about  the  questions  which 
I was  asking  you  at  first,  and  also  to  have  your  help  in 
considering  them.  If  I am  not  mistaken  the  question  was 
this : Are  wisdom  and  temperance  and  courage  and  justice 
and  holiness  five  names  of  the  same  thing  ? or  has  each  of 


1 II.  x.  224. 


173 


Protagoras  in  the  hands  of  Socrates. 

the  names  a separate  underlying  essence  and  corresponding 
thing  having  a peculiar  function,  no  one  of  them  being  like 
any  other  of  them  ? And  you  replied  that  the  five  names 
were  not  the  names  of  the  same  thing,  but  that  each  of  them 
had  a separate  object,  and  that  all  these  objects  were  parts  of 
virtue,  not  in  the  same  way  that  the  parts  of  gold  are  like 
each  other  and  the  whole  of  which  they  are  parts,  but  as  the 
parts  of  the  face  are  unlike  the  whole  of  which  they  are  parts 
and  one  another,  and  have  each  of  them  a distinct  function. 
I should  like  to  know  whether  this  is  still  your  opinion ; or 
if  not,  I will  ask  you  to  define  your  meaning,  and  I shall  not 
take  you  to  task  if  you  now  make  a different  statement.  For 
I dare  say  that  you  may  have  said  what  you  did  only  in  order 
to  make  trial  of  me. 

I answer,  Socrates,  he  said,  that  all  these  qualities  are 
parts  of  virtue,  and  that  four  out  of  the  five  are  to  some 
extent  similar,  and  that  the  fifth  of  them,  which  is  courage, 
is  very  different  from  the  other  four,  as  I prove  in  this  way : 
You  may  observe  that  many  men  are  utterly  unrighteous, 
unholy,  intemperate,  ignorant,  who  are  nevertheless  remark- 
able for  their  courage. 

Stop,  I said ; I should  like  to  think  about  that.  When  you 
speak  of  brave  men,  do  you  mean  the  confident,  or  another 
sort  of  nature  ? 

Yes,  he  said;  I mean  the  impetuous,  ready  to  go  at  that 
which  others  are  afraid  to  approach. 

In  the  next  place,  you  would  affirm  virtue  to  be  a good 
thing,  of  which  good  thing  you  assert  yourself  to  be  a teacher. 

Yes,  he  said;  I should  say  the  best  of  all  things,  if  I am 
in  my  right  mind. 

And  is  it  partly  good  and  partly  bad,  I said,  or  wholly  good  ? 

Wholly  good,  and  in  the  highest  degree. 

350  Tell  me  then  ; who  are  they  who  have  confidence  when 
diving  into  a well  ? 

I should  say,  the  divers. 

And  the  reason  of  this  is  that  they  have  knowledge  ? 

Yes,  that  is  the  reason. 

And  who  have  confidence  when  fighting  on  horseback — the 
skilled  horseman  or  the  unskilled? 

The  skilled. 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

To  the  old 
question, — 
' Are  the 
virtues  one 
or  many?’ 
— the  old 
answer  is 
returned 
that  four 
out  of  five 
are  to  some 
extent 
similar,  but 
the  fifth, 
courage, 
is  very 
different 
from  the 
other  four. 


And  the 
courageous 
are  the 
confident  ; 
but  not  all 
the  con- 
fident are 
truly  cou- 
rageous. 


174 


Socrates  and  Protagoras 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


Protagoras 

complains 

that 

Socrates 
has  misre- 
presented 
him. 


And  who  when  fighting  with  light  shields — the  peltasts  or 
the  nonpeltasts  ? 

The  peltasts.  And  that  is  true  of  all  other  things,  he  said, 
if  that  is  your  point : those  who  have  knowledge  are  more 
confident  than  those  who  have  no  knowledge,  and  they  are 
more  confident  after  they  have  learned  than  before. 

And  have  you  not  seen  persons  utterly  ignorant,  I said,  of 
these  things,  and  yet  confident  about  them  ? 

Yes,  he  said,  I have  seen  such  persons  far  too  confident. 

And  are  not  these  confident  persons  also  courageous  ? 

In  that  case,  he  replied,  courage  would  be  a base  thing, 
for  the  men  of  whom  we  are  speaking  are  surely  madmen. 

Then  who  are  the  courageous  ? Are  they  not  the  confident  ? 

Yes,  he  said  ; to  that  statement  I adhere. 

And  those,  I said,  who  are  thus  confident  without  know- 
ledge are  really  not  courageous,  but  mad  ; and  in  that  case 
the  wisest  are  also  the  most  confident,  and  being  the  most 
confident  are  also  the  bravest,  and  upon  that  view  again 
wisdom  will  be  courage. 

Nay,  Socrates,  he  replied,  you  are  mistaken  in  your  re- 
membrance of  what  was  said  by  me.  When  you  asked  me, 
I certainly  did  say  that  the  courageous  are  the  confident ; 
but  I was  never  asked  whether  the  confident  are  the  coura- 
geous ; if  you  had  asked  me,  I should  have  answered  ‘ Not  all 
of  them  : ’ and  what  I did  answer  you  have  not  proved  to  be 
false,  although  you  proceeded  to  show  that  those  who  have 
knowledge  are  more  courageous  than  they  were  before  they 
had  knowledge,  and  more  courageous  than  others  who  have 
no  knowledge,  and  were  then  led  on  to  think  that  courage  is 
the  same  as  wisdom.  But  in  this  way  of  arguing  you  might 
come  to  imagine  that  strength  is  wisdom.  You  might  begin 
by  asking  whether  the  strong  are  able,  and  I should  say 
• Yes ; ’ and  then  whether  those  who  know  how  to  wrestle 
are  not  more  able  to  wrestle  than  those  who  do  not  know 
how  to  wrestle,  and  more  able  after  than  before  they  had 
learned,  and  I should  assent.  And  when  I had  admitted 
this,  you  might  use  my  admissions  in  such  a way  as  to 
prove  that  upon  my  view  wisdom  is  strength  ; whereas  in 
that  case  I should  not  have  admitted,  any  more  than  in  the 
other,  that  the  able  are  strong,  although  I have  admitted 


1 75 


continue  the  argument. 

351  that  the  strong  are  able.  For  there  is  a difference  between  Protagoras. 
ability  and  strength ; the  former  is  given  by  knowledge  as  Socrates, 
well  as  by  madness  or  rage,  but  strength  comes  from  nature  Pr°tacoras. 
and  a healthy  state  of  the  body.  And  in  like  manner  I say 
of  confidence  and  courage,  that  they  are  not  the  same ; and 
I argue  that  the  courageous  are  confident,  but  not  all  the 
confident  courageous.  For  confidence  may  be  given  to  men 
by  art,  and  also,  like  ability,  by  madness  and  rage ; but 
courage  comes  to  them  from  nature  and  the  healthy  state  of 
the  soul. 

I said  : You  would  admit,  Protagoras,  that  some  men  live 
well  and  others  ill  ? 

He  assented. 

And  do  you  think  that  a man  lives  well  who  lives  in  pain 
and  grief? 

He  does  not. 

But  if  he  lives  pleasantly  to  the  end  of  his  life,  will  he  not 
in  that  case  have  lived  well  ? 

He  will. 

Then  to  live  pleasantly  is  a good,  and  to  live  unpleasantly 
an  evil? 

Yes,  he  said,  if  the  pleasure  be  good  and  honourable. 

And  do  you,  Protagoras,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  call  Socrates 
some  pleasant  things  evil  and  some  painful  things  good  ? — |ha?theeS 
for  I am  rather  disposed  to  say  that  things  are  good  in  as  far  pleasant  is 
as  they  are  pleasant,  if  they  have  no  consequences  of  another  the  sood- 
sort,  and  in  as  far  as  they  are  painful  they  are  bad. 

I do  not  know,  Socrates,  he  said,  whether  I can  venture  to  Protagoras 
assert  in  that  unqualified  manner  that  the  pleasant  is  the  dh™s  to 
good  and  the  painful  the  evil.  Having  regard  not  only  to  sumption, 
my  present  answer,  but  also  to  the  whole  of  my  life,  I shall  be 
safer,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  in  saying  that  there  are  some 
pleasant  things  which  are  not  good,  and  that  there  are  some 
painful  things  which  are  good,  and  some  which  are  not 
good,  and  that  there  are  some  which  are  neither  good  nor 
evil. 

And  you  would  call  pleasant,  I said,  the  things  which  partici- 
pate in  pleasure  or  create  pleasure  ? 

Certainly,  he  said. 

Then  my  meaning  is,  that  in  as  far  as  they  are  pleasant  they 


i j6 


The  final  argument 


Vrotagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


Let  Prota- 
goras 

reveal  to  us 
his  mind 
about 
knowledge. 


Is  not 
knowledge 
the  strong- 
est of 
all  things  ? 
Protagoras 
agrees,  but 
the  world 
will  not 
agree  about 
this  and 
many  other 
things 


are  good  ; and  my  question  would  imply  that  pleasure  is  a 
good  in  itself. 

According  to  your  favourite  mode  of  speech,  Socrates,  ‘let 
us  reflect  about  this,’  he  said  ; and  if  the  reflection  is  to  the 
point,  and  the  result  proves  that  pleasure  and  good  are  really 
the  same,  then  we  will  agree ; but  if  not,  then  we  will  argue. 

And  would  you  wish  to  begin  the  enquiry?  I said  ; or  shall 
I begin  ? 

You  ought  to  take  the  lead,  he  said;  for  you  are  the 
author  of  the  discussion. 

May  I employ  an  illustration?  I said.  Suppose  some  352 
one  who  is  enquiring  into  the  health  or  some  other  bodily 
quality  of  another : — he  looks  at  his  face  and  at  the  tips  of  his 
fingers,  and  then  he  says,  Uncover  your  chest  and  back  to 
me  that  I may  have  a better  view  : — that  is  the  sort  of  thing 
which  I desire  in  this  speculation.  Having  seen  what  your 
opinion  is  about  good  and  pleasure,  I am  minded  to  say  to 
you  : Uncover  your  mind  to  me,  Protagoras,  and  reveal  your 
opinion  about  knowledge,  that  I may  know  whether  you 
agree  with  the  rest  of  the  world.  Now  the  rest  of  the  world 
are  of  opinion  that  knowledge  is  a principle  not  of  strength, 
or  of  rule,  or  of  command  : their  notion  is  that  a man  may 
have  knowledge,  and  yet  that  the  knowledge  which  is  in  him 
may  be  overmastered  by  anger,  or  pleasure,  or  pain,  or  love, 
or  perhaps  by  fear, — just  as  if  knowledge  were  a slave,  and 
might  be  dragged  about  anyhow.  Now  is  that  your  view? 
or  do  you  think  that  knowledge  is  a noble  and  commanding 
thing,  which  cannot  be  overcome,  and  will  not  allow  a man, 
if  he  only  knows  the  difference  of  good  and  evil,  to  do 
anything  which  is  contrary  to  knowledge,  but  that  wisdom 
will  have  strength  to  help  him  ? 

I agree  with  you,  Socrates,  said  Protagoras ; and  not  only 
so,  but  I,  above  all  other  men,  am  bound  to  say  that  wisdom 
and  knowledge  are  the  highest  of  human  things. 

Good,  I said,  and  true.  But  are  you  aware  that  the 
majority  of  the  world  are  of  another  mind  ; and  that  men  are 
commonly  supposed  to  know  the  things  which  are  best,  and 
not  to  do  them  when  they  might  ? And  most  persons  whom 
I have  asked  the  reason  of  this  have  said  that  when  men  act 
contrary  to  knowledge  they  are  overcome  by  pain,  or  pleasui  e, 


of  Protagoras  and  Socrates. 


i 77 


or  some  of  those  affections  which  I was  just  now  men-  Protagoras. 


tioning. 

Yes,  Socrates,  he  replied ; and  that  is  not  the  only  point 
about  which  mankind  are  in  error. 

Suppose,  then,  that  you  and  I endeavour  to  instruct  and 
inform  them  what  is  the  nature  of  this  affection  which 
they  call  'being  overcome  by  pleasure,’  and  which  they 
353  affirm  to  be  the  reason  why  they  do  not  always  do  what 
is  best.  When  we  say  to  them  : Friends,  you  are  mis- 
taken, and  are  saying  what  is  not  true,  they  would  probably 
reply : Socrates  and  Protagoras,  if  this  affection  of  the  soul 
is  not  to  be  called  ‘being  overcome  by  pleasure,’  pray,  what 
is  it,  and  by  what  name  would  you  describe  it  ? 

But  why,  Socrates,  should  we  trouble  ourselves  about  the 
opinion  of  the  many,  who  just  say  anything  that  happens  to 
occur  to  them  ? 


Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

which  are 
true,  never- 
theless. 


I believe,  I said,  that  they  may  be  of  use  in  helping  us  to 
discover  how  courage  is  related  to  the  other  parts  of  virtue. 
If  you  are  disposed  to  abide  by  our  agreement,  that  I should 
show  the  way  in  which,  as  I think,  our  recent  difficulty  is  most 
likely  to  be  cleared  up,  do  you  follow;  but  if  not,  never  mind. 

You  are  quite  right,  he  said  ; and  I would  have  you 
proceed  as  you  have  begun. 

Well  then,  I said,  let  me  suppose  that  they  repeat  their 
question,  What  account  do  you  give  of  that  which,  in  our 
way  of  speaking,  is  termed  being  overcome  by  pleasure  ? 
I should  answer  thus : Listen,  and  Protagoras  and  I will 
endeavour  to  show  you.  When  men  are  overcome  by  eating 
and  drinking  and  other  sensual  desires  which  are  pleasant, 
and  they,  knowing  them  to  be  evil,  nevertheless  indulge  in 
them,  would  you  not  say  that  they  were  overcome  by 
pleasure  ? They  will  not  deny  this.  And  suppose  that  you 
and  I were  to  go  on  and  ask  them  again  : ‘In  what  way  do 
you  say  that  they  are  evil, — in  that  they  are  pleasant  and 
give  pleasure  at  the  moment,  or  because  they  cause  disease 
and  poverty  and  other  like  evils  in  the  future  ? Would  they 
still  be  evil,  if  they  had  no  attendant  evil  consequences,  simply 
because  they  give  the  consciousness  of  pleasure  of  whatever 
nature  ? ’ — Would  they  not  answer  that  they  are  not  evil  on 
account  of  the  pleasure  which  is  immediately  given  by  them, 

VOL.  i.  N 


i78 

Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


Pleasure  is 
evil  when 
it  deprives 
us  of  some 
other 
pleasure. 


Goods  are 

painful 

which  are 

remedial, 

and, 

though 

they 

occasion 

immediate 

suffering, 

bring  good 

in  the 

future. 


Pain  is  an 
evil  and 
pleasure  is 
a good  : 


The  final  argument  between 

but  on  account  of  the  after  consequences— diseases  and  the 
like  ? 

I believe,  said  Protagoras,  that  the  world  in  general  would 
answer  as  you  do. 

And  in  causing  diseases  do  they  not  cause  pain  ? and  in 
causing  poverty  do  they  not  cause  pain  \ — they  would  agree 
to  that  also,  if  I am  not  mistaken.  ? 

Protagoras  assented. 

Then  I should  say  to  them,  in  my  name  and  yours  : Do  you 
think  them  evil  for  any  other  reason,  except  because  they 
end  in  pain  and  rob  us  of  other  pleasures  : — there  again  they 
would  agree? 

We  both  of  us  thought  that  they  would.  354 

And  then  I should  take  the  question  from  the  opposite 
point  of  view,  and  say:  ‘Friends,  when  you  speak  of  goods 
being  painful,  do  you  not  mean  remedial  goods,  such  as 
gymnastic  exercises,  and  military  service,  and  the  physician’s 
use  of  burning,  cutting,  drugging,  and  starving  ? Are  these 
the  things  which  are  good  but  painful  ? ’—they  would  assent  to 
me  ? 

He  agreed. 

‘And  do  you  call  them  good  because  they  occasion  the 
greatest  immediate  suffering  and  pain  ; or  because,  after- 
wards, they  bring  health  and  improvement  of  the  bodily 
condition  and  the  salvation  of  states  and  power  over  others 
and  wealth?’ — they  would  agree  to  the  latter  altei native, 
if  I am  not  mistaken  ? 

He  assented. 

‘ Are  these  things  good  for  any  other  reason  except  that 
they  end  in  pleasure,  and  get  rid  of  and  avert  pain?  Aie 
you  looking  to  any  other  standard  but  pleasure  and  pain 
when  you  call  them  good  ? ’—they  would  acknowledge  that 

they  were  not  ? 

I think  so,  said  Protagoras. 

‘ And  do  you  not  pursue  after  pleasure  as  a good,  and  avoid 

pain  as  an  evil  ? ’ 

He  assented. 

‘ Then  you  think  that  pain  is  an  evil  and  pleasure  is  a good: 
and  even  pleasure  you  deem  an  evil,  when  it  robs  you  of 
greater  pleasures  than  it  gives,  or  causes  pains  greatei  than 


179 


Protagoras  and  Socrates. 

the  pleasure.  If,  however,  you  call  pleasure  an  evil  in  relation 
to  some  other  end  or  standard,  you  will  be  able  to  show  us 
that  standard.  But  you  have  none  to  show.  ’ 

I do  not  think  that  they  have,  said  Protagoras. 

‘And  have  you  not  a similar  way  of  speaking  about  pain  ? 
You  call  pain  a good  when  it  takes  away  greater  pains  than 
those  which  it  has,  or  gives  pleasures  greater  than  the  pains : 
then  if  you  have  some  standard  other  than  pleasure  and 
pain  to  which  you  refer  when  you  call  actual  pain  a good,  you 
can  show  what  that  is.  But  you  cannot.’ 

True,  said  Protagoras. 

Suppose  again,  I said,  that  the  world  says  to  me  : 1 Why  do 
you  spend  many  words  and  speak  in  many  ways  on  this 
subject?’  Excuse  me,  friends,  I should  reply;  but  in  the 
first  place  there  is  a difficulty  in  explaining  the  meaning  of 
the  expression  ‘ overcome  by  pleasure ; ’ and  the  whole 
argument  turns  upon  this.  And  even  now,  if  you  see  any 
355  possible  way  in  which  evil  can  be  explained  as  other  than 
pain,  or  good  as  other  than  pleasure,  you  may  still  retract. 
Are  you  satisfied,  then,  at  having  a life  of  pleasure  which  is 
without  pain  ? If  you  are,  and  if  you  are  unable  to  show 
any  good  or  evil  which  does  not  end  in  pleasure  and  pain, 
hear  the  consequences  If  what  you  say  is  true,  then  the 
argument  is  absurd  which  affirms  that  a man  often  does  evil 
knowingly,  when  he  might  abstain,  because  he  is  seduced 
and  overpowered  by  pleasure;  or  again,  when  you  say  that 
a man  knowingly  refuses  to  do  what  is  good  because  he  is 
overcome  at  the  moment  by  pleasure.  And  that  this  is 
ridiculous  will  be  evident  if  only  we  give  up  the  use  of 
various  names,  such  as  pleasant  and  painful,  and  good  and 
evil.  As  there  are  two  things,  let  us  call  them  by  two  names 
first,  good  and  evil,  and  then  pleasant  and  painful.  Assum- 
ing  this,  let  us  go  on  to  say  that  a man  does  evil  knowing 
that  he  does  evil.  But  some  one  will  ask,  Why?  Because 
he  is  overcome,  is  the  first  answer.  And  by  what  is  he 
overcome?  the  enquirer  will  proceed  to  ask.  And  we  shall 
not  be  able  to  reply  ' By  pleasure,’  for  the  name  of  pleasure 
has  been  exchanged  for  that  of  good.  In  our  answer,  then, 
we  shall  only  say  that  he  is  overcome.  ‘ By  what?’  he  will 
reiterate.  By  the  good,  we  shall  have  to  reply ; indeed  we 

N 2 


Protagoras . 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


but  pain  is 
also  a good 
when  it 
takes  away 
a greater 
pain. 


When  we 
say  of  a 
man  that 
he  is  over- 
come by 
pleasure  we 
only  mean 
that  he  is 
overcome 
by  a lesser 
pleasure. 


1 80 

I'rotagoras. 

Socrates. 


Whether 
we  speak 
of  pleasure 
and  pain, 
or  of  good 
and  evil, 
the  result  is 
the  same. 


The  final  argument. 

shall.  Nay,  but  our  questioner  will  rejoin  with  a laugh,  if 
he  be  one  of  the  swaggering  sort,  ‘ That  is  too  ridiculous,  that 
a man  should  do  what  he  knows  to  be  evil  when  he  ought 
not,  because  he  is  overcome  by  good.  Is  that,  he  will  ask, 
because  the  good  was  worthy  or  not  worthy  of  conquering 
the  evil  ’ ? And  in  answer  to  that  we  shall  clearly  reply, 
Because  it  was  not  worthy ; for  if  it  had  been  worthy,  then 
he  who,  as  we  say,  was  overcome  by  pleasure,  would  not 
have  been  wrong.  ‘ But  how,’  he  will  reply,  'can  the  good  be 
unworthy  of  the  evil,  or  the  evil  of  the  good  ’ ? Is  not  the 
real  explanation  that  they  are  out  of  proportion  to  one 
another,  either  as  greater  and  smaller,  or  more  and  fewer  ? 
This  we  cannot  deny.  And  when  you  speak  of  being  over- 
come—'what  do  you  mean,’  he  will  say,  'but  that  you  choose 
the  greater  evil  in  exchange  for  the  lesser  good  ’ ? Ad- 
mitted. And  now  substitute  the  names  of  pleasure  and  pain 
for  good  and  evil,  and  say,  not  as  before,  that  a man  does 
what  is  evil  knowingly,  but  that  he  does  what  is  painful 
knowingly,  and  because  he  is  overcome  by  pleasure,  which  is 
unworthy  to  overcome.  What  measure  is  there  of  the  356 
relations  of  pleasure  to  pain  other  than  excess  and  defect, 
which  means  that  they  become  greater  and  smaller,  and  more 
and  fewer,  and  differ  in  degree  ? For  if  any  one  says  : ' Yes, 
Socrates,  but  immediate  pleasure  differs  widely  from  future 
pleasure  and  pain’ — To  that  I should  reply:  And  do  they 
differ  in  anything  but  in  pleasure  and  pain  ? There  can  be 
no  other  measure  of  them.  And  do  you,  like  a skilful 
weigher,  put  into  the  balance  the  pleasures  and  the  pains, 
and  their  nearness  and  distance,  and  weigh  them,  and  then 
say  which  outweighs  the  other.  If  you  weigh  pleasuies 
against  pleasures,  you  of  course  take  the  more  and  greater ; 
or  if  you  weigh  pains  against  pains,  you  take  the  fewer  and 
the  less ; or  if  pleasures  against  pains,  then  you  choose  that 
course  of  action  in  which  the  painful  is  exceeded  by  the 
pleasant,  whether  the  distant  by  the  near  or  the  near  by  the 
distant;  and  you  avoid  that  course  of  action  in  which  the 
pleasant  is  exceeded  by  the  painful.  Would  you  not  admit, 
my  friends,  that  this  is  true  ? I am  confident  that  they 
cannot  deny  this. 

He  agreed  with  me. 


The  art  of  measuring. 


1 8 1 


Well  then,  I shall  say,  if  you  agree  so  far,  be  so  good  as  to 
answer  me  a question  : Do  not  the  same  magnitudes  appear 
larger  to  your  sight  when  near,  and  smaller  when  at  a 
distance  ? They  will  acknowledge  that.  And  the  same 
holds  of  thickness  and  number;  also  sounds,  which  are  in 
themselves  equal,  are  greater  when  near,  and  lesser  when  at 
a distance.  They  will  grant  that  also.  Now  suppose 
happiness  to  consist  in  doing  or  choosing  the  greater,  and  in 
not  doing  or  in  avoiding  the  less,  what  would  be  the  saving 
principle  of  human  life  ? Would  not  the  art  of  measuring  be 
the  saving  principle;  or  would  the  power  of  appearance? 
Is  not  the  latter  that  deceiving  art  which  makes  us 
wander  up  and  down  and  take  the  things  at  one  time 
of  which  we  repent  at  another,  both  in  our  actions  and 
in  our  choice  of  things  great  and  small  ? But  the  art 
of  measurement  would  do  away  with  the  effect  of  ap- 
pearances, and,  showing  the  truth,  would  fain  teach  the 
soul  at  last  to  find  rest  in  the  truth,  and  would  thus 
save  our  life.  Would  not  mankind  generally  acknowledge 
that  the  art  which  accomplishes  this  result  is  the  art  of 
measurement  ? 

Yes,  he  said,  the  art  of  measurement. 

Suppose,  again,  the  salvation  of  human  life  to  depend  on 
the  choice  of  odd  and  even,  and  on  the  knowledge  of  when 
a man  ought  to  choose  the  greater  or  less,  either  in  reference 
357  to  themselves  or  to  each  other,  and  whether  near  or  at  a 
distance ; what  would  be  the  saving  principle  of  our  lives  ? 
Would  not  knowledge  ? — a knowledge  of  measuring,  when 
the  question  is  one  of  excess  and  defect,  and  a knowledge  of 
number,  when  the  question  is  of  odd  and  even  ? The  world 
will  assent,  will  they  not  ? 

Protagoras  himself  thought  that  they  would. 

Well  then,  my  friends,  I say  to  them  ; seeing  that  the 
salvation  of  human  life  has  been  found  to  consist  in  the 
right  choice  of  pleasures  and  pains, — in  the  choice  of  the 
more  and  the  fewer,  and  the  greater  and  the  less,  and  the 
nearer  and  remoter,  must  not  this  measuring  be  a consider- 
ation of  their  excess  and  defect  and  equality  in  relation  to 
each  other? 

This  is  undeniably  true. 


Protagoras . 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

Pleasures 
are  made 
greater  or 
less  by 
distance  ; 
that  is, 
they  ap- 
pear to  be 
greater. 

The  art  of 
measuring 
contrasted 
with  the 
power  of 
appear- 
ance. 


The 

numbering 
principle 
and  the 
measuring 
principle 
are  the 
laws  of 
human  life. 


182 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

Thus  we 
arrive  at 
the  con- 
clusion that 
men  err  in 
their  choice 
of  good 
and  evil 
through 
ignorance, 
and  yet 
the  world 
refuses  to 
be  taught 
by  the 
Sophists 
who  are 
the  phy- 
sicians of 
ignorance. 


The  reason  why  men  are  overcome  by  pleasure. 

And  this,  as  possessing  measure,  must  undeniably  also  be 
an  art  and  science  ? 

They  will  agree,  he  said. 

The  nature  of  that  art  or  science  will  be  a matter  of 
future  consideration  ; but  the  existence  of  such  a science 
furnishes  a demonstrative  answer  to  the  question  which  you 
asked  of  me  and  Protagoras.  At  the  time  when  you  asked 
the  question,  if  you  remember,  both  of  us  were  agreeing  that 
there  was  nothing  mightier  than  knowledge,  and  that  know- 
ledge, in  whatever  existing,  must  have  the  advantage  over 
pleasure  and  all  other  things  ; and  then  you  said  that  pleasure 
often  got  the  advantage  even  over  a man  who  has  knowledge  ; 
and  we  refused  to  allow  this,  and  you  rejoined  : O Protagoras 
and  Socrates,  what  is  the  meaning  of  being  overcome  by 
pleasure  if  not  this  ? — tell  us  what  you  call  such  a state : — 
if  we  had  immediately  and  at  the  time  answered  ‘ Ignorance,’ 
you  would  have  laughed  at  us.  But  now,  in  laughing  at  us, 
you  will  be  laughing  at  yourselves : for  you  also  admitted 
that  men  err  in  their  choice  of  pleasures  and  pains ; that  is, 
in  their  choice  of  good  and  evil,  from  defect  of  knowledge ; 
and  you  admitted  further,  that  they  err,  not  only  from  defect 
of  knowledge  in  general,  but  of  that  particular  knowledge 
which  is  called  measuring.  And  you  are  also  aware  that  the 
erring  act  which  is  done  without  knowledge  is  done  in  ignor- 
ance. This,  therefore,  is  the  meaning  of  being  overcome 
by  pleasure  ignorance,  and  that  the  greatest.  And  our 
friends  Protagoras  and  Prodicus  and  Hippias  declare  that 
they  are  the  physicians  of  ignorance  ; but  you,  who  are 
under  the  mistaken  impression  that  ignorance  is  not  the 
cause,  and  that  the  art  of  which  I am  speaking  cannot  be 
taught,  neither  go  yourselves,  nor  send  your  children,  to  the 
Sophists,  who  are  the  teachers  of  these  things — you  take 
care  of  your  money  and  give  them  none  ; and  the  result  is, 
that  you  are  the  worse  off  both  in  public  and  private  life  : — 

Let  us  suppose  this  to  be  our  answer  to  the  world  in  general : 
And  now  I should  like  to  ask  you,  Hippias,  and  you,  Prodicus,  35S 
as  well  as  Protagoras  (for  the  argument  is  to  be  yours  as  well 
as  ours),  whether  you  think  that  I am  speaking  the  truth  or 
not  ? 

They  all  thought  that  what  I said  was  entirely  true. 


i83 


The  summing  up  of  the  whole  matter. 

Then  you  agree,  I said,  that  the  pleasant  is  the  good,  and  Protagoras. 
the  painful  evil.  And  here  1 would  beg  my  friend  Prodicus  Socrates, 
not  to  introduce  his  distinction  of  names,  whether  he  is  Plt0TAC0RAS- 
disposed  to  say  pleasurable,  delightful,  joyful.  However,  by 
whatever  name  he  prefers  to  call  them,  I will  ask  you,  most 
excellent  Prodicus,  to  answer  in  my  sense  of  the  words. 

Prodicus  laughed  and  assented,  as  did  the  others. 

Then,  my  friends,  what  do  you  say  to  this  ? Are  not  all 
actions  honourable  and  useful,  of  which  the  tendency  is  to 
make  life  painless  and  pleasant  ? The  honourable  work  is 
also  useful  and  good  ? 

This  was  admitted. 

Then,  I said,  if  the  pleasant  is  the  good,  nobody  does  any- 
thing under  the  idea  or  conviction  that  some  other  thing 
would  be  better  and  is  also  attainable,  when  he  might  do  the 
better.  And  this  inferiority  of  a man  to  himself  is  merely 
ignorance,  as  the  superiority  of  a man  to  himself  is  wisdom. 

They  all  assented. 

And  is  not  ignorance  the  having  a false  opinion  and  being 
deceived  about  important  matters  ? 

To  this  also  they  unanimously  assented. 

Then,  I said,  no  man  voluntarily  pursues  evil,  or  that  which  No  man 
he  thinks  to  be  evil.  To  prefer  evil  to  good  is  not  in  human  p°1“^rily 
nature ; and  when  a man  is  compelled  to  choose  one  of  two  evil, 
evils,  no  one  will  choose  the  greater  when  he  may  have  the 
less. 

All  of  us  agreed  to  every  word  of  this. 

Well,  I said,  there  is  a certain  thing  called  fear  or  terror ; 
and  here,  Prodicus,  I should  particularly  like  to  know  whether 
you  would  agree  with  me  in  defining  this  fear  or  terror  as 
expectation  of  evil. 

Protagoras  and  Hippias  agreed,  but  Prodicus  said  that  this 
was  fear  and  not  terror. 

Never  mind,  Prodicus,  I said;  but  let  me  ask  whether,  if  Then  will  a 
our  former  assertions  are  true,  a man  will  pursue  that  which  5^"^ 
he  fears  when  he  is  not  compelled  ? Would  not  this  be  in  which  he 
fiat  contradiction  to  the  admission  which  has  been  already  [koughhe 
made,  that  he  thinks  the  things  which  he  fears  to  be  evil;  need  not? 
and  no  one  will  pursue  or  voluntarily  accept  that  which  he 
thinks  to  be  evil  ? 


184 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


The  cou- 
rageous 
pursue 
dangers, 
but  not  in 
the  belief 
that  they 
are  dan- 
gers. 

The  cou- 
rageous 
and  the 
cowardly 
alike  go  to 


A resumption. 

That  also  was  universally  admitted.  359 

Then,  I said,  these,  Hippias  and  Prodicus,  are  our  pre- 
misses ; and  I would  beg  Protagoras  to  explain  to  us  how  he 
can  be  right  in  what  he  said  at  first.  I do  not  mean  in  what 
he  said  quite  at  first,  for  his  first  statement,  as  you  may 
remember,  was  that  whereas  there  were  five  parts  of  virtue 
none  of  them  was  like  any  other  of  them  ; each  of  them  had 
a separate  function.  To  this,  however,  I am  not  referring, 
but  to  the  assertion  which  he  afterwards  made  that  of  the 
five  virtues  four  were  nearly  akin  to  each  other,  but  that  the 
fifth,  which  was  courage,  differed  greatly  from  the  others. 
And  of  this  he  gave  me  the  following  proof.  He  said  : You 
will  find,  Socrates,  that  some  of  the  most  impious,  and  un- 
righteous, and  intemperate,  and  ignorant  of  men  are  among 
the  most  courageous ; which  proves  that  courage  is  very 
different  from  the  other  parts  of  virtue.  I was  surprised  at 
his  saying  this  at  the  time,  and  I am  still  more  surprised  now 
that  I have  discussed  the  matter  with  you.  So  I asked  him 
whether  by  the  brave  he  meant  the  confident.  Yes,  he 
replied,  and  the  impetuous  or  goers.  (You  may  remember, 
Protagoras,  that  this  was  your  answer.) 

He  assented. 

Well  then,  I said,  tell  us  against  what  are  the  courageous 
ready  to  go — against  the  same  dangers  as  the  cowards  ? 

No,  he  answered. 

Then  against  something  different  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

Then  do  cowards  go  where  there  is  safety,  and  the 
courageous  where  there  is  danger  ? 

Yes,  Socrates,  so  men  say. 

Very  true,  I said.  But  I want  to  know  against  what  do 
you  say  that  the  courageous  are  ready  to  go— against  dangers, 
believing  them  to  be  dangers,  or  not  against  dangers? 

No,  said  he;  the  former  case  has  been  proved  by  you  in 
the  previous  argument  to  be  impossible. 

That,  again,  I replied,  is  quite  true.  And  if  this  has  been 
rightly  proven,  then  no  one  goes  to  meet  what  he  thinks  to 
be  dangers,  since  the  want  of  self-control,  which  makes  men 
rush  into  dangers,  has  been  shown  to  be  ignorance. 

He  assented. 


i85 


The  victory  in  sight. 

And  yet  the  courageous  man  and  the  coward  alike  go  to 
meet  that  about  which  they  are  confident ; so  that,  in  this 
point  of  view,  the  cowardly  and  the  courageous  go  to  meet 
the  same  things. 

And  yet,  Socrates,  said  Protagoras,  that  to  which  the 
coward  goes  is  the  opposite  of  that  to  which  the  courageous 
goes ; the  one,  for  example,  is  ready  to  go  to  battle,  and  the 
other  is  not  ready. 

And  is  going  to  battle  honourable  or  disgraceful  ? I said. 

Honourable,  he  replied. 

And  if  honourable,  then  already  admitted  by  us  to  be 
good  ; for  all  honourable  actions  we  have  admitted  to  be 
good. 

That  is  true ; and  to  that  opinion  I shall  always  adhere. 

360  True,  I said.  But  which  of  the  two  are  they  who,  as  you 
say,  are  unwilling  to  go  to  war,  which  is  a good  and  honour- 
able thing  ? 

The  cowards,  he  replied. 

And  what  is  good  and  honourable,  I said,  is  also 
pleasant  ? 

It  has  certainly  been  acknowledged  to  be  so,  he  replied. 

And  do  the  cowards  knowingly  refuse  to  go  to  the  nobler, 
and  pleasanter,  and  better? 

The  admission  of  that,  he  replied,  would  belie  our  former 
admissions. 

But  does  not  the  courageous  man  also  go  to  meet  the 
better,  and  pleasanter,  and  nobler  ? 

That  must  be  admitted. 

And  the  courageous  man  has  no  base  fear  or  base  con- 
fidence ? 

True,  he  replied. 

And  if  not  base,  then  honourable  ? 

He  admitted  this. 

And  if  honourable,  then  good  ? 

Yes. 

But  the  fear  and  confidence  of  the  coward  or  foolhardy  or 
madman,  on  the  contrary,  are  base  ? 

He  assented. 

And  these  base  fears  and  confidences  originate  in  ignorance 
and  uninstructedness  ? 


Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 

meet  dan- 
gers, but 
they  have 
different 
notions  of 
what  con- 
stitutes 
danger. 


1 86 

Protagoras. 

Socrates, 

Protagoras. 


Compli- 

mentary 

speeches 

which 

Socrates 


Final  defeat  of  Protagoras. 

True,  he  said. 

Then  as  to  the  motive  from  which  the  cowards  act,  do  you 
call  it  cowardice  or  courage? 

I should  say  cowardice,  he  replied. 

And  have  they  not  been  shown  to  be  cowards  through 
their  ignorance  of  dangers  ? 

Assuredly,  he  said. 

And  because  of  that  ignorance  they  are  cowards  ? 

He  assented. 

And  the  reason  why  they  are  cowards  is  admitted  by  you 
to  be  cowardice  ? 

He  again  assented. 

Then  the  ignorance  of  what  is  and  is  not  dangerous  is 
cowardice  ? 

He  nodded  assent. 

But  surely  courage,  I said,  is  opposed  to  cowardice? 

Yes. 

Then  the  wisdom  which  knows  what  are  and  are  not 
dangers  is  opposed  to  the  ignorance  of  them? 

To  that  again  he  nodded  assent. 

And  the  ignorance  of  them  is  cowardice  ? 

To  that  he  very  reluctantly  nodded  assent. 

And  the  knowledge  of  that  which  is  and  is  not  dangerous 
is  courage,  and  is  opposed  to  the  ignorance  of  these  things  ? 

At  this  point  he  would  no  longer  nod  assent,  but  was 
silent. 

And  why,  I said,  do  you  neither  assent  nor  dissent,  Prota- 
goras ? 

Finish  the  argument  by  yourself,  he  said. 

I only  want  to  ask  one  more  question,  I said.  I want 
to  know  whether  you  still  think  that  there  are  men  who  are 
most  ignorant  and  yet  most  courageous  ? 

You  seem  to  have  a great  ambition  to  make  me  answer, 
Socrates,  and  therefore  I will  gratify  you,  and  say,  that  this 
appears  to  me  to  be  impossible  consistently  with  the  ar- 
gument. 

My  only  object,  I said,  in  continuing  the  discussion,  has 
been  the  desire  to  ascertain  the  nature  and  relations  of  virtue ; 
for  if  this  were  clear,  I am  very  sure  that  the  other  controversy  361 
which  has  been  carried  on  at  great  length  by  both  of  us  you 


Protagoras  and  Socrates  part  zvith  mutual  good-will. 

affirming  and  I denying  that  virtue  can  be  taught — would 
also  become  clear.  The  result  of  our  discussion  appears  to 
me  to  be  singular.  For  if  the  argument  had  a human  voice, 
that  voice  would  be  heard  laughing  at  us  and  saying  : ‘ Prota- 
goras and  Socrates,  you  are  strange  beings ; there  are  you, 
Socrates,  who  were  sa}ung  that  virtue  cannot  be  taught, 
contradicting  yourself  now  by  your  attempt  to  prove  that 
all  things  are  knowledge,  including  justice,  and  temperance, 
and  courage, — which  tends  to  show  that  virtue  can  certainly 
be  taught ; for  if  virtue  were  other  than  knowledge,  as 
Protagoras  attempted  to  prove,  then  clearly  virtue  cannot 
be  taught ; but  if  virtue  is  entirely  knowledge,  as  you  are 
seeking  to  show,  then  I cannot  but  suppose  that  virtue  is 
capable  of  being  taught.  Protagoras,  on  the  other  hand, 
who  started  by  saying  that  it  might  be  taught,  is  now  eager 
to  prove  it  to  be  anything  rather  than  knowledge ; and  if 
this  is  true,  it  must  be  quite  incapable  of  being  taught.’  Now 
I,  Protagoras,  perceiving  this  terrible  confusion  of  our  ideas, 
have  a great  desire  that  they  should  be  cleared  up.  And  I 
should  like  to  carry  on  the  discussion  until  we  ascertain  what 
virtue  is,  and  whether  capable  of  being  taught  or  not,  lest 
haply  Epimetheus  should  trip  us  up  and  deceive  us  in  the 
argument,  as  he  forgot  us  in  the  story ; I prefer  your  Pro- 
metheus to  your  Epimetheus,  for  of  him  I make  use,  whenever 
I am  busy  about  these  questions,  in  Promethean  care  of  my 
own  life.  And  if  you  have  no  objection,  as  I said  at  first,  I 
should  like  to  have  your  help  in  the  enquiry. 

Protagoras  replied : Socrates,  I am  not  of  a base  nature, 
and  I am  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  be  envious.  I cannot 
but  applaud  your  energy  and  your  conduct  of  an  argument. 
As  I have  often  said,  I admire  you  above  all  men  whom  I 
know,  and  far  above  all  men  of  your  age  ; and  I believe  that 
you  will  become  very  eminent  in  philosophy.  Let  us  come 
back  to  the  subject  at  some  future  time  ; at  present  we  had 
better  turn  to  something  else. 

By  all  means,  I said,  if  that  is  your  wish  ; for  I too  ought 
long  since  to  have  kept  the  engagement  of  which  I spoke 
before,  and  only  tarried  because  I could  not  refuse  the 
request  of  the  noble  Callias.  So  the  conversation  ended, 
and  we  went  our  way. 


187 

Protagoras. 

Socrates. 

Protagoras. 

and  Pro- 
tagoras 
address 
to  one 
another. 
They  have 
somehow 
both  of 
them 
changed 
their  posi- 
tion in  the 
course  of 
the  argu- 
ment. 


EUTHYDEMUS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  Euth}rdemus,  though  apt  to  be  regarded  by  us  only  as  an 
elaborate  jest,  has  also  a very  serious  purpose.  It  may  fairly 
claim  to  be  the  oldest  treatise  on  logic  ; for  that  science  originates 
in  the  misunderstandings  which  necessarily  accompany  the  first 
efforts  of  speculation.  Several  of  the  fallacies  which  are  satirized 
in  it  reappear  in  the  Sophistici  Elenchi  of  Aristotle  and  are  re- 
tained at  the  end  of  our  manuals  of  logic.  But  if  the  order  of 
history  were  followed,  they  should  be  placed  not  at  the  end  but 
at  the  beginning  of  them ; for  they  belong  to  the  age  in  which  the 
human  mind  was  first  making  the  attempt  to  distinguish  thought 
from  sense,  and  to  separate  the  universal  from  the  particular  or 
individual.  How  to  put  together  words  or  ideas,  how  to  escape 
ambiguities  in  the  meaning  of  terms  or  in  the  structure  of  proposi- 
tions, how  to  resist  the  fixed  impression  of  an  ‘ eternal  being  ’ or 
‘perpetual  flux,’  how  to  distinguish  between  words  and  things — 
these  were  problems  not  easy  of  solution  in  the  infancy  of 
philosophy.  They  presented  the  same  kind  of  difficulty  to  the 
half-educated  man  which  spelling  or  arithmetic  do  to  the  mind  of 
a child.  It  was  long  before  the  new  world  of  ideas  which  had 
been  sought  after  with  such  passionate  yearning  was  set  in  order 
and  made  ready  for  use.  To  us  the  fallacies  which  arise  in  the 
pre-Socratic  philosophy  are  trivial  and  obsolete  because  we  are 
no  longer  liable  to  fall  into  the  errors  which  are  expressed  by 
them.  The  intellectual  world  has  become  better  assured  to  us, 
and  we  are  less  likely  to  be  imposed  upon  by  illusions  of  words. 

The  logic  of  Aristotle  is  for  the  most  part  latent  in  the  dialogues 
of  Plato.  The  nature  of  definition  is  explained  not  by  rules  but 
by  examples  in  the  Charmides,  Lysis,  Laches,  Protagoras,  Meno, 
Euthyphro,  Theaetetus,  Gorgias,  Republic;  the  nature  of  division 
is  likewise  illustrated  by  examples  in  the  Sophist  (p.  219  ff.)  and 


Euthy  de- 
mits. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


192 


Introduction. 


Euthydc- 
mas . 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Statesman  (283  ff.) ; a scheme  of  categories  is  found  in  the  Philebus 
(p.  66);  the  true  doctrine  of  contradiction  (436  ff.)  is  taught,,  and 
the  fallacy  of  arguing  in  a circle  (p.  505)  is  exposed  in  the  Republic  ; 
the  nature  of  synthesis  and  analysis  is  graphically  described  in 
the  Phaedrus  (p.  265) ; the  nature  of  words  is  analysed  in  the 
Cratylus  ; the  form  of  the  syllogism  is  indicated  in  the  genea- 
logical trees  of  the  Sophist  and  Statesman  ; a true  doctrine  of 
predication  and  an  analysis  of  the  sentence  are  given  in  the 
Sophist  (p.  262) ; the  different  meanings  of  one  and  being  are 
worked  out  in  the  Parmenides.  Here  we  have  most  of  the 
important  elements  of  logic,  not  yet  systematized  or  reduced  to  an 
art  or  science,  but  scattered  up  and  down  as  they  would  naturally 
occur  in  ordinary  discourse.  They  are  of  little  or  no  use  or 
significance  to  us ; but  because  we  have  grown  out  of  the  need  of 
them  we  should  not  therefore  despise  them.  They  are  still 
interesting  and  instructive  for  the  light  which  they  shed  on  the 
history  of  the  human  mind. 

There  are  indeed  many  old  fallacies  which  linger  among  us,  and 
new  ones  are  constantly  springing  up.  But  they  are  not  of  the 
kind  to  which  ancient  logic  can  be  usefully  applied.  The  weapons 
of  common  sense,  not  the  analytics  of  Aristotle,  are  needed  for 
their  overthrow.  Nor  is  the  use  of  the  Aristotelian  logic  any 
longer  natural  to  us.  We  no  longer  put  arguments  into  the  form 
of  syllogisms  like  the  schoolmen  ; the  simple  use  of  language  has 
been,  happily,  restored  to  us.  Neither  do  we  discuss  the  nature 
of  the  proposition,  nor  extract  hidden  truths  from  the  copula,  nor 
dispute  any  longer  about  nominalism  and  realism.  We  do  not 
confuse  the  form  with  the  matter  of  knowledge,  or  invent  laws  of 
thought,  or  imagine  that  any  single  science  furnishes  a principle 
of  reasoning  to  all  the  rest.  Neither  do  we  require  categories  or 
heads  of  argument  to  be  invented  for  our  use.  Those  who  have 
no  knowledge  of  logic,  like  some  of  our  great  physical  philosophers, 
seem  to  be  quite  as  good  reasoners  as  those  who  have.  Most  of 
the  ancient  puzzles  have  been  settled  on  the  basis  of  usage  and 
common  sense;  there  is  no  need  to  reopen  them.  No  science 
should  raise  problems  or  invent  forms  of  thought  which  add 
nothing  to  knowledge  and  are  of  no  use  in  assisting  the  acquisition 
of  it.  This  seems  to  be  the  natural  limit  of  logic  and  metaphysics  ; 
if  they  give  us  a more  comprehensive  or  a more  definite  view  of 


193 


Ancient  and  Modern  Logic . 

the  different  spheres  of  knowledge  they  are  to  be  studied  ; if  not, 
not.  The  better  part  of  ancient  logic  appears  hardly  in  our  own 
day  to  have  a separate  existence ; it  is  absorbed  in  two  other 
sciences  : (i)  rhetoric,  if  indeed  this  ancient  art  be  not  also  fading 
away  into  literary  criticism ; (2)  the  science  of  language,  under 
which  all  questions  relating  to  words  and  propositions  and  the 
combinations  of  them  may  properly  be  included. 

To  continue  dead  or  imaginary  sciences,  which  make  no  signs 
of  progress  and  have  no  definite  sphere,  tends  to  interfere  with  the 
prosecution  of  living  ones.  The  study  of  them  is  apt  to  blind  the 
judgment  and  to  render  men  incapable  of  seeing  the  value  of 
evidence,  and  even  of  appreciating  the  nature  of  truth.  Nor  should 
we  allow  the  living  science  to  become  confused  with  the  dead  by  an 
ambiguity  of  language.  The  term  logic  has  two  different  meanings, 
an  ancient  and  a modern  one,  and  we  vainly  try  to  bridge  the  gulf 
between  them.  Many  perplexities  are  avoided  by  keeping  them 
apart.  There  might  certainly  be  a new  science  of  logic  ; it  would 
not  however  be  built  up  out  of  the  fragments  of  the  old,  but  would 
be  distinct  from  them— relative  to  the  state  of  knowledge  which 
exists  at  the  present  time,  and  based  chiefly  on  the  methods  of 
Modern  Inductive  philosophy.  Such  a science  might  have  two 
legitimate  fields : first,  the  refutation  and  explanation  of  false 
philosophies  still  hovering  in  the  air  as  they  appear  from  the  point 
of  view  of  later  experience  or  are  comprehended  in  the  history  of 
the  human  mind,  as  in  a larger  horizon  : secondly,  it  might  furnish 
new  forms  of  thought  more  adequate  to  the  expression  of  all  the 
di\  ersities  and  oppositions  of  knowledge  which  have  grown  up  in 
these  latter  days ; it  might  also  suggest  new  methods  of  enquiry 
derived  from  the  comparison  of  the  sciences.  Few  will  deny  that 
the  introduction  of  the  words  ‘subject’  and  ‘object’  and  the 
Hegelian  reconciliation  of  opposites  have  been  ‘ most  gracious 
aids  ’ to  psychology,  or  that  the  methods  of  Bacon  and  Mill  have 
shed  a light  far  and  wide  on  the  realms  of  knowledge.  These 
two  great  studies,  the  one  destructive  and  corrective  of  error,  the 
other  conservative  and  constructive  of  truth,  might  be  a first  and 
second  part  of  logic.  Ancient  logic  would  be  the  propaedeutic  or 
gate  of  approach  to  logical  science, — nothing  more.  But  to  pursue 
such  speculations  further,  though  not  irrelevant,  might  lead  us  too 
far  away  from  the  argument  of  the  dialogue. 

voi..  1. 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


O 


194 


Analysis  271-277. 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Analysis. 


The  Euthydemus  is,  of  all  the  Dialogues  of  Plato,  that  in  which 
he  approaches  most  nearly  to  the  comic  poet.  The  mirth  is 
broader,  the  irony  more  sustained,  the  contrast  between  Socrates 
and  the  two  Sophists,  although  veiled,  penetrates  deeper  than  in 
any  other  of  his  writings.  Even  Thrasymachus,  in  the  Republic, 
is  at  last  pacified,  and  becomes  a friendly  and  interested  auditor  of 
the  great  discourse.  But  in  the  Euthydemus  the  mask  is  never 
dropped ; the  accustomed  irony  of  Socrates  continues  to  the 
end 

Socrates  narrates  to  Crito  a remarkable  scene  in  which  he  has  steph. 
himself  taken  part,  and  in  which  the  two  brothers,  Dionysodorus  27l 
and  Euthydemus,  are  the  chief  performers.  They  are  natives  of 
Chios,  who  had  settled  at  Thurii,  but  were  driven  out,  and  in 
former  days  had  been  known  at  Athens  as  professors  of  rhetoric 
and  of  the  art  of  fighting  in  armour.  To  this  they  have  now  added 
a new  accomplishment — the  art  of  Eristic,  or  fighting  with  words,  272 
which  they  are  likewise  willing  to  teach  ‘ for  a consideration.’ 

But  they  can  also  teach  virtue  in  a very  short  time  and  in  the  very 
best  manner.  Socrates,  who  is  always  on  the  look-out  for  teachers 
of  virtue,  is  interested  in  the  youth  Cleinias,  the  grandson  of  the 
great  Alcibiades,  and  is  desirous  that  he  should  have  the  benefit 
of  their  instructions.  He  is  ready  to  fall  down  and  worship  them  ; 
although  the  greatness  of  their  professions  does  arouse  in  his 
mind  a temporary  incredulity. 

A circle  gathers  round  them,  in  the  midst  of  which  are  Socrates, 
the  two  brothers,  the  youth  Cleinias,  who  is  watched  by  the  eager 
eyes  of  his  lover  Ctesippus,  and  others.  The  performance  begins ; 275 
and  such  a performance  as  might  well  seem  to  require  an  in- 
vocation of  Memory  and  the  Muses.  It  is  agreed  that  the  brothers 
shall  question  Cleinias.  ‘ Cleinias,’  says  Euthydemus,  ‘ who  learn, 
the  wise  or  the  unwise  ? ’ ‘ The  wise,’  is  the  reply ; given  with 

blushing  and  hesitation.  ‘ And  yet  when  you  learned  you  did  not  276 
know  and  were  not  wise.’  Then  Dionysodorus  takes  up  the  ball : 

‘ Who  are  they  who  learn  dictation  of  the  grammar-master;  the  277 
wise  boys  or  the  foolish  boys  ? ’ ‘ The  wise.’  ‘ Then,  after  all,  the 

wise  learn.’  ‘ And  do  they  learn,’  said  Euthydemus,  ‘ what  they 
know  or  what  they  do  not  know  ? ’ ‘ The  latter.’  * And  dictation 

is  a dictation  of  letters?’  ‘Yes.’  ‘And  you  know  letters?’ 

< Yes.’  ‘ Then  you  learn  what  you  know.’  ‘ But,’  retorts  Dionyso- 


195 


Analysis  277-284. 

dorus,  ‘ is  not  learning  acquiring  knowledge  ? ’ ‘ Yes.’  ‘ And  you 

acquire  that  which  you  have  not  got  already  ? ’ ‘ Yes.’  ‘ Then  you 
learn  that  which  you  do  not  know.’ 

Socrates  is  afraid  that  the  youth  Cleinias  may  be  discouraged  at 
these  repeated  overthrows.  He  therefore  explains  to  him  the 
nature  of  the  process  to  which  he  is  being  subjected.  The  two 

27S  strangers  are  not  serious  ; there  are  jests  at  the  mysteries  which 
precede  the  enthronement,  and  he  is  being  initiated  into  the  mys- 
teries of  the  sophistical  ritual.  This  is  all  a sort  of  horse-play,  which 
is  now  ended.  The  exhortation  to  virtue  will  follow,  and  Socrates 
himself  (if  the  wise  men  will  not  laugh  at  him)  is  desirous  of  show- 
ing the  way  in  which  such  an  exhortation  should  be  carried  on, 
according  to  his  own  poor  notion.  He  proceeds  to  question  Cleinias. 
The  result  of  the  investigation  may  be  summed  up  as  follows  : — 

279  All  men  desire  good  ; and  good  means  the  possession  of  goods, 
such  as  wealth,  health,  beauty,  birth,  power,  honour  ; not  forgetting 
the  virtues  and  wisdom.  And  yet  in  this  enumeration  the  greatest 
good  of  all  is  omitted.  What  is  that  ? Good  fortune.  But  what 
need  is  there  of  good  fortune  when  we  have  wisdom  already  : — in 
every  art  and  business  are  not  the  wise  also  the  fortunate? 

280  This  is  admitted.  And  again,  the  possession  of  goods  is  not 
enough  ; there  must  also  be  a right  use  of  them  which  can  only  be 

281  given  by  knowledge  : in  themselves  they  are  neither  good  nor 
evil— knowledge  and  wisdom  are  the  only  good,  and  ignorance  and 

282  folly  the  only  evil.  The  conclusion  is  that  we  must  get  ‘ wisdom.’ 
But  can  wisdom  be  taught  ? ‘ Yes,’  says  Cleinias.  The  ingenuous- 
ness of  the  youth  delights  Socrates,  who  is  at  once  relieved  from 
the  necessity  of  discussing  one  of  his  great  puzzles.  ‘ Since 
wisdom  is  the  only  good,  he  must  become  a philosopher,  or  lover 

283  of  wisdom.’  ‘ That  I will,’  says  Cleinias. 

After  Socrates  has  given  this  specimen  of  his  own  mode  of 
instruction,  the  two  brothers  recommence  their  exhortation  to 
virtue,  which  is  of  quite  another  sort. 

‘You  want  Cleinias  to  be  wise?’  ‘Yes.’  ‘ And  he  is  not  wise 
yetr’  ‘No.’  ‘Then  you  want  him  to  be  what  he  is  not,  and  not 
to  be  what  he  is  ? — not  to  be— that  is,  to  perish.  Pretty  lovers  and 
friends  you  must  all  be  ! ’ 

284  Here  Ctesippus,  the  lover  of  Cleinias,  interposes  in  great 
excitement,  thinking  that  he  will  teach  the  two  Sophists  a lesson  of 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Analysis. 


O 2 


i g6 


Analysis  284-292. 

Euthyde-  good  manners.  But  he  is  quickly  entangled  in  the  meshes  of  their 

sophistry  ; and  as  a storm  seems  to  be  gathering  Socrates  pacifies  285 

Analysis.  hjm  with  a joke,  and  Ctesippus  then  says  that  he  is  not  reviling 
the  two  Sophists,  he  is  only  contradicting  them.  ‘ But,’  says 
Dionysodorus,  ‘there  is  no  such  thing  as  contradiction.  When 
you  and  I describe  the  same  thing,  or  you  describe  one  thing  and  286 
I describe  another,  how  can  there  be  a contradiction  ?’  Ctesippus 
is  unable  to  reply. 

Socrates  has  already  heard  of  the  denial  of  contradiction,  and 
would  like  to  be  informed  by  the  great  master  of  the  art,  1 What  is 
the  meaning  of  this  paradox?  Is  there  no  such  thing  as  error,  287 
ignorance,  falsehood?  Then  what  are  they  professing  to  teach  ?’ 

The  two  Sophists  complain  that  Socrates  is  ready  to  answer  what 
they  said  a year  ago,  but  is  ‘ non-plussed  ’ at  what  they  are  saying 
now.  ‘ What  does  the  word  “ non-plussed  ” mean  ? ’ Socrates  is 
informed,  in  reply,  that  words  are  lifeless  things,  and  lifeless  things 
have  no  sense  or  meaning.  Ctesippus  again  breaks  out,  and  again  288 
has  to  be  pacified  by  Socrates,  who  renews  the  conversation  with 
Cleinias.  The  two  Sophists  are  like  Proteus  in  the  variety  of  their 
transformations,  and  he,  like  Menelaus  in  the  Odyssey,  iv.  306  ff., 
hopes  to  restore  them  to  their  natural  form. 

He  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  Cleinias  must  become  a 
philosopher.  And  philosophy  is  the  possession  of  knowledge ; 2S9 
and  knowledge  must  be  of  a kind  which  is  profitable  and  may  be 
used.  What  knowledge  is  there  which  has  such  a nature?  Not 
the  knowledge  which  is  required  in  any  particular  art ; nor  again 
the  art  of  the  composer  of  speeches,  who  knows  how  to  write 
them,  but  cannot  speak  them,  although  he  too  must  be  admitted  to  290 
be  a kind  of  enchanter  of  wild  animals.  Neither  is  the  knowledge 
which  we  are  seeking  the  knowledge  of  the  general.  For  the 
general  makes  over  his  prey  to  the  statesman,  as  the  huntsman 
does  to  the  cook,  or  the  taker  of  quails  to  the  keeper  of  quails  ; he 
has  not  the  use  of  that  which  he  acquires.  The  two  enquirers,  291 
Cleinias  and  Socrates,  are  described  as  wandering  about  in  a 
wilderness,  vainly  searching  after  the  art  of  life  and  happiness. 

At  last  they  fix  upon  the  kingly  art,  as  having  the  desired  soit 
of  knowledge.  But  the  kingly  art  only  gives  men  those  goods  292 
which  are  neither  good  nor  evil : and  if  we  say  further  that  it 
makes  us  wise,  in  what  does  it  make  us  wise  ? Not  in  special  arts, 


197 


Analysis  292-300. 

such  as  cobbling  or  carpentering,  but  only  in  itself:  or  say  again 
that  it  makes  us  good,  there  is  no  answer  to  the  question,  ‘good  in 
what?’  At  length  in  despair  Cleinias  and  Socrates  turn  to  the 

293  ‘ Dioscuri  ’ and  request  their  aid. 

Euthydemus  argues  that  Socrates  knows  something ; and  as  he 
cannot  know  and  not  know,  he  cannot  know  some  things  and  not 

294  know  others,  and  therefore  he  knows  all  things  : he  and  Dionyso- 

dorus  and  all  other  men  know  all  things.  ‘ Do  they  know  shoe- 
making, &c.  ? ’ ‘ Yes.’  The  sceptical  Ctesippus  would  like  to  have 

some  evidence  of  this  extraordinary  statement : he  will  believe  if 
Euthydemus  will  tell  him  how  many  teeth  Dionysodorus  has,  and 
if  Dionj^sodorus  will  give  him  a like  piece  of  information  about 

295  Euthj'demus.  Even  Socrates  is  incredulous,  and  indulges  in  a 
little  raillery  at  the  expense  of  the  brothers.  But  he  restrains 

296  himself,  remembering  that  if  the  men  who  are  to  be  his  teachers 
think  him  stupid  they  will  take  no  pains  with  him.  Another  fallacy 
is  produced  which  turns  on  the  absoluteness  of  the  verb  ‘ to  know.’ 
And  here  Dionysodorus  is  caught  ‘napping,’  and  is  induced  by 

297  Socrates  to  confess  that  ‘ he  does  not  know  the  good  to  be  unjust.’ 
Socrates  appeals  to  his  brother  Euthydemus  ; at  the  same  time  he 
acknowledges  that  he  cannot,  like  Heracles,  fight  against  a Hydra, 
and  even  Heracles,  on  the  approach  of  a second  monster,  called 
upon  his  nephew  Iolaus  to  help.  Dionysodorus  rejoins  that 
Iolaus  was  no  more  the  nephew  of  Heracles  than  of  Socrates. 

298  For  a nephew  is  a nephew,  and  a brother  is  a brother,  and  a 
father  is  a father,  not  of  one  man  only,  but  of  all ; nor  of  men  only, 
but  of  dogs  and  sea-monsters.  Ctesippus  makes  merry  with  the 

299  consequences  which  follow  : ‘ Much  good  has  your  father  got  out 
of  the  wisdom  of  his  puppies.’ 

‘ But,’  says  Euthydemus,  unabashed,  ‘ nobody  wants  much  good.’ 
Medicine  is  a good,  arms  are  a good,  money  is  a good,  and  yet 
there  may  be  too  much  of  them  in  wrong  places.  ‘ No,’  says 
Ctesippus,  ‘ there  cannot  be  too  much  gold.’  ‘ And  would  you  be 
happy  if  you  had  three  talents  of  gold  in  your  belly,  a talent  in 
your  pate,  and  a stater  in  either  eye?’  Ctesippus,  imitating  the 
new  wisdom,  replies,  ‘ And  do  not  the  Scythians  reckon  those  to 
be  the  happiest  of  men  who  have  their  skulls  gilded  and  see  the 

300  inside  of  them  ? ’ ‘Do  you  see,’  retorts  Euthydemus,  ‘what  has 
the  quality  of  vision  or  what  has  not  the  quality  of  vision  ? ’ ‘ What 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Analysis. 


198 


Euthy de- 
mits. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  300-306. 

has  the  quality  of  vision.’  ‘And  you  see  our  garments?’  ‘Yes.’ 

‘ Then  our  garments  have  the  quality  of  vision.’  A similar  play  of 
words  follows,  which  is  successfully  retorted  by  Ctesippus,  to  the 
great  delight  of  Cleinias,  who  is  rebuked  by  Socrates  for  laughing 
at  such  solemn  and  beautiful  things. 

‘ But  are  there  any  beautiful  things  ? And  if  there  are  such,  are  301 
they  the  same  or  not  the  same  as  absolute  beauty  ? ’ Socrates 
replies  that  they  are  not  the  same,  but  each  of  them  has  some 
beauty  present  with  it.  ‘ And  are  you  an  ox  because  you 
have  an  ox  present  with  you  ? ’ After  a few  more  amphiboliae,  302 
in  which  Socrates,  like  Ctesippus,  in  self-defence  borrows 
the  weapons  of  the  brothers,  they  both  confess  that  the  two 
heroes  are  invincible ; and  the  scene  concludes  with  a grand 
chorus  of  shouting  and  laughing,  and  a panegyrical  oration  from  303 
Socrates  : — 

First,  he  praises  the  indifference  of  Dionysodorus  and  Euthy- 
demus  to  public  opinion  ; for  most  persons  would  rather  be  refuted 
by  such  arguments  than  use  them  in  the  refutation  of  others. 
Secondly,  he  remarks  upon  their  impartiality ; for  they  stop  their 
own  mouths,  as  well  as  those  of  other  people.  Thirdly,  he  notes  304 
their  liberality,  which  makes  them  give  away  their  secret  to  all  the 
world  : they  should  be  more  reserved,  and  let  no  one  be  present 
at  this  exhibition  who  does  not  pay  them  a handsome  fee ; or 
better  still  they  might  practise  on  one  another  only.  He  concludes 
with  a respectful  request  that  they  will  receive  him  and  Cleinias 
among  their  disciples. 

Crito  tells  Socrates  that  he  has  heard  one  of  the  audience  criti- 
cise severely  this  wisdom, — not  sparing  Socrates  himself  for  coun-  305 
tenancing  such  an  exhibition.  Socrates  asks  what  manner  of  man 
was  this  censorious  critic.  ‘Not  an  orator,  but  a great  composer 
of  speeches.’  Socrates  understands  that  he  is  an  amphibious 
animal,  half  philosopher,  half  politician  ; one  of  a class  who  have 
the  highest  opinion  of  themselves  and  a spite  against  philosophers, 
whom  they  imagine  to  be  their  rivals.  They  are  a class  who  are 
very  likely  to  get  mauled  by  Euthydemus  and  his  friends,  and  have 
a great  notion  of  their  own  wisdom  ; for  they  imagine  themselves 
to  have  all  the  advantages  and  none  of  the  drawbacks  both  of 
politics  and  of  philosophy.  They  do  not  understand  the  principles  306 
of  combination,  and  hence  arc  ignorant  that  the  union  of  two  good 


1 99 


The  passage  of  philosophy  into  eristic. 

things  which  have  different  ends  produces  a compound  inferior  to 
either  of  them  taken  separately. 

Crito  is  anxious  about  the  education  of  his  children,  one  of  whom 
is  growing  up.  The  description  of  Dionysodorus  and  Euthydemus 
307  suggests  to  him  the  reflection  that  the  professors  of  education  are 
strange  beings.  Socrates  consoles  him  with  the  remark  that  the 
good  in  all  professions  are  few,  and  recommends  that  ‘ he  and  his 
house  ’ should  continue  to  serve  philosophy,  and  not  mind  about  its 
professors. 


There  is  a stage  in  the  history  of  philosophy  in  which  the  old  is 
dying  out,  and  the  new  has  not  yet  come  into  full  life.  Great 
philosophies  like  the  Eleatic  or  Heraclitean,  which  have  enlarged 
the  boundaries  of  the  human  mind,  begin  to  pass  away  in  words. 
They  subsist  only  as  forms  which  have  rooted  themselves  in 
language — as  troublesome  elements  of  thought  which  cannot  be 
either  used  or  explained  away.  The  same  absoluteness  which 
was  once  attributed  to  abstractions  is  now  attached  to  the  words 
which  are  the  signs  of  them.  The  philosophy  which  in  the  first 
and  second  generation  was  a great  and  inspiring  effort  of  reflec- 
tion, in  the  third  becomes  sophistical,  verbal,  eristic. 

It  is  this  stage  of  philosophy  which  Plato  satirises  in  the  Euthy- 
demus. The  fallacies  which  are  noted  by  him  appear  trifling  to  us 
now,  but  they  were  not  trifling  in  the  age  before  logic,  in  the 
decline  of  the  earlier  Greek  philosophies,  at  a time  when  language 
was  first  beginning  to  perplex  human  thought.  Besides  he  is 
caricaturing  them  ; they  probably  received  more  subtle  forms  at 
the  hands  of  those  who  seriously  maintained  them.  They  are 
patent  to  us  in  Plato,  and  we  are  inclined  to  wonder  how  any  one 
could  ever  have  been  deceived  by  them  ; but  we  must  remember 
also  that  there  was  a time  when  the  human  mind  was  only  with 
great  difficulty  disentangled  from  such  fallacies. 

To  appreciate  fully  the  drift  of  the  Euthydemus,  we  should 
imagine  a mental  state  in  which  not  individuals  only,  but  whole 
schools  during  more  than  one  generation,  were  animated  by  the 
desire  to  exclude  the  conception  of  rest,  and  therefore  the  very 
word  ‘this’  (Theaet.183  C)  from  language  ; in  which  the  ideas  of 
space,  time,  matter,  motion,  were  proved  to  be  contradictory  and 
imaginary;  in  which  the  nature  of  qualitative  change  was  a puzzle, 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Analysis. 


Introduc- 

tion. 


200 


Euthyde- 

f/UIS. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


The  fallacies  of  the  Sophists. 

and  even  differences  of  degree,  when  applied  to  abstract  notions, 
were  not  understood ; in  which  there  was  no  analysis  of  grammar, 
and  mere  puns  or  plays  of  words  received  serious  attention  ; in 
which  contradiction  itself  was  denied,  and,  on  the  one  hand,  every 
predicate  was  affirmed  to  be  true  of  every  subject,  and  on  the  other, 
it  was  held  that  no  predicate  was  true  of  any  subject,  and  that 
nothing  was,  or  was  known,  or  could  be  spoken.  Let  us  imagine 
disputes  carried  on  with  religious  earnestness  and  more  than 
scholastic  subtlety,  in  which  the  catchwords  of  philosophy  are 
completely  detached  from  their  context.  (Cp.  Theaet.  180.)  To 
such  disputes  the  humour,  whether  of  Plato  in  the  ancient,  or  of 
Pope  and  Swift  in  the  modern  world,  is  the  natural  enemy.  Nor 
must  we  forget  that  in  modern  times  also  there  is  no  fallacy  so 
gross,  no  trick  of  language  so  transparent,  no  abstraction  so  barren 
and  unmeaning,  no  form  of  thought  so  contradictory  to  experience, 
which  has  not  been  found  to  satisfy  the  minds  of  philosophical 
enquirers  at  a certain  stage,  or  when  regarded  from  a certain  point 
of  view  only.  The  peculiarity  of  the  fallacies  of  our  own  age  is 
that  we  live  within  them,  and  are  therefore  generally  unconscious 
of  them. 

Aristotle  has  analysed  several  of  the  same  fallacies  in  his  book 
‘ De  Sophisticis  Elenchis,’  which  Plato,  with  equal  command  of 
their  true  nature,  has  preferred  to  bring  to  the  test  of  ridicule.  At 
first  we  are  only  struck  with  the  broad  humour  of  this  ‘ reductio  ad 
absurdum  : ’ gradually  we  perceive  that  some  important  questions 
begin  to  emerge.  Here,  as  everywhere  else,  Plato  is  making  war 
against  the  philosophers  who  put  words  in  the  place  of  things,  who 
tear  arguments  to  tatters,  who  deny  predication,  and  thus  make 
knowledge  impossible ; to  whom  ideas  and  objects  of  sense  have 
no  fixedness,  but  are  in  a state  of  perpetual  oscillation  and 
transition.  Two  great  truths  seem  to  be  indirectly  taught 
through  these  fallacies  : (i)  The  uncertainty  of  language,  which 
allows  the  same  words  to  be  used  in  different  meanings,  or 
with  different  degrees  of  meaning  : (2)  The  necessary  limitation 
or  relative  nature  of  all  phenomena.  Plato  is  aware  that  his  own 
doctrine  of  ideas  (p.  3®^  A),  as  well  as  the  Eleatic  Being  and  Not- 
being,  alike  admit  of  being  regarded  as  verbal  fallacies  (p.  284  A,  B). 
The  sophism  advanced  in  the  Meno  fp.  80  D),  ‘ that  you  cannot 
enquire  either  into  what  you  know  or  do  not  know,  is  lightly 


201 


Characters  of  the  Dialogue. 

touched  upon  at  the  commencement  of  the  Dialogue  (pp.  275,  276)  ; 
the  thesis  of  Protagoras,  that  everything  is  true  to  him  to  whom  it 
seems  to  be  true,  is  satirized  at  p.  286.  In  contrast  with  these 
fallacies  is  maintained  the  Socratic  doctrine  that  happiness  is 
gained  by  knowledge.  The  grammatical  puzzles  with  which  the 
Dialogue  concludes  probably  contain  allusions  to  tricks  of  lan- 
guage which  may  have  been  practised  by  the  disciples  of  Prodicus 
or  Antisthenes.  They  would  have  had  more  point,  if  we  were 
acquainted  with  the  writings  against  which  Plato’s  humour  is 
directed.  Most  of  the  jests  appear  to  have  a serious  meaning  ; 
but  we  have  lost  the  clue  to  some  of  them,  and  cannot  determine 
whether,  as  in  the  Cratylus,  Plato  has  or  has  not  mixed  up  purely 
unmeaning  fun  with  his  satire. 

The  two  discourses  of  Socrates  may  be  contrasted  in  several 
respects  with  the  exhibition  of  the  Sophists  : (1)  In  their  perfect 
relevancy  to  the  subject  of  discussion,  whereas  the  Sophistical 
discourses  are  wholly  irrelevant : (2)  In  their  enquiring  sympa- 
thetic tone,  which  encourages  the  youth,  instead  of  ‘ knocking  him 
down,’  after  the  manner  of  the  two  Sophists  : (3)  In  the  absence  of 
any  definite  conclusion— for  while  Socrates  and  the  youth  are 
agreed  that  philosophy  is  to  be  studied,  they  are  not  able  to  arrive 
at  any  certain  result  about  the  art  which  is  to  teach  it.  This  is 
a question  which  wall  hereafter  be  answered  in  the  Republic ; as 
the  conception  of  the  kingly  art  (291,  292)  is  more  fully  developed 
in  the  Politicus,  and  the  caricature  of  rhetoric  (290)  in  the  Gorgias. 

The  characters  of  the  Dialogue  are  easily  intelligible.  There  is 
Socrates  once  more  in  the  character  of  an  old  man  ; and  his  equal 
in  years,  Crito,  the  father  of  Critobulus,  like  Lysimachus  in  the 
Laches,  his  fellow  demesman  (Apol.  33  D),  to  whom  the  scene  is 
narrated,  and  who  once  or  twice  interrupts  with  a remark  after 
the  manner  of  the  interlocutor  in  the  Phaedo,  and  adds  his  com- 
mentary at  the  end  ; Socrates  makes  a playful  allusion  to  his 
money-getting  habits.  There  is  the  youth  Cleinias,  the  grand- 
son of  Alcibiades,  who  may  be  compared  with  Lysis,  Charmides, 
Menexenus,  and  other  ingenuous  youths  out  of  whose  mouths 
Socrates  draws  his  own  lessons,  and  to  whom  he  always  seems  to 
stand  in  a kindly  and  sympathetic  relation.  Crito  will  not  believe 
that  Socrates  has  not  improved  or  perhaps  invented  the  answers 
of  Cleinias  fcp.  Phaedrus,  275  Bj.  The  name  of  the  grand- 


Euthy  de- 
mus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


202 


Euthy da- 
mns. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


The  philosopher  and  politician. 

son  of  Alcibiades,  who  is  described  as  long  dead,  tov  rraXmov, 
and  who  died  at  the  age  of  forty-four,  in  the  year  404  b.c., 
suggests  not  only  that  the  intended  scene  of  the  Euthydemus 
could  not  have  been  earlier  than  404,  but  that  as  a fact  this 
Dialogue  could  not  have  been  composed  before  390  at  the  soonest. 
Ctesippus,  who  is  the  lover  of  Cleinias,  has  been  already  intro- 
duced to  us  in  the  Lysis,  and  seems  there  too  to  deserve  the 
character  which  is  here  given  him,  of  a somewhat  uproarious 
young  man.  But  the  chief  study  of  all  is  the  picture  of  the  two 
brothers,  who  are  unapproachable  in  their  effrontery,  equally 
careless  of  what  they  say  to  others  and  of  what  is  said  to  them, 
and  never  at  a loss.  They  are  ‘ Arcades  ambo  et  cantare  pares  et 
respondere  parati.’  Some  superior  degree  of  wit  or  subtlety  is 
attributed  to  Euthydemus,  who  sees  the  trap  in  which  Socrates 
catches  Dionysodorus  (296  A). 

The  epilogue  or  conclusion  of  the  Dialogue  has  been  criticised 
as  inconsistent  with  the  general  scheme.  Such  a criticism  is  like 
similar  criticisms  on  Shakespeare,  and  proceeds  upon  a narrow 
notion  of  the  variety  which  the  Dialogue,  like  the  drama,  seems  to 
admit.  Plato  in  the  abundance  of  his  dramatic  power  has  chosen 
to  write  a play  upon  a play,  just  as  he  often  gives  us  an  argument 
within  an  argument.  At  the  same  time  he  takes  the  opportunity 
of  assailing  another  class  of  persons  who  are  as  alien  from  the 
spirit  of  philosophy  as  Euthydemus  and  Dionysodorus.  The 
Eclectic,  the  Syncretist,  the  Doctrinaire,  have  been  apt  to  have  a 
bad  name  both  in  ancient  and  modern  times.  The  persons  whom 
Plato  ridicules  in  the  epilogue  to  the  Euthydemus  are  of  this  class. 
They  occupy  a border-ground  between  philosophy  and  politics ; 
they  keep  out  of  the  dangers  of  politics,  and  at  the  same  time  use 
philosophy  as  a means  of  serving  their  own  interests.  Plato 
quaintly  describes  them  as  making  two  good  things,  philosophy 
and  politics,  a little  worse  by  perverting  the  objects  of  both.  Men 
like  Antiphon  or  Lysias  would  be  types  of  the  class.  Out  of 
a regard  to  the  respectabilities  of  life,  they  are  disposed  to  censure 
the  interest  which  Socrates  takes  in  the  exhibition  of  the  two 
brothers.  They  do  not  understand,  any  more  than  Crito,  that  he  is 
pursuing  his  vocation  of  detecting  the  follies  of  mankind,  which  he 
finds  1 not  unpleasant.’  (Cp.  Apol.  23  B,  33  B.) 

Education  is  the  common  subject  of  all  Plato's  earlier  Dialogues. 


Date  of  the  Dialogue. 

The  concluding  remark  of  Crito,  that  he  has  a difficulty  in  educating 
his  two  sons,  and  the  advice  of  Socrates  to  him  that  he  should 
not  give  up  philosophy  because  he  has  no  faith  in  philosophers, 
seems  to  be  a preparation  for  the  more  peremptory  declaration  of 
the  Meno  that  ‘Virtue  cannot  be  taught  because  there  are  no 
teachers.’ 

The  reasons  for  placing  the  Euthydemus  early  in  the  series  are  : 
(i)  the  similarity  in  plan  and  style  to  the  Protagoras,  Charmides, 
and  Lysis  ; — the  relation  of  Socrates  to  the  Sophists  is  still  that  of 
humorous  antagonism,  not,  as  in  the  later  Dialogues  of  Plato,  of 
embittered  hatred  ; and  the  places  and  persons  have  a considerable 
family  likeness  ; (2)  the  Euthydemus  belongs  to  the  Socratic  period 
in  which  Socrates  is  represented  as  willing  to  learn,  but  unable  to 
teach  ; and  in  the  spirit  of  Xenophon’s  Memorabilia,  philosophy  is 
defined  as  ‘ the  knowledge  which  will  make  us  happy ;’  (3)  we 
seem  to  have  passed  the  stage  arrived  at  in  the  Protagoras,  for 
Socrates  is  no  longer  discussing  whether  virtue  can  be  taught — 
from  this  question  he  is  relieved  by  the  ingenuous  declaration  of 
the  youth  Cleinias ; and  (4)  not  yet  to  have  reached  the  point 
at  which  he  asserts  ‘ that  there  are  no  teachers.’  Such  grounds 
are  precarious,  as  arguments  from  style  and  plan  are  apt  to  be 
(oXicrdrjpoTaTov  to  yei/os).  But  no  arguments  equally  strong  can  be 
urged  in  favour  of  assigning  to  the  Euthydemus  any  other  position 
in  the  series. 


203 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


EUTHYDEMUS. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 


of  the  Dialogue. 
Crito. 

Cleinias. 


Socrates,  who  is  the  narrator 


Euthydemus. 

Dionysodorus. 

Ctesippus. 


Scene: — The  Lyceum. 


steph.  Crito.  Who  was  the  person,  Socrates,  with  whom  you  Crito, 
27r  were  talking  yesterday  at  the  Lyceum?  There  was  such  a SoCRATES 
crowd  around  you  that  I could  not  get  within  hearing,  but  I 
caught  a sight  of  him  over  their  heads,  and  I made  out,  as 
I thought,  that  he  was  a stranger  with  whom  you  were 
talking  : who  was  he  ? 

Socrates.  There  were  two,  Crito ; which  of  them  do  you 
mean  ? 

Cri.  The  one  whom  I mean  was  seated  second  from  you 
on  the  right-hand  side.  In  the  middle  was  Cleinias  the 
young  son  of  Axiochus,  who  has  wonderfully  grown ; he  is 
only  about  the  age  of  my  own  Critobulus,  but  he  is  much 
forwarder  and  very  good-looking : the  other  is  thin  and 
looks  younger  than  he  is. 

Soc.  He  whom  you  mean,  Crito,  is  Euthydemus;  and  on 
my  left  hand  there  was  his  brother  Dionysodorus,  who  also 
took  part  in  the  conversation. 

Cri.  1 Neither  of  them  are  known  to  me,  Socrates;  they 
are  a new  importation  of  Sophists,  as  I should  imagine.  Of 
what  country  are  they,  and  what  is  their  line  of  wisdom  ? 

1 Or,  according  to  the  arrangement  of  Stallbaum : — 

Cri.  Neither  of  them  are  known  to  me. 

Soc.  They  are  a new  importation  of  Sophists,  as  I should  imagine. 

Cri.  Of  what  country,  &c. 


206 


Eu  thy  de- 
mits. 

Socrates, 

Crito. 

The  vari- 
ous accom- 
plishments 
of  Euthy- 
demus  and 
Dionyso- 
dorus. 


Socrates 
thinks  that 
he  is  not 
too  old  to 
become 
their  pupil. 


A new  importation  of  Sophists. 

Soc.  As  to  their  origin,  I believe  that  they  are  natives  of 
this  part  of  the  world,  and  have  migrated  from  Chios  to 
Thurii ; they  were  driven  out  of  Thurii,  and  have  been 
living  for  many  years  past  in  these  regions.  As  to  their 
wisdom,  about  which  you  ask,  Crito,  they  are  wonderful — 
consummate  ! I never  knew  what  the  true  pancratiast  was 
before ; they  are  simply  made  up  of  fighting,  not  like  the 
two  Acarnanian  brothers  who  fight  with  their  bodies  only, 
but  this  pair  of  heroes,  besides  being  perfect  in  the  use  of 
their  bodies,  are  invincible  in  every  sort  of  warfare  ; for  they  272 
are  capital  at  fighting  in  armour,  and  will  teach  the  art  to 
any  one  who  pays  them ; and  also  they  are  most  skilful  in 
legal  warfare ; they  will  plead  themselves  and  teach  others 
to  speak  and  to  compose  speeches  which  will  have  an  effect 
upon  the  courts.  And  this  was  only  the  beginning  of  their 
wisdom,  but  they  have  at  last  carried  out  the  pancratiastic 
art  to  the  very  end,  and  have  mastered  the  only  mode  of 
fighting  which  had  been  hitherto  neglected  by  them  ; and 
now  no  one  dares  even  to  stand  up  against  them  : such  is 
their  skill  in  the  war  of  words,  that  they  can  refute  any 
proposition  whether  true  or  false.  Now  I am  thinking, 
Crito,  of  placing  myself  in  their  hands;  for  they  say  that  in 
a short  time  they  can  impart  their  skill  to  any  one. 

Cri.  But,  Socrates,  are  you  not  too  old  ? there  may  be 
reason  to  fear  that. 

Soc.  Certainly  not,  Crito ; as  I will  prove  to  you,  for  I 
have  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  they  began  this  art  of 
disputation  which  I covet,  quite,  as  I may  say,  in  old  age ; 
last  year,  or  the  year  before,  they  had  none  of  their  new 
wisdom.  I am  only  apprehensive  that  I may  bring  the  two 
strangers  into  disrepute,  as  I have  done  Connus  the  son  of 
Metrobius,  the  harp-player,  who  is  still  my  music-master;  for 
when  the  boys  who  go  to  him  see  me  going  with  them,  they 
laugh  at  me  and  call  him  grandpapa’s  master.  Now  I should 
not  like  the  strangers  to  experience  similar  treatment ; the 
fear  of  ridicule  may  make  them  unwilling  to  receive  me;  and 
therefore,  Crito,  I shall  try  and  persuade  some  old  men  to 
accompany  me  to  them,  as  I persuaded  them  to  go  with  me 
to  Connus,  and  I hope  that  you  will  make  one  : and  perhaps 
we  had  better  take  your  sons  as  a bait ; they  will  want  to 


207 


But ky demits,  Dionysodorus , and  their  disciples. 

have  them  as  pupils,  and  for  the  sake  of  them  will  be  willing 
to  receive  us. 

Cri.  1 see  no  objection,  Socrates,  if  you  like ; but  first  I 
wish  that  you  would  give  me  a description  of  their  wisdom, 
that  I may  know  beforehand  what  we  are  going  to  learn. 

Soc.  In  less  than  no  time  you  shall  hear;  for  I cannot 
say  that  I did  not  attend— I paid  great  attention  to  them,  and 
I remember  and  will  endeavour  to  repeat  the  whole  story. 
Providentially  I was  sitting  alone  in  the  dressing-room  of 
the  Lyceum  where  you  saw  me,  and  was  about  to  depart ; 
when  I was  getting  up  I recognized  the  familiar  divine  sign  : 
73  so  I sat  down  again,  and  in  a little  while  the  two  brothers 
Euthydemus  and  Dionysodorus  came  in,  and  several  others 
with  them,  whom  I believe  to  be  their  disciples,  and  they 
walked  about  in  the  covered  court ; they  had  not  taken  more 
than  two  or  three  turns  when  Cleinias  entered,  who,  as  you 
truly  say,  is  very  much  improved  : he  was  followed  by  a host 
of  lovers,  one  of  whom  was  Ctesippus  the  Paeanian,  a well- 
bred  youth,  but  also  having  the  wildness  of  youth.  Cleinias 
saw  me  from  the  entrance  as  I was  sitting  alone,  and  at  once 
came  and  sat  down  on  the  right  hand  of  me,  as  you  describe ; 
and  Dionysodorus  and  Euthydemus,  when  they  saw  him,  at 
first  stopped  and  talked  with  one  another,  now  and  then 
glancing  at  us,  for  I particularly  watched  them ; and  then 
Euthydemus  came  and  sat  down  by  the  youth,  and  the  other 
by  me  on  the  left  hand ; the  rest  anywhere.  I saluted  the 
brothers,  whom  I had  not  seen  for  a long  time  ; and  then  I 
said  to  Cleinias:  Here  are  two  wise  men,  Euthydemus  and 
Dionysodorus,  Cleinias,  wise  not  in  a small  but  in  a large 
way  of  wisdom,  for  they  know  all  about  war, — all  that  a good 
general  ought  to  know  about  the  array  and  command  of  an 
army,  and  the  whole  art  of  fighting  in  armour : and  they 
know  about  law  too,  and  can  teach  a man  how  to  use  the 
weapons  of  the  courts  when  he  is  injured. 

They  heard  me  say  this,  but  only  despised  me.  I observed 
that  they  looked  at  one  another,  and  both  of  them  laughed  ; 
and  then  Euthydemus  said  : Those,  Socrates,  are  matters 
which  we  no  longer  pursue  seriously;  to  us  they  are 
secondary  occupations. 

Indeed,  I said,  if  such  occupations  are  regarded  by  you  as 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Crito, 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

He  de- 
scribes the 
scene  of 
which  he 
had  been 
a witness. 


The  youth 
Cleinias 
and  his 
lover 

Ctesippus. 


208 


Euthyde- 

vius. 

Socrates, 

Euthyde- 

MUS, 

The  two 
Sophists 
have  given 
up  teaching 
the  arts  ; 
they  are 
now  en- 
gaged in 
teaching 
virtue. 


Socrates  draws  out  the  two  Sophists. 

secondary,  what  must  the  principal  one  be ; tell  me,  I 
beseech  you,  what  that  noble  study  is  ? 

The  teaching  of  virtue,  Socrates,  he  replied,  is  our  principal 
occupation  ; and  we  believe  that  we  can  impart  it  better  and 
quicker  than  any  man. 

My  God  ! I said,  and  where  did  you  learn  that?  I always 
thought,  as  I was  saying  just  now,  that  your  chief  accomplish- 
ment was  the  art  of  fighting  in  armour;  and  I used  to  say  as 
much  of  you,  for  I remember  that  you  professed  this  when 
you  were  here  before.  But  now  if  you  really  have  the  other 
knowledge,  O forgive  me:  I address  you  as  I would  superior 
beings,  and  ask  you  to  pardon  the  impiety  of  my  former 
expressions.  But  are  you  quite  sure  about  this,  Dionysodorus  274 
and  Euthydemus?  the  promise  is  so  vast,  that  a feeling  of 
incredulity  steals  over  me. 

You  may  take  our  word,  Socrates,  for  the  fact. 

Then  I think  you  happier  in  having  such  a treasure  than 
the  great  king  is  in  the  possession  of  his  kingdom.  And 
please  to  tell  me  whether  you  intend  to  exhibit  your  wisdom  ; 
or  what  will  you  do  ? 

That  is  why  we  have  come  hither,  Socrates  ; and  our  purpose 
is  not  only  to  exhibit,  but  also  to  teach  any  one  who  likes  to 
learn. 

But  I can  promise  you,  I said,  that  every  unvirtuous  person 
will  want  to  learn.  I shall  be  the  first ; and  there  is  the 
youth  Cleinias,  and  Ctesippus  : and  here  are  several  others, 

I said,  pointing  to  the  lovers  of  Cleinias,  who  were  beginning 
to  gather  round  us.  Now  Ctesippus  was  sitting  at  some 
distance  from  Cleinias ; and  when  Euthydemus  leaned 
forward  in  talking  with  me,  he  was  prevented  from  seeing 
Cleinias,  who  was  between  us  ; and  so,  partly  because  he 
wanted  to  look  at  his  love,  and  also  because  he  was  interested, 
he  jumped  up  and  stood  opposite  to  us : and  all  the  other 
admirers  of  Cleinias,  as  well  as  the  disciples  of  Euthydemus 
and  Dionysodorus,  followed  his  example.  And  these  were 
the  persons  whom  I showed  to  Euthydemus,  telling  him  that 
they  were  all  eager  to  learn  : to  which  Ctesippus  and  all  of 
them  with  one  voice  vehemently  assented,  and  bid  him  exhibit 
the  power  of  his  wisdom.  Then  I said  : O Euthydemus  and 
Dionysodorus,  I earnestly  request  you  to  do  myself  and  the 


209 


Their  vanity  and  swagger. 

company  the  favour  to  exhibit.  There  may  be  some  trouble 
in  giving  the  whole  exhibition ; but  tell  me  one  thing, — can 
you  make  a good  man  of  him  only  who  is  already  convinced 
that  he  ought  to  learn  of  you,  or  of  him  also  who  is  not 
convinced,  either  because  he  imagines  that  virtue  is  a thing 
which  cannot  be  taught  at  all,  or  that  you  are  not  the  teachers 
of  it?  Has  your  art  power  to  persuade  him,  who  is  of  the 
latter  temper  of  mind,  that  virtue  can  be  taught ; and  that 
you  are  the  men  from  whom  he  will  best  learn  it  ? 

Certainly,  Socrates,  said  Dionysodorus ; our  art  will  do 
both. 

And  you  and  your  brother,  Dionysodorus,  I said,  of  all 
men  who  are  now  living  are  the  most  likely  to  stimulate 
him  to  philosophy  and  to  the  study  of  virtue  ? 

75  Yes,  Socrates,  I rather  think  that  we  are. 

Then  I wish  that  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  defer  the 
other  part  of  the  exhibition,  and  only  try  to  persuade  the 
youth  whom  you  see  here  that  he  ought  to  be  a philosopher 
and  study  virtue.  Exhibit  that,  and  you  will  confer  a great 
favour  on  me  and  on  every  one  present ; for  the  fact  is  I and 
all  of  us  are  extremely  anxious  that  he  should  become  truly 
good.  His  name  is  Cleinias,  and  he  is  the  son  of  Axiochus, 
and  grandson  of  the  old  Alcibiades,  cousin  of  the  Alcibiades 
that  now  is.  He  is  quite  young,  and  we  are  naturally  afraid 
that  some  one  may  get  the  start  of  us,  and  turn  his  mind  in  a 
wrong  direction,  and  he  may  be  ruined.  Your  visit,  there- 
fore, is  most  happily  timed  ; and  I hope  that  you  will  make 
a trial  of  the  young  man,  and  converse  with  him  in  our 
presence,  if  you  have  no  objection. 

These  were  pretty  nearly  the  expressions  which  I used; 
and  Euthydemus,  in  a manly  and  at  the  same  time  encouraging 
tone,  replied : There  can  be  no  objection,  Socrates,  if  the 
young  man  is  only  willing  to  answer  questions. 

He  is  quite  accustomed  to  do  so,  I replied  ; for  his  friends 
often  come  and  ask  him  questions  and  argue  with  him  ; and 
therefore  he  is  quite  at  home  in  answering. 

What  followed,  Crito,  how  can  I rightly  narrate?  For  not 
slight  is  the  task  of  rehearsing  infinite  wisdom,  and  therefore, 
like  the  poets,  I ought  to  commence  my  relation  with  an 
invocation  to  Memory  and  the  Muses.  Now  Euthydemus,  if 

VOL.  I. 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

rus, 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

Can  they 
teach  virtue 
to  those 
only  who 
are  willing 
or  to  those 
also  who 
are  un- 
willing to 
learn  ? 


Euthyde- 
mus begins 
in  a lofty 
and  cheer- 
ful tone. 


The  scene 
which  fol- 
lowed was 
beyond  de- 
scription. 


P 


2 IO 


■Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

rus, 

Cleinias, 

Euthyde- 

MUS. 


The  wise 
only  learn  : 


and  yet 
those  who 
learn  are 
unlearned  ; 


and  there- 
fore the 
unlearned 
learn  and 
not  the 
wise. 


Cleinias  is  interrogated 

I remember  rightly,  began  nearly  as  follows:  O Cleinias,  are 
those  who  learn  the  wise  or  the  ignorant? 

The  youth,  overpowered  by  the  question,  blushed,  and  in 
his  perplexity  looked  at  me  for  help  ; and  I,  knowing  that  he 
was  disconcerted,  said  : Take  courage,  Cleinias,  and  answer 
like  a man  whichever  you  think  ; for  my  belief  is  that  you 
will  derive  the  greatest  benefit  from  their  questions. 

Whichever  he  answers,  said  Dionysodorus,  leaning  forward 
so  as  to  catch  my  ear,  his  face  beaming  with  laughter,  I 
prophesy  that  he  will  be  refuted,  Socrates. 

While  he  was  speaking  to  me,  Cleinias  gave  his  answer : 
and  therefore  I had  no  time  to  warn  him  of  the  predicament 
in  which  he  was  placed,  and  he  answered  that  those  who  276 
learned  were  the  wise. 

Euthydemus  proceeded  : There  are  some  whom  you  would 
call  teachers,  are  there  not  ? 

The  boy  assented. 

And  they  are  the  teachers  of  those  who  learn — the  grammar- 
master  and  the  lyre-master  used  to  teach  you  and  other  boys  ; 
and  you  were  the  learners  ? 

Yes. 

And  when  you  were  learners  you  did  not  as  yet  know  the 
things  which  you  were  learning  ? 

No,  he  said. 

And  were  you  wise  then  ? 

No,  indeed,  he  said. 

But  if  you  were  not  wise  you  were  unlearned  ? 

Certainly. 

You  then,  learning  what  you  did  not  know,  were  un- 
learned when  you  were  learning? 

The  youth  nodded  assent. 

Then  the  unlearned  learn  \ and  not  the  wise,  Cleinias,  as 
you  imagine. 

At  these  words  the  followers  of  Euthydemus,  of  whom  I 
spoke,  like  a chorus  at  the  bidding  of  their  director,  laughed 
and  cheered.  Then,  before  the  youth  had  time  to  recover 
his  breath,  Dionysodorus  cleverly  took  him  in  hand,  and 
said  : Yes,  Cleinias ; and  when  the  grammar-master  dictated 


1 Omitting  arotpoi. 


by  Euthydemus  and  Dionysodorus. 


2 1 1 


anything  to  you,  were  the}'  the  wise  boys  or  the  unlearned 
who  learned  the  dictation  ? 

The  wise,  replied  Cleinias. 

Then  after  all  the  wise  are  the  learners  and  not  the  un- 
learned ; and  your  last  answer  to  Euthydemus  was  wrong. 

Then  once  more  the  admirers  of  the  two  heroes,  in  an 
ecstasy  at  their  wisdom,  gave  vent  to  another  peal  of  laughter, 
while  the  rest  of  us  were  silent  and  amazed.  Euthydemus, 
observing  this,  determined  to  persevere  with  the  youth  ; and 
in  order  to  heighten  the  effect  went  on  asking  another  similar 
question,  which  might  be  compared  to  the  double  turn  of  an 
expert  dancer.  Do  those,  said  he,  who  learn,  learn  what 
they  know,  or  what  they  do  not  know  ? 

Again  Dionysodorus  whispered  to  me  : That,  Socrates,  is 
just  another  of  the  same  sort. 

Good  heavens,  I said  ; and  your  last  question  was  so  good  ! 

Like  all  our  other  questions,  Socrates,  he  replied — - 
inevitable. 

I see  the  reason,  I said,  why  you  are  in  such  reputation 
among  your  disciples. 

Meanwhile  Cleinias  had  answered  Euthydemus  that  those 
who  learned  learn  what  they  do  not  know ; and  he  put  him 
through  a series  of  questions  the  same  as  before. 

277  Do  you  not  know  letters  ? 

He  assented. 

All  letters? 

Yes. 

But  when  the  teacher  dictates  to  you,  does  he  not  dictate 
letters  ? 

To  this  also  he  assented. 

Then  if  you  know  all  letters,  he  dictates  that  which  you 
know  ? 

This  again  was  admitted  by  him. 

Then,  said  the  other,  you  do  not  learn  that  which  he 
dictates;  but  he  only  who  does  not  know  letters  learns? 

Nay,  said  Cleinias;  but  I do  learn. 

Then,  said  he,  you  learn  what  you  know,  if  you  know  all 
the  letters  ? 

He  admitted  that. 

Then,  he  said,  you  were  wrong  in  your  answer. 


E u Ihy  de- 
mits. 

Socrates. 

Dionysodo- 

rus, 

Cleinias, 

Euthyde- 

mus. 


A similar 
trick  of 
argument. 


The  teach- 
er dictates 
to  his  pupils 
that  which 
they  do  not 
know  ; and 
yet  he  dic- 
tates letters 
which  they 
know. 


P 2 


2 I 2 


Socrates  and  Cleinias. 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

SOCRATES, 

Dionysido- 

RUS, 

Cleinias, 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

The  trick 
reversed. 


Socrates 
explains  to 
Cleinias  the 
sophistical 
mode  of 
procedure. 


The  word  was  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when  Dionysodorus 
took  up  the  argument,  like  a ball  which  he  caught,  and  had 
another  throw  at  the  youth.  Cleinias,  he  said,  Euthydemus 
is  deceiving  you.  For  tell  me  now,  is  not  learning  acquiring 
knowledge  of  that  which  one  learns? 

Cleinias  assented. 

And  knowing  is  having  knowledge  at  the  time? 

He  agreed. 

And  not  knowing  is  not  having  knowledge  at  the  time? 

He  admitted  that. 

And  are  those  who  acquire  those  who  have  or  have  not  a 
thing? 

Those  who  have  not. 

And  have  you  not  admitted  that  those  who  do  not  know 
are  of  the  number  of  those  who  have  not? 

He  nodded  assent. 

Then  those  who  learn  are  of  the  class  of  those  who  acquire, 
and  not  of  those  who  have  ? 

He  agreed. 

Then,  Cleinias,  he  said,  those  who  do  not  know  learn,  and 
not  those  who  know. 

Euthydemus  was  proceeding  to  give  the  youth  a third  fall ; 
but  I knew  that  he  was  in  deep  water,  and  therefore,  as  I 
wanted  to  give  him  a respite  lest  he  should  be  disheartened, 

I said  to  him  consolingly:  You  must  not  be  surprised, 
Cleinias,  at  the  singularity  of  their  mode  of  speech : this  I 
say  because  you  may  not  understand  what  the  two  strangers 
are  doing  with  you ; they  are  only  initiating  you  after  the 
manner  of  the  Corybantes  in  the  mysteries  ; and  this  answers 
to  the  enthronement,  which,  if  you  have  ever  been  initiated, 
is,  as  you  will  know,  accompanied  by  dancing  and  sport ; and 
now  they  are  just  prancing  and  dancing  about  you,  and  will 
next  proceed  to  initiate  you ; imagine  then  that  you  have 
gone  through  the  first  part  of  the  sophistical  ritual,  which,  as 
Prodicus  says,  begins  with  initiation  into  the  correct  use  ol 
terms.  The  two  foreign  gentlemen,  perceiving  that  you  did 
not  know,  wanted  to  explain  to  you  that  the  word  1 to  learn  ’ 
has  two  meanings,  and  is  used,  first,  in  the  sense  ot  acquiring  278 
knowledge  of  some  matter  of  which  you  previously  have  no 
knowledge,  and  also,  when  you  have  the  knowledge,  in  the 


A discourse  of  the  right  sort. 


213 


sense  of  reviewing  this  matter,  whether  something  done  or 
spoken  by  the  light  of  this  newly-acquired  knowledge ; the 
latter  is  generally  called  ‘knowing’  rather  than  ‘learning,’ 
but  the  word  ‘learning’  is  also  used  ; and  you  did  not  see, 
as  they  explained  to  you,  that  the  term  is  employed  of  two 
opposite  sorts  of  men,  of  those  who  know,  and  of  those  who 
do  not  know.  There  was  a similar  trick  in  the  second 
question,  when  they  asked  you  whether  men  learn  what  they 
know  or  what  they  do  not  know.  These  parts  of  learning 
are  not  serious,  and  therefore  I say  that  the  gentlemen  are 
not  serious,  but  are  only  playing  with  you.  For  if  a man 
had  all  that  sort  of  knowledge  that  ever  was,  he  would  not 
be  at  all  the  wiser ; he  would  only  be  able  to  play  with  men, 
tripping  them  up  and  oversetting  them  with  distinctions  of 
words.  He  would  be  like  a person  who  pulls  away  a stool 
from  some  one  when  he  is  about  to  sit  down,  and  then  laughs 
and  makes  merry  at  the  sight  of  his  friend  overturned  and 
laid  on  his  back.  And  you  must  regard  all  that  has  hitherto 
passed  between  you  and  them  as  merely  play.  But  in  what 
is  to  follow  I am  certain  that  they  will  exhibit  to  you  their 
serious  purpose,  and  keep  their  promise  (I  will  show  them 
how) ; for  they  promised  to  give  me  a sample  of  the  hortatory 
philosophy,  but  I suppose  that  they  wanted  to  have  a game 
with  you  first.  And  now,  Euthydemus  and  Dionysodorus, 
I think  that  we  have  had  enough  of  this.  Will  you  let  me 
see  you  explaining  to  the  young  man  how  he  is  to  apply  him- 
self to  the  study  of  virtue  and  wisdom  ? And  I will  first 
show  you  what  I conceive  to  be  the  nature  of  the  task,  and 
what  sort  of  a discourse  I desire  to  hear ; and  if  I do  this  in 
a very  inartistic  and  ridiculous  manner,  do  not  laugh  at  me, 
for  I only  venture  to  improvise  before  you  because  I am  eager 
to  hear  your  wisdom  : and  I must  therefore  ask  you  and 
your  disciples  to  refrain  from  laughing.  And  now,  O son  of 
Axiochus,  let  me  put  a question  to  you  : Do  not  all  men 
desire  happiness  ? And  yet,  perhaps,  this  is  one  of  those 
ridiculous  questions  which  I am  afraid  to  ask,  and  which 
ought  not  to  be  asked  by  a sensible  man  : for  what  human 
being  is  there  who  does  not  desire  happiness? 

79  There  is  no  one,  said  Cleinias,  who  does  not. 

Well,  then,  I said,  since  we  all  of  us  desire  happiness,  how 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Cleinias. 


The  two 
Sophists 
were  having 
a game  of 
play  with 
him. 


2 14 

Eu  thy  de- 
mus. 

SOCRATES, 

Cleinias. 

Happiness 
is  the  pos- 
session of 
many  good 
things  : 


and  good 
things  are 
wealth, 
health, 
beauty, 
good  birth, 
power, 
honour, 
and  all  the 
duties, 
justice, 
temper- 
ance, 
courage, 
wisdom. 


But  we  have 
omitted,  or 
rather  not 
omitted, 
good-for- 
tune ; for  it 
is  already 
contained 
in  wisdom. 


Socrates  and  Cleinias. 

• 

can  we  be  happy  ? — that  is  the  next  question.  Shall  we  not 
be  happy  if  we  have  many  good  things?  And  this,  perhaps, 
is  even  a more  simple  question  than  the  first,  for  there  can  be 
no  doubt  of  the  answer. 

Me  assented. 

And  what  things  do  we  esteem  good  ? No  solemn  sage  is 
required  to  tell  us  this,  which  may  be  easily  answered ; for 
every  one  will  say  that  wealth  is  a good. 

Certainly,  he  said. 

And  are  not  health  and  beauty  goods,  and  other  personal 
gifts  ? 

He  agreed. 

Can  there  be  any  doubt  that  good  birth,  and  power,  and 
honours  in  one’s  own  land,  are  goods? 

He  assented. 

And  what  other  goods  are  there  ? 1 said.  What  do  you  say 
of  temperance,  justice,  courage  : do  you  not  verily  and  indeed 
think,  Cleinias,  that  we  shall  be  more  right  in  ranking  them 
as  goods  than  in  not  ranking  them  as  goods  ? For  a dispute 
might  possibly  arise  about  this.  What  then  do  you  say  ? 

They  are  goods,  said  Cleinias. 

Very  well,  I said  ; and  where  in  the  company  shall  we  find 
a place  for  wisdom — among  the  goods  or  not? 

Among  the  goods. 

And  now,  I said,  think  whether  we  have  left  out  an}'  con- 
siderable goods. 

I do  not  think  that  we  have,  said  Cleinias. 

Upon  recollection,  I said,  indeed  I am  afraid  that  we  have 
left  out  the  greatest  of  them  all. 

What  is  that  ? he  asked. 

Fortune,  Cleinias,  1 replied;  which  all,  even  the  most 
foolish,  admit  to  be  the  greatest  of  goods. 

True,  he  said. 

On  second  thoughts,  I added,  how  narrowly,  O son  of 
Axiochus,  have  you  and  I escaped  making  a laughing-stock 
of  ourselves  to  the  strangers. 

Why  do  you  say  so  ? 

Why,  because  we  have  already  spoken  of  good-fortune,  and 
are  but  repeating  ourselves. 

What  do  you  mean  ? 


Socrates  and  Cleinias. 


215 


I mean  that  there  is  something  ridiculous  in  again  putting 
forward  good-fortune,  which  has  a place  in  the  list  already, 
and  saying  the  same  thing  twice  over. 

He  asked  what  was  the  meaning  of  this,  and  I replied  : 
Surely  wisdom  is  good-fortune  ; even  a child  may  know  that. 

The  simple-minded  youth  was  amazed  ; and,  observing 
his  surprise,  I said  to  him  : Do  you  not  know,  Cleinias,  that 
flute-players  are  most  fortunate  and  successful  in  performing 
on  the  flute  ? 

He  assented. 

And  are  not  the  scribes  most  fortunate  in  writing  and  read- 
ing letters  ? 

Certainly. 

Amid  the  dangers  of  the  sea,  again,  are  any  more  fortunate 
on  the  whole  than  wise  pilots  ? 

None,  certainly. 

And  if  you  were  engaged  in  war,  in  whose  company  would 
you  rather  take  the  risk — in  company  with  a wise  general,  or 
with  a foolish  one  ? 

With  a wise  one. 

And  if  you  were  ill,  whom  would  you  rather  have  as  a 
companion  in  a dangerous  illness — a wise  physician,  or  an 
ignorant  one  ? 

A wise  one. 

You  think,  I said,  that  to  act  with  a wise  man  is  more 
fortunate  than  to  act  with  an  ignorant  one  ? 

He  assented. 

So  Then  wisdom  always  makes  men  fortunate  : for  by  wisdom 
no  man  would  ever  err,  and  therefore  he  must  act  rightly  and 
succeed,  or  his  wisdom  would  be  wisdom  no  longer. 

We  contrived  at  last,  somehow  or  other,  to  agree  in  a 
general  conclusion,  that  he  who  had  wisdom  had  no  need 
of  fortune.  I then  recalled  to  his  mind  the  previous  state 
of  the  question.  You  remember,  I said,  our  making  the  ad- 
mission that  we  should  be  happy  and  fortunate  if  many 
good  things  were  present  with  us  ? 

He  assented. 

And  should  we  be  happy  by  reason  of  the  presence  of  good 
things,  if  they  profited  us  not,  or  if  they  profited  us? 

If  they  profited  us,  he  said. 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Cleinias. 


The  for- 
tunate are 
only  the 
wise  under 
another 
name. 


And  we  are 
deemed 
fortunate 
when  we  are 
possessed 
of  many 
good 
things. 

But  we 
must  use 
them  as 
well  as 
have  them. 


2 I 6 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Cleinias. 


Illustra- 
tions of  the 
necessity  of 
knowledge 
taken  from 
the  arts. 


Socrates  and  Cleinias. 

And  would  they  profit  us,  if  we  only  had  them  and  did  not 
use  them  ? For  example,  if  we  had  a great  deal  of  food  and 
did  not  eat,  or  a great  deal  of  drink  and  did  not  drink,  should 
we  be  profited  ? 

Certainly  not,  he  said. 

Or  would  an  artisan,  who  had  all  the  implements  necessary 
for  his  work,  and  did  not  use  them,  be  any  the  better  for  the 
possession  of  them  ? For  example,  would  a carpenter  be  any 
the  better  for  having  all  his  tools  and  plenty  of  wood,  if  he 
never  worked  ? 

Certainly  not,  he  said. 

And  if  a person  had  wealth  and  all  the  goods  of  which  we 
were  just  now  speaking,  and  did  not  use  them,  would  he  be 
happy  because  he  possessed  them  ? 

No  indeed,  Socrates. 

Then,  I said,  a man  who  would  be  happy  must  not  only 
have  the  good  things,  but  he  must  also  use  them  ; there  is  no 
advantage  in  merely  having  them  ? 

True. 

Well,  Cleinias,  but  if  you  have  the  use  as  well  as  the 
possession  of  good  things,  is  that  sufficient  to  confer  hap- 
piness ? 

Yes,  in  my  opinion. 

And  may  a person  use  them  either  rightly  or  wrongly  ? 

He  must  use  them  rightly. 

That  is  quite  true,  I said.  And  the  wrong  use  of  a thing 
is  far  worse  than  the  non-use ; for  the  one  is  an  evil,  and  the 
other  is  neither  a good  nor  an  evil.  You  admit  that  ? 281 

He  assented. 

Now  in  the  working  and  use  of  wood,  is  not  that  which 
gives  the  right  use  simply  the  knowledge  of  the  carpenter  ? 

Nothing  else,  he  said. 

And  surely,  in  the  manufacture  of  vessels,  knowledge  is  that 
which  gives  the  right  way  of  making  them  ? 

He  agreed. 

And  in  the  use  of  the  goods  of  which  we  spoke  at  first — 
wealth  and  health  and  beauty,  is  not  knowledge  that  which 
directs  us  to  the  right  use  of  them,  and  regulates  our  practice 
about  them  ? 

He  assented. 


Socrates  and  Cleinias. 


217 


Then  in  every  possession  and  every  use  of  a thing,  know- 
ledge is  that  which  gives  a man  not  only  good-fortune  but 
success  ? 

He  again  assented. 

And  tell  me,  I said,  O tell  me,  what  do  possessions  profit 
a man,  if  he  have  neither  good  sense  nor  wisdom  ? Would 
a man  be  better  off,  having  and  doing  many  things  without 
wisdom,  or  a few  things  with  wisdom  ? Look  at  the  matter 
thus  : If  he  did  fewer  things  would  he  not  make  fewer  mis- 
takes ? if  he  made  fewer  mistakes  would  he  not  have  fewer 
misfortunes  ? and  if  he  had  fewer  misfortunes  would  he  not 
be  less  miserable  ? 

Certainly,  he  said. 

And  who  would  do  least — a poor  man  or  a rich  man  ? 

A poor  man. 

A weak  man  or  a strong  man  ? 

A weak  man. 

A noble  man  or  a mean  man  ? 

A mean  man. 

And  a coward  would  do  less  than  a courageous  and 
temperate  man  ? 

Yes. 

And  an  indolent  man  less  than  an  active  man  ? 

He  assented. 

And  a slow  man  less  than  a quick  ; and  one  who  had  dull 
perceptions  of  seeing  and  hearing  less  than  one  who  had  keen 
ones  ? 

All  this  was  mutually  allowed  by  us. 

Then,  I said,  Cleinias,  the  sum  of  the  matter  appears  to  be 
that  the  goods  of  which  we  spoke  before  are  not  to  be 
regarded  as  goods  in  themselves,  but  the  degree  of  good  and 
evil  in  them  depends  on  whether  they  are  or  are  not  under 
the  guidance  of  knowledge  : under  the  guidance  of  ignorance, 
they  are  greater  evils  than  their  opposites,  inasmuch  as  they 
are  more  able  to  minister  to  the  evil  principle  which  rules 
them  ; and  when  under  the  guidance  of  wisdom  and  pru- 
dence, they  are  greater  goods  : but  in  themselves  they  are 
nothing  ? 

That,  he  replied,  is  obvious. 

What  then  is  the  result  of  what  has  been  said  ? Is  not  this 


Entity  (le- 
vins. 

Socrates, 

Cleinias. 


The  ele- 
ment of 
knowledge 
or  wisdom 
is  essential 
to  good. 


2 1 8 


Ev  thy  de- 
mits. 

Socrates, 

Cleinias. 

or  rather 
to  the  true 
and  only 
good. 


To  get  wis- 
dom is  ne- 
cessary and 
honour- 
able, if 
only  wis- 
dom can  be 
taught. 


The  youth- 
ful Cleinias 
is  confident 
that  it  may. 


7 he  youthful  enthusiasm  of  Cleinias. 

the  result— that  other  things  are  indifferent,  and  that  wisdom 
is  the  only  good,  and  ignorance  the  only  evil  ? 

He  assented. 

Let  us  consider  a further  point,  I said  : Seeing  that  all  282 
men  desire  happiness,  and  happiness,  as  has  been  shown,  is 
gained  by  a use,  and  a right  use,  of  the  things  of  life,  and  the 
right  use  of  them,  and  good-fortune  in  the  use  of  them,  is 
given  by  knowledge, — the  inference  is  that  everybody  ought 
by  all  means  to  try  and  make  himself  as  wise  as  he  can  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  when  a man  thinks  that  he  ought  to  obtain  this  treasure, 
far  more  than  money,  from  a father  or  a guardian  or  a friend 
or  a suitor,  whether  citizen  or  stranger — the  eager  desire  and 
prayer  to  them  that  they  would  impart  wisdom  to  you,  is  not 
at  all  dishonourable,  Cleinias  ; nor  is  any  one  to  be  blamed 
for  doing  any  honourable  service  or  ministration  to  any  man, 
whether  a lover  or  not,  if  his  aim  is  to  get  wisdom.  Do  you 
agree  ? I said. 

Yes,  he  said,  I quite  agree,  and  think  that  you  are  right. 

Yes,  I said,  Cleinias,  if  only  wisdom  can  be  taught,  and 
does  not  come  to  man  spontaneously;  for  this  is  a point 
which  has  still  to  be  considered,  and  is  not  yet  agreed  upon 
by  you  and  me — 

But  I think,  Socrates,  that  wisdom  can  be  taught,  he  said. 

Best  of  men,  I said,  I am  delighted  to  hear  you  say  so  ; 
and  I am  also  grateful  to  you  for  having  saved  me  from  a long 
and  tiresome  investigation  as  to  whether  wisdom,  can  be 
taught  or  not.  But  now,  as  you  think  that  wisdom  can  be 
taught,  and  that  wisdom  only  can  make  a man  happy  and  for- 
tunate, will  you  not  acknowledge  that  all  of  us  ought  to  love 
wisdom,  and  you  individually  will  try  to  love  her  ? 

Certainly,  Socrates,  he  said  ; 1 will  do  my  best. 

I was  pleased  at  hearing  this ; and  I turned  to  Diony- 
sodorus  and  Euthydemus  and  said  : That  is  an  example, 
clumsy  and  tedious  I admit,  of  the  sort  of  exhortations  which 
I would  have  you  give ; and  I hope  that  one  of  you  will  set 
forth  what  I have  been  saying  in  a more  artistic  style : or  at 
least  take  up  the  enquiry  where  I left  oft',  and  proceed  to  show 
the  youth  whether  he  should  have  all  knowledge  ; or  whether 
there  is  one  sort  of  knowledge  only  which  will  make  him  good 


219 


A discourse  wet l worth  hearing. 

and  happy,  and  what  that  is.  For,  as  I was  saying  at  first, 
the  improvement  of  this  young  man  in  virtue  and  wisdom  is 
a matter  which  we  have  very  much  at  heart. 

83  Thus  I spoke,  Crito,  and  was  all  attention  to  what  was 
coming.  1 wanted  to  see  how  they  would  approach  the 
question,  and  where  they  would  start  in  their  exhortation  to 
the  young  man  that  he  should  practise  wisdom  and  virtue. 
Dionysodorus,  who  was  the  elder,  spoke  first.  Everybody’s 
eyes  were  directed  towards  him,  perceiving  that  something 
wonderful  might  shortly  be  expected.  And  certainly  they 
were  not  far  wrong ; for  the  man,  Crito,  began  a remarkable 
discourse  well  worth  hearing,  and  wonderfully  persuasive 
regarded  as  an  exhortation  to  virtue. 

Tell  me,  he  said,  Socrates  and  the  rest  of  you  who  say  that 
you  want  this  young  man  to  become  wise,  are  you  in  jest  or 
in  real  earnest  ? 

I was  led  by  this  to  imagine  that  they  fancied  us  to  have 
been  jesting  when  we  asked  them  to  converse  with  the  youth, 
and  that  this  made  them  jest  and  play,  and  being  under  this 
impression,  I was  the  more  decided  in  saying  that  we  were 
in  profound  earnest.  Dionysodorus  said  : 

Reflect,  Socrates  ; you  may  have  to  deny  your  words. 

I have  reflected,  I said  ; and  I shall  never  deny  my  words. 

Well,  said  he,  and  so  you  say  that  you  wish  Cleinias  to 
become  wise  ? 

Undoubtedly. 

And  he  is  not  wise  as  yet  ? 

At  least  his  modesty  will  net  allow  him  to  say  that  he  is. 

You  wish  him,  he  said,  to  become  wise  and  not  to  be 
ignorant  ? 

That  we  do. 

You  wish  him  to  be  what  he  is  not,  and  no  longer  to  be 
what  he  is  ? 

I was  thrown  into  consternation  at  this. 

Taking  advantage  of  my  consternation  he  added  : You  wish 
him  no  longer  to  be  what  he  is,  which  can  only  mean  that  you 
wish  him  to  perish.  Pretty  lovers  and  friends  they  must  be 
who  want  their  favourite  not  to  be,  or  to  perish  ! 

When  Ctesippus  heard  this  he  got  very  angry  (as  a lover 
well  might)  and  said  : Stranger  of  Thurii — if  politeness  would 


Eulhy de- 
mns. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

rus, 

Ctesippus. 


The  quibble 
of  Dionyso- 
dorus : 
Those  who 
wish  Clei- 
nias not  to 
be  ignorant 
wish  him 
not  to  be. 


Indignation 
of  Ctesip- 
pus. 


220 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

Euthyde- 

mus, 

Ctesippus. 

No  one  can 
tell  a lie, 
says  Euthy- 
demus,  for 
no  one  can 
do  what  is 
not,  and, 
if  saying  is 
doing,  no 
one  can  say 
what  is  not. 


Altercation  between  Ctesippus 

allow  me  I should  say,  A plague  upon  you  ! What  can  make 
you  tell  such  a lie  about  me  and  the  others,  which  I hardly 
like  to  repeat,  as  that  I wish  Cleinias  to  perish  ? 

Euthydemus  replied  : And  do  you  think,  Ctesippus,  that  it 
is  possible  to  tell  a lie? 

Yes,  said  Ctesippus  ; I should  be  mad  to  say  anything  else. 

And  in  telling  a lie,  do  you  tell  the  thing  of  which  you  284 
speak  or  not  ? 

You  tell  the  thing  of  which  you  speak. 

And  he  who  tells,  tells  that  thing  which  he  tells,  and  no 
other  ? 

Yes,  said  Ctesippus. 

And  that  is  a distinct  thing  apart  from  other  things? 

Certainly. 

And  he  who  says  that  thing  says  that  which  is  ? 

Yes. 

And  he  who  says  that  which  is,  says  the  truth.  And  there- 
fore Dionysodorus,  if  he  says  that  which  is,  says  the  truth  of 
you  and  no  lie. 

Yes,  Euthydemus,  said  Ctesippus;  but  in  saying  this,  he 
says  what  is  not. 

Euthydemus  answered  : And  that  which  is  not  is  not? 

True. 

And  that  which  is  not  is  nowhere  ? 

Nowhere. 

And  can  any  one  do  anything  about  that  which  has  no 
existence,  or  do  to  Cleinias  that  which  is  not  and  is 
nowhere  ? 

I think  not,  said  Ctesippus. 

Well,  but  do  rhetoricians,  when  they  speak  in  the  assembly, 
do  nothing  ? 

Nay,  he  said,  they  do  something. 

And  doing  is  making? 

Yes. 

And  speaking  is  doing  and  making  ? 

He  agreed. 

Then  no  one  says  that  which  is  not,  for  in  saying  what 
is  not  he  would  be  doing  something ; and  you  have  already 
acknowledged  that  no  one  can  do  what  is  not.  And  there- 
fore, upon  your  own  showing,  no  one  says  what  is  false ; but 


22  I 


and  the  two  Sophists. 

if  Dionysodorus  says  anything,  he  says  what  is  true  and 
what  is. 

Yes,  Euthydemus,  said  Ctesippus ; but  he  speaks  of  things 
in  a certain  way  and  manner,  and  not  as  they  really  are. 

Why,  Ctesippus,  said  Dionysodorus,  do  you  mean  to  say 
that  any  one  speaks  of  things  as  they  are? 

Yes,  he  said,— all  gentlemen  and  truth-speaking  persons. 

And  are  not  good  things  good,  and  evil  things  evil  ? 

He  assented. 

And  you  say  that  gentlemen  speak  of  things  as  they  are  ? 

Yes. 

Then  the  good  speak  evil  of  evil  things,  if  they  speak  of 
them  as  they  are  ? 

Yes,  indeed,  he  said;  and  they  speak  evil  of  evil  men. 
And  if  I may  give  you  a piece  of  advice,  you  had  better  take 
care  that  they  do  not  speak  evil  of  you,  since  I can  tell  you 
that  the  good  speak  evil  of  the  evil. 

And  do  they  speak  great  things  of  the  great,  rejoined 
Euthydemus,  and  warm  things  of  the  warm  ? 

To  be  sure  they  do,  said  Ctesippus;  and  they  speak  coldly 
of  the  insipid  and  cold  dialectician. 

You  are  abusive,  Ctesippus,  said  Dionysodorus,  you  are 
abusive ! 

Indeed,  I am  not,  Dionysodorus,  he  replied  ; for  I love 
you  and  am  giving  you  friendly  advice,  and,  if  I could,  would 
85  persuade  you  not  like  a boor  to  say  in  my  presence  that  I 
desire  my  beloved,  whom  I value  above  all  men,  to  perish. 

I saw  that  they  were  getting  exasperated  with  one  another, 
so  I made  a joke  with  him  and  said  : O Ctesippus,  I think 
that  we  must  allow  the  strangers  to  use  language  in  their 
own  way,  and  not  quarrel  with  them  about  words,  but  be 
thankful  for  what  they  give  us.  If  they  know  how  to  destroy 
men  in  such  a way  as  to  make  good  and  sensible  men  out  of 
bad  and  foolish  ones — whether  this  is  a discovery  of  their 
own,  or  whether  they  have  learned  from  some  one  else  this 
new  sort  of  death  and  destruction  which  enables  them  to  get 
rid  of  a bad  man  and  turn  him  into  a good  one — if  they  know 
this  land  they  do  know  this — at  any  rate  they  said  just  now 
that  this  was  the  secret  of  their  newly-discovered  art) — let 
them,  in  their  phraseology,  destroy  the  youth  and  make  him 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Euthyde- 

mus, 

JJlONYSODO- 

RUS, 

Ctesippus. 


Ctesippus 
and  the 
Sophists 
begin  to 
quarrel  ; 
but  So- 
crates re- 
stores good- 
humour 
with  a joke. 


222 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Ctesippus, 

Dionysodo- 

rus. 


Dionyso- 
dorus  de- 
nies the 
possibility 
of  contra- 
diction. 

If  no  man 
can  affirm  a 
negation , 
no  one  can 
contradict. 


When  two 
persons  de- 
scribe the 
same  thing, 
or  two  per- 
sons de- 


Fallacies  and  quibbles 

wise,  and  all  of  us  with  him.  But  if  you  young  men  do  not 
like  to  trust  yourselves  with  them,  then  fiat  experimentum  in 
corpore  senis ; I will  be  the  Carian  on  whom  they  shall 
operate.  And  here  I offer  my  old  person  to  Dionysodorus ; 
he  may  put  me  into  the  pot,  like  Medea  the  Colchian,  kill  me, 
boil  me,  if  he  will  only  make  me  good. 

Ctesippus  said  : And  I,  Socrates,  am  ready  to  commit  my- 
self to  the  strangers  ; they  may  skin  me  alive,  if  they  please 
(and  I am  pretty  well  skinned  by  them  already),  if  only  my 
skin  is  made  at  last,  not  like  that  of  Marsyas,  into  a leathern 
bottle,  but  into  a piece  of  virtue.  And  here  is  Dionysodorus 
fancying  that  I am  angry  with  him,  when  really  I am  not 
angry  at  all ; I do  but  contradict  him  when  I think  that  he  is 
speaking  improperly  to  me  : and  you  must  not  confound  abuse 
and  contradiction,  O illustrious  Dionysodorus ; for  they  are 
quite  different  things. 

Contradiction  ! said  Dionysodorus ; why,  there  never  was 
such  a thing. 

Certainly  there  is,  he  replied  ; there  can  be  no  question 
of  that.  Do  you,  Dionysodorus,  maintain  that  there  is 
not  ? 

You  will  never  prove  to  me,  he  said,  that  you  have  heard 
any  one  contradicting  any  one  else. 

Indeed,  said  Ctesippus;  then  now  you  may  hear  me  con- 
tradicting Dionysodorus. 

Are  you  prepared  to  make  that  good  ? 

Certainly,  he  said. 

Well,  have  not  all  things  words  expressive  of  them  ? 

Yes. 

Of  their  existence  or  of  their  non-existence? 

Of  their  existence. 

Yes,  Ctesippus,  and  we  just  now  proved,  as  you  may  286 
remember,  that  no  man  could  affirm  a negative  ; for  no  one 
could  affirm  that  which  is  not. 

And  what  does  that  signify?  said  Ctesippus  ; you  and  I may 
contradict  all  the  same  for  that. 

But  can  we  contradict  one  another,  said  Dionysodorus, 
when  both  of  us  are  describing  the  same  thing  ? Then  we 
must  surely  be  speaking  the  same  thing? 

He  assented. 


of  Euthydemus  and  Dionysodorus. 


Or  when  neither  of  us  is  speaking  of  the  same  thing?  For 
then  neither  of  us  says  a word  about  the  thing  at  all  ? 

He  granted  that  proposition  also. 

But  when  I describe  something  and  you  describe  another 
thing,  or  I say  something  and  you  say  nothing— is  there  any 
contradiction  ? How  can  he  who  speaks  contradict  him  who 
speaks  not? 

Here  Ctesippus  was  silent ; and  I in  my  astonishment  said  : 
What  do  you  mean,  Dionysodorus?  I have  often  heard,  and 
have  been  amazed  to  hear,  this  thesis  of  yours,  which  is  main- 
tained and  employed  by  the  disciples  of  Protagoras,  and 
others  before  them,  and  which  to  me  appears  to  be  quite 
wonderful,  and  suicidal  as  well  as  destructive,  and  I think 
that  I am  most  likely  to  hear  the  truth  about  it  from  you.  The 
dictum  is  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  falsehood ; a man 
must  either  say  what  is  true  or  say  nothing.  Is  not  that  your 
position  ? 

He  assented. 

But  if  he  cannot  speak  falsely,  may  he  not  think  falsely? 

No,  he  cannot,  he  said. 

Then  there  is  no  such  thing  as  false  opinion  ? 

No,  he  said. 

Then  there  is  no  such  thing  as  ignorance,  or  men  who  are 
ignorant ; for  is  not  ignorance,  if  there  be  such  a thing,  a mis- 
take of  fact  ? 

Certainly,  he  said. 

And  that  is  impossible  ? 

Impossible,  he  replied. 

Are  you  saying  this  as  a paradox,  Dionysodorus  ; or  do  you 
seriously  maintain  no  man  to  be  ignorant  ? 

Refute  me,  he  said. 

But  how  can  I refute  you,  if,  as  you  say,  to  tell  a falsehood 
is  impossible? 

Very  true,  said  Euthydemus. 

Neither  did  I tell  you  just  now  to  refute  me,  said  Dionyso- 
dorus ; for  how  can  I tell  you  to  do  that  which  is  not  ? 

O Euthydemus,  I said,  I have  but  a dull  conception  of  these 
subtleties  and  excellent  devices  of  wisdom  ; I am  afraid  that 
I hardly  understand  them,  and- you  must  forgive  me  therefore 
287  if  I ask  a very  stupid  question  : if  there  be  no  falsehood  or 


223 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

rus, 

Ctesippus, 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

scribe 
different 
things,  or 
one  person 
speaks  and 
another 
is  silent, 
there  is  no 
contradic- 
tion. 

Socrates 
takes  up  the 
argument. 

The 

Sophists 
maintain 
that  there 
is  no  such 
thing  as 
falsehood 
or  false 
opinion,  or 
ignorance 
or  the 
refutation 
of  ignor- 
ance. 


224 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Euthvde- 

mus, 

Dionysodo- 

RUS. 


The  So- 
phists are 
above  con- 
sistency 
and  all  that 
sort  of 
thing. 


You  ask  me, 
Socrates, 
what  sense 
my  words 
have? 
Things 
which  have 
sense  are 
alive  : — are 
my  words 
alive? 


The  insolence  of  the  Sophists  is 

false  opinion  or  ignorance,  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as 
erroneous  action,  for  a man  cannot  fail  of  acting  as  he  is 
acting — that  is  what  you  mean  ? 

Yes,  he  replied. 

And  now,  I said,  I will  ask  my  stupid  question  : If  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  error  in  deed,  word,  or  thought,  then  what, 
in  the  name  of  goodness,  do  you  come  hither  to  teach? 
And  were  you  not  just  now  saying  that  you  could  teach 
virtue  best  of  all  men,  to  any  one  who  was  willing  to  learn  ? 

And  are  you  such  an  old  fool,  Socrates,  rejoined  Dionyso- 
dorus,  that  you  bring  up  now  what  I said  at  first— and  if  I 
had  said  anything  last  year,  I suppose  that  you  would  bring 
that  up  too— but  are  non-plussed  at  the  words  which  I have 
just  uttered  ? 

Why,  I said,  they  are  not  easy  to  answer  ; for  they  are  the 
words  of  wise  men  : and  indeed  I know  not  what  to  make  of 
this  word  'non-plussed,’  which  you  used  last  : what  do  you 
mean  by  it,  Dionysodorus  ? You  must  mean  that  I cannot 
refute  your  argument.  Tell  me  if  the  words  have  any  other 
sense. 

No,  he  replied,  they  mean  what  you  say.  And  now  answer. 

What,  before  you,  Dionysodorus?  I said. 

Answer,  said  he. 

And  is  that  fair? 

Yes,  quite  fair,  he  said. 

Upon  what  principle  ? I said.  1 can  only  suppose  that  you 
are  a very  wise  man  who  comes  to  us  in  the  character  of  a 
great  logician,  and  who  knows  when  to  answer  and  when  not 
to  answer — and  now  you  will  not  open  your  mouth  at  all,  be- 
cause you  know  that  you  ought  not. 

You  prate,  he  said,  instead  of  answering.  But  if,  my  good 
sir,  you  admit  that  I am  wise,  answer  as  I tell  you. 

I suppose  that  I must  obey,  for  you  are  master.  Put  the 
question. 

Are  the  things  which  have  sense  alive  or  lifeless? 

They  are  alive. 

And  do  you  know  of  any  word  which  is  alive  ? 

I cannot  say  that  I do. 

Then  why  did  you  ask  me  what  sense  my  words  had  ? 

Why,  because  I was  stupid  and  made  a mistake.  And  yet, 


225 


more  than  matched  by  the  irony  of  Socrates. 

perhaps,  I was  right  after  all  in  sa}dng  that  words  have  a 
sense  ; — what  do  you  say,  wise  man  ? If  I was  not  in  error, 
even  you  will  not  refute  me,  and  all  your  wisdom  will  be 
non-plussed  ; but  if  I did  fall  into  error,  then  again  you  are 
wrong  in  saj’ing  that  there  is  no  error, — and  this  remark  was 
28S  made  b3Tyou  not  quite  a year  ago.  I am  inclined  to  think,  how- 
ever, Dionysodorus  and  Eutlrydemus,  that  this  argument  lies 
where  it  was  and  is  not  very  likely  to  advance  : even  your 
skill  in  the  subtleties  of  logic,  which  is  really  amazing,  has 
not  found  out  the  way  of  throwing  another  and  not  falling 
yourself,  now  an}'-  more  than  of  old. 

Ctesippus  said  : Men  of  Chios,  Thurii,  or  however  and 
whatever  you  call  yourselves,  I wonder  at  you,  for  you  seem 
to  have  no  objection  to  talking  nonsense. 

Fearing  that  there  would  be  high  words,  I again  en- 
deavoured to  soothe  Ctesippus,  and  said  to  him:  To  you, 
Ctesippus,  I must  repeat  what  I said  before  to  Cleinias — that 
you  do  not  understand  the  ways  of  these  philosophers  from 
abroad.  They  are  not  serious,  but,  like  the  Egyptian  wizard, 
Proteus,  they  take  different  forms  and  deceive  us  by  their  en- 
chantments : and  let  us,  like  Menelaus,  refuse  to  let  them  go 
until  they  show  themselves  to  us  in  earnest.  When  they 
begin  to  be  in  earnest  their  full  beauty  will  appear : let  us 
then  beg  and  entreat  and  beseech  them  to  shine  forth.  And 
I think  that  I had  better  once  more  exhibit  the  form  in 
which  I pray  to  behold  them ; it  might  be  a guide  to  them. 

I will  go  on  therefore  where  I left  off,  as  well  as  I can,  in  the 
hope  that  I may  touch  their  hearts  and  move  them  to  pity,  and 
that  when  they  see  me  deeply  serious  and  interested,  they 
also  may  be  serious.  You,  Cleinias,  I said,  shall  remind  me 
at  what  point  we  left  off.  Did  we  not  agree  that  philosophy 
should  be  studied  ? and  was  not  that  our  conclusion  ? 

Yes,  he  replied. 

And  philosophy  is  the  acquisition  of  knowledge? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  what  knowledge  ought  we  to  acquire?  May  we  not 
answer  with  absolute  truth — A knowledge  which  will  do  us 
good  ? 

Certainly,  he  said. 

And  should  we  be  any  the  better  if  we  went  about  having  a 

VOL.  i.  o 


Euthyde- 

mils. 

Socrates, 

Ctesippus, 

Cleinias. 

Socrates 
retorts 
upon  the 
Sophists 
their  own 
statement 
that  error 
cannot  be 
refuted. 

High 

words. 


Socrates 
again  tries 
to  pour  oil 
upon  the 
waters . 


2 26 

Euthy de- 
mits. 

Socrates, 

Cleinias. 

The  old 

argument 

resumed. 


The  know- 
ledge which 
makes  is 
not  to  be 
separated 
from  the 
knowledge 
which  uses. 


Socrates  renews  the  interrogation 

knowledge  of  the  places  where  most  gold  was  hidden  in  the 
earth  ? 

Perhaps  we  should,  he  said. 

But  have  we  not  already  proved,  I said,  that  we  should  be 
none  the  better  off,  even  if  without  trouble  and  digging  all 
the  gold  which  there  is  in  the  earth  were  ours?  And  if  we 
knew  how  to  convert  stones  into  gold,  the  knowledge  would  2S9 
be  of  no  value  to  us,  unless  we  also  knew  how  to  use  the 
gold  ? Do  you  not  remember?  I said. 

I quite  remember,  he  said. 

Nor  would  any  other  knowledge,  whether  of  money- 
making, or  of  medicine,  or  of  any  other  art  which  knows  only 
how  to  make  a thing,  and  not  to  use  it  when  made,  be  of 
any  good  to  us.  Am  I not  right  ? 

He  agreed. 

And  if  there  were  a knowledge  which  was  able  to  make 
men  immortal,  without  giving  them  the  knowledge  of  the  way 
to  use  the  immortality,  neither  would  there  be  any  use  in 
that,  if  we  may  argue  from  the  analogy  of  the  previous 
instances  ? 

To  all  this  he  agreed. 

Then,  my  dear  boy,  I said,  the  knowledge  which  we  want 
is  one  that  uses  as  well  as  makes  ? 

True,  he  said. 

And  our  desire  is  not  to  be  skilful  lyre-makers,  or  artists  of 
that  sort — far  otherwise ; for  with  them  the  art  which  makes 
is  one,  and  the  art  which  uses  is  another.  Although  they 
have  to  do  with  the  same,  they  are  divided  : for  the  art  which 
makes  and  the  art  which  plays  on  the  lyre  differ  widely  from 
one  another.  Am  I not  right? 

He  agreed. 

And  clearly  we  do  not  want  the  art  of  the  flute-maker; 
this  is  only  another  of  the  same  sort? 

He  assented. 

But  suppose,  I said,  that  we  were  to  learn  the  art  of  making 
speeches — would  that  be  the  art  which  would  make  us  happy  ? 

I should  say,  no,  rejoined  Cleinias. 

And  why  should  you  say  so  ? I asked. 

I see,  he  replied,  that  there  are  some  composers  of  speeches 
who  do  not  know  how  to  use  the  speeches  which  they  make, 


227 


of  Cleinias. 

just  as  the  makers  oflyres  do  not  know  how  to  use  the  lyres; 
and  also  some  who  are  of  themselves  unable  to  compose 
speeches,  but  are  able  to  use  the  speeches  which  the  others 
make  for  them ; and  this  proves  that  the  art  of  making 
speeches  is  not  the  same  as  the  art  of  using  them. 

Yes,  I said  ; and  I take  your  words  to  be  a sufficient  proof 
that  the  art  of  making  speeches  is  not  one  which  will  make  a 
man  happy.  And  yet  I did  think  that  the  art  which  we  have 
so  long  been  seeking  might  be  discovered  in  that  direction  ; 
for  the  composers  of  speeches,  whenever  I meet  them,  always 
appear  to  me  to  be  very  extraordinary  men,  Cleinias,  and 
their  art  is  lofty  and  divine,  and  no  wonder.  For  their  art  is 
90  a part  of  the  great  art  of  enchantment,  and  hardly,  if  at  all, 
inferior  to  it : and  whereas  the  art  of  the  enchanter  is  a mode 
of  charming  snakes  and  spiders  and  scorpions,  and  other 
monsters  and  pests,  this  art  of  their’s  acts  upon  dicasts  and 
ecclesiasts  and  bodies  of  men,  for  the  charming  and  pacifying 
of  them.  Do  you  agree  with  me  ? 

Yes,  he  said,  I think  that  you  are  quite  right. 

Whither  then  shall  we  go,  I said,  and  to  what  art  shall  we 
have  recourse  ? 

I do  not  see  my  way,  he  said. 

But  I think  that  I do,  I replied. 

And  what  is  your  notion  ? asked  Cleinias. 

I think  that  the  art  of  the  general  is  above  all  others  the 
one  of  which  the  possession  is  most  likely  to  make  a man 
happy. 

I do  not  think  so,  he  said. 

Why  not  ? I said. 

The  art  of  the  general  is  surely  an  art  of  hunting  mankind. 

What  of  that?  I said. 

Why,  he  said,  no  art  of  hunting  extends  beyond  hunting 
and  capturing ; and  when  the  prey  is  taken  the  huntsman  or 
fisherman  cannot  use  it ; but  they  hand  it  over  to  the  cook, 
and  the  geometricians  and  astronomers  and  calculators  (who 
all  belong  to  the  hunting  class,  for  they  do  not  make  their 
diagrams,  but  only  find  out  that  which  was  previously  con- 
tained in  them) — they,  I say,  not  being  able  to  use  but  only 
to  catch  their  prey,  hand  over  their  inventions  to  the  dialecti- 
cian to  be  applied  by  him,  if  they  have  any  sense  in  them. 

Q 2 


Eulhyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Cleinias. 


The  sophis- 
tical art  is 
a part  of 
the  greater 
art  of  en- 
chantment. 


Cleinias  of 
his  own 
accord  de- 
clares that 
the  art  of 
the  general 
is  not  the 
one  most 
likely  to. 
make  men 
happy,  be- 
cause, like 
the  hunts- 


2 28 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Cleinias, 

Crito. 

man,  he  can 
only  take 
and  not  use 
the  prey. 


Crito  sus- 
pects that 
neither 
Cleinias  nor 
Ctesippus 
is  the  au- 
thor of  this 
observa- 
tion, but 
some  one 
far  superior 
to  either  of 
them. 


Re-appearance  of  Crito  in  the  Dialogue. 

Good,  I said,  fairest  and  wisest  Cleinias.  And  is  this 
true  ? 

Certainly,  he  said  ; just  as  a general  when  he  takes  a city 
or  a camp  hands  over  his  new  acquisition  to  the  statesman, 
for  he  does  not  know  how  to  use  them  himself ; or  as  the 
quail-taker  transfers  the  quails  to  the  keeper  of  them.  If  we 
are  looking  for  the  art  which  is  to  make  us  blessed,  and 
which  is  able  to  use  that  which  it  makes  or  takes,  the  art  of 
the  general  is  not  the  one,  and  some  other  must  be  found. 

Cri.  And  do  you  mean,  Socrates,  that  the  youngster  said 
all  this? 

Soc.  Are  you  incredulous,  Crito? 

Cri.  Indeed,  I am;  for  if  he  did  say  so,  then  in  my 
opinion  he  needs  neither  Euthydemus  nor  any  one  else  to 
be  his  instructor. 

Soc.  Perhaps  I may  have  forgotten,  and  Ctesippus  was  the 
real  answerer. 

Cri.  Ctesippus  ! nonsense.  29l 

Soc.  All  I know  is  that  I heard  these  words,  and  that  they 
were  not  spoken  either  by  Euthydemus  or  Dionysodorus.  I 
dare  say,  my  good  Crito,  that  they  may  have  been  spoken  by 
some  superior  person  : that  I heard  them  I am  certain. 

Cri.  Yes,  indeed,  Socrates,  by  some  one  a good  deal 
superior,  as  I should  be  disposed  to  think.  But  did  J'OU 
carry  the  search  any  further,  and  did  you  find  the  art  which 
you  were  seeking? 

Soc.  Find  ! my  dear  sir,  no  indeed.  And  we  cut  a poor 
figure  ; we  were  like  children  alter  larks,  always  on  the  point 
of  catching  the  art,  which  was  always  getting  away  from  us. 
But  why  should  I repeat  the  whole  story  ? At  last  we  came 
to  the  kingly  art,  and  enquired  whether  that  gave  and  caused 
happiness,  and  then  we  got  into  a labyrinth,  and  when  we 
thought  we  were  at  the  end,  came  out  again  at  the  beginning, 
having  still  to  seek  as  much  as  ever. 

Cri.  How  did  that  happen,  Socrates? 

Soc.  I will  tell  you  ; the  kingly  art  was  identified  by  us 
with  the  political. 

Cri.  Well,  and  what  came  of  that  ? 

Soc.  To  this  royal  or  political  art  all  the  arts,  including  the 
art  of  the  general,  seemed  to  render  up  the  supremacy,  that 


229 


Socrates  rehearses  to  him  the  rest  of  the  argument. 

being  the  only  one  which  knew  how  to  use  what  they 
produce.  Here  obviously  was  the  very  art  which  we  were 
seeking — the  art  which  is  the  source  of  good  government, 
and  which  may  be  described,  in  the  language  of  Aeschylus, 
as  alone  sitting  at  the  helm  of  the  vessel  of  state,  piloting  and 
governing  all  things,  and  utilizing  them. 

Cri.  And  were  you  not  right,  Socrates  ? 

Soc.  You  shall  judge,  Crito,  if  you  are  willing  to  hear  what 
followed ; for  we  resumed  the  enquiry,  and  a question  of  this 
sort  was  asked : Does  the  kingly  art,  having  this  supreme 
authority,  do  anything  for  us  ? To  be  sure,  was  the  answer. 
And  would  not  you,  Crito,  say  the  same  ? 

Cri.  Yes,  I should. 

Soc.  And  what  would  you  say  that  the  kingly  art  does  ? 
If  medicine  were  supposed  to  have  supreme  authority  over 
the  subordinate  arts,  and  I were  to  ask  you  a similar  question 
about  that,  you  would  say — it  produces  health  ? 

Cri.  I should. 

Soc.  And  what  of  your  own  art  of  husbandry,  supposing 
that  to  have  supreme  authority  over  the  subject  arts — what 
does  that  do  ? Does  it  not  supply  us  with  the  fruits  of  the 
earth  ? 

Cri.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  what  does  the  kingly  art  do  when  invested  with 
supreme  power  ? Perhaps  you  may  not  be  ready  with  an 
answer  ? 

Cri.  Indeed  I am  not,  Socrates. 

Soc.  No  more  were  we,  Crito.  But  at  any  rate  you  know 
that  if  this  is  the  art  which  we  were  seeking,  it  ought  to  be 
useful. 

Cri.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  surely  it  ought  to  do  us  some  good  ? 

Cri.  Certainly,  Socrates. 

Soc.  And  Cleinias  and  I had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
knowledge  of  some  kind  is  the  only  good. 

Cri.  Yes,  that  was  what  you  were  saying. 

Soc.  All  the  other  results  of  politics,  and  they  are  many, 
as  for  example,  wealth,  freedom,  tranquillity,  were  neither 
good  nor  evil  in  themselves;  but  the  political  science  ought 
to  make  us  wise,  and  impart  knowledge  to  us,  if  that  is 


Eiithyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Crito. 

Pursuing 
the  enquiry, 
we  found 
that  the 
royal  or 
political  art 
was  the 
only  one 
which  knew 
how  the 
other  arts 
were  to  be 
used. 


Such  an  art 
ought  to 
make  us 
useful,  and, 
if  wisdom 
is  the  most 
useful  of 
all  things, 
should  im- 
part wis- 
dom to  us. 


230 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Crito, 

Euthyde- 

mus. 


What  is  this 
superior 
knowledge  ? 


Socrates  in 
perplexity 
turns  to 
the  two 
Sophists  for 
an  answer. 


Socrates  returns  to  Dionysodorus. 

the  science  which  is  likely  to  do  us  good,  and  make  us 
happy. 

Cri.  Yes;  that  was  the  conclusion  at  which  you  had 
arrived,  according  to  your  report  of  the  conversation. 

Soc.  And  does  the  kingly  art  make  men  wise  and  good  ? 

Cri.  Why  not,  Socrates? 

Soc.  What,  all  men,  and  in  every  respect  ? and  teach  them 
all  the  arts, — carpentering,  and  cobbling,  and  the  rest  of 
them  ? 

Cri.  I think  not,  Socrates. 

Soc.  But  then  what  is  this  knowledge,  and  what  are  we  to 
do  with  it  ? For  it  is  not  the  source  of  any  works  which  are 
neither  good  nor  evil,  and  gives  no  knowledge,  but  the  know- 
ledge of  itself ; what  then  can  it  be,  and  what  are  we  to  do 
with  it  ? Shall  we  say,  Crito,  that  it  is  the  knowledge  by 
which  we  are  to  make  other  men  good  ? 

Cri.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  And  in  what  will  they  be  good  and  useful  ? Shall  we 
repeat  that  they  will  make  others  good,  and  that  these  others 
will  make  others  again,  without  ever  determining  in  what 
they  are  to  be  good  ; for  we  have  put  aside  the  results  of 
politics,  as  they  are  called.  This  is  the  old,  old  song  over 
again  ; and  we  are  just  as  far  as  ever,  if  not  farther,  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  art  or  science  of  happiness. 

Cri.  Indeed,  Socrates,  you  do  appear  to  have  got  into  a 
great  perplexity. 

Soc.  Thereupon,  Crito,  seeing  that  I was  on  the  point  of 
shipwreck,  1 lifted  up  my  voice,  and  earnestly  entreated  and  293 
called  upon  the  strangers  to  save  me  and  the  youth  from  the 
whirlpool  of  the  argument ; they  were  our  Castor  and  Pollux, 

I said,  and  they  should  be  serious,  and  show  us  in  sober 
earnest  what  that  knowledge  was  which  would  enable  us  to 
pass  the  rest  of  our  lives  in  happiness. 

Cri.  And  did  Euthydemus  show  you  this  knowledge? 

Soc.  Yes,  indeed;  he  proceeded  in  a lofty  strain  to  the 
following  eftect : Would  you  rather,  Socrates,  said  he,  that  I 
should  show  you  this  knowledge  about  which  you  have  been 
doubting,  or  shall  I prove  that  you  already  have  it  ? 

What,  I said,  are  you  blessed  with  such  a power  as  this  ? 

Indeed  I am. 


231 


The  sequel  of  the  argument. 

Then  1 would  much  rather  that  you  should  prove  me  to 
have  such  a knowledge ; at  my  time  of  life  that  will  be  more 
agreeable  than  having  to  learn. 

Then  tell  me,  he  said,  do  you  know  anything  ? 

Yes,  I said,  I know  many  things,  but  not  anything  of  much 
importance. 

That  will  do,  he  said  : And  would  you  admit  that  anything 
is  what  it  is,  and  at  the  same  time  is  not  what  it  is? 

Certainty  not. 

And  did  you  not  say  that  you  knew  something  ? 

I did. 

If  you  know,  you  are  knowing. 

Certainty,  of  the  knowledge  which  I have. 

That  makes  no  difference  and  must  you  not,  if  you  are 
knowing,  know  all  things  ? 

Certainty  not,  I said,  for  there  are  many  other  things  which 
I do  not  know. 

And  if  you  do  not  know,  you  are  not  knowing. 

Yes,  friend,  of  that  which  I do  not  know. 

Still  you  are  not  knowing,  and  you  said  just  now  that  you 
were  knowing  ; and  therefore  you  are  and  are  not  at  the  same 
time,  and  in  reference  to  the  same  things. 

A pretty  clatter,  as  men  say,  Euthydemus,  this  of  yours  ! 
and  will  you  explain  how  I possess  that  knowledge  for  which 
we  were  seeking  ? Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  same  thing 
cannot  be  and  also  not  be  ; and  therefore,  since  I know 
one  thing,  that  I know  all,  for  I cannot  be  knowing  and 
not  knowing  at  the  same  time,  and  if  I know  all  things,  then 
I must  have  the  knowledge  for  which  we  are  seeking — May 
I assume  this  to  be  your  ingenious  notion  ? 

Out  of  your  own  mouth,  Socrates,  you  are  convicted,  he 
said. 

Well,  but,  Euthydemus,  I said,  has  that  never  happened  to 
you  ? for  if  I am  only  in  the  same  case  with  you  and  our 
beloved  Dionysodorus,  I cannot  complain.  Tell  me,  then, 
you  two,  do  you  not  know  some  things,  and  not  know 
others  ? 

Certainty  not,  Socrates,  said  Dionysodorus. 

What  do  you  mean,  I said  ; do  you  know  nothing? 

Nay,  he  replied,  we  do  know  something. 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Euthyde- 

mus, 

Dionysodo- 

rus. 

Socrates 
admits  that 
he  knows 
something 
and  does 
not  know 
other 
things. 


But  if  so, 
he  knows 
and  does 
not  know 
at  the  same 
time. 


232 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

rus, 

Ctesippus. 

But  this  is 
impossible  ; 
and  there- 
fore if  he 
knows,  he 
knows  all 
things. 


Ctesippus 
requires  a 
proof  of 
their  uni- 
versal 
knowledge. 
They  shall 
tell  him  the 
number  of 
one  an- 
other's 
teeth,  and 
he  will 
count  them. 


The  vein  of  Ctesippus 

1 hen,  I said,  you  know  all  things,  if  you  know  anything?  294 

Yes,  all  things,  he  said  ; and  that  is  as  true  of  you  as 
of  us. 

O,  indeed,  I said,  what  a wonderful  thing,  and  what  a 
great  blessing  ! And  do  all  other  men  know  all  things  or 
nothing  ? 

Certainly,  he  replied ; they  cannot  know  some  things,  and 
not  know  others,  and  be  at  the  same  time  knowing  and  not 
knowing. 

Then  what  is  the  inference  ? I said. 

They  all  know  all  things,  he  replied,  if  they  know  one 
thing. 

O heavens,  Dionysodorus,  I said,  I see  now  that  you  are  in 
earnest ; hardly  have  I got  you  to  that  point.  And  do  you 
really  and  truly  know  all  things,  including  carpentering  and 
leather-cutting  ? 

Certainly,  he  said. 

And  do  you  know  stitching  ? 

Yes,  by  the  gods,  we  do,  and  cobbling,  too. 

And  do  you  know  things  such  as  the  numbers  of  the  stars 
and  of  the  sand  ? 

Certainly;  did  you  think  we  should  say  No  to  that? 

By  Zeus,  said  Ctesippus,  interrupting,  I only  wish  that  you 
would  give  me  some  proof  which  would  enable  me  to  know 
whether  you  speak  truly. 

What  proof  shall  I give  you  ? he  said. 

Will  you  tell  me  how  many  teeth  Euthydemus  has  ? and 
Euthydemus  shall  tell  how  many  teeth  you  have. 

Will  you  not  take  our  word  that  we  know  all  things  ? 

Certainly  not,  said  Ctesippus:  you  must  further  tell  us  this 
one  thing,  and  then  we  shall  know  that  you  are  speaking  the 
truth  ; if  you  tell  us  the  number,  and  we  count  them,  and  you 
are  found  to  be  right,  we  will  believe  the  rest.  They  fancied 
that  Ctesippus  was  making  game  of  them,  and  they  refused, 
and  they  would  only  say,  in  answer  to  each  of  his  questions, 
that  they  knew  all  things.  For  at  last  Ctesippus  began  to 
throw  off  all  restraint ; no  question  in  fact  was  too  bad  for 
him  ; he  would  ask  them  if  they  knew  the  foulest  things,  and 
they,  like  wild  boars,  came  rushing  on  his  blows,  and  fear- 
lessly replied  that  they  did.  At  last,  Crito,  I too  was  carried 


233 


begins  to  infect  Socrates. 

away  by  my  incredulity,  and  asked  Euthydemus  whether 
Dionysodorus  could  dance. 

Certainly,  he  replied. 

And  can  he  vault  among  swords,  and  turn  upon  a wheel, 
at  his  age  ? has  he  got  to  such  a height  of  skill  as  that  ? 

He  can  do  anything,  he  said. 

And  did  you  always  know  this  ? 

Always,  he  said. 

When  you  were  children,  and  at  your  birth  ? 

95  They  both  said  that  they  did. 

This  we  could  not  believe.  And  Euthydemus  said  : You 
are  incredulous,  Socrates. 

Yes,  I said,  and  I might  well  be  incredulous,  if  I did  not 
know  you  to  be  wise  men. 

But  if  you  will  answer,  he  said,  I will  make  you  confess 
to  similar  marvels. 

Well,  I said,  there  is  nothing  that  1 should  like  better  than 
to  be  self-convicted  of  this,  for  if  I am  really  a wise  man, 
which  I never  knew  before,  and  you  will  prove  to  me  that 
I know  and  have  always  known  all  things,  nothing  in  life 
would  be  a greater  gain  to  me, 

Answer  then,  he  said. 

Ask,  I said,  and  I will  answer. 

Do  you  know  something,  Socrates,  or  nothing  ? 

Something,  I said. 

And  do  you  know  with  what  you  know,  or  with  something 
else  ? 

With  what  I know ; and  I suppose  that  you  mean  with  my 
soul  ? 

Are  you  not  ashamed,  Socrates,  of  asking  a question  when 
you  are  asked  one  ? 

Well,  I said;  but  then  what  am  I to  do  ? for  I will  do 
whatever  you  bid ; when  I do  not  know  what  you  are 
asking,  you  tell  me  to  answer  nevertheless,  and  not  to  ask 
again. 

Why,  you  surely  have  some  notion  of  my  meaning,  he 
said. 

Yes,  I replied. 

Well,  then,  answer  according  to  your  notion  of  my 
meaning. 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

rus, 

Euthyde- 

mus. 


Socrates 
would  like 
to  be  self- 
convicted 
of  wisdom. 


234 


The  great  learning 


Euthyde- 

mus. 


Socrates, 

Euthyde- 

MUS. 


Socrates 
will  not 
quarrel 
with  the 
two  So- 
phists ; for 
he  desires 
to  become 
their  pupil. 


Yes,  I said  ; but  if  the  question  which  you  ask  in  one  sense 
is  understood  and  answered  by  me  in  another,  will  that  please 
you — if  I answer  what  is  not  to  the  point? 

That  will  please  me  very  well ; but  will  not  please  you 
equally  well,  as  I imagine. 

I certainly  will  not  answer  unless  I understand  you,  I said. 

You  will  not  answer,  he  said,  according  to  your  view  of  the 
meaning,  because  you  will  be  prating,  and  are  an  ancient. 

Now  I saw  that  he  was  getting  angry  with  me  for  drawing 
distinctions,  when  he  wanted  to  catch  me  in  his  springes  of 
words.  And  I remembered  that  Connus  was  always  angry  with 
me  when  I opposed  him,  and  then  he  neglected  me,  because 
he  thought  that  I was  stupid ; and  as  I was  intending  to  go 
to  Euthydemus  as  a pupil,  I reflected  that  I had  better  let  him 
have  his  way,  as  he  might  think  me  a blockhead,  and  refuse 
to  take  me.  So  I said  : You  are  a far  better  dialectician  than 
ir^self,  Euthydemus,  for  I have  never  made  a profession  of 
the  art,  and  therefore  do  as  you  say ; ask  your  questions  once 
more,  and  I will  answer. 

Answer  then,  he  said,  again,  whether  you  know  what  you 
know  with  something,  or  with  nothing. 

Yes,  I said  ; I know  with  my  soul. 

The  man  will  answer  more  than  the  question  ; for  I did  not  296 
ask  you,  he  said,  with  what  you  know,  but  whether  you  know 
with  something. 

Again  I replied,  Through  ignorance  I have  answered  too 
much,  but  I hope  that  you  will  forgive  me.  And  now  I will 
answer  simply  that  I always  know  what  I know  with  some- 
thing. 

And  is  that  something,  he  rejoined,  always  the  same,  or 
sometimes  one  thing,  and  sometimes  another  thing? 

Always,  I replied,  when  I know,  I know  with  this. 

Will  you  not  cease  adding  to  your  answers? 

My  fear  is  that  this  word  ‘always’  may  get  us  into 
trouble. 

You,  perhaps,  but  certainly  not  us.  And  now  answer  : 

Do  you  always  know  with  this? 

Always ; since  I am  required  to  withdraw  the  words  ‘ when 
1 know.’ 

You  always  know  with  this,  or,  always  knowing,  do  you 


235 


of  Euthydemus  and  Dionysodorus. 

know  some  things  with  this,  and  some  things  with  something 
else,  or  do  you  know  all  things  with  this? 

All  that  I know,  I replied,  I know  with  this. 

There  again,  Socrates,  he  said,  the  addition  is  superfluous. 

Well,  then,  I said,  I will  take  away  the  words  ‘that  I 
know.’ 

Nay,  take  nothing  away;  I desire  no  favours  of  you;  but 
let  me  ask : Would  you  be  able  to  know  all  things,  if  you  did 
not  know  all  things  ? 

Quite  impossible. 

And  now,  he  said,  you  may  add  on  whatever  you  like,  for 
you  confess  that  you  know  all  things. 

I suppose  that  is  true,  I said,  if  my  qualification  implied 
in  the  words  ‘that  I know  ’ is  not  allowed  to  stand ; and  so  I 
do  know  all  things. 

And  have  you  not  admitted  that  you  always  know  all  things 
with  that  which  you  know,  whether  you  make  the  addition  of 
‘when  you  know  them’  or  not?  for  you  have  acknowledged 
that  you  have  always  and  at  once  known  all  things,  that  is  to 
say,  when  }^ou  were  a child,  and  at  your  birth,  and  when  you 
were  growing  up,  and  before  you  were  born,  and  before  the 
heaven  and  earth  existed,  you  knew  all  things,  if  you  always 
know  them  ; and  I swear  that  you  shall  always  continue  to 
know  all  things,  if  I am  of  the  mind  to  make  you. 

But  I hope  that  you  will  be  of  that  mind,  reverend  Euthy- 
demus, I said,  if  you  are  really  speaking  the  truth,  and  yet 
I a little  doubt  your  power  to  make  good  your  words  unless 
you  have  the  help  of  your  brother  Dionysodorus ; then  you 
may  do  it.  Tell  me  now,  both  of  you,  for  although  in  the 
main  I cannot  doubt  that  I really  do  know  all  things,  when  I 
am  told  so  by  men  of  your  prodigious  wisdom — how  can  I 
say  that  I know  such  things,  Euthydemus,  as  that  the  good 
are  unjust;  come,  do  I know  that  or  not  ? 

Certainly,  you  know  that. 

What  do  I know  ? 

That  the  good  are  not  unjust. 

297  Quite  true,  I said  ; and  that  I have  always  known  ; but  the 
question  is,  where  did  I learn  that  the  good  are  unjust? 

Nowhere,  said  Dionysodorus. 

Then,  I said,  I do  not  know  this. 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Euthyde- 

mus, 

Dionysodo- 

uus. 

Socrates  is 
com  pelled 
to  admit 
that  he 
always 
knows  all 
things  with 
the  same 
thing. 


But  he  does 
not  know 
that  the 
good  are 
unjust ; 
therefore. 


236 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Euthyde- 

mus, 

Dionysodo- 

rus. 

there  are 
some  things 
which  he 
does  not 
know. 
Dionyso- 
dorus  re- 
proved by 
his  brother 
Sophist. 


Socrates 
cannot  fight 
against  the 
pair  any 
more  than 
Heracles 
against  the 
Hydra. 


Disputes 
about  the 
words 
nephew, 
brother,  or 
father,  as 


Euthydemus  and  Dionysodorus. 

You  are  ruining  the  argument,  said  Euthydemus  to  Diony- 
sodorus ; he  will  be  proved  not  to  know,  and  then  after  all  he 
will  be  knowing  and  not  knowing  at  the  same  time. 

Dionysodorus  blushed. 

I turned  to  the  other,  and  said,  What  do  you  think,  Euthy- 
demus? Does  not  your  omniscient  brother  appear  to  you  to 
have  made  a mistake  ? 

What,  replied  Dionysodorus  in  a moment ; am  I the 
brother  of  Euthydemus? 

Thereupon  1 said,  Please  not  to  interrupt,  my  good  friend, 
or  prevent  Euthydemus  from  proving  to  me  that  I know  the 
good  to  be  unjust ; such  a lesson  you  might  at  least  allow  me 
to  learn. 

You  are  running  away,  Socrates,  said  Dionysodorus,  and 
refusing  to  answer. 

No  wonder,  I said,  for  I am  not  a match  for  one  of  you,  and 
a fortiori  I must  run  away  from  two.  I am  no  Heracles  ; and 
even  Heracles  could  not  fight  against  the  Hydra,  who  was  a 
she-Sophist,  and  had  the  wit  to  shoot  up  many  new  heads 
when  one  of  them  was  cut  off ; especially  when  he  saw  a 
second  monster  of  a sea-crab,  who  was  also  a Sophist,  and 
appeared  to  have  newly  arrived  from  a sea-voyage,  bear- 
ing down  upon  him  from  the  left,  opening  his  mouth  and 
biting.  When  the  monster  was  growing  troublesome  he 
called  Iolaus,  his  nephew,  to  his  help,  who  ably  succoured 
him  ; but  if  my  Iolaus,  who  is  my  brother  Patrocles  [the 
statuary],  were  to  come,  he  would  only  make  a bad  business 
worse. 

And  now  that  you  have  delivered  yourself  of  this  strain, 
said  Dionysodorus,  will  you  inform  me  whether  Iolaus  was 
the  nephew  of  Heracles  any  more  than  he  is  yours? 

I suppose  that  I had  best  answer  you,  Dionysodorus,  I 
said,  for  you  will  insist  on  asking— that  I pretty  well  know- 
out  of  envy,  in  order  to  prevent  me  from  learning  the  wisdom 
of  Euthydemus. 

Then  answer  me,  he  said. 

Well  then,  I said,  I can  only  reply  that  Iolaus  was  not  my 
nephew  at  all,  but  the  nephew  of  Heracles;  and  his  father 
was  not  my  brother  Patrocles,  but  Iphicles,  who  has  a name 
rather  like  his,  and  was  the  brother  of  Heracles. 


Ctesippus  and  Euthydemits. 


2 37 


And  is  Patrocles,  he  said,  your  brother? 

Yes,  I said,  he  is  my  half-brother,  the  son  of  my  mother, 
but  not  of  my  father. 

Then  he  is  and  is  not  your  brother. 

Not  by  the  same  father,  my  good  man,  I said,  for  Chaere- 
demus  was  his  father,  and  mine  was  Sophroniscus. 

And  was  Sophroniscus  a father,  and  Chaeredemus  also  ? 

Yes,  I said  ; the  former  was  my  father,  and  the  latter  his. 

Then,  he  said,  Chaeredemus  is  not  a father. 

He  is  not  my  father,  I said. 

But  can  a father  be  other  than  a father  ? or  are  you  the 
same  as  a stone  ? 

I certainly  do  not  think  that  I am  a stone,  I said,  though  I 
am  afraid  that  you  may  prove  me  to  be  one. 

Are  you  not  other  than  a stone  ? 

I am. 


Euthy de- 
mits. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

rus, 

Euthyde- 

MUS, 

Ctesippus. 

they  are 
taken  in  an 
absolute  or 
in  a relative 
sense. 


And  being  other  than  a stone,  you  are  not  a stone ; and 
being  other  than  gold,  you  are  not  gold  ? 

Very  true. 

And  so  Chaeredemus,  he  said,  being  other  than  a father, 
is  not  a father? 

I suppose  that  he  is  not  a father,  I replied. 

For  if,  said  Euthydemus,  taking  up  the  argument,  Chaere- 
demus is  a father,  then  Sophroniscus,  being  other  than  a 
father,  is  not  a father;  and  you,  Socrates,  are  without  a 
father. 

Ctesippus,  here  taking  up  the  argument,  said  : And  is  not 
your  father  in  the  same  case,  for  he  is  other  than  my  father? 

Assuredly  not,  said  Euthydemus. 

Then  he  is  the  same  ? 

He  is  the  same. 

I cannot  say  that  I like  the  connection  ; but  is  he  only 
my  father,  Euthydemus,  or  is  he  the  father  of  all  other 
men  ? 

Of  all  other  men,  he  replied.  Do  you  suppose  the  same 
person  to  be  a father  and  not  a father? 

Certainly,  I did  so  imagine,  said  Ctesippus. 

And  do  you  suppose  that  gold  is  not  gold,  or  that  a man  is 
not  a man  ? 

They  are  not  ‘in  pari  materia,'  Euthydemus,  said  Ctesippus, 


The  father 
of  Euthy- 
demus is 
declared 
to  be  the 
father  of 
all,  and  not 
only  of  all 
men,  but  of 
all  animals. 


2 38 


The  puzzles  of  the  two  Sophists 


Euthy  de- 
mus. 

Euthyde- 

mus, 

Ctesippus, 

Diokysodo- 

RUS. 


Proceeding 
in  the  same 
line  of  ar- 
gument, 
Dionysodo- 
nts  declares 
that  a dog 
who  has 
puppies  is 
a father, 
and  that  he 
who  beats 
his  dog 
beats  his 
own  father. 


and  you  had  better  take  care,  for  it  is  monstrous  to  suppose 
that  your  father  is  the  father  of  all. 

But  he  is,  he  replied. 

What,  of  men  only,  said  Ctesippus,  or  of  horses  and  of  all 
other  animals  ? 

Of  all,  he  said. 

And  your  mother,  too,  is  the  mother  of  all  ? 

Yes,  our  mother  too. 

Yes;  and  your  mother  has  a progeny  of  sea-urchins  then? 

Yes;  and  yours,  he  said. 

And  gudgeons  and  puppies  and  pigs  are  your  brothers? 

And  yours  too. 

And  your  papa  is  a dog  ? 

And  so  is  yours,  he  said. 

If  you  will  answer  my  questions,  said  Dionysodorus,  I will 
soon  extract  the  same  admissions  from  you,  Ctesippus.  You 
say  that  you  have  a dog. 

Yes,  a villain  of  a one,  said  Ctesippus. 

And  he  has  puppies? 

Yes,  and  they  are  very  like  himself. 

And  the  dog  is  the  father  of  them  ? 

Yes,  he  said,  I certainly  saw  him  and  the  mother  of  the 
puppies  come  together. 

And  is  he  not  yours  ? 

To  be  sure  he  is. 

Then  he  is  a father,  and  he  is  yours ; ergo,  he  is  your 
father,  and  the  puppies  are  your  brothers. 

Let  me  ask  you  one  little  question  more,  said  Dionysodorus, 
quickly  interposing,  in  order  that  Ctesippus  might  not  get  in 
his  word  : You  beat  this  dog? 

Ctesippus  said,  laughing,  Indeed  I do;  and  I only  wish 
that  I could  beat  you  instead  of  him. 

Then  you  beat  your  father,  he  said. 

I should  have  far  more  reason  to  beat  yours,  said  Ctesippus  ; 
what  could  he  have  been  thinking  of  when  he  begat  such 
wise  sons?  much  good  has  this  father  of  you  and  your 
brethren  the  puppies  got  out  of  this  wisdom  of  yours. 

But  neither  he  nor  you,  Ctesippus,  have  any  need  of  much 
good. 

And  have  you  no  need,  Euthydemus?  he  said. 


239 


are  retorted  by  Ctesippus. 

Neither  I nor  any  other  man  ; for  tell  me  now,  Ctesippus, 
if  you  think  it  good  or  evil  for  a man  who  is  sick  to  drink 
medicine  when  he  wants  it ; or  to  go  to  war  armed  rather 
than  unarmed. 

Good,  I say.  And  yet  I know  that  I am  going  to  be 
caught  in  one  of  your  charming  puzzles. 

That,  he  replied,  you  will  discover,  if  you  answer ; since 
you  admit  medicine  to  be  good  lor  a man  to  drink,  when 
wanted,  must  it  not  be  good  for  him  to  drink  as  much  as 
possible ; when  he  takes  his  medicine,  a cartload  of  hellebore 
will  not  be  too  much  for  him  ? 

Ctesippus  said  : Quite  so,  Euthydemus,  that  is  to  say, 
if  he  who  drinks  is  as  big  as  the  statue  of  Delphi. 

And  seeing  that  in  war  to  have  arms  is  a good  thing,  he 
ought  to  have  as  many  spears  and  shields  as  possible  ? 

Very  true,  said  Ctesippus  ; and  do  you  think,  Euthydemus, 
that  he  ought  to  have  one  shield  only,  and  one  spear? 

I do. 

And  would  you  arm  Geryon  and  Briareus  in  that  way  ? 
Considering  that  you  and  your  companion  fight  in  armour, 
I thought  that  you  would  have  known  better.  . . . Here 
Euthydemus  held  his  peace,  but  Dionysodorus  returned  to 
the  previous  answer  of  Ctesippus  and  said  : — 

Do  you  not  think  that  the  possession  of  gold  is  a good 
thing  ? 

Yes,  said  Ctesippus,  and  the  more  the  better. 

And  to  have  money  everywhere  and  always  is  a good  ? 

Certainly,  a great  good,  he  said. 

And  you  admit  gold  to  be  a good  ? 

Certainly,  he  replied. 

And  ought  not  a man  then  to  have  gold  everywhere  and 
always,  and  as  much  as  possible  in  himself,  and  may  he  not 
be  deemed  the  happiest  of  men  who  has  three  talents  of  gold 
in  his  belly,  and  a talent  in  his  pate,  and  a stater  of  gold  in 
either  eye  ? 

Yes,  Euthydemus,  said  Ctesippus;  and  the  Scythians 
reckon  those  who  have  gold  in  their  own  skulls  to  be  the 
happiest  and  bravest  of  men  (that  is  only  another  instance  of 
your  manner  of  speaking  about  the  dog  and  father),  and  what 
is  still  more  extraordinary,  they  drink  out  of  their  own  skulls 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Ctesippus, 
Euthydk- 
m us. 


When  a 
thing  is 
good,  you 
cannot 
have  too 
much  of  it. 


240 


Euthyde- 

tnus. 

Euthyde- 

MUS, 

Ctesippus, 

Dionysodo- 

RUS. 

You  see 
that  which 
has  the 
quality  of 
vision  ; you 
see  our 
garments  ; 
therefore 
they  have 
the  quality 
of  vision. 


More  puzzles  of  the  Sophists , 

gilt,  and  see  the  inside  of  them,  and  hold  their  own  head  in 
their  hands. 

And  do  the  Scythians  and  others  see  that  which  has  the  300 
quality  of  vision,  or  that  which  has  not?  said  Euthydemus. 

That  which  has  the  quality  of  vision  clearly. 

And1  you  also  see  that  which  has  the  quality  of  vision  ? he 
said. 

Yes,  I do. 

Then  do  you  see  our  garments? 

Yes. 

Then  our  garments  have  the  quality  of  vision. 

They  can  see  to  any  extent,  said  Ctesippus. 

What  can  they  see  ? 

Nothing;  but  you,  my  sweet  man,  may  perhaps  imagine 
that  they  do  not  see ; and  certainly,  Euthydemus,  you  do 
seem  to  me  to  have  been  caught  napping  when  you  were  not 
asleep,  and  that  if  it  be  possible  to  speak  and  say  nothing — 
you  are  doing  so. 

And  may  there  not  be  a silence  of  the  speaker?  said 
Dionysodorus. 

Impossible,  said  Ctesippus. 

Or  a speaking  of  the  silent? 


1 Note : the  ambiguity  of  8 uvara  dpav,  ‘ things  visible  and  able  to  see,’ 

( Tiyuvra  \eyeiv,  ‘ the  speaking  of  the  silent,’  the  silent  denoting  either  the 
speaker  or  the  subject  of  the  speech,  cannot  be  perfectly  rendered  in  English. 
Compare  Aristot.  Soph.  Elenchi,  c.  iv.  (Poste’s  translation,  p.  9)  :— 

1 Of  ambiguous  propositions  the  following  are  instances : — 

‘ I hope  that  you  the  enemy  may  slay. 

‘ Whom  one  knows,  he  knows.  Either  the  person  knowing  or  the  person 
known  is  here  affirmed  to  know. 

‘ What  one  sees,  that  one  sees : one  sees  a pillar  : ergo,  that  one  pillar  sees. 

‘What  you  are  holding,  that  you  are:  you  are  holding  a stone:  ergo,  a 
stone  you  are. 

‘Is  a speaking  of  the  silent  possible?  “The  silent”  denotes  either  the 
speaker  or  the  subject  of  speech. 

‘There  are  three  kinds  of  ambiguity  of  term  or  proposition.  The  first  is 
when  there  is  an  equal  linguistic  propriety  in  several  interpretations;  the 
second  when  one  is  improper  but  customary  ; the  third  when  the  ambiguity 
arises  in  the  combination  of  elements  that  are  in  themselves  unambiguous, 
as  in  “knowing  letters.”  “Knowing”  and  “letters”  are  perhaps  separately 
unambiguous,  but  in  combination  may  imply  either  that  the  letters  are  known, 
or  that  they  themselves  have  knowledge.  Such  are  the  modes  in  which  propo- 
sitions and  terms  may  be  ambiguous.’ 


which  are  received  by  Ctesippus  with  laughter. 

That  is  still  more  impossible,  he  said. 

But  when  you  speak  of  stones,  wood,  iron  bars,  do  you  not 
speak  of  the  silent  ? 

Not  when  I pass  a smithy;  for  then  the  iron  bars  make  a 
tremendous  noise  and  outcry  if  they  are  touched  : so  that 
here  your  wisdom  is  strangely  mistaken  ; please,  however,  to 
tell  me  how  you  can  be  silent  when  speaking  (I  thought  that 
Ctesippus  was  put  upon  his  mettle  because  Cleinias  was 
present). 

When  you  are  silent,  said  Euthydemus,  is  there  not  a 
silence  of  all  things  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

But  if  speaking  things  are  included  in  all  things,  then  the 
speaking  are  silent. 

What,  said  Ctesippus ; then  all  things  are  not  silent  ? 

Certainly  not,  said  Euthydemus, 

Then,  my  good  friend,  do  they  all  speak  ? 

Yes;  those  which  speak, 

Nay,  said  Ctesippus,  but  the  question  which  I ask  is 
whether  all  things  are  silent  or  speak? 

Neither  and  both,  said  Dionysodorus,  quickly  interposing; 
I am  sure  that  you  will  be  ' non-plussed  ’ at  that  answer. 

Here  Ctesippus,  as  his  manner  was,  burst  into  a roar  of 
laughter ; he  said,  That  brother  of  yours,  Euthydemus,  has 
got  into  a dilemma ; all  is  over  with  him.  This  delighted 
Cleinias,  whose  laughter  made  Ctesippus  ten  times  as 
uproarious  ; but  I cannot  help  thinking  that  the  rogue  must 
have  picked  up  this  answer  from  them  ; for  there  has  been  no 
wisdom  like  theirs  in  our  time.  Why  do  you  laugh,  Cleinias, 
I said,  at  such  solemn  and  beautiful  things  ? 

Why,  Socrates,  said  Dionysodorus,  did  you  ever  see  a 
beautiful  thing? 

Yes,  Dionysodorus,  I replied,  I have  seen  many. 

301  Were  they  other  than  the  beautiful,  or  the  same  as  the 
beautiful  ? 

Now  I was  in  a great  quandary  at  having  to  answer  this 
question,  and  I thought  that  I was  rightly  served  for  having 
opened  my  mouth  at  all : I said  however,  They  are  not  the 
same  as  absolute  beauty,  but  they  have  beauty  present  with 
each  of  them. 

VOL.  1,  R 


24  I 

Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Ctesippus, 

Euthyde- 

mus, 

Diojjysodo- 

RUS. 

A similar 
double  en- 
tendre. 


The  speak- 
er may  be 
silent  or 
may  speak, 
or  both. 


The  So- 
phist lightly 
touches 
upon  the 
doctrine  of 
ideas. 


242 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

rus. 


Fresh 

quibbles. 


Socrates  and  the  two  Sophists 

And  are  you  an  ox  because  an  ox  is  present  with  you,  or 
are  you  Dionysodorus,  because  Dionysodorus  is  present  with 
you  ? 

God  forbid,  I replied. 

But  how,  he  said,  by  reason  of  one  thing  being  present 
with  another,  will  one  thing  be  another? 

Is  that  your  difficulty  ? I said.  For  I was  beginning  to 
imitate  their  skill,  on  which  my  heart  was  set. 

Of  course,  he  replied,  I and  all  the  world  are  in  a difficulty 
about  the  non-existent. 

What  do  you  mean,  Dionj^sodorus  ? I said.  Is  not  the 
honourable  honourable  and  the  base  base? 

That,  he  said,  is  as  I please. 

And  do  you  please  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  you  will  admit  that  the  same  is  the  same,  and  the 
other  other ; for  surely  the  other  is  not  the  same  ; I should 
imagine  that  even  a child  will  hardly  deny  the  other  to  be 
other.  But  I think,  Dionysodorus,  that  you  must  have 
intentionally  missed  the  last  question  ; for  in  general  you 
and  your  brother  seem  to  me  to  be  good  workmen  in  your 
own  department,  and  to  do  the  dialectician’s  business  excel- 
lently well. 

What,  said  he,  is  the  business  of  a good  workman  ? tell 
me,  in  the  first  place,  whose  business  is  hammering  ? 

The  smith’s. 

And  whose  the  making  of  pots  ? 

The  potter’s. 

And  who  has  to  kill  and  skin  and  mince  and  boil  and  roast  ? 

The  cook,  I said. 

And  if  a man  does  his  business  he  does  rightly? 

Certainly. 

And  the  business  of  the  cook  is  to  cut  up  and  skin ; you 
have  admitted  that  ? 

Yes,  I have  admitted  that,  but  you  must  not  be  too  hard 
upon  me. 

Then  if  some  one  were  to  kill,  mince,  boil,  roast  the  cook, 
he  would  do  his  business,  and  if  he  were  to  hammer  the 
smith,  and  make  a pot  of  the  potter,  he  would  do  their 
business. 


243 


continue  the  argument. 

Poseidon,  I said,  this  is  the  crown  of  wisdom ; can  I ever 
hope  to  have  such  wisdom  of  my  own  ? 

And  would  you  be  able,  Socrates,  to  recognize  this  wisdom 
when  it  has  become  your  own  ? 

Certainly,  I said,  if  you  will  allow  me. 

What,  he  said,  do  you  think  that  you  know  what  is  your 
own  ? 

Yes,  I do,  subject  to  your  correction ; for  you  are  the 
bottom,  and  Euthydemus  is  the  top,  of  all  my  wisdom. 

Is  not  that  which  you  would  deem  your  own,  he  said,  that 
which  3rou  have  in  your  own  power,  and  which  you  are  able 
302  to  use  as  you  would  desire,  for  example,  an  ox  or  a sheep — 
would  you  not  think  that  which  you  could  sell  and  give  and 
sacrifice  to  any  god  whom  you  pleased,  to  be  your  own,  and 
that  which  you  could  not  give  or  sell  or  sacrifice  you  would 
think  not  to  be  in  your  own  power  ? 

Yes,  I said  (for  I was  certain  that  something  good  would 
come  out  of  the  questions,  which  I was  impatient  to  hear) ; 
}-es,  such  things,  and  such  things  only  are  mine. 

Yes,  he  said,  and  you  would  mean  by  animals  living 
beings  ? 

Yes,  I said. 

You  agree  then,  that  those  animals  only  are  yours  with 
which  you  have  the  power  to  do  all  these  things  which  I was 
just  naming  ? 

I agree. 

Then,  after  a pause,  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  lost  in  the 
contemplation  of  something  great,  he  said  : Tell  me,  Socrates, 
have  you  an  ancestral  Zeus?  Here,  anticipating  the  final 
move,  like  a person  caught  in  a net,  who  gives  a desperate 
twist  that  he  may  get  away,  I said  : No,  Dionysodorus,  I 
have  not. 

What  a miserable  man  you  must  be  then,  he  said  ; you 
are  not  an  Athenian  at  all  if  you  have  no  ancestral  gods  or 
temples,  or  any  other  mark  of  gentility. 

Nay,  Dionysodorus,  I said,  do  not  be  rough  ; good  words, 
if  you  please;  in  the  way  of  religion  I have  altars  and 
temples,  domestic  and  ancestral,  and  all  that  other  Athenians 
have. 

And  have  not  other  Athenians,  he  said,  an  ancestral  Zeus? 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

RUS. 


That  which 
is  your  own 
you  can 
give  away 
or  sell  ; 
e.g.  the  ox 
or  sheep 
which  you 
sacrifice. 


I<  a 


244 


The  closing  scene. 


Euthydc - 
mus. 

Socrates, 

Dionysodo- 

rus, 

Euthyde- 

mus, 

CTBSIPPl'S. 


Gods  are 
animals  ; 
and  if  it  is 
admitted 
that  ani- 
mals may 
be  sold, 
then  the 
gods  may 
be  sold. 


That  name,  I said,  is  not  to  be  found  among  the  Ionians, 
whether  colonists  or  citizens  of  Athens;  an  ancestral  Apollo 
there  is,  who  is  the  father  of  Ion,  and  a family  Zeus,  and  a 
Zeus  guardian  of  the  phratry,  and  an  Athene  guardian  of 
the  phratry.  But  the  name  of  ancestral  Zeus  is  unknown 
to  us. 

No  matter,  said  Dionysodorus,  for  you  admit  that  you  have 
Apollo,  Zeus,  and  Athene. 

Certainly,  I said. 

And  they  are  your  gods,  he  said. 

Yes,  I said,  my  lords  and  ancestors. 

At  any  rate  they  are  yours,  he  said,  did  you  not  admit 
that  ? 

I did,  I said  ; what  is  going  to  happen  to  me  ? 

And  are  not  these  gods  animals  ? for  you  admit  that  all 
things  which  have  life  are  animals ; and  have  not  these  gods 
life? 

They  have  life,  I said. 

Then  are  they  not  animals  ? 

They  are  animals,  I said. 

And  you  admitted  that  of  animals  those  are  yours  which 
you  could  give  away  or  sell  or  offer  in  sacrifice,  as  you 
pleased  ? 

I did  admit  that,  Euthydemus,  and  I have  no  way  of  escape. 

Well  then,  said  he,  if  you  admit  that  Zeus  and  the  other  303 
gods  are  yours,  can  you  sell  them  or  give  them  away  or  do 
what  you  will  with  them,  as  you  would  with  other  animals  ? 

At  this  I was  quite  struck  dumb,  Crito,  and  lay  prostrate. 
Ctesippus  came  to  the  rescue. 

Bravo,  Heracles,  brave  words,  said  he. 

Bravo  Heracles,  or  is  Heracles  a Bravo?  said  Dionyso- 
dorus. * 

Poseidon,  said  Ctesippus,  what  awful  distinctions.  I will 
have  no  more  of  them ; the  pair  are  invincible. 

Then,  my  dear  Crito,  there  was  universal  applause  of  the 
speakers  and  their  words,  and  what  with  laughing  and 
clapping  of  hands  and  rejoicings  the  two  men  were  quite 
overpowered  ; for  hitherto  their  partisans  only  had  cheered 
at  each  successive  hit,  but  now  the  whole  company  shouted 
with  delight  until  the  columns  of  the  Lyceum  returned  the 


The  speech  of  Socrates 


245 


sound,  seeming  to  sympathize  in  their  joy.  To  such  a 
pitch  was  I affected  myself,  that  1 made  a speech,  in  which  1 
acknowledged  that  I had  never  seen  the  like  of  their  wisdom  ; 

I was  their  devoted  servant,  and  fell  to  praising  and  admiring 
of  them.  What  marvellous  dexterity  of  wit,  I said,  enabled 
you  to  acquire  this  great  perfection  in  such  a short  time? 
There  is  much,  indeed,  to  admire  in  your  words,  Euthydemus 
and  Dionysodorus,  but  there  is  nothing  that  I admire  more 
than  your  magnanimous  disregard  of  any  opinion — whether 
of  the  many,  or  of  the  grave  and  reverend  seigniors— you 
regard  only  those  who  are  like  yourselves.  And  I do  verily 
believe  that  there  are  few  who  are  like  you,  and  who  would 
approve  of  such  arguments ; the  majority  of  mankind  are  so 
ignorant  of  their  value,  that  they  would  be  more  ashamed  of 
employing  them  in  the  refutation  of  others  than  of  being 
refuted  by  them.  I must  further  express  my  approval  of 
your  kind  and  public-spirited  denial  of  all  differences, 
whether  of  good  and  evil,  white  or  black,  or  any  other;  the 
result  of  which  is  that,  as  you  say,  every  mouth  is  sewn  up, 
not  excepting  your  own,  which  graciously  follows  the  example 
of  others  ; and  thus  all  ground  of  offence  is  taken  away. 
But  what  appears  to  me  to  be  more  than  all  is,  that  this  art 
and  invention  of  yours  has  been  so  admirably  contrived  by 
you,  that  in  a very  short  time  it  can  be  imparted  to  any  one. 

304  I observed  that  Ctesippus  learned  to  imitate  you  in  no  time. 
Now  this  quickness  of  attainment  is  an  excellent  thing;  but 
at  the  same  time  I would  advise  you  not  to  have  any  more 
public  entertainments  ; there  is  a danger  that  men  may  under- 
value an  art  which  they  have  so  easy  an  opportunity  of 
acquiring  ; the  exhibition  would  be  best  of  all,  if  the  discussion 
were  confined  to  your  two  selves  ; but  if  there  must  be  an 
audience,  let  him  only  be  present  who  is  willing  to  pay  a 
handsome  fee ; — you  should  be  careful  of  this  ;— and  if  you 
are  wise,  you  will  also  bid  your  disciples  discourse  with  no 
man  but  you  and  themselves.  For  only  what  is  rare  is 
valuable;  and  ‘water,’  which,  as  Pindar  says,  is  the  ‘best  of 
all  things,’  is  also  the  cheapest.  And  now  I have  only  to 
request  that  you  will  receive  Cleinias  and  me  among  your 
pupils. 

Such  was  the  discussion,  Crito ; and  after  a few  more 


En/hyde- 
m us. 

Socrates, 

Crito 


246 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

SOCRATF-S, 

Crito. 


Crito  re- 
monstrates 
with  So- 
crates on 
the  impro- 
priety of 
entering 
into  discus- 
sion with 
such  men 
as  the  two 
Sophists  ; 

and  con- 
firms his 
opinion  by 
that  of  an 
Athenian 
pleader. 


The  opinion  entertained  of  the  Sophists 

words  had  passed  between  us  we  went  away.  I hope  that 
you  will  come  to  them  with  me,  since  they  say  that  they  are 
able  to  teach  any  one  who  will  give  them  money ; no  age  or 
want  of  capacity  is  an  impediment.  And  I must  repeat  one 
thing  which  they  said,  for  your  especial  benefit, — that  the 
learning  of  their  art  did  not  at  all  interfere  with  the  business 
of  money-making. 

Cri.  Truly,  Socrates,  though  I am  curious  and  ready  to 
learn,  yet  I fear  that  I am  not  like-minded  with  Euthydemus, 
but  one  of  the  other  sort,  who,  as  you  were  saying,  would 
rather  be  refuted  by  such  arguments  than  use  them  in 
refutation  of  others.  And  though  I may  appear  ridiculous  in 
venturing  to  advise  you,  I think  that  you  may  as  well  hear 
what  was  said  to  me  by  a man  of  very  considerable  pre- 
tensions—he  was  a professor  of  legal  oratory — who  came 
away  from  you  while  I was  walking  up  and  down.  ‘Crito,’ 
said  he  to  me,  ‘ are  you  giving  no  attention  to  these  wise 
men  ? ’ ‘No,  indeed,’  I said  to  him  ; ‘ I could  not  get  within 
hearing  of  them — there  was  such  a crowd.’  ‘You  would 
have  heard  something  worth  hearing  if  you  had.’  ‘What 
was  that?’  I said.  ‘You  would  have  heard  the  greatest 
masters  of  the  art  of  rhetoric  discoursing.’  ‘And  what  did 
you  think  of  them?’  I said.  ‘What  did  I think  of  them?’ 
he  said: — ‘theirs  was  the  sort  of  discourse  which  anybody 
might  hear  from  men  who  were  playing  the  fool,  and  making 
much  ado  about  nothing.’  That  was  the  expression  which 
he  used.  ‘Surely,’  I said,  'philosophy  is  a charming  thing.’ 

' Charming  ! ’ he  said  ; ‘ what  simplicity  ! philosophy  is  305 
nought ; and  I think  that  if  you  had  been  present  you  would 
have  been  ashamed  of  your  friend — his  conduct  was  so  very 
strange  in  placing  himself  at  the  mercy  of  men  who  care 
not  what  they  say,  and  fasten  upon  every  word.  And 
these,  as  I was  telling  you,  are  supposed  to  be  the  most 
eminent  professors  of  their  time.  But  the  truth  is,  Crito, 
that  the  study  itself  and  the  men  themselves  are  utterly  mean 
and  ridiculous.’  Now  censure  of  the  pursuit,  Socrates, 
whether  coming  from  him  or  from  others,  appears  to  me  to 
be  undeserved ; but  as  to  the  impropriety  of  holding  a public 
discussion  with  such  men,  there,  I confess  that,  in  my  opinion, 
he  was  in  the  right. 


247 


by  Crito  and  his  doctrinaire  friend. 

Soc.  O Crito,  they  are  marvellous  men  ; but  what  was  1 
going  to  say?  First  of  all  let  me  know;— What  manner  of 
man  was  he  who  came  up  to  you  and  censured  philosophy  ; 
was  he  an  orator  who  himself  practises  in  the  courts,  or  an 
instructor  of  orators,  who  makes  the  speeches  with  which 
they  do  battle  ? 

Cri.  He  was  certainly  not  an  orator,  and  I doubt  whether 
he  had  ever  been  into  court ; but  they  say  that  he  knows 
the  business,  and  is  a clever  man,  and  composes  wonderful 
speeches. 

Soc.  Now  I understand,  Crito ; he  is  one  of  an  amphibious 
class,  whom  I was  on  the  point  of  mentioning— one  of  those 
whom  Prodicus  describes  as  on  the  border-ground  between 
philosophers  and  statesmen — they  think  that  they  are  the 
wisest  of  all  men,  and  that  they  are  generally  esteemed  the 
wisest ; nothing  but  the  rivalry  of  the  philosophers  stands  in 
their  way ; and  they  are  of  the  opinion  that  if  they  can  prove 
the  philosophers  to  be  good  for  nothing,  no  one  will  dispute 
their  title  to  the  palm  of  wisdom,  for  that  they  are  themselves 
really  the  wisest,  although  they  are  apt  to  be  mauled  by 
Euthydemus  and  his  friends,  when  they  get  hold  of  them  in 
conversation.  This  opinion  which  they  entertain  of  their 
own  wisdom  is  very  natural ; for  they  have  a certain  amount 
of  philosophy,  and  a certain  amount  of  political  wisdom  ; 
there  is  reason  in  what  they  say,  for  they  argue  that  they 
have  just  enough  of  both,  and  so  they  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  all  risks  and  conflicts  and  reap  the  fruits  of  their 
wisdom. 

Cri.  What  do  you  say  of  them,  Socrates  ? There  is 
certainly  something  specious  in  that  notion  of  theirs. 

Soc.  Yes,  Crito,  there  is  more  speciousness  than  truth  ; 

306  they  cannot  be  made  to  understand  the  nature  of  inter- 
mediates. For  all  persons  or  things,  which  are  intermediate 
between  two  other  things,  and  participate  in  both  of  them  if 
one  of  these  two  things  is  good  and  the  other  evil,  are  better 
than  the  one  and  worse  than  the  other ; but  if  they  are  in  a 
mean  between  two  good  things  which  do  not  tend  to  the  same 
end,  they  fall  short  of  either  of  their  component  elements  in 
the  attainment  of  their  ends.  Only  in  the  case  when  the  two 
component  elements  which  do  not  tend  to  the  same  end  are 


liuthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Crito. 


Socrates  in 
return  dis- 
parages 
Crito's  in- 
formant. 

He  belongs 
to  a hybrid 
class,  who 
are  a cross 
between 
philoso- 
phers and 
politicians, 
and  inferior 
to  either. 


248 


Euthyde- 

tnus. 

Socrates, 

Crito. 


Crito  wants 
to  educate 
one  of  his 
sons,  but 
the  teachers 
of  philo- 
sophy are 
such 
strange 
beings  that 
he  cannot 
trust  him 
to  them. 


Crito  s difficulty  respecting 

evil  is  the  participant  better  than  either.  Now,  if  philosophy 
and  political  action  are  both  good,  but  tend  to  different  ends, 
and  they  participate  in  both,  and  are  in  a mean  between 
them,  then  they  are  talking  nonsense,  for  they  are  worse 
than  either ; or,  if  the  one  be  good  and  the  other  evil,  they 
are  better  than  the  one  and  worse  than  the  other;  only  on 
the  supposition  that  they  are  both  evil  could  there  be  any 
truth  in  what  they  say.  I do  not  think  that  they  will  admit 
that  their  two  pursuits  are  either  wholly  or  partly  evil ; but 
the  truth  is,  that  these  philosopher-politicians  who  aim  at 
both  fall  short  of  both  in  the  attainment  of  their  respective 
ends,  and  are  really  third,  although  they  would  like  to  stand 
first.  There  is  no  need,  however,  to  be  angry  at  this  ambition 
ol  theirs— which  may  be  forgiven  ; for  every  man  ought  to  be 
loved  who  says  and  manfully  pursues  and  works  out  anything 
which  is  at  all  like  wisdom : at  the  same  time  we  shall  do 
well  to  see  them  as  they  really  are. 

Cri.  I have  often  told  you,  Socrates,  that  I am  in  a constant 
difficulty  about  my  two  sons.  What  am  I to  do  with  them  ? 
There  is  no  hurry  about  the  younger  one,  who  is  only  a 
child  ; but  the  other,  Critobulus,  is  getting  on,  and  needs 
some  one  who  will  improve  him.  I cannot  help  thinking, 
when  I hear  you  talk,  that  there  is  a sort  of  madness  in  many 
of  our  anxieties  about  our  children  : — in  the  first  place,  about 
marrying  a wife  of  good  family  to  be  the  mother  of  them,  and 
then  about  heaping  up  money  for  them — and  yet  taking  no 
care  about  their  education.  But  then  again,  when  I con- 
template any  of  those  who  pretend  to  educate  others,  I am 
amazed.  To  me,  if  I am  to  confess  the  truth,  they  all  seem  307 
to  be  such  outrageous  beings  : so  that  I do  not  know  how  I 
can  advise  the  youth  to  study  philosophy. 

Soc.  Dear  Crito,  do  you  not  know  that  in  every  profession 
the  inferior  sort  are  numerous  and  good  for  nothing,  and  the 
good  are  few  and  beyond  all  price  : for  example,  are  not 
gymnastic  and  rhetoric  and  money-making  and  the  art  of  the 
general,  noble  arts  ? 

Cri.  Certainly  they  are,  in  my  judgment. 

Soc.  Well,  and  do  you  not  see  that  in  each  of  these  arts 
the  many  are  ridiculous  performers? 

Cri.  Yes,  indeed,  that  is  very  true. 


249 


the  education  of  his  sons. 

Soc.  And  will  you  on  this  account  shun  all  these  pursuits 
yourself  and  refuse  to  allow  them  to  your  son  ? 

Cri.  That  would  not  be  reasonable,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Do  you  then  be  reasonable,  Crito,  and  do  not  mind 
whether  the  teachers  of  philosophy  are  good  or  bad,  but  think 
only  of  philosophy  herself.  Try  and  examine  her  well  and 
truly,  and  if  she  be  evil  seek  to  turn  away  all  men  from  her, 
and  not  your  sons  only  ; but  if  she  be  what  I believe  that  she 
is,  then  follow  her  and  serve  her,  you  and  your  house,  as  the 
saying  is,  and  be  of  good  cheer. 


Euthyde- 

mus. 

Socrates, 

Crito. 

Let  him 
think,  not 
of  the  good- 
ness or  bad- 
ness of  the 
teachers , 
but  of  tile 
truth  of 
philosophy. 


CRATYLUS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  Cratylus  has  always  been  a source  of  perplexity  to  the 
student  of  Plato.  While  in  fancy  and  humour,  and  perfection 
of  style  and  metaphysical  originality,  this  dialogue  may  be  ranked 
with  the  best  of  the  Platonic  writings,  there  has  been  an  uncer- 
tainty about  the  motive  of  the  piece,  which  interpreters  have 
hitherto  not  succeeded  in  dispelling.  We  need  not  suppose  that 
Plato  used  words  in  order  to  conceal  his  thoughts,  or  that  he 
would  have  been  unintelligible  to  an  educated  contemporary.  In 
the  Phaedrus  and  Euthydemus  we  also  find  a difficulty  in  deter- 
mining the  precise  aim  of  the  author.  Plato  wrote  satires  in  the 
form  of  dialogues,  and  his  meaning,  like  that  of  other  satirical 
writers,  has  often  slept  in  the  ear  of  posterity.  Two  causes  may 
be  assigned  for  this  obscurity : ist,  the  subtlety  and  allusiveness 
of  this  species  of  composition  ; 2nd,  the  difficulty  of  reproducing  a 
state  of  life  and  literature  which  has  passed  away.  A satire  is 
unmeaning  unless  we  can  place  ourselves  back  among  the  persons 
and  thoughts  of  the  age  in  which  it  was  written.  Had  the  treatise 
of  Antisthenes  upon  words,  or  the  speculations  of  Cratylus,  or  some 
other  Heracleitean  of  the  fourth  century  b.c.,  on  the  nature  of 
language  been  preserved  to  us  ; or  if  we  had  lived  at  the  time, 
and  been  * rich  enough  to  attend  the  fifty-drachma  course  of  Pro- 
dicus,’  we  should  have  understood  Plato  better,  and  many  points 
which  are  now  attributed  to  the  extravagance  of  Socrates’  humour 
would  have  been  found,  like  the  allusions  of  Aristophanes  in  the 
Clouds,  to  have  gone  home  to  the  sophists  and  grammarians  of 
the  day. 

For  the  age  was  very  busy  with  philological  speculation  ; and 
many  questions  were  beginning  to  be  asked  about  language  which 
were  parallel  to  other  questions  about  justice,  virtue,  knowledge, 
and  were  illustrated  in  a similar  manner  by  the  analogy  of  the 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


254 


Meaning  of  the  Dialogue. 


Cratylus.  arts.  Was  there  a correctness  in  words,  and  were  they  given  by 
Introduc-  nature  or  convention  ? In  the  presocratic  philosophy  mankind 
had  been  striving  to  attain  an  expression  of  their  ideas ; and  now 
they  were  beginning  to  ask  themselves  whether  the  expression 
might  not  be  distinguished  from  the  idea  ? They  were  also  seek- 
ing to  distinguish  the  parts  of  speech  and  to  enquire  into  the 
relation  of  subject  and  predicate.  Grammar  and  logic  were 
moving  about  somewhere  in  the  depths  of  the  human  soul,  but 
they  were  not  yet  awakened  into  consciousness  and  had  not  found 
names  for  themselves,  or  terms  by  which  they  might  be  expressed. 
Of  these  beginnings  of  the  study  of  language  we  know  little,  and 
there  necessarily  arises  an  obscurity  when  the  surroundings  of 
such  a work  as  the  Cratylus  are  taken  away.  Moreover,  in  this, 
as  in  most  of  the  dialogues  of  Plato,  allowance  has  to  be  made  for 
the  character  of  Socrates.  For  the  theory  of  language  can  only 
be  propounded  by  him  in  a manner  which  is  consistent  with  his 
own  profession  of  ignorance.  Hence  his  ridicule  of  the  new  school 
of  etymology  is  interspersed  with  many  declarations,  ‘that  he 
knows  nothing,’  ‘ that  he  has  learned  from  Euthyphro,’  and  the 
like.  Even  the  truest  things  which  he  says  are  depreciated  by 
himself.  He  professes  to  be  guessing,  but  the  guesses  of  Plato 
are  better  than  all  the  other  theories  of  the  ancients  respecting 
language  put  together. 

The  dialogue  hardly  derives  any  light  from  Plato’s  other  writings, 
and  still  less  from  Scholiasts  and  Neoplatonist  writers.  Socrates 
must  be  interpreted  from  himself,  and  on  first  reading  we  certainty, 
have  a difficulty  in  understanding  his  drift,  or  his  relation  to  the 
two  other  interlocutors  in  the  dialogue.  Does  he  agree  with 
Cratylus  or  with  Hermogenes,  and  is  he  serious  in  those  fanciful 
etymologies,  extending  over  more  than  half  the  dialogue,  which  he 
seems  so  greatly  to  relish  ? Or  is  he  serious  in  part  only ; and 
can  we  separate  his  jest  from  his  earnest  ? — Sunt  bona,  sunt 
quaedam  mediocria,  sunt  mala  plura.  Most  of  them  are  ridiculously 
bad,  and  yet  among  them  are  found,  as  if  by  accident,  principles 
of  philology  which  are  unsurpassed  in  any  ancient  writer,  and 
even  in  advance  of  any  philologer  of  the  last  century.  May  we 
suppose  that  Plato,  like  Lucian,  has  been  amusing  his  fancy  by 
writing  a comedy  in  the  form  of  a prose  dialogue?  And  what  is 
the  final  result  of  the  enquiry?  Is  Plato  an  upholder  of  the  con- 


255 


Dramatic  character  of  the  Dialogue. 

ventional  theory  of  language,  which  lie  acknowledges  to  be 
imperfect?  or  does  he  mean  to  imply  that  a perfect  language 
can  only  be  based  on  his  own  theory  of  ideas  ? Or  if  this  latter 
explanation  is  refuted  by  his  silence,  then  in  what  relation  does 
his  account  of  language  stand  to  the  rest  of  his  philosophy  ? Or 
may  we  be  so  bold  as  to  deny  the  connexion  between  them  ? [For 
the  allusion  to  the  ideas  at  the  end  of  the  dialogue  (439  Cj  is  merely 
intended  to  show  that  we  must  not  put  words  in  the  place  of  things 
or  realities,  which  is  a thesis  strongly  insisted  on  by  Plato  in  many 
other  passages]  . . . These  are  some  of  the  first  thoughts  which 
arise  in  the  mind  of  the  reader  ol  the  Cratylus.  And  the  consider- 
ation of  them  may  form  a convenient  introduction  to  the  general 
subject  of  the  dialogue. 

We  must  not  expect  all  the  parts  of  a dialogue  of  Plato  to  tend 
equally  to  some  clearly-defined  end.  His  idea  of  literary  art  is 
not  the  absolute  proportion  of  the  whole,  such  as  we  appear  to  find 
in  a Greek  temple  or  statue  ; nor  should  his  works  be  tried  by  any 
such  standard.  They  have  often  the  beauty  of  poetry,  but  they 
have  also  the  freedom  of  conversation.  ‘Words  are  more  plastic 
than  wax’  (Rep.  588  D),  and  may  be  moulded  into  any  form.  He 
wanders  on  from  one  topic  to  another,  careless  of  the  unity  of  his 
work,  not  fearing  any  ‘judge,  or  spectator,  who  may  recall  him  to 
the  point’  (Theat.  173  C),  ‘whither  the  argument  blows  we  follow’ 
(Rep.  394  D).  To  have  determined  beforehand,  as  in  a modern 
didactic  treatise,  the  nature  and  limits  of  the  subject,  would  have 
been  fatal  to  the  spirit  of  enquiry  or  discovery,  which  is  the  soul  of 
the  dialogue.  . . . These  remarks  are  applicable  to  nearly  all  the 
works  of  Plato,  but  to  the  Cratylus  and  Phaedrus  more  than  any 
others.  See  Phaedrus,  Introduction,  sub  init. 

There  is  another  aspect  under  which  some  of  the  dialogues  of 
Plato  may  be  more  truly  viewed  : — they  are  dramatic  sketches  of 
an  argument.  We  have  found  that  in  the  Lysis,  Charmides, 
Laches,  Protagoras,  Meno,  we  arrived  at  no  conclusion — the 
different  sides  of  the  argument  were  personified  in  the  different 
speakers ; but  the  victory  was  not  distinctly  attributed  to  any  of 
them,  nor  the  truth  wholly  the  property  of  any.  And  in  the 
Cratylus  we  have  no  reason  to  assume  that  Socrates  is  either 
wholly  right  or  wholly  wrong,  or  that  Plato,  though  he  evidently 
inclines  to  him,  had  any  other  aim  than  that  of  personifying,  in 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


256 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


The  three  theories  of  language. 

the  characters  of  Ilermogenes,  Socrates,  and  Cratylus,  the  three 
theories  of  language  which  are  respectively  maintained  by 
them. 

The  two  subordinate  persons  of  the  dialogue,  Ilermogenes  and 
Cratylus,  are  at  the  opposite  poles  of  the  argument.  But  after  a 
while  the  disciple  of  the  Sophist  and  the  follower  of  Heracleitus 
are  found  to  be  not  so  far  removed  from  one  another  as  at  first 
sight  appeared  ; and  both  show  an  inclination  to  accept  the  third 
view  which  Socrates  interposes  between  them.  First,  Hermo- 
genes,  the  poor  brother  of  the  rich  Callias,  expounds  the  doctrine 
that  names  are  conventional ; like  the  names  of  slaves,  they  may 
be  given  and  altered  at  pleasure.  This  is  one  of  those  principles 
which,  whether  applied  to  society  or  language,  explains  everything 
and  nothing.  For  in  all  things  there  is  an  element  of  convention  ; 
but  the  admission  of  this  does  not  help  us  to  understand  the 
rational  ground  or  basis  in  human  nature  on  which  the  convention 
proceeds.  Socrates  first  of  all  intimates  to  Hermogenes  that  his 
view  of  language  is  only  a part  of  a sophistical  whole,  and  ulti- 
mately tends  to  abolish  the  distinction  between  truth  and  false- 
hood. Hermogenes  is  very  ready  to  throw  aside  the  sophistical 
tenet,  and  listens  with  a sort  of  half  admiration,  half  belief,  to  the 
speculations  of  Socrates. 

Cratylus  is  of  opinion  that  a name  is  either  a true  name  or  not  a 
name  at  all.  He  is  unable  to  conceive  of  degrees  of  imitation  ; a 
word  is  either  the  perfect  expression  of  a thing,  or  a mere  inar- 
ticulate sound  (a  fallacy  which  is  still  prevalent  among  theorizers 
about  the  origin  of  language).  He  is  at  once  a philosopher  and  a 
sophist ; for  while  wanting  to  rest  language  on  an  immutable 
basis,  he  would  deny  the  possibility  of  falsehood.  He  is  inclined 
to  derive  all  truth  from  language,  and  in  language  he  sees  reflected 
the  philosophy  of  Heracleitus.  His  views  are  not  like  those  of 
Hermogenes,  hastily  taken  up,  but  are  said  to  be  the  result  of 
mature  consideration,  although  he  is  described  as  still  a young 
man.  With  a tenacity  characteristic  of  the  Heracleitean  philoso- 
phers, he  clings  to  the  doctrine  of  the  flux.  (Cp.  Theaet.  180.)  Of 
the  real  Cratylus  we  know  nothing,  except  that  he  is  recorded  by 
Aristotle  to  have  been  the  friend  or  teacher  of  Plato  ; nor  have  we 
any  proof  that  he  resembled  the  likeness  of  him  in  Plato  any  more 
than  the  Critias  of  Plato  is  like  the  real  Critias,  or  the  Euthyphro 


Which  of  them  is  Plato's  own  ? 

in  this  dialogue  like  the  other  Euthyphro,  the  diviner,  in  the 
dialogue  which  is  called  after  him. 

Between  these  two  extremes,  which  have  both  of  them  a sophis- 
tical character,  the  view  of  Socrates  is  introduced,  which  is  in  a 
manner  the  union  of  the  two.  Language  is  conventional  and  also 
natural,  and  the  true  conventional-natural  is  the  rational.  It  is  a 
work  not  of  chance,  but  of  art ; the  dialectician  is  the  artificer  of 
words,  and  the  legislator  gives  authority  to  them.  They  are  the 
expressions  or  imitations  in  sound  of  things.  In  a sense,  Cratylus 
is  right  in  saying  that  things  have  by  nature  names  (p.  390) ; for 
nature  is  not  opposed  either  to  art  or  to  law.  But  vocal  imitation, 
like  any  other  copy,  may  be  imperfectly  executed  ; and  in  this 
way  an  element  of  chance  or  convention  enters  in.  There  is 
much  which  is  accidental  or  exceptional  in  language.  Some 
words  have  had  their  original  meaning  so  obscured,  that  they 
require  to  be  helped  out  by  convention.  But  still  the  true  name 
is  that  which  has  a natural  meaning.  Thus  nature,  art,  chance,  all 
combine  in  the  formation  of  language.  And  the  three  views 
respectively  propounded  by  Hermogenes,  Socrates,  Cratylus,  may 
be  described  as  the  conventional,  the  artificial  or  rational,  and  the 
natural.  The  view  of  Socrates  is  the  meeting-point  of  the  other 
two,  just  as  conceptualism  is  the  meeting-point  of  nominalism  and 
realism. 

We  can  hardly  say  that  Plato  was  aware  of  the  truth,  that  ‘lan- 
guages are  not  made,  but  grow.’  But  still,  when  he  says  that  ‘the 
legislator  made  language  with  the  dialectician  standing  on  his 
right  hand,’  we  need  not  infer  from  this  that  he  conceived  words, 
like  coins,  to  be  issued  from  the  mint  of  the  State.  The  creator  of 
laws  and  of  social  life  is  naturally  regarded  as  the  creator  of  lan- 
guage, according  to  Hellenic  notions,  and  the  philosopher  is  his 
natural  adviser.  We  are  not  to  suppose  that  the  legislator  is  per- 
forming any  extraordinary  function  ; he  is  merely  the  Eponymus 
of  the  State,  who  prescribes  rules  for  the  dialectician  and  for  all 
other  artists.  According  to  a truly  Platonic  mode  of  approaching 
the  subject,  language,  like  virtue  in  the  Republic,  is  examined  by 
the  analogy  of  the  arts.  Words  are  works  of  art  which  may  be 
equally  made  in  different  materials,  and  are  well  made  when  they 
have  a meaning.  Of  the  process  which  he  thus  describes,  Plato 
had  probably  no  very  definite  notion.  But  he  means  to  express 

VOL.  I. 


257 

Cratylus. 

I NTRODUC- 
TION. 


S 


258 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Plato  partly  in  jest , partly  in  earnest. 

generally  that  language  is  the  product  of  intelligence,  and  that 
languages  belong  to  States  and  not  to  individuals. 

A better  conception  of  language  could  not  have  been  formed  in 
Plato’s  age,  than  that  which  he  attributes  to  Socrates.  Yet  many 
persons  have  thought  that  the  mind  of  Plato  is  more?  truly  seen  in 
the  vague  realism  of  Cratylus.  This  misconception  has  probably 
arisen  from  two  causes : first,  the  desire  to  bring  Plato’s  theory 
of  language  into  accordance  with  the  received  doctrine  of  the 
Platonic  ideas ; secondly,  the  impression  created  by  Socrates 
himself,  that  he  is  not  in  earnest,  and  is  only  indulging  the  fancy 
of  the  hour. 

1.  We  shall  have  occasion  to  show  more  at  length,  in  the  Intro- 
duction to  future  dialogues,  that  the  so-called  Platonic  ideas  are 
only  a semi-mythical  form,  in  which  he  attempts  to  realize  ab- 
stractions, and  that  they  are  replaced  in  his  later  writings  by  a 
rational  theory  of  psychology.  (See  Introductions  to  the  Meno 
and  the  Sophist.)  And  in  the  Cratylus  he  gives  a general  account 
of  the  nature  and  origin  of  language,  in  which  Adam  Smith, 
Rousseau,  and  other  writers  of  the  last  century,  would  have 
substantially  agreed.  At  the  end  of  the  dialogue,  he  speaks  as  in 
the  Symposium  and  Republic  of  absolute  beauty  and  good ; but 
he  never  supposed  that  they  were  capable  of  being  embodied  in 
words.  Of  the  names  of  the  ideas,  he  would  have  said,  as  he 
says  of  the  names  of  the  Gods,  that  we  know  nothing.  Even  the 
realism  of  Cratylus  is  not  based  upon  the  ideas  of  Plato,  but  upon 
the  flux  of  Heracleitus.  Here,  as  in  the  Sophist  and  Politicus, 
Plato  expressly  draws  attention  to  the  want  of  agreement  in 
words  and  things.  Hence  we  are  led  to  infer,  that  the  view  of 
Socrates  is  not  the  less  Plato’s  own,  because  not  based  upon  the 
ideas  ; 2nd,  that  Plato's  theory  of  language  is  not  inconsistent 
with  the  rest  of  his  philosophy. 

2.  We  do  not  deny  that  Socrates  is  partly  in  jest  and  partly 
in  earnest.  He  is  discoursing  in  a high-flown  vein, -which  may 
be  compared  to  the  ‘ dithyrambics  of  the  Phaedrus.’  I hey  are 
mysteries  of  which  he  is  speaking,  and  he  professes  a kind  of 
ludicrous  fear  of  his  imaginary  wisdom.  When  he  is  arguing  out 
of  Homer,  about  the  names  of  Hector’s  son,  or  when  he  desci  ibes 
himself  as  inspired  or  maddened  by  Euthyphro,  with  whom  he 
has  been  sitting  from  the  early  dawn  (cp.  Phaedrus  and  Lysias ; 


Character  to  be  attributed  to  Socrates. 


259 


Phaedr.)  and  expresses  his  intention  of  yielding  to  the  illusion 
to-day,  and  to-morrow  he  will  go  to  a priest  and  be  purified,  we 
easily  see  that  his  words  are  not  to  be  taken  seriously.  In  this 
part  of  the  dialogue  his  dread  of  committing  impiety,  the  pre- 
tended derivation  of  his  wisdom  from  another,  the  extravagance 
of  some  of  his  etymologies,  and,  in  general,  the  manner  in  which 
the  fun,  fast  and  furious,  vires  acquirit  eundo,  remind  us  strongly 
of  the  Phaedrus.  The  jest  is  a long  one,  extending  over  more 
than  half  the  dialogue.  But  then,  we  remember  that  the  Euthy- 
demus  is  a still  longer  jest,  in  which  the  irony  is  preserved  to  the 
very  end.  There  he  is  parodying  the  ingenious  follies  of  early 
logic  ; in  the  Cratylus  he  is  ridiculing  the  fancies  of  a new  school 
of  sophists  and  grammarians.  The  fallacies  of  the  Euthydemus 
are  still  retained  at  the  end  of  our  logic  books  ; and  the  etymolo- 
gies of  the  Cratylus  have  also  found  their  way  into  later  writers. 
Some  of  these  are  not  much  worse  than  the  conjectures  of 
Hemsterhuis,  and  other  critics  of  the  last  century ; but  this  does 
not  prove  that  they  are  serious.  For  Plato  is  in  advance  of  his 
age  in  his  conception  of  language,  as  much  as  he  is  in  his  con- 
ception of  mythology.  (Cp.  Phaedrus  sub  initio.) 

When  the  fervour  of  his  etymological  enthusiasm  has  abated, 
Socrates  ends,  as  he  has  begun,  with  a rational  explanation  of 
language.  Still  he  preserves  his  ‘know  nothing’  disguise,  and 
himself  declares  his  first  notions  about  names  to  be  reckless  and 
ridiculous.  Having  explained  compound  words  by  resolving 
them  into  their  original  elements,  he  now  proceeds  to  analyse 
simple  words  into  the  letters  of  which  they  are  composed.  The 
Socrates  who  ‘knows  nothing,’  here  passes  into  the  teacher,  the 
dialectician,  the  arranger  of  species.  There  is  nothing  in  this 
part  of  the  dialogue  which  is  either  weak  or  extravagant.  Plato 
is  a supporter  of  the  Onomatopoetic  theory  of  language ; that  is 
to  say,  he  supposes  words  to  be  formed  by  the  imitation  of  ideas 
in  sounds ; he  also  recognises  the  effect  of  time,  the  influence  of 
foreign  languages,  the  desire  of  euphony,  to  be  formative  prin- 
ciples ; and  he  admits  a certain  element  of  chance.  But  he  gives 
no  intimation  in  all  this  that  he  is  preparing  the  way  for  the  con- 
struction of  an  ideal  language,  or  that  he  has  any  Eleatic  specula- 
tion to  oppose  to  the  Heracleiteanism  of  Cratylus. 

The  theory  of  language  which  is  propounded  in  the  Cratylus  is 


Cratylus. 

Introduc. 

TION. 


S 2 


260 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Satirical  and  serious  elements  of  the  Dialogue. 

in  accordance  with  the  later  phase  of  the  philosophy  of  Plato,  and 
would  have  been  regarded  by  him  as  in  the  main  true.  The 
dialogue  is  also  a satire  on  the  philological  fancies  of  the  day. 
Socrates  in  pursuit  of  his  vocation  as  a detector  of  false  know- 
ledge, lights  by  accident  on  the  truth.  He  is  guessing,  he  is 
dreaming;  he  has  heard,  as  he  says  in  the  Phaedrus,  from 
another : no  one  is  more  surprised  than  himself  at  his  own  dis- 
coveries. And  yet  some  of  his  best  remarks,  as  for  example  his 
view  of  the  derivation  of  Greek  words  from  other  languages,  or  of 
the  permutations  of  letters,  or  again,  his  observation  that  in  speak- 
ing of  the  Gods  we  are  only  speaking  of  our  names  of  them,  occur 
among  these  flights  of  humour. 

We  can  imagine  a character  having  a profound  insight  into  the 
nature  of  men  and  things,  and  yet  hardly  dwelling  upon  them 
seriously ; blending  inextricably  sense  and  nonsense  ; sometimes 
enveloping  in  a blaze  of  jests  the  most  serious  matters,  and  then 
again  allowing  the  truth  to  peer  through  ; enjoying  the  flow  of  his 
own  humour,  and  puzzling  mankind  by  an  ironical  exaggeration 
of  their  absurdities.  Such  were  Aristophanes  and  Rabelais; 
such,  in  a different  style,  were  Sterne,  Jean  Paul,  Hamann,— 
writers  who  sometimes  become  unintelligible  through  the  extra- 
vagance of  their  fancies.  Such  is  the  character  which  Plato 
intends  to  depict  in  some  of  his  dialogues  as  the  Silenus 
Socrates;  and  through  this  medium  we  have  to  receive  our 
theory  of  language. 

There  remains  a difficulty  which  seems  to  demand  a more 
exact  answer:  In  what  relation  does  the  satirical  or  etymological 
portion  of  the  dialogue  stand  to  the  serious  ? Granting  all  that 
can  be  said  about  the  provoking  irony  of  Socrates,  about  the 
parody  of  Euthyphro,  or  Prodicus,  or  Antisthenes,  how  does  the 
long  catalogue  of  etymologies  furnish  any  answer  to  the  question 
of  Hermogenes,  which  is  evidently  the  main  thesis  of  the  dia- 
logue : What  is  the  truth,  or  correctness,  or  principle  of  names  ? 

After  illustrating  the  nature  of  correctness  by  the  analogy  of  the 
arts,  and  then,  as  in  the  Republic,  ironically  appealing  to  the 
authority  of  the  Homeric  poems,  Socrates  shows  that  the  truth 
or  correctness  of  names  can  only  be  ascertained  by  an  appeal  to 
etymology.  The  truth  of  names  is  to  be  found  in  the  analysis  of 
their  elements.  But  why  does  he  admit  etymologies  which  are 


9 


The  satirical  element. 


261 


absurd,  based  on  Heracleitean  fancies,  fourfold  interpretations  of 
words,  impossible  unions  and  separations  of  syllables  and  letters  ? 

j The  answer  to  this  difficulty  has  been  already  anticipated  in 
part : Socrates  is  not  a dogmatic  teacher,  and  therefore  he  puts  on 
this  wild  and  fanciful  disguise,  in  order  that  the  truth  may  be  per- 
mitted to  appear : 2.  as  Benfey  remarks,  an  erroneous  example 
may  illustrate  a principle  of  language  as  well  as  a true  one : 
3.  many  of  these  etymologies,  as,  for  example,  that  of  dimiov,  are 
indicated,  by  the  manner  in  which  Socrates  speaks  of  them,  to 
have  been  current  in  his  own  age:  4.  the  philosophy  of  language 
had  not  made  such  progress  as  would  have  justified  Plato  in  pro- 
pounding real  derivations.  Like  his  master  Socrates,  he  saw 
through  the  hollowness  of  the  incipient  sciences  of  the  day,  and 
tries  to  move  in  a circle  apart  from  them,  laying  down  the  condi- 
tions under  which  they  are  to  be  pursued,  but,  as  in  the  Timaeus, 
cautious  and  tentative,  when  he  is  speaking  of  actual  phenomena. 
To  have  made  etymologies  seriously,  would  have  seemed  to  him 
like  the  interpretation  of  the  myths  in  the  Phaedrus,  the  task  ‘ of 
a not  very  fortunate  individual,  who  had  a great  deal  of  time  on  his 
hands.’  (See  p.  169.)  The  irony  of  Socrates  places  him  above  and 
beyrond  the  errors  of  his  contemporaries. 

The  Cratylus  is  full  of  humour  and  satirical  touches  : the  in- 
spiration which  comes  from  Euthyphro,  and  his  prancing  steeds, 
the  light  admixture  of  quotations  from  Homer,  and  the  spurious 
dialectic  which  is  applied  to  them  ; the  jest  about  the  fifty-drachma 
course  of  Prodicus,  which  is  declared  on  the  best  authority,  viz. 
his  own,  to  be  a complete  education  in  grammar  and  rhetoric ; 
the  double  explanation  of  the  name  Hermogenes,  either  as  ‘ not 
being  in  luck,’  or  ‘ being  no  speaker ; ’ the  dearly-bought  wisdom 
of  Callias,  the  Lacedaemonian  whose  name  was  ‘ Rush,’  and, 
above  all,  the  pleasure  which  Socrates  expresses  in  his  own 
dangerous  discoveries,  which  ‘to-morrow  he  will  purge  away,’  are 
truly  humorous.  While  delivering  a lecture  on  the  philosophy  of 
language,  Socrates  is  also  satirizing  the  endless  fertility  of  the 
human  mind  in  spinning  arguments  out  of  nothing,  and  employing 
the  most  trifling  and  fanciful  analogies  in  support  of  a theory. 
Etymology  in  ancient  as  in  modern  times  was  a favourite  recre- 
ation ; and  Socrates  makes  merry  at  the  expense  of  the  etymo- 
logists. The  simplicity^  of  Hermogenes,  who  is  ready  to  believe 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


262 


Plato  and  the  Heracleiteans. 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


anything  that  he  is  told,  heightens  the  effect.  (See  especially 
392  E ; 395  A ; 397  D.)  Socrates  in  his  genial  and  ironical  mood 
hits  right  and  left  at  his  adversaries  : O'upavos  is  so  called  airo  rou 
6pav  ret  ava,  which,  as  some  philosophers  say,  is  the  way  to  have 
a pure  mind  ; the  sophists  are  by  a fanciful  explanation  converted 
into  heroes ; ‘ the  givers  of  names  were  like  some  philosophers 
who  fancy  that  the  earth  goes  round  because  their  heads  are 
always  going  round.’  There  is  a great  deal  of  ‘ mischief’  lurking 
in  the  following : ‘ I found  myself  in  greater  perplexity  about  jus- 
tice than  I was  before  I began  to  learn  ; ’ ‘ The  p in  Karompov  must 
be  the  addition  of  some  one  who  cares  nothing  about  truth,  but 
thinks  only  of  putting  the  mouth  into  shape ; ’ ‘ Tales  and  false- 
hoods have  generally  to  do  with  the  Tragic  and  goatish  life,  and 
tragedy  is  the  place  of  them.’  Several  philosophers  and  sophists 
are  mentioned  by  name : first,  Protagoras  and  Euthydemus  are 
assailed ; then  the  interpreters  of  Homer,  oi  naXcuo'i  'OprjpiKo'i  (cp. 
Arist.  Met.  xiii.  6.  7)  and  the  Orphic  poets  are  alluded  to  by  the 
way ; then  he  discovers  a hive  of  wisdom  in  the  philosophy  of 
Heracleitus ; — the  doctrine  of  the  flux  is  contained  in  the  word 
ouor'a  ( = d)<n ’a  the  pushing  principle),  an  anticipation  of  Anaxagoras 
is  found  in  \^u^i ) and  aeXijvrj.  Again,  he  ridicules  the  arbitrary 
methods  of  pulling  out  and  putting  in  letters  which  were  in  vogue 
among  the  philologers  of  his  time ; or  slightly  scoffs  at  contem- 
porary religious  beliefs.  Lastly,  he  is  impatient  of  hearing 
from  the  half-converted  Cratylus  the  doctrine  that  falsehood  can 
neither  be  spoken,  nor  uttered,  nor  addressed  ; a piece  of  sophistry 
attributed  to  Gorgias,  which  reappears  in  the  Sophist  (261  C).  And 
he  proceeds  to  demolish,  with  no  less  delight  than  he  had  set  up, 
the  Heracleitean  theory  of  language. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  dialogue  Socrates  becomes  more  serious, 
though  he  does  not  lay  aside  but  rather  aggravates  his  banter  of 
the  Heracleiteans,  whom  here,  as  in  the  Theaetetus,  he  delights  to 
ridicule.  What  was  the  origin  of  this  enmity  we  can  hardly 
determine  was  it  due  to  the  natural  dislike  which  may  be  sup- 
posed to  exist  between  the  ‘ patrons  of  the  flux  ’ and  the  ‘ friends 
of  the  ideas’  (Soph.  248  A)  ? or  is  it  to  be  attributed  to  the  indig- 
nation which  Plato  felt  at  having  wasted  his  time  upon  ‘ Cratylus 
and  the  doctrines  of  Heracleitus’  in  the  days  of  his  youth? 
Socrates,  touching  on  some  of  the  characteristic  difficulties  of 


A na  lysis  383-384. 

early  Greek  philosophy,  endeavours  to  show  Cratylus  that  imi- 
tation may  be  partial  or  imperfect,  that  a knowledge  of  things  is 
hio-her  than  a knowledge  of  names,  and  that  there  can  be  no 
knowledge  if  all  things  are  in  a state  of  transition.  But  Cratylus, 
who  does  not  easily  apprehend  the  argument  from  common  sense, 
remains  unconvinced,  and  on  the  whole  inclines  to  his  former 
opinion.  Some  profound  philosophical  remarks  arc  scattered  up 
and  down,  admitting  of  an  application  not  only  to  language  but  to 
knowledge  generally ; such  as  the  assertion  that  ‘ consistency  is 
no  test  of  truth  ’ (436  D,  foil.) : or  again,  ‘ If  we  are  over-precise 
about  words,  truth  will  say  “too  late”  to  us  as  to  the  belated 
traveller  in  iEgina  ’ (433  E). 

The  place  of  the  dialogue  in  the  series  cannot  be  determined 
with  certainty.  The  style  and  subject,  and  the  treatment  of  the 
character  of  Socrates,  have  a close  resemblance  to  the  earlier 
dialogues,  especially  to  the  Phaedrus  and  Euthydemus.  The 
manner  in  which  the  ideas  are  spoken  of  at  the  end  of  the 
dialogue,  also  indicates  a comparatively  early  date.  The  ima- 
ginative element  is  still  in  full  vigour ; the  Socrates  of  the  Cratylus 
is  the  Socrates  of  the  Apology  and  Symposium,  not  yet  Pla- 
tonized ; and  he  describes,  as  in  the  Theaetetus,  the  philosophy 
of  Heracleitus  by  ‘ unsavoury  ’ similes — he  cannot  believe  that  the 
world  is  like  1 a leaky  vessel,’  or  ‘ a man  who  has  a running  at  the 
nose’;  he  attributes  the  flux  of  the  world  to  the  swimming  in 
some  folks’  heads.  On  the  other  hand,  the  relation  of  thought 
to  language  is  omitted  here,  but  is  treated  of  in  the  Sophist. 
These  grounds  are  not  sufficient  to  enable  us  to  arrive  at  a pre- 
cise conclusion.  But  we  shall  not  be  far  wrong  in  placing  the 
Cratylus  about  the  middle,  or  at  any  rate  in  the  first  half,  of  the 
series. 

• 

Steph.  Cratylus,  the  Heracleitean  philosopher,  and  Hermogenes,  the 
3^3  brother  of  Callias,  have  been  arguing  about  names ; the  former 
maintaining  that  they  are  natural,  the  latter  that  they  are  conven- 
tional. Cratylus  affirms  that  his  own  is  a true  name,  but  will  not 
allow  that  the  name  of  Hermogenes  is  equally  true.  Hermogenes 
384  asks  Socrates  to  explain  to  him  what  Cratylus  means ; or,  far 
rather,  he  would  like  to  know,  What  Socrates  himself  thinks 
about  the  truth  or  correctness  of  names  ? Socrates  replies,  that 


263 

■Cratylus. 

Introduc. 

tion. 


Analysis. 


264 


Cratylus, 

Analysis. 


Analysis  385-387. 

liaid  is  knowledge,  and  the  nature  of  names  is  a considerable 
pait  of  knowledge:  he  has  never  been  to  hear  the  fifty-drachma 
course  of  Prodicus  ; and  having  only  attended  the  single-drachma 
course,  he  is  not  competent  to  give  an  opinion  on  such  matters. 
When  Cratylus  denies  that  Hermogenes  is  a true  name,  he  sup- 
poses him  to  mean  that  he  is  not  a true  son  of  Hermes,  because  he 
is  never  in  luck.  But  he  would  like  to  have  an  open  council  and 
to  hear  both  sides. 

Hermogenes  is  of  opinion  that  there  is  no  principle  in  names; 
they  may  be  changed,  as  we  change  the  names  of  slaves,  when- 
ever we  please,  and  the  altered  name  is  as  good  as  the  original 
one. 

You  mean  to  say,  for  instance,  rejoins  Socrates,  that  if  I agree  385 
to  call  a man  a horse,  then  a man  will  be  rightly  called  a horse  by 
me,  and  a man  by  the  rest  of  the  world  ? But,  surely,  there  is  in 
words  a true  and  a false,  as  there  are  true  and  false  propositions. 

If  a whole  proposition  be  true  or  false,  then  the  parts  of  a propo- 
sition may  be  true  or  false,  and  the  least  parts  as  well  as  the 
greatest ; and  the  least  parts  are  names,  and  therefore  names  may 
be  true  or  false.  Would  Hermogenes  maintain  that  anybody  may 
give  a name  to  an}fhing,  and  as  many  names  as  he  pleases ; and 
would  all  these  names  be  always  true  at  the  time  of  giving  them  ? 
Hermogenes  replies  that  this  is  the  only  way  in  which  he  can 
conceive  that  names  are  correct ; and  he  appeals  to  the  practice  of 
different  nations,  and  of  the  different  Hellenic  tribes,  in  confirm- 
ation of  his  view.  Socrates  asks,  whether  the  things  differ  as  the 
words  which  represent  them  differ  Are  we  to  maintain  with  386 
Protagoras,  that  what  appears  is  ? Hermogenes  has  always  been 
puzzled  about  this,  but  acknowledges,  when  he  is  pressed  by 
Socrates,  that  there  are  a few  very  good  men  in  the  world,  and 
a great  many  very  bad  ; and  the  very  good  are  the  wise,  and  the 
very  bad  are  the  foolish  ; and  this  is  not  mere  appearance  but 
reality.  Nor  is  he  disposed  to  say  with  Eutftydeinus,  that  all 
things  equally  and  always  belong  to  all  men ; in  that  case,  again, 
there  would  be  no  distinction  between  bad  and  good  men.  But 
then,  the  only  remaining  possibility  is,  that  all  things  have  their 
several  distinct  natures,  and  are  independent  of  our  notions  about 
them.  And  not  only  things,  but  actions,  have  distinct  natures, 
and  are  done  by  different  processes.  There  is  a natural  way  of  387 


265 


Analysis  38 7-39 1 . 

cutting  or  burning,  and  a natural  instrument  with  which  men  cut 
or  burn,  and  any  other  way  will  fail ; — this  is  true  of  all  actions. 
And  speaking  is  a kind  of  action,  and  naming  is  a kind  of  speaking, 
and  we  must  name  according  to  a natural  process,  and  with  a 
proper  instrument.  We  cut  with  a knife,  we  pierce  with  an  awl, 

358  we  weave  with  a shuttle,  we  name  with  a name.  And  as  a shuttle 
separates  the  warp  from  the  woof,  so  a name  distinguishes  the 
natures  of  things.  The  weaver  will  use  the  shuttle  well, — that  is, 
like  a weaver ; and  the  teacher  will  use  the  name  well, — that  is, 
like  a teacher.  The  shuttle  will  be  made  by  the  carpenter ; the 
awl  by  the  smith  or  skilled  person.  But  who  makes  a name  ? 
Does  not  the  law  give  names,  and  does  not  the  teacher  receive 

359  them  from  the  legislator?  He  is  the  skilled  person  who  makes 
them,  and  of  all  skilled  workmen  he  is  the  rarest.  But  how  does 
the  carpenter  make  or  repair  the  shuttle,  and  to  what  will  he  look  ? 
Will  he  not  look  at  the  ideal  which  he  has  in  his  mind  ? And  as 
the  different  kinds  of  work  differ,  so  ought  the  instruments  which 
make  them  to  differ.  The  several  kinds  of  shuttles  ought  to 
answer  in  material  and  form  to  the  several  kinds  of  webs.  And  the 

390  legislator  ought  to  know  the  different  materials  and  forms  of  which 
names  are  made  in  Hellas  and  other  countries.  But  who  is  to  be 
the  judge  of  the  proper  form  ? The  judge  of  shuttles  is  the  weaver 
who  uses  them  ; the  judge  of  lyres  is  the  player  of  the  lyre ; the 
judge  of  ships  is  the  pilot.  And  will  not  the  judge  who  is  able  to 
direct  the  legislator  in  his  work  of  naming,  be  he  who  knows  how 
to  use  the  names — he  who  can  ask  and  answer  questions — in 
short,  the  dialectician?  The  pilot  directs  the  carpenter  how  to 
make  the  rudder,  and  the  dialectician  directs  the  legislator  how 
he  is  to  impose  names  ; for  to  express  the  ideal  forms  of  things  in 
syllables  and  letters  is  not  the  easy  task,  Hermogenes,  which  you 
imagine. 

391  ‘ I should  be  more  readily  persuaded,  if  you  would  show  me  this 
natural  correctness  of  names.’ 

Indeed  I cannot ; but  I see  that  you  have  advanced  ; for  you  now 
admit  that  there  is  a correctness  of  names,  and  that  not  every  one 
can  give  a name.  But  what  is  the  nature  of  this  correctness  or 
truth,  you  must  learn  from  the  Sophists,  of  whom  your  brother 
Callias  has  bought  his  reputation  for  wisdom  rather  dearly ; and 
since  they  require  to  be  paid,  you,  having  no  money,  had  better 


Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


266 


Analysis  391-394. 

Cratylus.  learn  from  him  at  second-hand.  ‘Well,  but  I have  just  given  up 

Analysis.  Protagoras,  and  I should  be  inconsistent  in  going  to  learn  of  him.’ 
Then  if  you  reject  him  you  may  learn  of  the  poets,  and  in  par- 
ticular of  Homer,  who  distinguishes  the  names  given  by  Gods  and 
men  to  the  same  things,  as  in  the  verse  about  the  river  God  who 
fought  with  Hephaestus,  ‘whom  the  Gods  call  Xanthus,  and  men  392 
call  Scamander ; ’ or  in  the  lines  in  which  he  mentions  the  bird 
which  the  Gods  call  ‘Chalcis,’  and  men  ‘Cymindis;’  or  the  hill 
which  men  call  ‘ Batieia,’  and  the  Gods  ‘Myrinna’s  Tomb.’  Here 
is  an  important  lesson  ; for  the  Gods  must  of  course  be  right  in 
their  use  of  names.  And  this  is  not  the  only  truth  about  philology 
which  may  be  learnt  from  Homer.  Does  he  not  say  that  Hector’s 
son  had  two  names — 

‘ Hector  called  him  Scamandrius,  but  the  others  Astyanax  ’ ? 

Now,  if  the  men  called  him  Astyanax,  is  it  not  probable  that 
the  other  name  was  conferred  by  the  women  ? And  which  are 
more  likely  to  be  right — the  wiser  or  the  less  wise,  the  men 
or  the  women  ? Homer  evidently  agreed  with  the  men  : and 
of  the  name  given  by  them  he  offers  an  explanation  ; — the 
boy  was  called  Astyanax  (‘  king  of  the  city  ’),  because  his  father 
saved  the  city.  The  names  Astyanax  and  Hector,  moreover,  are 
really  the  same,— the  one  means  a king,  and  the  other  is  ‘a  393 
holder  or  possessor.’  For  as  the  lion’s  whelp  may  be  called  a 
lion,  or  the  horse’s  foal  a foal,  so  the  son  of  a king  may  be  called 
a king.  But  if  the  horse  had  produced  a calf,  then  that  would  be 
called  a calf.  Whether  the  syllables  of  a name  are  the  same  or 
not  makes  no  difference,  provided  the  meaning  is  retained.  For 
example  ; the  names  of  letters,  whether  vowels  or  consonants,  do 
not  correspond  to  their  sounds,  with  the  exception  of  e,  v,  o,  co. 

The  name  Beta  has  three  letters  added  to  the  sound— and  yet  this 
does  not  alter  the  sense  of  the  word,  or  prevent  the  whole  name 
having  the  value  which  the  legislator  intended.  And  the  same  394 
may  be  said  of  a king  and  the  son  of  a king,  who  like  other 
animals  resemble  each  other  in  the  course  of  nature ; the  words 
by  which  they  are  signified  may  be  disguised,  and  yet  amid 
differences  of  sound  the  etymologist  may  recognise  the  same 
notion,  just  as  the  physician  recognises  the  power  of  the  same 
drugs  under  different  disguises  of  colour  and  smell.  Hector  and 


267 


Analysis  394-396. 

Astyanax  have  only  one  letter  alike,  but  they  have  the  same 
meaning;  and  Agis  (leader)  is  altogether  different  in  sound  from 
Polemarchus  (chief  in  war),  or  Eupolemus  (good  warrior)  ; but 
the  two  words  present  the  same  idea  of  leader  or  general,  like  the 
words  Iatrocles  and  Acesimbrotus,  which  equally  denote  a phy- 
sician. The  son  succeeds  the  father  as  the  foal  succeeds  the  horse  ; 
but  when,  out  of  the  course  of  nature,  a prodigy  occurs,  and  the 
offspring  no  longer  resembles  the  parent,  then  the  names  no 

395  longer  agree.  This  may  be  illustrated  by  the  case  of  Agamemnon 
and  his  son  Orestes,  of  whom  the  former  has  a name  significant 
of  his  patience  at  the  siege  of  Troy;  while  the  name  of  the  latter 
indicates  his  savage,  man-of-the-mountain  nature.  Atreus  again, 
for  his  murder  of  Chrysippus,  and  his  cruelty  to  Thyestes,  is 
rightly  named  Atreus,  which,  to  the  eye  of  the  etymologist,  is 
arrjpos  (destructive),  nreip)?  (stubborn),  a rpecrros  (fearless)  ; and 
Pelops  is  6 rd  TreSas  opatv  (he  who  sees  what  is  near  only),  because 
in  his  eagerness  to  win  Hippodamia,  he  was  unconscious  of  the 
remoter  consequences  which  the  murder  of  Myrtilus  would  entail 
upon  his  race.  The  name  Tantalus,  if  slightly  changed,  offers  two 
etjmiologies  ; either  ano  Ttjs  tov  \18ov  ra\avTela?,  or  a7rd  tov  TaXdvTciTov 
elvcn,  signifying  at  once  the  hanging  of  the  stone  over  his  head  in  the 
world  below,  and  the  misery  which  he  brought  upon  his  country. 

396  And  the  name  of  his  father,  Zeus,  Aior,  Z^vos,  has  an  excellent 
meaning,  though  hard  to  be  understood,  because  really  a sentence 
which  is  divided  into  two  parts  (Zevs,  Aids).  For  he,  being  the 
lord  and  king  of  all,  is  the  author  of  our  being,  and  in  him  all  live  : 
this  is  implied  in  the  double  form,  Aidy,  Zrjvos,  which  being  put 
together  and  interpreted  is  Sd  bv  (rj  ndvra.  There  may,  at  first 
sight,  appear  to  be  some  irreverence  in  calling  him  the  son  of 
Cronos,  who  is  a proverb  for  stupidity ; but  the  meaning  is  that 
Zeus  himself  is  the  son  of  a mighty  intellect ; Kpdvos,  quasi  Kopos, 
not  in  the  sense  of  a youth,  but  quasi  to  KaOnpbv  kci\  a^paTov  to 0 vov 
— the  pure  and  garnished  mind,  which  in  turn  is  begotten  of 
Uranus,  who  is  so  called  drrb  tov  6pdv  rd  civ  a,  from  looking  upwards  ; 
which,  as  philosophers  say,  is  the  way  to  have  a pure  mind.  The 
earlier  portion  of  Hesiod’s  genealogy  has  escaped  my  memory,  or 
I would  try  more  conclusions  of  the  same  sort.  ‘ You  talk  like  an 
oracle.’  I caught  the  infection  from  Euthyphro,  who  gave  me  a long 
lecture  which  began  at  dawn,  and  has  not  only  entered  into  my 


Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


268 


Analysis  396-400. 

Cratylus.  ears,  but  filled  my  soul,  and  my  intention  is  to  yield  to  the  in- 

Analysis.  spiration  to-day;  and  to-morrow  I will  be  exorcised  by  some  priest  397 
or  sophist.  ‘Go  on;  I am  anxious  to  hear  the  rest.’  Now  that 
we  have  a general  notion,  how  shall  we  proceed  ? What  names 
will  afford  the  most  crucial  test  of  natural  fitness?  Those  of 
heroes  and  ordinary  men  are  often  deceptive,  because  they  are 
patronymics  or  expressions  of  a wish  ; let  us  try  gods  and 
demi-gods.  Gods  are  so  called,  ano  to 0 6eiv,  from  the  verb  ‘to 
run  ; ’ because  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  run  about  the  heaven ; 
and  they  being  the  original  gods  of  the  Hellenes,  as  they  still  are 
of  the  Barbarians,  their  name  is  given  to  all  Gods.  The  demons 
are  the  golden  race  of  Hesiod,  and  by  golden  he  means  not 
literally  golden,  but  good ; and  they  are  called  demons,  quasi 
dm'jfxoves,  which  in  old  Attic  was  used  for  Salpoves—  good  men  are  398 
well  said  to  become  Salpoves  when  they  die,  because  they  are 
knowing.  "Hpcoy  is  the  same  word  as  epos  : ‘the  sons  of  God  saw 
the  daughters  of  men  that  they  were  fair  ;’  or  perhaps  they  were 
a species  of  sophists  or  rhetoricians,  and  so  called  ano  toO  eparau,  or 
upeiv,  from  their  habit  of  spinning  questions  ; for  upeiv  is  equivalent 
to  Xey eiv.  I get  all  this  from  Euthyphro ; and  now  a new  and 
ingenious  idea  comes  into  my  mind,  and,  if  I am  not  careful,  I 
shall  be  wiser  than  I ought  to  be  by  to-morrow’s  dawn.  My  idea 
is,  that  we  may  put  in  and  pull  out  letters  at  pleasure  and  alter 
the  accents  (as,  for  example,  A a $tAos  may  be  turned  into  Au^uXoy), 
and  we  may  make  words  into  sentences  and  sentences  into  words.  399 
The  name  Sv&panos  is  a case  in  point,  for  a letter  has  been  omitted 
and  the  accent  changed ; the  original  meaning  being  6 avadp&v  a 
onanev — he  who  looks  up  at  what  he  sees.  Vv^r)  may  be  thought 
to  be  the  reviving,  or  refreshing,  or  animating  principle— 17 
ai'ayj/vxovaa  to  aapa ; but  I am  afraid  that  Euthyphro  and  his 
disciples  will  scorn  this  derivation,  and  I must  find  another:  shall 
we  identify  the  soul  with  the  ‘ ordering  mind  ’ of  Anaxagoras,  and 
say  that  quasi  qtao-e'xq  = f)  (j)vcriv  or  d^el ?- — this  might  easily  4°° 

be  refined  into  ‘ That  is  a more  artistic  etymology.’ 

After  yvxn  follows  oApa ; this,  by  a slight  permutation,  may  be 
either =(1)  the  ‘grave’  of  the  soul,  or  (2)  may  mean  ‘that  by  which 
the  soul  signifies  (cnipaive  1)  her  wishes.’  But  more  probably,  the 
word  is  Orphic,  and  simply  denotes  that  the  body  is  the  place  of 
ward  in  which  the  soul  suffers  the  penalty  of  sin,— iv  co  o-to^rni. 


269 


Analysis  400-403. 

‘I  should  like  to  hear  some  more  explanations  of  the  names  of 
the  Gods,  like  that  excellent  one  of  Zeus.’  The  truest  names  of 
the  Gods  are  those  which  they  give  themselves ; but  these  are 
unknown  to  us.  Less  true  are  those  by  which  we  propitiate  them, 
as  men  say  in  prayers,  1 May  he  graciously  receive  any  name  by 
which  I call  him.’  And  to  avoid  offence,  I should  like  to  let  them 

401  know  beforehand  that  we  are  not  presuming  to  enquire  about 
them,  but  only  about  the  names  which  they  usually  bear.  Let  us 
begin  with  Hestia.  What  did  he  mean  who  gave  the  name 
Hestia?  ‘That  is  a very  difficult  question.’  O,  my  dear  Hermo- 
genes,  I believe  that  there  was  a power  of  philosophy  and  talk 
among  the  first  inventors  of  names,  both  in  our  own  and  in  other 
languages ; for  even  in  foreign  words  a principle  is  discernible. 
Hestia  is  the  same  with  eala,  which  is  an  old  form  of  ovala,  and 
means  the  first  principle  of  things  : this  agrees  with  the  fact  that 
to  Hestia  the  first  sacrifices  are  offered.  There  is  also  another 
reading — d >aia,  which  implies  that  ‘pushing’  (<hdovv)  is  the  first 

402  principle  of  all  things.  And  here  I seem  to  discover  a delicate 
allusion  to  the  flux  of  Heracleitus— that  antediluvian  philosopher 
who  cannot  walk  twice  in  the  same  stream ; and  this  flux  of  his 
may  accomplish  yet  greater  marvels.  For  the  names  Cronos  and 
Rhea  cannot  have  been  accidental ; the  giver  of  them  must  have 
known  something  about  the  doctrine  of  Heracleitus.  Moreover, 
there  is  a remarkable  coincidence  in  the  words  of  Hesiod,  when 
he  speaks  of  Oceanus,  ‘ the  origin  of  Gods ; ’ and  in  the  verse  of 
Orpheus,  in  which  he  describes  Oceanus  espousing  his  sister 
Tethys.  Tethys  is  nothing  more  than  the  name  of  a spring — to 
biaTTutfievo v /cat  rjdo vixevov.  Poseidon  is  7rocrtSecr/tof,  the  chain  of  the 
feet,  because  you  cannot  walk  on  the  sea — the  e is  inserted  by  way 
of  ornament;  or  perhaps  the  name  may  have  been  originally 

403  TToWeidiov,  meaning,  that  the  God  knew  many  things  (n oAAd  «8d>y)  : 
he  may  also  be  the  shaker,  ano  too  o-eUiv, — in  this  case,  n and  8 
have  been  added.  Pluto  is  connected  with  ttXovtos,  because  wealth 
comes  out  of  the  earth ; or  the  word  may  be  a euphemism  for 
Hades,  which  is  usually  derived  dno  to 0 dftSow,  because  the  God  is 
concerned  with  the  invisible.  But  the  name  Hades  was  really 
given  him  from  his  knowing  (et’SeVai)  all  good  things.  Men  in 
general  are  foolishly  afraid  of  him,  and  talk  with  horror  of  the 
world  below  from  which  no  one  may  return.  The  reason  why  his 


Craiylus. 

Analysis. 


270 


Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  403-406. 

subjects  never  wish  to  come  back,  even  if  they  could,  is  that  the 
God  enchains  them  by  the  strongest  of  spells,  namely  by  the 
desire  of  virtue,  which  they  hope  to  obtain  by  constant  association 
with  him.  He  is  the  perfect  and  accomplished  Sophist  and  the 
great  benefactor  of  the  other  world ; for  he  has  much  more  than 
he  wants  there,  and  hence  he  is  called  Pluto  or  the  rich.  He  will  404 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  souls  of  men  while  in  the  body, 
because  he  cannot  work  his  will  with  them  so  long  as  they  are 
confused  and  entangled  by  fleshly  lusts.  Demeter  is  the  mother 
and  giver  of  food — ) 7 8i8ot}cra  pljrrjp  rtjs  f’Sc odiji.  Here  is  eparfj  th, 
or  perhaps  the  legislator  may  have  been  thinking  of  the  weather, 
and  has  merely  transposed  the  letters  of  the  word  aljp.  Phere- 
phatta,  that  word  of  awe,  is  tyeptndcfui,  which  is  only  an  euphonious 
contraction  of  17  tov  cfxpopevov  efpanTopevi], — all  things  are  in  motion, 
and  she  in  her  wisdom  moves  with  them,  and  the  wise  God 
Hades  consorts  with  her — there  is  nothing  very  terrible  in  this, 
any  more  than  in  her  other  appellation  Persephone,  which  is  also 
significant  of  her  wisdom  (o-o^?)).  Apollo  is  another  name,  which 
is  supposed  to  have  some  dreadful  meaning,  but  is  susceptible  of 
at  least  four  perfectly  innocent  explanations.  First,  he  is  the  405 
purifier  or  purger  or  absolver  (dn-oXoiW) ; secondly,  he  is  the  true 
diviner,  'A ttXus,  as  he  is  called  in  the  Thessalian  dialect  (an\5>s= 
anXnvs,  sincere)  ; thirdly,  he  is  the  archer  (del  fidWuv),  alwaj'S 
shooting ; or  again,  supposing  « to  mean  apa  or  opov,  Apollo 
becomes  equivalent  to  apa  no\uv,  which  points  to  both  his  musical 
and  his  heavenly  attributes;  for  there  is  a ‘moving  together’ 
alike  in  music  and  in  the  harmony  of  the  spheres.  The  second  X 
is  inserted  in  order  to  avoid  the  ill-omened  sound  of  destruction. 
The  Muses  are  so  called — dno  tov  pucrOai.  The  gentle  Leto  or  406 
Letho  is  named  from  her  willingness  (eOeXrjpuv),  or  because  she 
is  ready  to  forgive  and  forget  (Xi '/A7).  Artemis  is  so  called  from 
her  healthy  well-balanced  nature,  3td  to  dprepes,  or  as  dperrjs  larrup ; 
or  as  a lover  of  virginity,  dporov  pio-rjaaira.  One  of  these  expla- 
nations is  probably  true,— perhaps  all  of  them.  Dionysus  is  6 
81 8ovs  rov  olvov , and  oivos  is  quasi  oiovovs  because  wine  makes  those 
think  (oUaOai)  that  they  have  a mind  ( vovs ) who  have  none.  The 
established  derivation  of  ’AtjipoSn-t;  8id  rrjv  tov  dcfrpov  yevecriv  may  be 
accepted  on  the  authority  of  Hesiod.  Again,  there  is  the  name  of 
Pallas,  or  Athene,  which  we,  who  are  Athenians,  must  not  forget. 


Analysis  407-410. 

407  Pallas  is  derived  from  armed  dances — djrd  roO  ndWeiv  r«  on-Xn.  For 
Athene  we  must  turn  to  the  allegorical  interpreters  of  Homer, 
who  make  the  name  equivalent  to  deovor),  or  possibly  the  word  was 
originally  rjdovon  and  signified  moral  intelligence  (iv  fjdei  vdtjtns). 
Hephaestus,  again,  is  the  lord  of  light— 6 tov  (jnieos  i<jT<op.  This  is 
a good  notion ; and,  to  prevent  any  other  getting  into  our  heads, 
let  us  go  on  to  Ares.  He  is  the  manly  one  (apprjv),  or  the  un- 
changeable one  ( dpparos ).  Enough  of  the  Gods  ; for,  by  the  Gods, 
I am  afraid  of  them  ; but  if  you  suggest  other  words,  you  will  see 
how  the  horses  of  Euthyphro  prance.  ‘ Only  one  more  God  ; tell 
me  about  my  godfather  Hermes.’  He  is  epprjvdis,  the  messenger 
or  cheater  or  thief  or  bargainer  ; or  6 el'peiv  pt dpevos,  that  is,  dpeprjs 

40S  or  eppris— the  speaker  or  contriver  of  speeches.  ‘Well  said 
Cratylus,  then,  that  I am  no  son  of  Hermes.’  Pan,  as  the  son  of 
Hermes,  is  speech  or  the  brother  of  speech,  and  is  called  Pan 
because  speech  indicates  everything— 6 ndv  prjvvav.  He  has  two 
forms,  a true  and  a false ; and  is  in  the  upper  part  smooth,  and  in 
the  lower  part  shaggy.  He  is  the  goat  of  Tragedy,  in  which  there 
are  plenty  of  falsehoods. 

‘ Will  you  go  on  to  the  elements— sun,  moon,  stars,  earth, 
aether,  air,  fire,  water,  seasons,  years?’  Very  good:  and  which 

409  shall  I take  first  ? Let  us  begin  with  17X10?,  or  the  sun.  The  Doric 
form  aXto?  helps  us  to  see  that  he  is  so  called  because  at  his  rising 
he  gathers  (aXifei)  men  together,  or  because  he  rolls  about  (elXel) 
the  earth,  or  because  he  variegates  (utoXeI=7rotKi'XXei)  the  earth. 
Selene  is  an  anticipation  of  Anaxagoras,  being  a contraction  of 
o-eXn«weodeia,  the  light  (creXa?)  which  is  ever  old  and  new,  and 
which,  as  Anaxagoras  says,  is  borrowed  from  the  sun  ; the  name 
was  harmonized  into  ae'Kavaln,  a form  which  is  still  in  use.  ‘ That 
is  a true  dithyrambic  name.’  Mel?  is  so  called  thro  tov  pmovadcu, 
from  suffering  diminution,  and  aorpov  is  from  do-rprim)  (lightning), 
which  is  an  improvement  of  avacrTpanrr],  that  which  turns  the  eyes 
inside  out.  ‘ How  do  you  explain  71-Op  and  vS cop  ? ’ I suspect  that 

410  TTvp,  which,  like  vScop  and  kvuv,  is  found  in  Phrygian,  is  a foreign 
word ; for  the  Hellenes  have  borrowed  much  from  the  barbarians, 
and  I always  resort  to  this  theory  of  a foreign  origin  when  I am 
at  a loss.  ’A qp  may  be  explained,  oti  a’lpti  t a dno  xi}?  yijs  ; or,  dxt  del 
pel ; or,  otl  nvevpa  e’£  avrov  yiverai  (compare  the  poetic  word  dijrai). 
So  ald'qp  quasi  deiOeqp  oti  del  6d  irep\  tov  depit  : yr),  ycun  quasi  ytvvtp 


27I 

Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


272 


Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  4 10-4 13. 

reipa  (compare  the  Homeric  form  yeyunai) ; Z>pa,  or,  according  to 
the  old  Attic  form,  o pet,  is  derived  anb  toZ  6pi£tiv,  because  it  divides 
the  year ; eviavrbs  and  eros  are  the  same  thought — 6 ev  tavral  frafav, 
cut  into  two  parts,  iv  eavrtb  and  erafav,  like  81  bv  (f/  into  Atos  and 
Zrjvos. 

‘You  make  surprising  progress.’  True;  I am  run  away  with, 
and  am  not  even  yet  at  my  utmost  speed.  ‘ I should  like  very 
much  to  hear  your  account  of  the  virtues.  What  principle  of4ii 
correctness  is  there  in  those  charming  words,  wisdom,  under- 
standing, justice,  and  the  rest?’  To  explain  all  that  will  be  a 
serious  business ; still,  as  I have  put  on  the  lion’s  skin,  appear- 
ances must  be  maintained.  My  opinion  is,  that  primitive  men 
were  like  some  modern  philosophers,  who,  by  always  going 
round  in  their  search  after  the  nature  of  things,  become  dizzy ; 
and  this  phenomenon,  which  was  really  in  themselves,  they 
imagined  to  take  place  in  the  external  world.  You  have  no  doubt 
remarked,  that  the  doctrine  of  the  universal  flux,  or  generation  of 
things,  is  indicated  in  names.  ‘ No,  I never  did.’  $p6vr)<ns  is  only 
{ fiopas  Km  pov  vorjens , or  perhaps  (f)opas  bvrjcris,  and  in  any  case  is  con- 
nected with  (frepardcu ; yvd>pr)  is  yovrjs  cn<e\jns  Kai  vatpr/aLS ; v6i]<ris  is 
veov  or  yiyvoptvov  eats ; the  word  veos  implies  that  creation  is  always 
going  on — the  original  form  was  veoeais ; aco(f>po(rvvt]  is  aarrjpui 
<ppovr]creo)s  ; imcrrrjpr]  is  17  enopevi]  to'ls  npaypacnv — the  faculty  which  41 2 
keeps  close,  neither  anticipating  nor  lagging  behind  ; crvvetns  is 
equivalent  to  avvievai,  a-vpnopeveaBai  rrjv  \jsvxr)V,  and  is  a kind  of 
conclusion — (rvWoyia-pos  tis,  akin  therefore  in  idea  to  enivT^pr) ; 
c roepin  is  very  difficult,  and  has  a foreign  look — the  meaning  is, 
touching  the  motion  or  stream  of  things,  and  may  be  illustrated 
by  the  poetical  e a-bSp  and  the  Lacedaemonian  proper  name  2ovs,  or 
Rush  ; ayadov  is  to  dyaarbv  iv  rrj  TiiyvTijn,—  for  all  things  are  in 
motion,  and  some  are  swifter  than  others  : du«uo<rvvT)  is  clearly 
fj  TOV  bimiov  ( Tvvean.  The  word  bUaiov  is  more  troublesome,  and 
appears  to  mean  the  subtle  penetrating  power  which,  as  the  lovers 
of  motion  say,  preserves  all  things,  and  is  the  cause  of  all  things, 
quasi  Shilov  going  through— the  letter  k being  inserted  for  the  sake 
of  euphony.  This  is  a great  mystery  which  has  been  confided  to  4*3 
me ; but  when  I ask  for  an  explanation  I am  thought  obtrusive, 
and  another  derivation  is  proposed  to  me.  Justice  is  said  to  be  6 
Kaicov,  or  the  sun  ; and  when  1 joyfully  repeat  this  beautiful  notion, 


A naly sis  4 1 3-4 1 5 . 

I am  answered,  ‘ What,  is  there  no  justice  when  the  sun  is 
down  ? ’ And  when  I entreat  my  questioner  to  tell  me  his  own 
opinion,  he  replies,  that  justice  is  fire  in  the  abstract,  or  heat  in 
the  abstract ; which  is  not  very  intelligible.  Others  laugh  at  such 
notions,  and  say  with  Anaxagoras,  that  justice  is  the  ordering  mind. 
‘ I think  that  some  one  must  have  told  you  this.’  And  not  the 
rest?  Let  me  proceed  then,  in  the  hope  of  proving  to  you  my 

414  originality.  'AvSpela  is  quasi  dvpeia  quasi  fj  avco  pof ),  the  stream 
which  flows  upwards,  and  is  opposed  to  injustice,  which  clearly 
hinders  the  principle  of  penetration  ; dpprjv  and  avr/p  have  a similar 
derivation  ; ywi)  is  the  same  as  yom 7 ; AjXu  is  derived  thro  rijs  fyXrjs, 
because  the  teat  makes  things  flourish  (redrjXevai),  and  the  word 
OdWeiv  itself  implies  increase  of  youth,  which  is  swift  and  sudden 
ever  (6e~iv  and  aXXeaOai).  I am  getting  over  the  ground  fast : but 
much  has  still  to  be  explained.  There  is  reyi/p,  for  instance. 
This,  by  an  aphaeresis  of  t and  an  epenthesis  of  o in  two  places, 
may  be  identified  with  exov°1h  an(f  signifies  ‘that  which  has 
mind.’ 

‘Avery  poor  etymology.’  Yes;  but  you  must  remember  that 
all  language  is  in  process  of  change ; letters  are  taken  in  and  put 
out  for  the  sake  of  euphony,  and  time  is  also  a great  alterer  of 
words.  For  example,  what  business  has  the  letter  p in  the  word 
KaTcmTpov , or  the  letter  o-  in  the  word  o-</u yt-  ? The  additions  are 
often  such  that  it  is  impossible  to  make  out  the  original  word ; 
and  yet,  if  you  may  put  in  and  pull  out,  as  you  like,  any  name  is 
equalfy  good  for  any  object.  The  fact  is,  that  great  dictators  of 
literature  like  yourself  should  observe  the  rules  of  moderation. 
‘ I will  do  my  best.’  But  do  not  be  too  much  of  a precisian,  or 

415  you  will  paralyze  me.  If  you  will  let  me  add  prjxavrj,  dno  rod  prjKovs, 
which  means  no\v,  and  avuv,  I shall  be  at  the  summit  of  my 
powers,  from  which  elevation  I will  examine  the  two  words  kcikIci 
and  dper-fj.  The  first  is  easily  explained  in  accordance  with  what 
has  preceded ; for  all  things  being  in  a flux,  Ka<[a  is  ro  kcikcos  lov. 
This  derivation  is  illustrated  by  the  word  SeiXi'a,  which  ought  to 
have  come  after  dvdpeta,  and  may  be  regarded  as  6 \mv  Sevpos  rr/s 

just  as  diropla  signifies  an  impediment  to  motion  (from  « 
not,  and  nopevtadai  to  go),  and  dperi)  is  evnopia,  which  is  the  opposite 
of  this — the  everflowing  (del  peova-a  or  deipecri)),  or  the  eligible, 
quasi  aiptrij.  You  will  think  that  I am  inventing,  but  I say  that  if 

VOL.  I.  x 


273 

Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


274 

.■ Cratylus . 
Analysis. 


Analysis  416-419. 

KnKta  is  right,  then  aperr)  is  also  right.  But  what  is  kokov?  That  is  416 
a very  obscure  word,  to  which  I can  only  apply  my  old  notion  and 
declare  that  kcikov  is  a foreign  word.  Next,  let  us  proceed  to  koXov, 
alaxpo v.  The  latter  is  doubtless  contracted  from  dao-yopotw,  quasi 
«€  1 ta-yoi/  povv.  The  inventor  of  words  being  a patron  of  the  flux, 
was  a great  enemy  to  stagnation.  KnXoi/  is  to  kclKovv  ra  npdypara — 
this  is  mind  (vovs  or  8l<Ivolci)  ; which  is  also  the  principle  of 
beauty;  and  which  doing  the  works  of  beauty,  is  therefore 
rightly  called  the  beautiful.  The  meaning  of  avptyepov  is  explained  417 
by  previous  examples ; — like  eVtor^j;,  signifying  that  the  soul 
moves  in  harmony  with  the  world  (crvpcfaopa,  avpfyepovTa).  Ktpdos  is 
to  ndcn  Ktpawvpevov — that  which  mingles  with  all  things  : \vmrf\ovv 
is  equivalent  to  to  rtjs  (popds  Xvov  to  re\os,  and  is  not  to  be  taken  in 
the  vulgar  sense  of  gainful,  but  rather  in  that  of  swift,  being  the 
principle  which  makes  motion  immortal  and  unceasing ; anpeXipov 
is  (171-6  too  ocpeXXeiv — that  which  gives  increase  : this  word,  which  is 
Homeric,  is  of  foreign  origin.  B Xa&epov  is  to  {iXoirrov  or  fSov\6p(vov 
cinreiv  tov  pov— that  which  injures  or  seeks  to  bind  the  stream. 

The  proper  word  would  be  fiovXanTepovv,  but  this  is  too  much  of 
a mouthful — like  a prelude  on  the  flute  in  honour  of  Athene.  The  418 
word  (r)pid >8es  is  difficult  ; great  changes,  as  I was  saying,  have 
been  made  in  words,  and  even  a small  change  will  alter  their 
meaning  very  much.  The  word  8eov  is  one  of  these  disguised 
words.  You  know  that  according  to  the  old  pronunciation,  which 
is  especially  affected  by  the  women,  who  are  great  conservatives, 
t and  8 were  used  where  we  should  now  use  7 and  £ : for  example, 
what  we  now  call  fjpepa  was  formerly  called  Ipepa ; and  this  shows 
the  meaning  of  the  word  to  have  been  ‘the  desired  one  coming 
after  night,’  and  not,  as  is  often  supposed,  ‘that which  makes  things 
gentle  ’ (rjpepa).  So  again,  (vy'ov  is  8voy'ov,  quasi  SeV ts  8vuv  t Is  dyayrjv 
—the  binding  of  two  together  for  the  purpose  of  drawing.  Aeov,  419 
as  ordinarily  written,  has  an  evil  sense,  signifying  the  chain 
(Seapbs)  or  hindrance  of  motion  ; but  in  its  ancient  form  81 61/  is 
expressive  of  good,  quasi  8u6v,  that  which  penetrates  or  goes 
through  all.  ZrjpL<x>8r)$  is  really  and  means  that  which 

binds  motion  (Sovvti  to  lov ) : j]8ovlj  is  7 irpos  rrjp  ovr/aiv  reivovca  npa^is 
— the  6 is  an  insertion  : Xvnrj  is  derived  duo  rrjs  Sia\vo-<o>y  tov  od>- 
paros : dvia  is  from  a and  Uvai,  to  go : d\y^8d>v  is  a foreign  word, 
and  is  so  called  (i7ro  tov  dXyfivov  : o8vvi]  is  ano  rijs  fvSv&ews  ti]s  Xvmjs  . 


275 


A nalysis  419-422. 

aX0')Si>v  is  in  its  very  sound  a burden  : ynpa  expresses  the  flow  of 
Soul : repots  is  (i7ro  too  repnvov,  and  repnvbv  is  properly  epnvov, 
because  the  sensation  of  pleasure  is  likened  to  a breath  (nvof)) 
which  creeps  (cpne t)  through  the  soul : eveppoaovr)  is  named  from 
< pepeo-Oai , because  the  soul  moves  in  harmony  with  nature : e'm- 
Ovpia  is  ij  eVi  tov  dvpov  iovc ra  dvvapis : 8vpoi  is  «rro  rtjs  Obcrecos  rf/r 

420  \ff vxjjs : Ipepos — on  ieptvos  pel  17  : noOos,  the  desire  which  is  in 

another  place,  aXXodl  7 tov  : epco?  was  anciently  i'erpos,  and  so  called 
because  it  flows  into  (e’crpeT)  the  soul  from  without : 8o£a  is  f]  Suofts 
too  eiStVai,  or  expresses  the  shooting  from  a bow  (ro|o v).  The 
latter  etymology  is  confirmed  by  the  words  fiovXeaOai , ftovXt), 
d&ovXta,  which  all  have  to  do  with  shooting  (/3oX/;) : and  simi- 
larly o ltjctls  is  nothing  but  the  movement  (oltris)  of  the  soul  towards 
essence.  ‘ Ekovo-iov  is  ro  eheov — the  yielding — dvdyKT]  is  f]  av  dyKrj  louaa , 
the  passage  through  ravines  which  impede  motion  : aXrjdeia  is  8eia 

421  aXrjj  divine  motion.  'I'eCSos  is  the  opposite  of  this,  implying  the 
principle  of  constraint  and  forced  repose,  which  is  expressed 
under  the  figure  of  sleep,  to  e£8ov ; the  x/r  is  an  addition.  J' Ouopa , a 
name,  affirms  the  real  existence  of  that  which  is  sought  after — ov 
ov  pda  pa  ear  iv.  *Ov  and  ovaia  are  only  lov  with  an  1 broken  off ; and 
ovk  ov  is  oiiK  I6v.  ‘ And  what  are  lov,  peov,  8ovv  ? ’ One  way  of 
explaining  them  has  been  already  suggested — they  may  be  of 
foreign  origin ; and  possibly  this  is  the  true  answer.  But  mere 
antiquity  may  often  prevent  our  recognizing  words,  after  all  the 
complications  which  they  have  undergone ; and  we  must  re- 
member that  however  far  we  carry  back  our  analysis  some 
ultimate  elements  or  roots  will  remain  which  can  be  no  further 
analyzed.  For  example;  the  word  ayadbs  was  supposed  by  us  to 

422  be  a compound  of  dyaarbs  and  door,  and  probably  660s  may  be 
further  resolvable.  But  if  we  take  a word  of  which  no  further 
resolution  seems  attainable,  we  may  fairly  conclude  that  we  have 
reached  one  of  these  original  elements,  and  the  truth  of  such  a 
word  must  be  tested  by  some  new  method.  Will  you  help  me  in 
the  search  ? 

All  names,  whether  primary  or  secondary,  are  intended  to  show 
the  nature  of  things ; and  the  secondary,  as  I conceive,  derive 
their  significance  from  the  primary.  But  then,  how  do  the 
primary  names  indicate  anything?  And  let  me  ask  another 
question,— If  we  had  no  faculty  of  speech,  how  should  we  com- 


Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


T 2 


276 


Analysis  422-426. 

Cratylus.  municate  with  one  another?  Should  we  not  use  signs,  like  the 

Analysis,  deaf  and  dumb  ? The  elevation  of  our  hands  would  mean  light- 
ness— heaviness  would  be  expressed  by  letting  them  drop.  423 
The  running  of  any  animal  would  be  described  by  a similar 
movement  of  our  own  frames.  The  body  can  only  express 
anything  by  imitation ; and  the  tongue  or  mouth  can  imitate  as 
well  as  the  rest  of  the  body.  But  this  imitation  of  the  tongue  or 
voice  is  not  yet  a name,  because  people  may  imitate  sheep  or 
goats  without  naming  them.  What,  then,  is  a name  ? In  the  first 
place,  a name  is  not  a musical,  or,  secondly,  a pictorial  imitation, 
but  an  imitation  of  that  kind  which  expresses  the  nature  of  a 
thing ; and  is  the  invention  not  of  a musician,  or  of  a painter,  but  424 
of  a namer. 

And  now,  I think  that  we  may  consider  the  names  about  which 
you  were  asking.  The  way  to  analyze  them  will  be  by  going 
back  to  the  letters,  or  primary  elements  of  which  they  are  com- 
posed. First,  we  separate  the  alphabet  into  classes  of  letters, 
distinguishing  the  consonants,  mutes,  vowels,  and  semivowels ; 
and  when  we  have  learnt  them  singly,  we  shall  learn  to  know 
them  in  their  various  combinations  of  two  or  more  letters ; just  as 
the  painter  knows  how  to  use  either  a single  colour,  or  a com- 
bination of  colours.  And  like  the  painter,  we  may  apply  letters  to  42  5 
the  expression  of  objects,  and  form  them  into  sjdlables;  and  these 
again  into  words,  until  the  picture  or  figure— that  is,  language— is 
completed.  Not  that  I am  literally  speaking  of  ourselves,  but  I 
mean  to  say  that  this  was  the  way  in  which  the  ancients  framed 
language.  And  this  leads  me  to  consider  whether  the  primary  as 
well  as  the  seconda^  elements  are  rightly  given.  I may  remark, 
as  I was  saying  about  the  Gods,  that  we  can  only  attain  to  con- 
jecture of  them.  But  still  we  insist  that  ours  is  the  true  and 
only  method  of  discovery ; otherwise  we  must  have  recourse,  like 
the  tragic  poets,  to  a Dens  ex  machind,  and  say  that  God  gave  the 
first  names,  and  therefore  they  are  right ; or  that  the  barbarians 
are  older  than  we  are,  and  that  we  learnt  of  them ; or  that  antiquity 
has  cast  a veil  over  the  truth.  Yet  all  these  are  not  reasons ; they  426 
are  only  ingenious  excuses  for  having  no  reasons. 

I will  freely  impart  to  you  my  own  notions,  though  they  are 
somewhat  crude : — The  letter  p appears  to  me  to  be  the  geneial 
instrument  which  the  legislator  has  employed  to  express  all  motion  . 


2 77 


Analysis  426-429. 

or  Kitnjais.  (I  ought  to  explain  that  Kivrjais  is  just  i 'etns  (going),  for 
the  letter  7 was  unknown  to  the  ancients  ; and  the  root,  idetv,  is  a 
foreign  form  of  Uvcu : of  Kivrjais  or  (Ian,  the  opposite  is  aracris). 
This  use  of  p is  evident  in  the  words  tremble,  break,  crush, 
crumble,  and  the  like ; the  imposer  of  names  perceived  that  the 
427  tongue  is  most  agitated  in  the  pronunciation  of  this  letter,  just  as 
he  used  t to  express  the  subtle  power  which  penetrates  through 
all  things.  The  letters  a,  C,  which  require  a great  deal  of 

wind,  are  employed  in  the  imitation  of  such  notions  as  shivering, 
seething,  shaking,  and  in  general  of  what  is  windy.  The  letters  5 
and  r convey  the  idea  of  binding  and  rest  in  a place  : the  X denotes 
smoothness,  as  in  the  words  slip,  sleek,  sleep,  and  the  like.  But 
when  the  slipping  tongue  is  detained  by  the  heavier  sound  of  y,  then 
arises  the  notion  of  a glutinous  clammy  nature  : v is  sounded  from 
within,  and  has  a notion  of  inwardness  : a is  the  expression  of 
size  ; > 7 of  length  ; o of  roundness,  and  therefore  there  is  plenty  of 
o in  the  word  yoyyvXov.  That  is  my  view,  Hermogenes,  of  the 
correctness  of  names  ; and  I should  like  to  hear  what  Cratylus 
would  say.  ‘ But,  Socrates,  as  I was  telling  you,  Cratylus  mystifies 
me  ; I should  like  to  ask  him,  in  your  presence,  what  he  means  by 
the  fitness  of  names?’  To  this  appeal,  Cratylus  replies  ‘that  he 
42S  cannot  explain  so  important  a subject  all  in  a moment.’  ‘ No,  but 
you  may  “add  little  to  little,”  as  Hesiod  says.’  Socrates  here 
interposes  his  own  request,  that  Cratylus  will  give  some  account 
of  his  theory.  Hermogenes  and'  himself  are  mere  sciolists,  but 
Cratylus  has  reflected  on  these  matters,  and  has  had  teachers. 
Cratylus  replies  in  the  words  of  Achilles  : ‘ “ Illustrious  Ajax,  you 
have  spoken  in  all  things  much  to  my  mind,”  whether  Euthjrphro, 
or  some  Muse  inhabiting  your  own  breast,  was  the  inspirer.’ 
Socrates  replies,  that  he  is  afraid  of  being  self-deceived,  and 
therefore  he  must  ‘look  fore  and  aft,’  as  Homer  remarks.  Does 
not  Cratylus  agree  with  him  that  names  teach  us  the  nature  of 
things?  ‘Yes.’  And  naming  is  an  art,  and  the  artists  are  legis- 
429  lators,  and  like  artists  in  general,  some  of  them  are  better  and 
some  of  them  are  worse  than  others,  and  give  better  or  worse 
laws,  and  make  better  or  worse  names.  Cratylus  cannot  admit 
that  one  name  is  better  than  another ; they  are  either  true  names, 
or  they  are  not  names  at  all ; and  when  he  is  asked  about  the 
name  of  Hermogenes,  who  is  acknowledged  to  have  no  luck  in 


Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


278 


Analysis  429-432. 

Cratylus.  him,  he  affirms  this  to  be  the  name  of  somebody  else.  Socrates 

Analysis,  supposes  him  to  mean  that  falsehood  is  impossible,  to  which  his 
own  answer  would  be,  that  there  has  never  been  a lack  of  liars. 
Cratylus  presses  him  with  the  old  sophistical  argument,  that 
falsehood  is  saying  that  which  is  not,  and  therefore  saying 
nothing  ; — you  cannot  utter  the  word  which  is  not.  Socrates 
complains  that  this  argument  is  too  subtle  for  an  old  man  to 
understand  : Suppose  a person  addressing  Cratylus  were  to  say, 
Hail,  Athenian  Stranger,  Hermogenes ! would  these  words  be 
true  or  false  ? ‘ I should  say  that  they  would  be  mere  unmeaning  43° 
sounds,  like  the  hammering  of  a brass  pot.’  But  you  would 
acknowledge  that  names,  as  well  as  pictures,  are  imitations,  and 
also  that  pictures  may  give  a right  or  wrong  representation  of  a 
man  or  woman  : — why  may  not  names  then  equally  give  a repre- 
sentation true  and  right  or  false  and  wrong?  Cratylus  admits 
that  pictures  may  give  a true  or  false  representation,  but  denies 
that  names  can.  Socrates  argues,  that  he  may  go  up  to  a man  and 
say  ‘ this  is  your  picture,’  and  again,  he  may  go  and  say  to  him 
‘this  is  your  name’ — in  the  one  case  appealing  to  his  sense  of 431 
sight,  and  in  the  other  to  his  sense  of  hearing;— may  he  not? 

‘ Yes.’  Then  you  will  admit  that  there  is  a right  or  a wrong 
assignment  of  names,  and  if  of  names,  then  of  verbs  and  nouns ; 
and  if  of  verbs  and  nouns,  then  of  the  sentences  which  are  made 
up  of  them  ; and  comparing  nouns  to  pictures,  you  may  give  them 
all  the  appropriate  sounds,  or  only  some  of  them.  And  as  he  who 
gives  all  the  colours  makes  a good  picture,  and  he  who  gives 
only  some  of  them,  a bad  or  imperfect  one,  but  still  a picture ; so 
he  who  gives  all  the  sounds  makes  a good  name,  and  he  who  gives 
only  some  of  them,  a bad  or  imperfect  one,  but  a name  still.  The 
artist  of  names,  that  is,  the  legislator,  may  be  a good  or  he  may  be 
a bad  artist.  ‘Yes,  Socrates,  but  the  cases  are  not  parallel ; for  if 
you  subtract  or  misplace  a letter,  the  name  ceases  to  be  a name.’  432 
Socrates  admits  that  the  number  10,  if  an  unit  is  subtracted, 
would  cease  to  be  10,  but  denies  that  names  are  of  this  purely 
quantitative  nature.  Suppose  that  there  are  two  objects— Cratylus 
and  the  image  of  Cratylus ; and  let  us  imagine  that  some  God 
makes  them  perfectly  alike,  both  in  their  outward  form  and  in  their 
inner  nature  and  qualities : then  there  will  be  two  Cratyluses,  and 
not  merely  Cratylus  and  the  image  of  Cratylus.  But  an  image 


279 


Analysis  432-436. 

in  fact  always  falls  short  in  some  degree  of  the  original,  and  if 
images  are  not  exact  counterparts,  why  should  names  be  ? If  they 
were,  they  would  be  the  doubles  of  their  originals,  and  indistin- 
guishable from  them;  and  how  ridiculous  would  this  be!  Cratylus 
admits  the  truth  of  Socrates’  remark.  But  then  Socrates  rejoins, 

433  he  should  have  the  courage  to  acknowledge  that  letters  may  be 
wrongly  inserted  in  a noun,  or  a noun  in  a sentence ; and  yet  the 
noun  or  the  sentence  may  retain  a meaning.  Better  to  admit  this, 
that  we  may  not  be  punished  like  the  traveller  in  Egina  who  goes 
about  at  night,  and  that  Truth  herself  may  not  say  to  us, ‘Too  late.’ 
And,  errors  excepted,  we  may  still  affirm  that  a name  to  be  correct 
must  have  proper  letters,  which  bear  a resemblance  to  the  thing 

434  signified.  I must  remind  you  of  what  Hermogenes  and  I were 
saving  about  the  letter  p,  which  was  held  to  be  expressive  of 
motion  and  hardness,  as  X is  of  smoothness and  this  you  will 
admit  to  be  their  natural  meaning.  But  then,  why  do  the  Eretrians 
call  that  <rK\r)puTr]p  which  we  call  arX^por rjs  ? We  can  understand 
one  another,  although  the  letter  p is  not  equivalent  to  the  letter  ? : 
why  is  this?  You  reply,  because  the  two  letters  are  sufficiently 
alike  for  the  purpose  of  expressing  motion.  Well,  then,  there  is 
the  letter  \ ; what  business  has  this  in  a word  meaning  hardness  ? 

* Why,  Socrates,  I retort  upon  you,  that  we  put  in  and  pull  out 
letters  at  pleasure.’  And  the  explanation  of  this  is  custom  or 

435  agreement : we  have  made  a convention  that  the  p shall  mean  s 
and  a convention  may  indicate  by  the  unlike  as  well  as  by  the 
like.  How  could  there  be  names  for  all  the  numbers  unless 
you  allow  that  convention  is  used  ? Imitation  is  a poor  thing, 
and  has  to  be  supplemented  by  convention,  which  is  another 
poor  thing ; although  I agree  with  you  in  thinking  that  the  most 
perfect  form  of  language  is  found  only  where  there  is  a perfect 
correspondence  of  sound  and  meaning.  But  let  me  ask  you  what 
is  the  use  and  force  of  names  ? ‘ The  use  of  names,  Socrates,  is  to 
inform,  and  he  who  knows  names  knows  things.’  Do  j?ou  mean 

436  that  the  discovery  of  names  is  the  same  as  the  discovery  of 
things?  ‘Yes.’  But  do  you  not  see  that  there  is  a degree  of 
deception  about  names?  He  who  first  gave  names,  gave  them 
according  to  his  conception,  and  that  may  have  been  erroneous. 
‘ But  then,  why,  Socrates,  is  language  so  consistent  ? all  words 
have  the  same  laws.’  Mere  consistency  is  no  test  of  truth.  In 


Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


28o 


Analysis  436-439. 

Cratylus.  geometrical  problems,  for  example,  there  may  be  a flaw  at  the 

Analysis,  beginning,  and  yet  the  conclusion  may  follow  consistently.  And, 
therefore,  a wise  man  will  take  especial  care  of  first  principles. 

But  are  words  really  consistent  ; are  there  not  as  many  terms 
of  praise  which  signify  rest  as  which  signify  motion  ? There  is  437 
fTrio-TTjfXT],  which  is  connected  with  arrdms,  as  pvrjp i;  is  with  peva>. 
Btficuov,  again,  is  the  expression  of  station  and  position  ; iaropia  is 
clearly  descriptive  of  the  stopping  (icrrdvai)  of  the  stream ; ■kktt'ov 
indicates  the  cessation  of  motion  ; and  there  are  many  words 
having  a bad  sense,  which  are  connected  with  ideas  of  motion, 
such  as  o-vpfopa,  apapTia,  &c. : apaB'ia,  again,  might  be  explained,  as 
x]  ctpa  dea>  lovTos  nopela,  and  aKoXaaia  as  fj  (iKoXovdla  rols  npaypaertv. 
Thus  the  bad  names  are  framed  on  the  same  principle  as  the 
good,  and  other  examples  might  be  given,  which  would  favour  a 
theory  of  rest  rather  than  of  motion.  ‘ Yes ; but  the  greater 
number  of  words  express  motion.’  Are  we  to  count  them, 
Cratylus ; and  is  correctness  of  names  to  be  determined  by  the 
voice  of  a majority  ? 

Here  is  another  point : we  were  saying  that  the  legislator  gives  438 
names ; and  therefore  we  must  suppose  that  he  knows  the  things 
which  he  names  : but  how  can  he  have  learnt  things  from  names 
before  there  were  any  names  ? ‘ I believe,  Socrates,  that  some  power 
more  than  human  first  gave  things  their  names,  and  that  these  were 
necessarily  true  names.’  Then  how  came  the  giver  of  names  to 
contradict  himself,  and  to  make  some  names  expressive  of  rest, 
and  others  of  motion  ? ‘ I do  not  suppose  that  he  did  make  them 
both.’  Then  which  did  he  make— those  which  are  expressive  of 
rest,  or  those  which  are  expressive  of  motion  ? . . . But  if  some 
names  are  true  and  others  false,  we  can  only  decide  between 
them,  not  by  counting  words,  but  by  appealing  to  things.  And, 
if  so,  we  must  allow  that  things  may  be  known  without  names ; 439 
for  names,  as  we  have  several  times  admitted,  are  the  images  of 
things ; and  the  higher  knowledge  is  of  things,  and  is  not  to  be 
derived  from  names  ; and  though  I do  not  doubt  that  the  inventors 
of  language  gave  names,  under  the  idea  that  all  things  are  in  a 
state  of  motion  and  flux,  I believe  that  they  were  mistaken ; and 
that  having  fallen  into  a whirlpool  themselves,  they  are  trying  to 
drag  us  after  them.  For  is  there  not  a true  beauty  and  a true 
good,  which  is  always  beautiful  and  always  good  ? Can  the  thing 


28  I 


Analysis  439,  440. 

beauty  be  vanishing  away  from  us  while  the  words  are  yet  in  our 
440  mouths  ? And  they  could  not  be  known  by  any  one  if  they  are 
always  passing  away — for  if  they  are  always  passing  away,  the 
observer  has  no  opportunity  of  observing  their  state.  Whether  the 
doctrine  of  the  flux  or  of  the  eternal  nature  be  the  truer,  is  hard 
to  determine.  But  no  man  of  sense  will  put  himself,  or  the 
education  of  his  mind,  in  the  power  of  names  : he  will  not 
condemn  himself  to  be  an  unreal  thing,  nor  will  he  believe  that 
everything  is  in  a flux  like  the  water  in  a leaky  vessel,  or  that 
the  world  is  a man  who  has  a running  at  the  nose.  This  doctrine 
maybe  true,  Cratylus,  but  is  also  very  likely  to  be  untrue;  and 
therefore  I would  have  you  reflect  while  you  are  young,  and  find 
out  the  truth,  and  when  you  know  come  and  tell  me.  ‘ I have 
thought,  Socrates,  and  after  a good  deal  of  thinking  I incline  to 
Heracleitus.’  Then  another  day,  my  friend,  you  shall  give  me 
a lesson.  ‘ Very  good,  Socrates,  and  I hope  that  you  will  continue 
to  study  these  things  yourself.’ 


We  may  now  consider  (I)  how  far  Plato  in  the  Cratylus  has 
discovered  the  true  principles  of  language,  and  then  (II)  proceed 
to  compare  modern  speculations  respecting  the  origin  and  nature 
of  language  with  the  anticipations  of  his  genius. 

I.  (1)  Plato  is  aware  that  language  is  not  the  work  of  chance ; 
nor  does  he  deny  that  there  is  a natural  fitness  in  names.  He 
only  insists  that  this  natural  fitness  shall  be  intelligibly  explained. 
But  he  has  no  idea  that  language  is  a natural  organism.  He  would 
have  heard  with  surprise  that  languages  are  the  common  work  of 
whole  nations  in  a primitive  or  semi-barbarous  age.  How,  he 
would  probably  have  argued,  could  men  devoid  of  art  have  con- 
trived a structure  of  such  complexity  ? No  answer  could  have 
been  given  to  this  question,  either  in  ancient  or  in  modern  times, 
until  the  nature  of  primitive  antiquity  had  been  thoroughly  stu- 
died, and  the  instincts  of  man  had  been  shown  to  exist  in  greater 
force,  when  his  state  approaches  more  nearly  to  that  of  children 
or  animals.  The  philosophers  of  the  last  century,  after  their 
manner,  would  have  vainly  endeavoured  to  trace  the  process  by 
which  proper  names  were  converted  into  common,  and  would 


Cratylus. 

Analysis. 


Introduc- 

tion. 


202 


Design  and  art  in  language. 

Cratylus.  have  shown  how  the  last  effort  of  abstraction  invented  preposi- 

Introduc-  tions  and  auxiliaries.  The  theologian  would  have  proved  that 

TION. 

language  must  have  had  a divine  origin,  because  in  childhood,  while 
the  organs  are  pliable,  the  intelligence  is  wanting,  and  when  the 
intelligence  is  able  to  frame  conceptions,  the  organs  are  no  longer 
able  to  express  them.  Or,  as  others  have  said  : Man  is  man 
because  he  has  the  gift  of  speech  ; and  he  could  not  have  invented 
that  which  he  is.  But  this  would  have  been  an  ‘argument  too 
subtle’  for  Socrates  (429  D),  who  rejects  the  theological  account 
of  the  origin  of  language  ‘ as  an  excuse  for  not  giving  a reason,’ 
which  he  compares  to  the  introduction  of  the  ‘ Deus  ex  machind ' 
by  the  tragic  poets  when  they  have  to  solve  a difficulty;  thus  anti- 
cipating many  modern  controversies  in  which  the  primary  agency 
of  the  Divine  Being  is  confused  with  the  secondary  cause  ; and  God 
is  assumed  to  have  worked  a miracle  in  order  to  fill  up  a lacuna  in 
human  knowledge.  (Cp.  Timaeus,  p.  46.) 

Neither  is  Plato  wrong  in  supposing  that  an  element  of  design 
and  art  enters  into  language.  The  creative  power  abating  is 
supplemented  by  a mechanical  process.  ‘ Languages  are  not 
made  but  grow,’  but  they  are  made  as  well  as  grow ; bursting  into 
life  like  a plant  or  a flower,  they  are  also  capable  of  being  trained 
and  improved  and  engrafted  upon  one  another.  The  change  in 
them  is  effected  in  earlier  ages  by  musical  and  euphonic  improve- 
ments, at  a later  stage  by  the  influence  of  grammar  and  logic,  and 
by  the  poetical  and  literary  use  of  words.  They  develope  rapidly 
in  childhood,  and  when  they  are  full  grown  and  set  they  may  still 
put  forth  intellectual  powers,  like  the  mind  in  the  body,  or  rather 
we  may  say  that  the  nobler  use  of  language  only  begins  when  the 
frame-work  is  complete.  The  savage  or  primitive  man,  in  whom 
the  natural  instinct  is  strongest,  is  also  the  greatest  improver  of 
the  forms  of  language.  He  is  the  poet  or  maker  of  words,  as 
in  civilized  ages  the  dialectician  is  the  definer  or  distinguisher 
of  them.  The  latter  calls  the  second  world  of  abstract  terms 
into  existence,  as  the  former  has  created  the  picture  sounds 
which  represent  natural  objects  or  processes.  Poetry  and  phi- 
losophy— these  two,  are  the  two  great  formative  principles  of 
language,  when  they  have  passed  their  first  stage,  of  which,  as 
of  the  first  invention  of  the  arts  in  general,  we  only  entertain 
conjecture.  And  mythology  is  a link  between  them,  connecting 


P Into  $ theory  of  language. 

the  visible  and  invisible,  until  at  length  the  sensuous  exterior  falls 
away,  and  the  severance  of  the  inner  and  outer  world,  of  the  idea 
and  the  object  of  sense,  becomes  complete.  At  a later  period,  logic 
and  grammar,  sister  arts,  preserve  and  enlarge  the  decaying 
instinct  of  language,  by  rule  and  method,  which  they  gather  from 
analysis  and  observation. 

(2)  There  is  no  trace  in  any  of  Plato's  writings  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  any  language  but  Greek.  Yet  he  has  conceived 
very  truly  the  relation  of  Greek  to  foreign  languages,  which  he  is 
led  to  consider,  because  he  finds  that  many  Greek  words  are 
incapable  of  explanation.  Allowing  a good  deal  for  accident,  and 
also  for  the  fancies  of  the  conditores  linguae  Graecae,  there  is  an 
element  of  which  he  is  unable  to  give  an  account.  These  unin- 
telligible words  he  supposes  to  be  of  foreign  origin,  and  to  have 
been  derived  from  a time  when  the  Greeks  were  either  barbarians, 
or  in  close  relations  to  the  barbarians.  Socrates  is  aware  that  this 
principle  is  liable  to  great  abuse  ; and,  like  the  ‘ Deus  ex  machind ,’ 
explains  nothing.  Hence  he  excuses  himself  for  the  employment 
of  such  a device,  and  remarks  that  in  foreign  words  there  is  still 
a principle  of  correctness,  which  applies  equally  both  to  Greeks 
and  barbarians. 

(3)  But  the  greater  number  of  primary  words  do  not  admit  of 
derivation  from  foreign  languages  ; they  must  be  resolved  into  the 
letters  out  of  which  they  are  composed,  and  therefore  the  letters 
must  have  a meaning.  The  framers  of  language  were  aware  of 
this  ; they  observed  that  a was  adapted  to  express  size  ; ??  length  ; 
o roundness;  v inwardness;  p rush  or  roar;  X liquidity;  yX  the 
detention  of  the  liquid  or  slippery  element ; 8 and  r binding ; (p , \j/-, 
cr,  £,  wind  and  cold,  and  so  on.  Plato’s  analysis  of  the  letters  of 
the  alphabet  shows  a wonderful  insight  into  the  nature  of  lan- 
guage. He  does  not  expressly  distinguish  between  mere  imitation 
and  the  symbolical  use  of  sound  to  express  thought,  but  he  recog- 
nises in  the  examples  which  he  gives  both  modes  of  imitation. 
Gesture  is  the  mode  which  a deaf  and  dumb  person  would  take  of 
indicating  his  meaning.  And  language  is  the  gesture  of  the 
tongue ; in  the  use  of  the  letter  p,  to  express  a rushing  or  roaring, 
or  of  o to  express  roundness,  there  is  a direct  imitation  ; while  in 
the  use  of  the  letter  a to  express  size,  or  of  r;  to  express  length,  the 
imitation  is  symbolical.  The  use  of  analogous  or  similar  sounds, 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


284 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


The  lesson  to  be  gathered  from  words. 

in  order  to  express  similar  or  analogous  ideas,  seems  to  have 
escaped  him. 

In  passing  from  the  gesture  of  the  body  to  the  movement  of 
the  tongue,  Plato  makes  a great  step  in  the  physiology  of  lan- 
guage. He  was  probably  the  first  who  said  that  ‘language  is 
imitative  sound,’  which  is  the  greatest  and  deepest  truth  of 
philology ; although  he  is  not  aware  of  the  laws  of  euphony 
and  association  by  which  imitation  must  be  regulated.  He  was 
probably  also  the  first  who  made  a distinction  between  simple 
and  compound  words,  a truth  second  only  in  importance  to  that 
which  has  just  been  mentioned.  His  great  insight  in  one  direction 
curiously  contrasts  with  his  blindness  in  another ; for  he  appears 
to  be  wholly  unaware  (cp.  his  derivation  of  dyaSds  from  dyaerros  and 
Sous)  of  the  difference  between  the  root  and  termination.  But  we 
must  recollect  that  he  was  necessarily  more  ignorant  than  any 
schoolboy  of  Greek  grammar,  and  had  no  table  of  the  inflexions  of 
verbs  and  nouns  before  his  eyes,  which  might  have  suggested  to 
him  the  distinction. 

(4)  Plato  distinctly  affirms  that  language  is  not  truth,  or  lp/ii- 
losophie  une  langue  bien  faited  At  first,  Socrates  has  delighted 
himself  with  discovering  the  flux  of  Heracleitus  in  language.  But 
he  is  covertly  satirising  the  pretence  of  that  or  any  other  age 
to  find  philosophy  in  words  ; and  he  afterwards  corrects  any 
erroneous  inference  which  might  be  gathered  from  his  experi- 
ment. For  he  finds  as  many,  or  almost  as  many,  words  expressive 
of  rest,  as  he  had  previously  found  expressive  of  motion.  And 
even  if  this  had  been  otherwise,  who  would  learn  of  words  when 
he  might  learn  of  things  ? There  is  a great  controversy  and  high 
argument  between  Heracleiteans  and  Eleatics,  but  no  man  of  sense 
would  commit  his  soul  in  such  enquiries  to  the  imposers  of  names. 

In  this  and  other  passages  Plato  shows  that  he  is  as  completely 
emancipated  from  the  influence  of  ‘ Idols  of  the  tribe  ’ as  Bacon 
himself. 

The  lesson  which  may  be  gathered  from  words  is  not  meta- 
physical or  moral,  but  historical.  They  teach  us  the  affinity 
of  races,  they  tell  us  something  about  the  association  of  ideas,  they 
occasionally  preserve  the  memory  of  a disused  custom ; but  we 
cannot  safely  argue  from  them  about  right  and  wrong,  matter  and 
mind,  freedom  and  necessity,  or  the  other  problems  of  moral  and 


Words  and  word-makers. 


285 


metaphysical  philosophy.  For  the  use  of  words  on  such  subjects 
may  often  be  metaphorical,  accidental,  derived  from  other  lan- 
guages, and  may  have  no  relation  to  the  contemporary  state  of 
thought  and  feeling.  Nor  in  any  case  is  the  invention  of  them  the 
result  of  philosophical  reflection  ; they  have  been  commonly  trans- 
ferred from  matter  to  mind,  and  their  meaning  is  the  very  reverse 
of  their  etymology.  Because  there  is  or  is  not  a name  for  a thing, 
we  cannot  argue  that  the  thing  has  or  has  not  an  actual  existence ; 
or  that  the  antitheses,  parallels,  conjugates,  correlatives  of  language 
have  anything  corresponding  to  them  in  nature.  There  are  too 
man}’'  words  as  well  as  too  few ; and  they  generalize  the  objects  or 
ideas  which  they  represent.  The  greatest  lesson  which  the  philo- 
sophical analysis  of  language  teaches  us  is,  that  we  should  be 
above  language,  making  words  our  servants,  and  not  allowing 
them  to  be  our  masters. 

Plato  does  not  add  the  further  observation,  that  the  etymological 
meaning  of  words  is  in  process  of  being  lost.  If  at  first  framed  on 
a principle  of  intelligibility,  they  would  gradually  cease  to  be  intel- 
ligible, like  those  of  a foreign  language.  He  is  willing  to  admit 
that  they  are  subject  to  many  changes,  and  put  on  many  dis- 
guises. He  acknowledges  that  the  ‘poor  creature’  imitation  is 
supplemented  by  another  ‘poor  creature,’ — convention.  But  he 
does  not  see  that  ‘habit  and  repute,’  and  their  relation  to  other 
words,  are  always  exercising  an  influence  over  them.  Words 
appear  to  be  isolated,  but  they  are  really  the  parts  of  an  organism 
which  is  always  being  reproduced.  They  are  refined  by  civiliza- 
tion, harmonized  by  poetry,  emphasized  by  literature,  technically 
applied  in  philosophy  and  art ; they  are  used  as  symbols  on  the 
border-ground  of  human  knowledge ; they  receive  a fresh  impress 
from  individual  genius,  and  come  with  a new  force  and  association 
to  every  lively-minded  person.  They  are  fixed  by  the  simul- 
taneous utterance  of  millions,  and  yet  are  always  imperceptibly 
changing; — not  the  inventors  of  language,  but  writing  and  speak- 
ing, and  particularly  great  writers,  or  works  which  pass  into  the 
hearts  of  nations,  Homer,  Shakespear,  Dante,  the  German  or 
English  Bible,  Kant  and  Hegel,  are  the  makers  of  them  in  later 
ages.  They  carry  with  them  the  faded  recollection  of  their  own 
past  history ; the  use  of  a word  in  a striking  and  familiar  passage 
gives  a complexion  to  its  use  everywhere  else,  and  the  new  use  of 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

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286 


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Introduc- 

tion. 


The  clement  of  chance  or  accident  in  language. 

an  old  and  familiar  phrase  has  also  a peculiar  power  over  us. 
But  these  and  other  subtleties  of  language  escaped  the  observation 
of  Plato.  He  is  not  aware  that  the  languages  of  the  world  are 
organic  structures,  and  that  every  word  in  them  is  related  to  every 
other ; nor  does  he  conceive  of  language  as  the  joint  work  of  the 
speaker  and  the  hearer,  requiring  in  man  a faculty  not  only  of 
expressing  his  thoughts  but  of  understanding  those  of  others. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  cannot  be  justly  charged  with  a desire  to 
frame  language  on  artificial  principles.  Philosophers  have  some- 
times dreamed  of  a technical  or  scientific  language,  in  words 
which  should  have  fixed  meanings,  and  stand  in  the  same  rela- 
tion to  one  another  as  the  substances  which  they  denote.  But 
there  is  no  more  trace  of  this  in  Plato  than  there  is  of  a language 
corresponding  to  the  ideas ; nor,  indeed,  could  the  want  of  such 
a language  be  felt  until  the  sciences  were  far  more  developed. 
Those  who  would  extend  the  use  of  technical  phraseology  beyond 
the  limits  of  science  or  of  custom,  seem  to  forget  that  freedom  and 
suggestiveness  and  the  play  of  association  are  essential  charac- 
teristics of  language.  The  great  master  has  shown  how  he 
regarded  pedantic  distinctions  of  words  or  attempts  to  confine 
their  meaning  in  the  satire  on  Prodicus  in  the  Protagoras. 

(5)  In  addition  to  these  anticipations  of  the  general  principles 
of  philology,  we  may  note  also  a few  curious  observations  on 
words  and  sounds.  ‘The  Eretrians  say  crK^por^  for  (TK^pCrr^p 
‘the  Thessalians  call  Apollo  'A7rA&>r;’  ‘the  Phrygians  have  the 
words  nvp,  vda>p,  Kvves  slightly  changed  ; ’ ‘ there  is  an  old  Homeric 
word  (pfjaaTo,  meaning  “he  contrived’’;’  ‘our  forefathers,  and 
especially  the  women,  who  are  most  conservative  of  the  ancient 
language,  loved  the  letters  1 and  S;  but  now  1 is  changed  into 
7/  and  e,  and  8 into  C ; this  is  supposed  to  increase  the  grandeur 
of  the  sound.’  Plato  was  very  willing  to  use  inductive  argu- 
ments, so  far  as  they  were  within  his  reach ; but  he  would  also 
have  assigned  a large  influence  to  chance.  Nor  indeed  is  induc- 
tion applicable  to  philology  in  the  same  degree  as  to  most  of  the 
physical  sciences.  For  after  we  have  pushed  our  researches  to 
the  furthest  point,  in  language  as  in  all  the  other  creations  of  the 
human  mind,  there  will  always  remain  an  element  of  exception  or 
accident  or  free-will,  which  cannot  be  eliminated. 

The  question,  ‘whether  falsehood  is  impossible,’  which  Socrates 


Origin  of  language. 

characteristically  sets  aside  as  too  subtle  for  an  old  man  (429  D ; 
cp.  Euthyd.  284),  could  only  have  arisen  in  an  age  of  imperfect 
consciousness,  which  had  not  yet  learned  to  distinguish  words 
from  things.  Socrates  replies  in  effect  that  words  have  an  inde- 
pendent existence  ; thus  anticipating  the  solution  of  the  mediaeval 
controversy  of  Nominalism  and  Realism.  He  is  aware  too  that 
languages  exist  in  various  degrees  of  perfection  (435),  and  that  the 
analysis  of  them  can  only  be  carried  to  a certain  point  (422).  ‘ If 

we  could  always,  or  almost  always,  use  likenesses,  which  are  the 
appropriate  expressions,  that  would  be  the  most  perfect  state  of 
language’  (439  D).  These  words  suggest  a question  of  deeper 
interest  than  the  origin  of  language;  viz.  what  is  the  ideal  of 
language,  how  far  by  any  correction  of  their  usages  existing 
languages  might  become  clearer  and  more  expressive  than  they 
are,  more  poetical,  and  also  more  logical ; or  whether  they  are 
now  finally  fixed  and  have  received  their  last  impress  from  time 
and  authority. 

On  the  whole,  the  Cratylus  seems  to  contain  deeper  truths 
about  language  than  any  other  ancient  writing.  But  feeling  the 
uncertain  ground  upon  which  he  is  walking,  and  partly  in  order 
to  preserve  the  character  of  Socrates,  Plato  envelopes  the  whole 
subject  in  a robe  of  fancy,  and  allows  his  principles  to  drop  out 
as  if  by  accident. 

II.  What  is  the  result  of  recent  speculations  about  the  origin 
and  nature  of  language  ? Like  other  modern  metaphysical 
enquiries,  they  end  at  last  in  a statement  of  facts.  But,  in 
order  to  state  or  understand  the  facts,  a metaphysical  insight 
seems  to  be  required.  There  are  more  things  in  language  than 
the  human  mind  easily  conceives.  And  many  fallacies  have  to 
be  dispelled,  as  well  as  observations  made.  The  true  spirit  of 
philosophy  or  metaphysics  can  alone  charm  away  metaphysical 
illusions,  which  are  always  reappearing,  formerly  in  the  fancies 
of  neoplatonist  writers,  now  in  the  disguise  of  experience  and 
common  sense.  An  analogy,  a figure  of  speech,  an  intelligible 
theory,  a superficial  observation  of  the  individual,  have  often  been 
mistaken  for  a true  account  of  the  origin  of  language. 

Speaking  is  one  of  the  simplest  natural  operations,  and  also  the 
most  complex.  Nothing  would  seem  to  be  easier  or  more  trivial 
than  a few  words  uttered  by  a child  in  any  language.  Yet  into 


28  7 


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Introduc- 

tion. 


288 


Cra/ylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Origin  of  language. 

the  formation  of  those  words  have  entered  causes  which  the 
human  mind  is  not  capable  of  calculating.  They  are  a drop  or 
two  of  the  great  stream  or  ocean  of  speech  which  has  been 
flowing  in  all  ages.  They  have  been  transmitted  from  one 
language  to  another  ; like  the  child  himself,  they  go  back  to  the 
beginnings  of  the  human  race.  How  they  originated,  who  can 
tell  ? Nevertheless  we  can  imagine  a stage  of  human  society 
in  which  the  circle  of  men’s  minds  was  narrower  and  their 
sympathies  and  instincts  stronger  ; in  which  their  organs  of 
speech  were  more  flexible,  and  the  sense  of  hearing  finer  and 
more  discerning ; in  which  they  lived  more  in  company,  and  after 
the  manner  of  children  were  more  given  to  express  their  feelings ; 
in  which  ‘they  moved  all  together,’  like  a herd  of  wild  animals, 

‘ when  they  moved  at  all.’  Among  them,  as  in  every  society,  a 
particular  person  would  be  more  sensitive  and  intelligent  than 
the  rest.  Suddenly,  on  some  occasion  of  interest  (at  the  approach 
of  a wild  beast,  shall  we  say?),  he  first,  they  following  him,  utter  a 
cry  which  resounds  through  the  forest.  The  cry  is  almost  or 
quite  involuntary,  and  may  be  an  imitation  of  the  roar  of  the 
animal.  Thus  far  we  have  not  speech,  but  only  the  inarticulate 
expression  of  feeling  or  emotion  in  no  respect  differing  from  the 
cries  of  animals  ; for  they  too  call  to  one  another  and  are 
answered.  But  now  suppose  that  some  one  at  a distance  not 
only  hears  the  sound,  but  apprehends  the  meaning : or  we  may 
imagine  that  the  cry  is  repeated  to  a member  of  the  society  who 
had  been  absent ; the  others  act  the  scene  over  again  when  he 
returns  home  in  the  evening.  And  so  the  cry  becomes  a word. 
The  hearer  in  turn  gives  back  the  word  to  the  speaker,  who  is 
now  aware  that  he  has  acquired  a new  power.  Many  thousand 
times  he  exercises  this  power  ; like  a child  learning  to  talk,  he 
repeats  the  same  cry  again,  and  again  he  is  answered  ; he  tries 
experiments  with  a like  result,  and  the  speaker  and  the  hearer 
rejoice  together  in  their  newly-discovered  faculty.  At  first  there 
would  be  few  such  cries,  and  little  danger  of  mistaking  or 
confusing  them.  For  the  mind  of  primitive  man  had  a narrow 
range  of  perceptions  and  feelings ; his  senses  were  microscopic  , 
twenty  or  thirty  sounds  or  gestures  would  be  enough  for  him,  nor 
would  he  have  any  difficulty  in  finding  them.  Naturally  he  broke 
out  into  speech— like  the  young  infant  he  laughed  and  babbled; 


Nature  of  language. 

but  not  until  there  were  hearers  as  well  as  speakers  did  language 
begin.  Not  the  interjection  or  the  vocal  imitation  of  the  object, 
but  the  interjection  or  the  vocal  imitation  of  the  object  understood, 
is  the  first  rudiment  of  human  speech. 

After  a while  the  word  gathers  associations,  and  has  an  inde- 
pendent existence.  The  imitation  of  the  lion’s  roar  calls  up  the 
fears  and  hopes  of  the  chase,  which  are  excited  by  his  appearance. 
In  the  moment  of  hearing  the  sound,  without  any  appreciable 
interval,  these  and  other  latent  experiences  wake  up  in  the  mind  of 
the  hearer.  Not  only  does  he  receive  an  impression,  but  he  brings 
previous  knowledge  to  bear  upon  that  impression.  Necessarily  the 
pictorial  image  becomes  less  vivid,  while  the  association  of  the 
nature  and  habits  of  the  animal  is  more  distinctly  perceived.  The 
picture  passes  into  a symbol,  for  there  would  be  too  many  of  them 
and  they  would  crowd  the  mind  ; the  vocal  imitation,  too,  is 
always  in  process  of  being  lost  and  being  renewed,  just  as  the 
picture  is  brought  back  again  in  the  description  of  the  poet. 
Words  now  can  be  used  more  freely  because  there  are  more 
of  them.  What  was  once  an  involuntary  expression  becomes 
voluntary.  Not  only  can  men  utter  a cry  or  call,  but  they  can 
communicate  and  converse  ; they  can  not  only  use  words,  but 
they  can  even  play  with  them.  The  word  is  separated  both  from 
the  object  and  from  the  mind  ; and  slowly  nations  and  individuals 
attain  to  a fuller  consciousness  of  themselves. 

Parallel  with  this  mental  process  the  articulation  of  sounds 
is  gradually  becoming  perfected.  The  finer  sense  detects  the 
differences  of  them,  and  begins,  first  to  agglomerate,  then  to 
distinguish  them.  Times,  persons,  places,  relations  of  all  kinds, 
are  expressed  by  modifications  of  them.  The  earliest  parts  of 
speech,  as  we  may  call  them  by  anticipation,  like  the  first  utter- 
ances of  children,  probably  partook  of  the  nature  of  interjections 
and  nouns ; then  came  verbs ; at  length  the  whole  sentence 
appeared,  and  rhythm  and  metre  followed.  Each  stage  in  the 
progress  of  language  was  accompanied  by  some  corresponding 
stage  in  the  mind  and  civilization  of  man.  In  time,  when  the 
family  became  a nation,  the  wild  growth  of  dialects  passed  into  a 
language.  Then  arose  poetry  and  literature.  We  can  hardly 
realize  to  ourselves  how  much  with  each  improvement  of  language 
the  powers  of  the  human  mind  were  enlarged ; how  the  inner 

VOL.  i.  u 


289 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


290  Nature  of  language. 

Cratylus.  world  took  the  place  of  the  outer ; how  the  pictorial  or  symbolical 

Introduc-  or  analogical  word  was  refined  into  a notion  ; how  language,  fair 
TION'  and  large  and  free,  was  at  last  complete. 

So  we  may  imagine  the  speech  of  man  to  have  begun  as  with 
the  cries  of  animals,  or  the  stammering  lips  of  children,  and  to 
have  attained  by  degrees  the  perfection  of  Homer  and  Plato.  Yet 
we  are  far  from  saying  that  this  or  any  other  theory  of  language 
is  proved  by  facts.  It  is  not  difficult  to  form  an  hypothesis  which 
by  a series  of  imaginary  transitions  will  bridge  over  the  chasm 
which  separates  man  from  the  animals.  Differences  of  kind  may 
often  be  thus  resolved  into  differences  of  degree.  But  we  must 
not  assume  that  we  have  in  this  way  discovered  the  true  account 
of  them.  Through  what  struggles  the  harmonious  use  of  the 
organs  of  speech  was  acquired ; to  what  extent  the  conditions  of 
human  life  were  different ; how  far  the  genius  of  individuals  may 
have  contributed  to  the  discovery  of  this  as  of  the  other  arts,  we 
cannot  say : Only  we  seem  to  see  that  language  is  as  much  the 
creation  of  the  ear  as  of  the  tongue,  and  the  expression  of  a move- 
ment stirring  the  hearts  not  of  one  man  only  but  of  many,  as 
the  trees  of  the  wood  are  stirred  by  the  wind.’  The  theory  is 
consistent  or  not  inconsistent  with  our  own  mental  experience, 
and  throws  some  degree  of  light  upon  a dark  corner  of  the  human 
mind. 

In  the  later  analysis  of  language,  we  trace  the  opposite  and 
contrasted  elements  of  the  individual  and  nation,  of  the  past  and 
present,  of  the  inward  and  outward,  of  the  subject  and  object,  of 
the  notional  and  relational,  of  the  root  or  unchanging  part  of  the 
word  and  of  the  changing  inflexion,  if  such  a distinction  be 
admitted,  of  the  vowel  and  the  consonant,  of  quantity  and  accent, 
of  speech  and  writing,  of  poetry  and  prose.  We  observe  also  the 
reciprocal  influence  of  sounds  and  conceptions  on  each  other,  like 
the  connexion  of  body  and  mind;  and  further  remark  that 
although  the  names  of  objects  were  originally  proper  names,  as 
the  grammarian  or  logician  might  call  them,  yet  at  a later  stage 
they  become  universal  notions,  which  combine  into  particulars 
and  individuals,  and  are  taken  out  of  the  first  rude  agglomeration 
of  sounds  that  they  may  be  replaced  in  a higher  and  more  logical 
order.  We  see  that  in  the  simplest  sentences  are  contained 
grammar  and  logic- the  parts  of  speech,  the  Eleatic  philosophy 


Nature  of  language. 

and  the  Kantian  categories.  So  complex  is  language,  and  so 
expressive  not  only  of  the  meanest  wants  of  man,  but  of  his 
highest  thoughts ; so  various  are  the  aspects  in  which  it  is 
regarded  by  us.  Then  again,  when  we  follow  the  history  of  lan- 
guages, we  observe  that  they  are  always  slowly  moving,  half  dead, 
half  alive,  half  solid,  half  fluid  ; the  breath  of  a moment,  yet  like 
the  air,  continuous  in  all  ages  and  countries, — like  the  glacier,  too, 
containing  within  them  a trickling  stream  which  deposits  debris 
of  the  rocks  over  which  it  passes.  There  were  happy  moments, 
as  we  may  conjecture,  in  the  lives  of  nations,  at  which  they  came 
to  the  birth — as  in  the  golden  age  of  literature,  the  man  and  the 
time  seem  to  conspire ; the  eloquence  of  the  bard  or  chief,  as  in 
later  times  the  creations  of  the  great  writer  who  is  the  expression 
of  his  age,  became  impressed  on  the  minds  of  their  countrymen, 
perhaps  in  the  hour  of  some  crisis  of  national  development — a 
migration,  a conquest,  or  the  like.  The  picture  of  the  word  which 
was  beginning  to  be  lost,  is  now  revived  ; the  sound  again  echoes 
to  the  sense ; men  find  themselves  capable  not  only  of  expressing 
more  feelings,  and  describing  more  objects,  but  of  expressing  and 
describing  them  better.  The  world  before  the  flood,  that  is  to 
say,  the  world  of  ten,  twenty,  a hundred  thousand  years  ago,  has 
passed  awajr  and  left  no  sign.  But  the  best  conception  that  we 
can  form  of  it,  though  imperfect  and  uncertain,  is  gained  from  the 
analogy  of  causes  still  in  action,  some  powerful  and  sudden, 
others  working  slowly  in  the  course  of  infinite  ages.  Something 
too  majr  be  allowed  to  ‘the  persistency  of  the  strongest,’  to  ‘the 
survival  of  the  fittest,’  in  this  as  in  the  other  realms  of  nature. 

These  are  some  of  the  reflections  which  the  modern  philosophy 
of  language  suggests  to  us  about  the  powers  of  the  human  mind 
and  the  forces  and  influences  by  which  the  efforts  of  men  to  utter 
articulate  sounds  were  inspired.  Yet  in  making  these  and  similar 
generalizations  we  may  note  also  dangers  to  which  we  are 
exposed,  (x)  There  is  the  confusion  of  ideas  with  facts— of  mere 
possibilities,  and  generalities,  and  modes  of  conception  with  actual 
and  definite  knowledge.  The  words  ‘ evolution,’  ‘ birth,’  ‘ law,’ 
‘development,’  ‘instinct,’  ‘implicit,’  ‘explicit,’  and  the  like,  have 
a false  clearness  or  comprehensiveness,  which  adds  nothing  to 
our  knowledge.  The  metaphor  of  a flower  or  a tree,  or  some 
other  work  of  nature  or  art,  is  often  in  like  manner  only  a 


29  I 

Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


U 2 


292  Nature  of  language. 

Cratylus.  pleasing  picture.  ( 2 ) There  is  the  fallacy  of  resolving  the 

Introduc-  languages  which  we  know  into  their  parts,  and  then  imagining 
TI0N'  that  we  can  discover  the  nature  of  language  by  reconstructing 
them.  (3)  There  is  the  danger  of  identifying  language,  not  with 
thoughts  but  with  ideas.  (4)  1 here  is  the  error  of  supposing  that 
the  analysis  of  grammar  and  logic  has  always  existed,  or  that 
their  distinctions  were  familiar  to  Socrates  and  Plato.  (5)  There 
is  the  fallacy  of  exaggerating,  and  also  of  diminishing  the  interval 
which  separates  articulate  from  inarticulate  language— the  cries  of 
animals  from  the  speech  of  man — the  instinct  of  animals  from  the 
reason  of  man.  (6)  There  is  the  danger  which  besets  all  enquiries 
into  the  early  history  of  man — of  interpreting  the  past  by  the 
present,  and  of  substituting  the  definite  and  intelligible  for  the 
true  but  dim  outline  which  is  the  horizon  of  human  knowledge. 

The  greatest  light  is  thrown  upon  the  nature  of  language  by 
analogy.  We  have  the  analogy  of  the  cries  of  animals,  of  the 
songs  of  birds  (‘man,  like  the  nightingale,  is  a singing  bird,  but 
is  ever  binding  up  thoughts  with  musical  notes  ),  ol  music,  of 
children  learning  to  speak,  of  barbarous  nations  in  which  the 
linguistic  instinct  is  still  undecayed,  of  ourselves  learning  to  think 
and  speak  a new  language,  of  the  deaf  and  dumb  who  have  words 
without  sounds,  of  the  various  disorders  of  speech  ; and  we  have 
the  after-growth  of  mythology,  which,  like  language,  is  an  un- 
conscious creation  of  the  human  mind.  We  can  observe  the 
social  and  collective  instincts  of  animals ; and  may  remark  how, 
when  domesticated,  they  have  the  power  of  understanding  but  not 
of  speaking,  while  on  the  other  hand,  some  birds  which  are  com- 
paratively devoid  of  intelligence,  make  a nearer  approach  to 
articulate  speech.  We  may  note  how  in  the  animals  there  is  a 
want  of  that  sympathy  with  one  another  which  appears  to  be  the 
soul  of  language.  We  can  compare  the  use  of  speech  with  other 
mental  and  bodily  operations  ; for  speech  too  is  a kind  of  gesture, 
and  in  the  child  or  savage  accompanied  with  gesture.  We  may 
observe  that  the  child  learns  to  speak,  as  he  learns  to  walk  or  to 
eat,  by  a natural  impulse  ; yet  in  either  case  not  without  a power 
of  imitation  which  is  also  natural  to  him— he  is  taught  to  read,  but 
he  breaks  forth  spontaneously  in  speech.  We  can  trace  the 
impulse  to  bind  together  the  world  in  ideas  beginning  in  the 
first  efforts  to  speak  and  culminating  in  philosophy.  But  there 


Nature  of  language. 

remains  an  element  which  cannot  be  explained,  or  even  adequately 
described.  We  can  understand  how  man  creates  or  constructs 
consciously  and  by  design  ; and  see,  if  we  do  not  understand, 
how  nature,  by  a law,  calls  into  being  an  organized  structure. 
But  the  intermediate  organism  which  stands  between  man  and 
nature,  which  is  the  work  of  mind  yet  unconscious,  and  in  which 
mind  and  matter  seem  to  meet,  and  mind  unperceived  to  herself 
is  really  limited  by  all  other  minds,  is  neither  understood  nor 
seen  by  us,  and  is  with  reluctance  admitted  to  be  a fact. 

Language  is  an  aspect  of  man,  of  nature,  and  of  nations,  the 
transfiguration  of  the  world  in  thought,  the  meeting-point  of 
the  physical  and  mental  sciences,  and  also  the  mirror  in  which 
they  are  reflected,  present  at  every  moment  to  the  individual, 
and  yet  having  a sort  of  eternal  or  universal  nature.  When  we 
analyze  our  own  mental  processes,  we  find  words  everywhere 
in  every  degree  of  clearness  and  consistency,  fading  away  in 
dreams  and  more  like  pictures,  rapidly  succeeding  one  another  in 
our  waking  thoughts,  attaining  a greater  distinctness  and  con- 
secutiveness in  speech,  and  a greater  still  in  writing,  taking  the 
place  of  one  another  when  we  try  to  become  emancipated  from 
their  influence.  For  in  all  processes  of  the  mind  which  are 
conscious  we  are  talking  to  ourselves ; the  attempt  to  think  with- 
out words  is  a mere  illusion,— they  are  always  reappearing  when 
we  fix  our  thoughts.  And  speech  is  not  a separate  faculty,  but 
the  expression  of  all  our  faculties,  to  which  all  our  other  powers 
of  expression,  signs,  looks,  gestures,  lend  their  aid,  of  which  the 
instrument  is  not  the  tongue  only,  but  more  than  half  the  human 
frame. 

The  minds  of  men  are  sometimes  carried  on  to  think  of  their 
lives  and  of  their  actions  as  links  in  a chain  of  causes  and  effects 
going  back  to  the  beginning  of  time.  A few  have  seemed  to  lose 
the  sense  of  their  own  individuality  in  the  universal  cause  or 
nature.  In  like  manner  we  might  think  of  the  words  which  we 
daily  use,  as  derived  from  the  first  speech  of  man,  and  of  all  the 
languages  in  the  world,  as  the  expressions  or  varieties  of  a single 
force  or  life  of  language  of  which  the  thoughts  of  men  are  the 
accident.  Such  a conception  enables  us  to  grasp  the  power  and 
wonder  of  languages,  and  is  very  natural  to  the  scientific  philo- 
logist. For  he,  like  the  metaphysician,  believes  in  the  reality  of 


293 

Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


294 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Nature  of  language. 

that  which  absorbs  his  own  mind.  Nor  do  we  deny  the  enormous 
influence  which  language  has  exercised  over  thought.  Fixed 
words,  like  fixed  ideas,  have  often  governed  the  world.  But  in 
such  representations  we  attribute  to  language  too  much  the 
nature  of  a cause,  and  too  little  of  an  effect, — too  much  of  an 
absolute,  too  little  of  a relative  character, — too  much  of  an  ideal, 
too  little  of  a matter-of-fact  existence. 

Or  again,  we  may  frame  a single  abstract  notion  of  language  of 
which  all  existent  languages  may  be  supposed  to  be  the  perver- 
sion. But  we  must  not  conceive  that  this  logical  figment  had  ever 
a real  existence,  or  is  anything  more  than  an  effort  of  the  mind  to 
give  unity  to  infinitely  various  phenomena.  There  is  no  abstract 
language  ‘ in  rerum  natural  any  more  than  there  is  an  abstract 
tree,  but  only  languages  in  various  stages  of  growth,  maturity, 
and  decay.  Nor  do  other  logical  distinctions  or  even  grammatical 
exactly  correspond  to  the  facts  of  language ; for  they  too  are 
attempts  to  give  unity  and  regularity  to  a subject  which  is  partly 
irregular. 

We  find,  however,  that  there  are  distinctions  of  another  kind  by 
which  this  vast  field  of  language  admits  of  being  mapped  out. 
There  is  the  distinction  between  biliteral  and  triliteral  roots,  and 
the  various  inflexions  which  accompany  them  ; between  the  mere 
mechanical  cohesion  of  sounds  or  words,  and  the  ‘ chemical  com- 
bination of  them  into  a new  word  ; there  is  the  distinction  between 
languages  which  have  had  a free  and  full  development  of  their 
organisms,  and  languages  which  have  been  stunted  in  their 
growth,— lamed  in  their  hands  or  feet,  and  never  able  to  acquire 
afterwards  the  powers  in  which  they  are  deficient ; there  is  the 
distinction  between  synthetical  languages  like  Greek  and  Latin, 
which  have  retained  their  inflexions,  and  analytical  languages  like 
English  or  French,  which  have  lost  them.  Innumerable  as  are 
the  languages  and  dialects  of  mankind,  there  are  comparati\ely 
few  classes  to  which  they  can  be  referred. 

Another  road  through  this  chaos  is  provided  by  the  physiology 
of  speech.  The  organs  of  language  are  the  same  in  all  mankind, 
and  are  only  capable  of  uttering  a certain  number  of  sounds. 
Every  man  has  tongue,  teeth,  lips,  palate,  throat,  mouth,  which  he 
may  close  or  open,  and  adapt  in  various  ways ; making,  first, 
vowels  and  consonants ; and  secondly,  other  classes  of  letters. 


295 


Nature  and  growth  of  language. 

The  elements  of  all  speech,  like  the  elements  of  the  musical  scale, 
are  few  and  simple,  though  admitting  of  infinite  gradations  and 
combinations.  Whatever  slight  differences  exist  in  the  use  or 
formation  of  these  organs,  owing  to  climate  or  the  sense  of 
euphony  or  other  causes,  they  are  as  nothing  compared  with  their 
agreement.  Here  then  is  a real  basis  of  unity  in  the  study  of 
philology,  unlike  that  imaginary  abstract  unity  of  which  we  were 
just  now  speaking. 

Whether  we  regard  language  from  the  psychological,  or  his- 
torical, or  physiological  point  of  view,  the  materials  of  our  know- 
ledge are  inexhaustible.  The  comparisons  of  children  learning 
to  speak,  of  barbarous  nations,  of  musical  notes,  of  the  cries  of 
animals,  of  the  song  of  birds,  increase  our  insight  into  the  nature 
of  human  speech.  Many  observations  which  would  otherwise 
have  escaped  us  are  suggested  by  them.  But  they  do  not  explain 
why,  in  man  and  in  man  only,  the  speaker  met  with  a response 
from  the  hearer,  and  the  half  articulate  sound  gradually  developed 
into  Sanscrit  and  Greek.  They  hardly  enable  us  to  approach  any 
nearer  the  secret  of  the  origin  of  language,  which,  like  some  of  the 
other  great  secrets  of  nature, — the  origin  of  birth  and  death,  or  of 
animal  life, — remains  inviolable.  That  problem  is  indissolubly 
bound  up  with  the  origin  of  man  ; and  if  we  ever  know  more  of 
the  one,  we  may  expect  to  know  more  of  the  other1. 


It  is  more  than  sixteen  years  since  the  preceding  remarks  were 
written,  which  with  a few  alterations  have  now  been  reprinted. 
During  the  interval  the  progress  of  philology  has  been  very  great. 
More  languages  have  been  compared  ; the  inner  structure  of  lan- 
guage has  been  laid  bare  ; the  relations  of  sounds  have  been  more 
accurately  discriminated  ; the  manner  in  which  dialects  affect  or 
are  affected  by  the  literary  or  principal  form  of  a language  is 
better  understood.  Many  merely  verbal  questions  have  been 
eliminated  ; the  remains  of  the  old  traditional  methods  have  died 
away.  The  study  has  passed  from  the  metaphysical  into  an 

1 Compare  W.  Humboldt,  * Ueber  die  Verschiedenheit  des  menschlichen 
Sprachbaues ; ’ M.  Muller,  ‘Lectures  on  the  Science  of  Language;’  Steinthal, 
‘ Einleitung  in  die  Psychologic  und  Sprachwissenschaft.’ 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


296 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Nature  and  growth  of  language. 

historical  stage.  Grammar  is  no  longer  confused  with  language, 
nor  the  anatomy  of  words  and  sentences  with  their  life  and  use. 
Figures  of  speech,  by  which  the  vagueness  of  theories  is  often 
concealed,  have  been  stripped  off;  and  we  see  language  more  as  it 
truly  was.  The  immensity  of  the  subject  is  gradually  revealed  to 
us,  and  the  reign  of  law  becomes  apparent.  Yet  the  law  is  but 
partially  seen  ; the  traces  of  it  are  often  lost  in  the  distance.  For 
languages  have  a natural  but  not  a perfect  growth  ; like  other 
creations  of  nature  into  which  the  will  of  man  enters,  they  are  full 
of  what  we  term  accident  and  irregularity.  And  the  difficulties  of 
the  subject  become  not  less,  but  greater,  as  we  proceed— it  is 
one  of  those  studies  in  which  we  seem  to  know  less  as  we  know 
more  ; partly  because  we  are  no  longer  satisfied  with  the  vague  and 
superficial  ideas  of  it  which  prevailed  fifty  years  ago  ; partly  also 
because  the  remains  of  the  languages  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted always  were,  and  if  they  are  still  living,  are,  in  a state  of 
transition  ; and  thirdly,  because  there  are  lacunae  in  our  know- 
ledge of  them  which  can  never  be  filled  up.  Not  a tenth,  not 
a hundredth  part  of  them  has  been  preserved.  Yet  the  materials 
at  our  disposal  are  far  greater  than  any  individual  can  use.  Such 
are  a few  of  the  general  reflections  which  the  present  state  of 
philology  calls  up. 

(x)  Language  seems  to  be  composite,  but  into  its  first  elements 
the  philologer  has  never  been  able  to  penetrate.  However  far  he 
goes  back,  he  never  arrives  at  the  beginning  ; or  rather,  as  in 
Geology  or  in  Astronomy,  there  is  no  beginning.  He  is  too  apt 
to  suppose  that  by  breaking  up  the  existing  forms  of  language 
into  their  parts  he  will  arrive  at  a previous  stage  of  it,  but  he 
is  merely  analyzing  what  never  existed,  or  is  never  known  to  have 
existed,  except  in  a composite  form.  He  may  divide  nouns  and 
verbs  into  roots  and  inflexions,  but  he  has  no  evidence  which  will 
show  that  the  co  of  tutttco  or  the  | a of  ridri^i,  though  analogous  to  ey co, 
fxe,  either  became  pronouns  or  were  generated  out  of  pronouns. 
To  say  that  ‘ pronouns,  like  ripe  fruit,  dropped  out  of  verbs,  is  a 
misleading  figure  of  speech.  Although  all  languages  have  some 
common  principles,  there  is  no  primitive  form  or  forms  of  language 
known  to  us,  or  to  be  reasonably  imagined,  from  which  they  are  all 
descended.  No  inference  can  be  drawn  from  language,  either  foi 
or  against  the  unity  of  the  human  race.  Nor  is  there  any  proof 


Nature  and  growth  oj  language. 

that  words  were  ever  used  without  any  relation  to  each  other. 
Whatever  may  be  the  meaning  of  a sentence  or  a word  when 
applied  to  primitive  language,  it  is  probable  that  the  sentence 
is  more  akin  to  the  original  form  than  the  word,  and  that  the 
later  stage  of  language  is  the  result  rather  of  analysis  than  of 
synthesis,  or  possibly  is  a combination  of  the  two.  Nor,  again,  are 
we  sure  that  the  original  process  of  learning  to  speak  was  the 
same  in  different  places  or  among  different  races  of  men.  It 
may  have  been  slower  with  some,  quicker  with  others.  Some 
tribes  may  have  used  shorter,  others  longer  words  or  cries  : they 
may  have  been  more  or  less  inclined  to  agglutinate  or  to  decom- 
pose them  : they  may  have  modified  them  by  the  use  of  prefixes, 
suffixes,  infixes  ; by  the  lengthening  and  strengthening  of  vowels 
or  by  the  shortening  and  weakening  of  them,  by  the  condensation 
or  rarefaction  of  consonants.  But  who  gave  to  language  these 
primeval  laws  ; or  why  one  race  has  triliteral,  another  biliteral 
roots  ; or  why  in  some  members  of  a group  of  languages  b 
becomes  p,  or  cf,  t,  or  ch,  k ; or  why  two  languages  resemble  one 
another  in  certain  parts  of  their  structure  and  differ  in  others  ; or 
why  in  one  language  there  is  a greater  development  of  vowels,  in 
another  of  consonants,  and  the  like — are  questions  of  which  we 
only  ‘ entertain  conjecture.’  We  must  remember  the  length  of 
time  that  has  elapsed  since  man  first  walked  upon  the  earth,  and 
that  in  this  vast  but  unknown  period  every  variety  of  language 
may  have  been  in  process  of  formation  and  decay,  many  times 
over1.  It  can  hardly  be  supposed  that  any  traces  of  an  original 

1 Cp.  Plato,  Laws,  iii.  676  : — 

‘ Ath.  And  what  then  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  origin  of  government?  Will 
not  a man  be  able  to  judge  best  from  a point  of  view  in  which  he  may  behold 
the  progress  of  states  and  their  transitions  to  good  and  evil  ? 

Cle.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Ath.  I mean  that  he  might  watch  them  from  the  point  of  view  of  time,  and 
observe  the  changes  which  take  place  in  them  during  infinite  ages. 

Cle.  How  so  ? 

Ath.  Why,  do  you  think  that  you  can  reckon  the  time  which  has  elapsed 
since  cities  first  existed  and  men  were  citizens  of  them  ? 

Cle.  Hardly. 

Ath.  But  you  are  quite  sure  that  it  must  be  vast  and  incalculable? 

Cle.  No  doubt. 

Ath.  And  have  there  not  been  thousands  and  thousands  of  cities  which  have 
come  into  being  and  perished  during  this  period  ? And  has  not  every  place  had 


297 

Cralylus. 

I NTRODUC- 
TION. 


298 

Craiylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Nature  and  growth  of  language. 

language  still  survive,  any  more  than  of  the  first  huts  or  buildings 
which  were  constructed  by  man.  Nor  are  we  at  all  certain  of  the 
relation,  if  any,  in  which  the  greater  families  of  languages  stand  to 
each  other.  The  influence  of  individuals  must  always  have  been 
a disturbing  eleVnent.  Like  great  writers  in  later  times,  there 
may  have  been  many  a barbaric  genius  who  taught  the  men 
of  his  tribe  to  sing  or  speak,  showing  them  by  example  how  to 
continue  or  divide  their  words,  charming  their  souls  with  rhythm 
and  accent  and  intonation,  finding  in  familiar  objects  the  expres- 
sion of  their  confused  fancies— to  whom  the  whole  of  language 
might  in  truth  be  said  to  be  a figure  of  speech.  One  person  may 
have  introduced  a new  custom  into  the  formation  or  pronuncia- 
tion of  a word ; he  may  have  been  imitated  by  others,  and  the 
custom,  or  form,  or  accent,  or  quantity,  or  rhyme  which  he 
introduced  in  a single  word  may  have  become  the  type  on  which 
many  other  words  or  inflexions  of  words  were  framed,  and  may 
have  quickly  ran  through  a whole  language.  For  like  the  other 
gifts  which  nature  has  bestowed  upon  man,  that  of  speech  has 
been  conveyed  to  him  through  the  medium,  not  of  the  many,  but 
of  the  few,  who  were  his  ‘law-givers’ — ‘the  legislator  with  the 
dialectician  standing  on  his  right  hand,’  in  Plato’s  striking 
image,  who  formed  the  manners  of  men  and  gave  them  customs, 
whose  voice  and  look  and  behaviour,  whose  gesticulations  and 
other  peculiarities  were  instinctively  imitated  by  them,— the 
‘king  of  men’  who  was  their  priest,  almost  their  God.  . . . But 
these  are  conjectures  only : so  little  do  we  know  of  the  origin  of 
language  that  the  real  scholar  is  indisposed  to  touch  the  subject 
at  all. 

(2)  There  are  other  errors  besides  the  figment  of  a primitive  or 
original  language  which  it  is  time  to  leave  behind  us.  We  no 
longer  divide  languages  into  synthetical  and  analytical,  or  suppose 
similarity  of  structure  to  be  the  safe  or  only  guide  to  the  affinities 

endless  forms  of  government,  and  been  sometimes  rising,  and  at  other  times 
falling,  and  again  improving  or  waning  ? ’ 

Aristot.  Metaph.  xi.  8.  21 : — 

‘ And  if  a person  should  conceive  the  tales  of  mythology  to  mean  only  that 
men  thought  the  gods  to  be  the  first  essences  of  things,  he  would  deem  the 
reflection  to  have  been  inspired  and  would  consider  that,  whereas  probably 
every  art  and  part  of  wisdom  had  been  discovered  and  lost  many  times  over, 
such  notions  were  but  a remnant  of  the  past  which  has  survived  to  our  dav. 


299 


Nature  and  groivth  of  language. 

of  them.  We  do  not  confuse  the  parts  of  speech  with  the  cate- 
gories of  Logic.  Nor  do  we  conceive  languages  any  more  than 
civilizations  to  be  in  a state  of  dissolution  ; they  do  not  easily 
pass  away,  but  are  far  more  tenacious  of  life  than  the  tribes 
by  whom  they  are  spoken.  ‘Where  two  or  three  are  gathered 
together,’  they  survive.  As  in  the  human  frame,  as  in  the  state, 
there  is  a principle  of  renovation  as  well  as  of  decay  which 
is  at  work  in  all  of  them.  Neither  do  we  suppose  them  to  be  in- 
vented by  the  wit  of  man.  With  few  exceptions,  e.  g.  technical 
words  or  words  newly  imported  from  a foreign  language,  and  the 
like,  in  which  art  has  imitated  nature,  ‘ words  are  not  made  but 
grow.’  Nor  do  we  attribute  to  them  a supernatural  origin.  The  law 
which  regulates  them  is  like  the  law  which  governs  the  circula- 
tion of  the  blood,  or  the  rising  of  the  sap  in  trees  ; the  action  of  it 
is  uniform,  but  the  result,  which  appears  in  the  superficial  forms 
of  men  and  animals  or  in  the  leaves  of  trees,  is  an  endless  pro- 
fusion and  variety.  The  laws  of  vegetation  are  invariable,  but  no 
two  plants,  no  two  leaves  of  the  forest  are  precisely  the  same. 
The  laws  of  language  are  invariable,  but  no  two  languages  are 
alike,  no  two  words  have  exactly  the  same  meaning.  No  two 
sounds  are  exactly  of  the  same  quality,  or  give  precisely  the  same 
impression. 

It  would  be  well  if  there  were  a similar  consensus  about  some 
other  points  which  appear  to  be  still  in  dispute.  Is  language 
conscious  or  unconscious?  In  speaking  or  writing  have  we 
present  to  our  minds  the  meaning  or  the  sound  or  the  con- 
struction of  the  words  which  we  are  using? — No  more  than 
the  separate  drops  of  water  with  which  we  quench  our  thirst 
are  present  : the  whole  draught  may  be  conscious,  but  not  the 
minute  particles  of  which  it  is  made  up  : So  the  whole  sentence 
nay  be  conscious,  but  the  several  words,  syllables,  letters  are  not 
thought  of  separately  when  we  are  uttering  them.  Like  other 
natural  operations,  the  process  of  speech,  when  most  perfect, 
is  least  observed  by  us.  We  do  not  pause  at  each  mouthful 
to  dwell  upon  the  taste  of  it : nor  has  the  speaker  time  to  ask 
himself  the  comparative  merits  of  different  modes  of  expression 
while  he  is  uttering  them.  There  are  many  things  in  the  use 
of  language  which  may  be  observed  from  without,  but  which 
cannot  be  explained  from  within.  Consciousness  carries  us 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


300  Nature  and  growth  of  language. 

Cratylus.  but  a little  way  in  the  investigation  of  the  mind  ; it  is  not  the 
Introduc-  faculty  of  internal  observation,  but  only  the  dim  light  which 

TION. 

makes  such  observation  possible.  What  is  supposed  to  be  our 
consciousness  of  language  is  really  only  the  analysis  of  it,  and 
this  analysis  admits  of  innumerable  degrees.  But  would  it  not  be 
better  if  this  term,  which  is  so  misleading,  and  yet  has  played 
so  great  a part  in  mental  science,  were  either  banished  or  used 
only  with  the  distinct  meaning  of  ‘ attention  to  our  own  minds,’ 
such  as  is  called  forth,  not  by  familiar  mental  processes,  but 
by  the  interruption  of  them  ? Now  in  this  sense  we  may  truly 
say  that  we  are  not  conscious  of  ordinary  speech,  though  we  are 
commonly  roused  to  attention  by  the  misuse  or  mispronunciation 
of  a word.  Still  less,  even  in  schools  and  academies,  do  we 
ever  attempt  to  invent  new  words  or  to  alter  the  meaning  of 
old  ones,  except  in  the  case,  mentioned  above,  of  technical  or 
borrowed  words  which  are  artificially  made  or  imported  because 
a need  of  them  is  felt.  Neither  in  our  own  nor  in  any  other 
age  has  the  conscious  effort  of  reflection  in  man  contributed 
in  an  appreciable  degree  to  the  formation  of  language.  * Which 
of  us  by  taking  thought’  can  make  new  words  or  constructions? 
Reflection  is  the  least  of  the  causes  by  which  language  is  affected, 
and  is  likely  to  have  the  least  power,  when  the  linguistic  instinct 
is  greatest,  as  in  young  children  and  in  the  infancy  of  nations. 

A kindred  error  is  the  separation  of  the  phonetic  from  the 
mental  element  of  language  ; they  are  really  inseparable— no 
definite  line  can  be  drawn  between  them,  any  more  than  in  any 
other  common  act  of  mind  and  body.  It  is  true  that  within 
certain  limits  we  possess  the  power  of  varying  sounds  by  opening 
and  closing  the  mouth,  by  touching  the  palate  or  the  teeth  with 
the  tongue,  by  lengthening  or  shortening  the  vocal  instrument, 
by  greater  or  less  stress,  by  a higher  or  lower  pitch  of  the  voice, 
and  we  can  substitute  one  note  or  accent  for  another.  But  behind 
the  organs  of  speech  and  their  action  there  remains  the  informing 
mind,  which  sets  them  in  motion  and  works  together  with  them. 
And  behind  the  great  structure  of  human  speech  and  the  lesser 
varieties  of  language  which  arise  out  of  the  many  degrees  and 
kinds  of  human  intercourse,  there  is  also  the  unknown  or  over- 
ruling law  of  God  or  nature  which  gives  order  to  it  in  its  infinite 
greatness,  and  variety  in  its  infinitesimal  minuteness— both 


Nature  and  growth  of  language.  30 1 

equally  inscrutable  to  us.  We  need  no  longer  discuss  whether  Cratylus. 
philology  is  to  be  classed  with  the  Natural  or  the  Mental  sciences,  iNTroduc- 
if  we  frankly  recognize  that,  like  all  the  sciences  which  are 
concerned  with  man,  it  has  a double  aspect,— inward  and  out- 
ward ; and  that  the  inward  can  only  be  known  through  the 
outward.  Neither  need  we  raise  the  question  whether  the  laws 
of  language,  like  the  other  laws  of  human  action,  admit  of  ex- 
ceptions. The  answer  in  all  cases  is  the  same — that  the  laws 
of  nature  are  uniform,  though  the  consistency  or  continuity  of 
them  is  not  always  perceptible  to  us.  The  superficial  appear- 
ances of  language,  as  of  nature,  are  irregular,  but  we  do  not 
therefore  deny  their  deeper  uniformity.  The  comparison  of 
the  growth  of  language  in  the  individual  and  in  the  nation  cannot 
be  wholly  discarded,  for  nations  are  made  up  of  individuals. 

But  in  this,  as  in  the  other  political  sciences,  we  must  distinguish 
between  collective  and  individual  actions  or  processes,  and  not 
attribute  to  the  one  what  belongs  to  the  other.  Again,  when 
we  speak  of  the  heredity  or  paternity  of  a language,  we  must 
remember  that  the  parents  are  alive  as  well  as  the  children, 
and  that  all  the  preceding  generations  survive  (after  a manner)  in 
the  latest  form  of  it.  And  when,  for  the  purposes  of  comparison, 
we  form  into  groups  the  roots  or  terminations  of  words,  we 
should  not  forget  how  casual  is  the  manner  in  which  their  re- 
semblances have  arisen — they  were  not  first  written  down  by 
a grammarian  in  the  paradigms  of  a grammar  and  learned  out 
of  a book,  but  were  due  to  many  chance  attractions  of  sound 
or  of  meaning,  or  of  both  combined.  So  many  cautions  have  to 
be  borne  in  mind,  and  so  many  first  thoughts  to  be  dismissed, 
before  we  can  proceed  safely  in  the  path  of  philological  enquiry. 

It  might  be  well  sometimes  to  lay  aside  figures  of  speech,  such 
as  the  ‘ root  ’ and  the  ‘ branches,’  the  1 stem,’  the  ‘ strata  ’ of 
Geology,  the  ‘ compounds ’ of  Chemistry,  ‘the  ripe  fruit  of  pro- 
nouns dropping  from  verbs’  (see  above),  and  the  like,  which 
are  always  interesting,  but  are  apt  to  be  delusive.  Yet  such 
figures  of  speech  are  far  nearer  the  truth  than  the  theories  which 
attribute  the  invention  and  improvement  of  language  to  the  con- 
scious action  of  the  human  mind.  . . Lastly,  it  is  doubted  by 
recent  philologians  whether  climate  can  be  supposed  to  have 
exercised  any  influence  worth  speaking  of  on  a language:  such 


302  Nature  and  growth  of  language. 

Cratylus.  a view  is  said  to  be  unproven  : it  had  better  therefore  not  be 

Introduc-  silently  assumed. 

‘Natural  selection’  and  the  ‘survival  of  the  fittest’  have  been 
applied  in  the  field  of  philology,  as  well  as  in  the  other  sciences 
which  are  concerned  with  animal  and  vegetable  life.  And  a 
Darwinian  school  of  philologists  has  sprung  up,  who  are  some- 
times accused  of  putting  words  in  the  place  of  things.  It  seems 
to  be  true,  that  whether  applied  to  language  or  to  other  branches 
of  knowledge,  the  Darwinian  theory,  unless  very  precisely  de- 
fined, hardly  escapes  from  being  a truism.  If  by  ‘the  natural 
selection  ’ of  words  or  meanings  of  words  or  by  the  ‘ persistence 
and  survival  of  the  fittest’  the  maintainer  of  the  theory  intends 
to  affirm  nothing  more  than  this— that  the  word  ‘fittest  to  survive’ 
survives,  he  adds  not  much  to  the  knowledge  of  language.  But  if 
he  means  that  the  word  or  the  meaning  of  the  word  or  some  portion 
of  the  word  which  comes  into  use  or  drops  out  of  use  is  selected 
or  rejected  on  the  ground  of  economy  or  parsimony  or  ease  to 
the  speaker  or  clearness  or  euphony  or  expressiveness,  or 
greater  or  less  demand  for  it,  or  anything  of  this  sort,  he  is 
affirming  a proposition  which  has  several  senses,  and  in  none 
of  these  senses  can  be  asserted  to  be  uniformly  true.  For  the 
laws  of  language  are  precarious,  and  can  only  act  uniformly 
when  there  is  such  frequency  of  intercourse  among  neighbours  as 
is  sufficient  to  enforce  them.  And  there  are  many  reasons  why 
a man  should  prefer  his  own  way  of  speaking  to  that  of  others, 
unless  by  so  doing  he  becomes  unintelligible.  The  struggle  for 
existence  among  words  is  not  of  that  fierce  and  irresistible  kind 
in  which  birds,  beasts  and  fishes  devour  one  another,  but  of 
a milder  sort,  allowing  one  usage  to  be  substituted  for  another, 
not  by  force,  but  by  the  persuasion,  or  rather  by  the  prevailing 
habit,  of  a majority.  The  favourite  figure,  in  this,  as  in  some 
other  uses  of  it,  has  tended  rather  to  obscure  than  explain  the 
subject  to  which  it  has  been  applied.  Nor  in  any  case  can 
the  struggle  for  existence  be  deemed  to  be  the  sole  or  prin- 
cipal cause  of  changes  in  language,  but  only  one  among  many, 
and  one  of  which  we  cannot  easily  measure  the  importance. 
There  is  a further  objection  which  may  be  urged  equally  against 
all  applications  of  the  Darwinian  theory.  As  in  animal  life  and 
likewise  in  vegetable,  so  in  languages,  the  process  of  change  is 


Nature  and  growth  of  language. 


303 


said  to  be  insensible : sounds,  like  animals,  are  supposed  to  pass  Crdtylus. 
into  one  another  by  imperceptible  gradation.  But  in  both  cases  istroduc- 
the  newly-created  forms  soon  become  fixed ; there  are  few  if 
any  vestiges  of  the  intermediate  links,  and  so  the  better  half 
of  the  evidence  of  the  change  is  wanting. 

(3)  Among  the  incumbrances  or  illusions  of  language  may  be 
reckoned  many  of  the  rules  and  traditions  of  grammar,  whether 
ancient  grammar  or  the  corrections  of  it  which  modern  philology 
has  introduced.  Grammar,  like  law,  delights  in  definition  : 
human  speech,  like  human  action,  though  very  far  from  being 
a mere  chaos,  is  indefinite,  admits  of  degrees,  and  is  always  in 
a state  of  change  or  transition.  Grammar  gives  an  erroneous 
conception  of  language  : for  it  reduces  to  a system  that  which 
is  not  a system.  Its  figures  of  speech,  pleonasms,  ellipses,  ana- 
colutha,  Tipos  to  arjp.aLv6p.evov,  and  the  like  have  no  reality  ; they 
do  not  either  make  curious  expressions  more  intelligible  or  show 
the  way  in  which  they  have  arisen  ; they  are  chiefly  designed  to 
bring  an  earlier  use  of  language  into  conformity  with  the  later. 

Often  they  seem  intended  only  to  remind  us  that  great  poets 
like  Aeschylus  or  Sophocles  or  Pindar  or  a great  prose  writer 
like  Thucydides  are  guilty  of  taking  unwarrantable  liberties  with 
grammatical  rules ; it  appears  never  to  have  occurred  to  the  in- 
ventors of  them  that  these  real  ‘ conditores  linguae  Graecae  ’ lived 
in  an  age  before  grammar,  when  ‘ Greece  also  was  living  Greece.’ 

It  is  the  anatomy,  not  the  physiology  of  language,  which  grammar 
seeks  to  describe  : into  the  idiom  and  higher  life  of  words  it 
does  not  enter.  The  ordinary  Greek  grammar  gives  a com- 
plete paradigm  of  the  verb,  without  suggesting  that  the  double 
or  treble  forms  of  Perfects,  Aorists,  etc.  are  hardly  ever  con- 
temporaneous. It  distinguishes  Moods  and  Tenses,  without 
observing  how  much  of  the  nature  of  the  one  passes  into  the 
other.  It  makes  three  Voices,  Active,  Passive,  and  Middle,  but 
takes  no  notice  of  the  precarious  existence  and  uncertain 
character  of  the  last  of  the  three.  Language  is  a thing  of  de- 
grees and  relations  and  associations  and  exceptions : grammar 
ties  it  up  in  fixed  rules.  Language  has  many  varieties  of  usage : 
grammar  tries  to  reduce  them  to  a single  one.  Grammar  divides 
verbs  into  regular  and  irregular  : it  does  not  recognize  that 
the  irregular,  equally  with  the  regular,  are  subject  to  law,  and 


304  Nature  and  growth  of  language. 

Cratylus.  that  a language  which  had  no  exceptions  would  not  be  a natural 

Introduc-  growth  : for  it  could  not  have  been  subjected  to  the  influences 
by  which  language  is  ordinarily  affected.  It  is  always  want- 
ing to  describe  ancient  languages  in  the  terms  of  a modern 
one.  It  has  a favourite  fiction  that  one  word  is  put  in  the 
place  of  another ; the  truth  is  that  no  word  is  ever  put  for 
another.  It  has  another  fiction,  that  a word  has  been  omitted  : 
words  are  omitted  because  they  are  no  longer  needed  ; and 
the  omission  has  ceased  to  be  observed.  The  common  ex- 
planation of  /card  or  some  other  preposition  ‘ being  understood  ’ 
in  a Greek  sentence  is  another  fiction  of  the  same  kind,  which 
tends  to  disguise  the  fact  that  under  cases  were  comprehended 
originally  many  more  relations,  and  that  prepositions  are  used 
only  to  define  the  meaning  of  them  with  greater  precision.  These 
instances  are  sufficient  to  show  the  sort  of  errors  which  grammar 
introduces  into  language.  We  are  not  considering  the  question 
of  its  utility  to  the  beginner  in  the  study.  Even  to  him  the 
best  grammar  is  the  shortest  and  that  in  which  he  will  ha\e 
least  to  unlearn.  It  may  be  said  that  the  explanations  here 
referred  to  are  already  out  of  date,  and  that  the  study  of  Greek 
grammar  has  received  a new  character  from  comparative  philo- 
logy. This  is  true;  but  it  is  also  true  that  the  traditional 
grammar  has  still  a great  hold  on  the  mind  of  the  student. 

Metaphysics  are  even  more  troublesome  than  the  figments  of 
grammar,  because  they  wear  the  appearance  of  philosophy  and 
there  is  no  test  to  which  they  can  be  subjected.  They  are  useful 
in  so  far  as  they  give  us  an  insight  into  the  history  of  the  human 
mind  and  the  modes  of  thought  which  have  existed  in  former 
ages;  or  in  so  far  as  they  furnish  wider  conceptions  of  the 
different  branches  of  knowledge  and  of  their  relation  to  one 
another.  But  they  are  worse  than  useless  when  they  outrun 
experience  and  abstract  the  mind  from  the  observation  of  facts, 
only  to  envelope  it  in  a mist  of  words.  Some  philologers,  like 
Schleicher,  have  been  greatly  influenced  by  the  philosophy  of 
Hegel  ; nearly  all  of  them  to  a certain  extent  have  fallen  under 
the  dominion  of  physical  science.  Even  Kant  himself  thought 
that  the  first  principles  of  philosophy  could  be  elicited  from 
the  analysis  of  the  proposition,  in  this  respect  falling  short  of 
Plato.  Westphal  holds  that  there  are  three  stages  of  language  : 


Changes  of  language.  305 

(1)  in  which  things  were  characterized  independently,  (2)  in  Cralylus. 
which  they  were  regarded  in  relation  to  human  thought,  and  iNTroduc- 

(3)  in  relation  to  one  another.  But  are  not  such  distinctions 
an  anachronism  ? for  they  imply  a growth  of  abstract  ideas 
which  never  existed  in  early  times.  Language  cannot  be  ex- 
plained by  Metaphysics ; for  it  is  prior  to  them  and  much  more 
nearty  allied  to  sense.  It  is  not  likely  that  the  meaning  of  the 
cases  is  ultimately  resolvable  into  relations  of  space  and  time. 

Nor  can  we  suppose  the  conception  of  cause  and  effect  or  of 
the  finite  and  infinite  or  of  the  same  and  other  to  be  latent  in 
language  at  a time  when  in  their  abstract  form  they  had  never 
entered  into  the  mind  of  man.  ...  If  the  science  of  Comparative 
Philology  had  possessed  ‘ enough  of  Metaphysics  to  get  rid  of 
Metaphysics,’  it  would  have  made  far  greater  progress. 

(4)  Our  knowledge  of  language  is  almost  confined  to  languages 
which  are  fully  developed.  They  are  of  several  patterns ; and 
these  become  altered  by  admixture  in  various  degrees, — they  may 
only  borrow  a few  words  from  one  another  and  retain  their  life 
comparatively  unaltered,  or  they  may  meet  in  a struggle  for  ex- 
istence until  one  of  the  two  is  overpowered  and  retires  from  the 
field.  They  attain  the  full  rights  and  dignity  of  language  when 
they  acquire  the  use  of  writing  and  have  a literature  of  their  own  ; 
they  pass  into  dialects  and  grow  out  of  them,  in  proportion  as 
men  are  isolated  or  united  by  locality  or  occupation.  The  com- 
mon language  sometimes  reacts  upon  the  dialects  and  imparts 
to  them  also  a literary  character.  The  laws  of  language  can 
be  best  discerned  in  the  great  crises  of  language,  especially  in 
the  transitions  from  ancient  to  modern  forms  of  them,  whether 
in  Europe  or  Asia.  Such  changes  are  the  silent  notes  of 
the  world’s  history;  they  mark  periods  of  unknown  length 
in  which  war  and  conquest  were  running  riot  over  whole 
continents,  times  of  suffering  too  great  to  be  endured  by  the 
human  race,  in  which  the  masters  became  subjects  and  the 
subject  races  masters,  in  which  driven  by  necessity  or  impelled 
by  some  instinct,  tribes  or  nations  left  their  original  homes 
and  but  slowly  found  a resting-place.  Language  would  be  the 
greatest  of  all  historical  monuments,  if  it  could  only  tell  us  the 
history  of  itself. 

(5)  There  are  many  ways  in  which  we  may  approach  this  stud}'. 


VOL.  I. 


X 


3°6 


Cralylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Method  of  study. 

The  simplest  of  all  is  to  observe  our  own  use  of  language  in 
conversation  or  in  writing,  how  we  put  words  together,  how 
we  construct  and  connect  sentences,  what  are  the  rules  of  ac- 
cent and  rhythm  in  verse  or  prose,  the  formation  and  com- 
position of  words,  the  laws  of  euphony  and  sound,  the  affinities 
of  letters,  the  mistakes  to  which  we  are  ourselves  most  liable 
of  spelling  or  pronunciation.  We  may  compare  with  our  own 
language  some  other,  even  when  we  have  only  a slight  knowledge 
of  it,  such  as  French  or  German.  Even  a little  Latin  will  enable 
us  to  appreciate  the  grand  difference  between  ancient  and 
modern  European  languages.  In  the  child  learning  to  speak 
we  may  note  the  inherent  strength  of  language,  which  like  ‘a 
mountain  river’  is  always  forcing  its  way  out.  We  may  witness 
the  delight  in  imitation  and  repetition,  and  some  of  the  laws 
by  which  sounds  pass  into  one  another.  We  may  learn  some- 
thing also  from  the  falterings  of  old  age,  the  searching  for  words, 
and  the  confusion  of  them  with  one  another,  the  forgetfulness 
of  proper  names  (more  commonly  than  of  other  words  because 
they  are  more  isolated),  aphasia,  and  the  like.  There  are  philo- 
logical lessons  also  to  be  gathered  from  nicknames,  from  pro- 
vincialisms, from  the  slang  of  great  cities,  from  the  argot  of  Paris 
(that  language  of  suffering  and  crime,  so  pathetically  described 
by  Victor  Hugo),  from  the  imperfect  articulation  of  the  deaf 
and  dumb,  from  the  jabbering  of  animals,  from  the  analysis 
of  sounds  in  relation  to  the  organs  of  speech.  The  phonograph 
affords  a visible  evidence  of  the  nature  and  divisions  of  sound  ; we 
may  be  truly  said  to  know  what  we  can  manufacture.  Artificial 
languages,  such  as  that  of  Bishop  Wilkins,  are  chiefly  useful 
in  showing  what  language  is  not.  The  study  of  any  foreign 
language  may  be  made  also  a study  of  Comparative  Philology. 
There  are  several  points,  such  as  the  nature  of  irregular  verbs, 
of  indeclinable  parts  of  speech,  the  influence  of  euphony,  the 
decay  or  loss  of  inflections,  the  elements  of  syntax,  which  may 
be  examined  as  well  in  the  history  of  our  own  language  as  of 
any  other.  A few  well-selected  questions  may  lead  the  student 
at  once  into  the  heart  of  the  mystery  : such  as,  Why  are  the 
pronouns  and  the  verb  of  existence  generally  more  irregular 
than  any  other  parts  of  speech  ? Why  is  the  number  of  words 
so  small  in  which  the  sound  is  an  echo  of  the  sense?  Why 


Imitation. 


does  the  meaning  of  words  depart  so  widely  from  their  etymo- 
logy? Why  do  substantives  often  differ  in  meaning  from  the 
verbs  to  which  they  are  related,  adverbs  from  adjectives  ? 
Why  do  words  differing  in  origin  coalesce  in  the  same  sound 
though  retaining  their  differences  of  meaning  ? Why  are  some 
verbs  impersonal  ? Why  are  there  only  so  many  parts  of 
speech,  and  on  what  principle  are  they  divided  ? These  are 
a few  crucial  questions  which  give  us  an  insight  from  different 
points  of  view  into  the  true  nature  of  language. 

(6)  Thus  far  we  have  been  endeavouring  to  strip  off  from 
language  the  false  appearances  in  which  grammar  and  philo- 
logy) or  the  love  of  system  generally,  have  clothed  it.  We 
have  also  sought  to  indicate  the  sources  of  our  knowledge  of 
it  and  the  spirit  in  which  we  should  approach  it.  We  may 
now  proceed  to  consider  some  of  the  principles  or  natural  laws 
which  have  created  or  modified  it. 

i.  The  first  and  simplest  of  all  the  principles  of  language, 
common  also  to  the  animals,  is  imitation.  The  lion  roars,  the 
wolf  howls  in  the  solitude  of  the  forest : they  are  answered 
by  similar  cries  heard  from  a distance.  The  bird,  too,  mimics 
the  voice  of  man  and  makes  answer  to  him.  Man  tells  to  man 
the  secret  place  in  which  he  is  hiding  himself ; he  remembers 
and  repeats  the  sound  which  he  has  heard.  The  love  of  imitation 
becomes  a passion  and  an  instinct  to  him.  Primitive  men  learnt 
to  speak  from  one  another,  like  a child  from  its  mother  or  nurse. 
They  learnt  of  course  a rudimentary,  half-articulate  language, 
the  cry  or  song  or  speech  which  was  the  expression  of  what 
we  now  call  human  thoughts  and  feelings.  We  may  still  re- 
mark how  much  greater  and  more  natural  the  exercise  of  the 
power  is  in  the  use  of  language  than  in  any  other  process  or 
action  of  the  human  mind. 

ii.  Imitation  provided  the  first  material  of  language : but  it 
was  ‘without  form  and  void.’  During  how  many  years  or 
hundreds  or  thousands  of  years  the  imitative  or  half-articulate 
stage  continued  there  is  no  possibility  of  determining.  But 
we  may  reasonably  conjecture  that  there  was  a time  when  the 
vocal  utterance  of  man  was  intermediate  between  what  we  now 
call  language  and  the  cry  of  a bird  or  animal.  Speech  before 
language  was  a rudis  indigestaque  materies,  not  yet  distributed 


307 

Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


X 2 


3°8 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Analogy. 

into  words  and  sentences,  in  which  the  cry  of  fear  or  joy  mingled 
with  more  definite  sounds  recognized  by  custom  as  the  expres- 
sions of  things  or  events.  It  was  the  principle  of  analogy  which 
introduced  into  this  ‘indigesta  moles’  order  and  measure.  It 
was  Anaxagoras’  opov  TTiivra  xpfjpara,  eiTa  vovs  (\6cou  buKuafj.r](T(  : the 
light  of  reason  lighted  up  all  things  and  at  once  began  to  arrange 
them.  In  every  sentence,  in  every  word  and  every  termination  of 
a word,  this  power  of  forming  relations  to  one  another  was 
contained.  There  was  a proportion  of  sound  to  sound,  of  mean- 
ing to  meaning,  of  meaning  to  sound.  The  cases  and  numbers  of 
nouns,  the  persons,  tenses,  numbers  of  verbs,  were  generally 
on  the  same  or  nearly  the  same  pattern  and  had  the  same 
meaning.  The  sounds  by  which  they  were  expressed  were  rough- 
hewn  at  first ; after  a while  they  grew  more  refined— the  natural 
laws  of  euphony  began  to  affect  them.  The  rules  of  syntax 
are  likewise  based  upon  analogy.  Time  has  an  analogy  with 
space,  arithmetic  with  geometry.  Not  only  in  musical  notes, 
but  in  the  quantity,  quality,  accent,  rhythm  of  human  speech, 
trivial  or  serious,  there  is  a law  of  proportion.  As  in  things 
of  beauty,  as  in  all  nature,  in  the  composition  as  well  as  in  the 
motion  of  all  things,  there  is  a similarity  of  relations  by  which 
they  are  held  together. 

It  would  be  a mistake  to  suppose  that  the  analogies  of  language 
are  always  uniform  : there  may  be  often  a choice  between 
several,  and  sometimes  one  and  sometimes  another  will  prevail. 
In  Greek  there  are  three  declensions  of  nouns  ; the  forms  of  cases 
in  one  of  them  may  intrude  upon  another.  Similarly  verbs  in  -&> 
and  -pi  interchange  forms  of  tenses,  and  the  completed  para- 
digm of  the  verb  is  often  made  up  of  both.  The  same  nouns  may 
be  partly  declinable  and  partly  indeclinable,  and  in  some  of  their 
cases  may  have  fallen  out  of  use.  Here  are  rules  with  excep- 
tions ; they  are  not  however  really  exceptions,  but  contain  in 
themselves  indications  of  other  rules.  Many  of  these  inteirup- 
tions  or  variations  of  analogy  occur  in  pronouns  or  in  the  verb 
of  existence  of  which  the  forms  were  too  common  and  thereiore  too 
deeply  imbedded  in  language  entirely  to  drop  out.  The  same 
verbs  in  the  same  meaning  may  sometimes  take  one  case,  some- 
times another.  The  participle  may  also  have  the  character  of 
an  adjective,  the  adverb  either  of  an  adjective  or  of  a preposition. 


3°9 


Language  the  end  not  the  beginning  of  a process. 

These  exceptions  arc  as  regular  as  the  rules,  but  the  causes  of 
them  are  seldom  known  to  us. 

Language,  like  the  animal  and  vegetable  worlds,  is  every- 
where intersected  by  the  lines  of  analogy.  Like  number  fiom 
which  it  seems  to  be  derived,  the  principle  of  analogy  opens  the 
eyes  of  men  to  discern  the  similarities  and  differences  of  things, 
and  their  relations  to  one  another.  At  first  these  are  such  as 
lie  on  the  surface  only  ; after  a time  they  are  seen  by  men  to 
reach  farther  down  into  the  nature  of  things.  Gradually  in 
language  they  arrange  themselves  into  a sort  of  imperfect  system  ; 
groups  of  personal  and  case  endings  are  placed  side  by  side. 
The  fertility  of  language  produces  many  more  than  are  wanted  ; 
and  the  superfluous  ones  are  utilized  by  the  assignment  to  them 
of  new  meanings.  The  vacuity  and  the  superfluity  are  thus 
partially  compensated  by  each  other.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  in  all  the  languages  which  have  a literature,  certainly  in 
Sanskrit,  Greek,  Latin,  we  are  not  at  the  beginning  but  almost 
at  the  end  of  the  linguistic  process  ; we  have  reached  a time 
when  the  verb  and  the  noun  are  nearly  perfected,  though  in  no 
language  did  they  completely  perfect  themselves,  because  for 
some  unknown  reason  the  motive  powers  of  languages  seem  to 
have  ceased  when  they  were  on  the  eve  of  completion  : they  became 
fixed  or  crystallized  in  an  imperfect  form  either  from  the  in- 
fluence of  writing  and  literature,  or  because  no  further  differentia- 
tion of  them  was  required  for  the  intelligibility  of  language. 
So  not  without  admixture  and  confusion  and  displacement  and 
contamination  of  sounds  and  the  meanings  of  words,  a lower 
stage  of  language  passes  into  a higher.  Thus  far  we  can  see 
and  no  further.  When  we  ask  the  reason  why  this  principle  of 
analogy  prevails  in  all  the  vast  domain  of  language,  there  is  no 
answer  to  the  question ; or  no  other  answer  but  this,  that  there 
are  innumerable  ways  in  which,  like  number,  analogy  permeates, 
not  only  language,  but  the  whole  world,  both  visible  and  in- 
tellectual. We  know  from  experience  that  it  does  not  (a)  arise 
from  any  conscious  act  of  reflection  that  the  accusative  of  a Latin 
noun  in  us  should  end  in  um  ; nor  ( b ) from  any  necessity 
of  being  understood, — much  less  articulation  would  suffice  for 
this  ; nor  (c)  from  greater  convenience  or  expressiveness  of  par- 
ticular sounds.  Such  notions  were  certainly  far  enough  away 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


3 IO 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Onornatopea  in  the  word  and  sentence. 

from  the  mind  of  primitive  man.  We  may  speak  of  a latent 
instinct,  of  a survival  of  the  fittest,  easiest,  most  euphonic,  most 
economical  of  breath,  in  the  case  of  one  of  two  competing  sounds  ; 
but  these  expressions  do  not  add  anything  to  our  knowledge. 
We  may  try  to  grasp  the  infinity  of  language  either  under  the 
figure  of  a limitless  plain  divided  into  countries  and  districts 
by  natural  boundaries,  or  of  a vast  river  eternally  flowing  whose 
origin  is  concealed  from  us ; we  may  apprehend  partially  the 
laws  by  which  speech  is  regulated  : but  we  do  not  know,  and  we 
seem  as  if  we  should  never  know,  any  more  than  in  the  parallel 
case  of  the  origin  of  species,  how  vocal  sounds  received  life  and 
grew,  and  in  the  form  of  languages  came  to  be  distributed  over 
the  earth. 

iii.  Next  in  order  to  analogy  in  the  formation  of  language  or 
even  prior  to  it  comes  the  principle  of  onornatopea,  which  is  itself 
a kind  of  analogy  or  similarity  of  sound  and  meaning.  In  by  far 
the  greater  number  of  words  it  has  become  disguised  and  has 
disappeared  ; but  in  no  stage  of  language  is  it  entirely  lost.  It 
belongs  chiefly  to  early  language,  in  which  words  were  few  ; 
and  its  influence  grew  less  and  less  as  time  went  on.  To 
the  ear  which  had  a sense  of  harmony  it  became  a barbarism 
which  disturbed  the  flow  and  equilibrium  of  discourse  ; it  was 
an  excrescence  which  had  to  be  cut  out,  a survival  which  needed 
to  be  got  rid  of,  because  it  was  out  of  keeping  with  the  rest. 
It  remained  for  the  most  part  only  as  a formative  principle, 
which  used  words  and  letters  not  as  crude  imitations  of  other 
natural  sounds,  but  as  symbols  of  ideas  which  were  naturally 
associated  with  them.  It  received  in  another  way  a new  character ; 
it  affected  not  so  much  single  words,  as  larger  portions  of  human 
speech.  It  regulated  the  juxtaposition  of  sounds  and  the  cadence 
of  sentences.  It  was  the  music,  not  of  song,  but  of  speech,  in 
prose  as  well  as  verse.  The  old  onornatopea  of  primitive  lan- 
guage was  refined  into  an  onornatopea  of  a higher  kind,  in 
which  it  is  no  longer  true  to  say  that  a particular  sound  cor- 
responds to  a motion  or  action  of  man  or  beast  or  movement 
of  nature,  but  that  in  all  the  higher  uses  of  language  the  sound 
is  the  echo  of  the  sense,  especially  in  poetry,  in  which  beauty 
and  expressiveness  are  given  to  human  thoughts  by  the  har- 
monious composition  of  the  words,  syllables,  letters,  accents. 


Onoinotopoetic  zoords  and  sentences. 

quantities,  rhythms,  rhymes,  varieties  and  contrasts  of  all  sorts. 
The  poet  with  his  ‘ Break,  break,  break  ’ or  his  r,  waviv  wcvtcroi 
KaTa<f»6i(i(voiaiv  dvd<r<reiv  or  his  ‘ longius  ex  altoque  sinurn  trahit, 
can  produce  a far  finer  music  than  any  crude  imitations  of  things 
or  actions  in  sound,  although  a letter  or  two  having  this  imitative 
power  may  be  a lesser  element  of  beauty  in  such  passages. 
The  same  subtle  sensibility,  which  adapts  the  word  to  the  thing, 
adapts  the  sentence  or  cadence  to  the  general  meaning  or  spirit 
of  the  passage.  This  is  the  higher  onomatopea  which  has  banished 
the  cruder  sort  as  unworthy  to  have  a place  in  great  languages 
and  literatures. 

We  can  see  clearly  enough  that  letters  or  collocations  of 
letters  do  by  various  degrees  of  strength  or  weakness,  length 
or  shortness,  emphasis  or  pitch,  become  the  natural  expressions 
of  the  finer  parts  of  human  feeling  or  thought.  And  not  only 
so,  but  letters  themselves  have  a significance  ; as  Plato  observes 
that  the  letter  p is  expressive  of  motion,  the  letters  5 and  t of 
binding  and  rest,  the  letter  X of  smoothness,  v of  inwardness, 
the  letter  77  of  length,  the  letter  o of  roundness.  These  were 
often  combined  so  as  to  form  composite  notions,  as  for  example 
in  rpo/ios  (trembling),  rpa^vs  (rugged),  dpaveiv  (crush),  Kpoveiv 
(strike),  fywmw  (break),  pvpfclv  (whirl),— in  all  which  words  we 
notice  a parallel  composition  of  sounds  in  their  English  equiva- 
lents. Plato  also  remarks,  as  we  remark,  that  the  onomato- 
poetic  principle  is  far  from  prevailing  uniformly,  and  further 
that  no  explanation  of  language  consistently  corresponds  with 
any  system  of  philosophy,  however  great  may  be  the  light  which 
language  throws  upon  the  nature  of  the  mind.  Both  in  Greek 
and  English  we  find  groups  of  words  such  as  string,  swing, 
sling,  spring,  sting,  which  are  parallel  to  one  another  and  may 
be  said  to  derive  their  vocal  effect  partly  from  contrast  of  letters, 
but  in  which  it  is  impossible  to  assign  a precise  amount  of 
meaning  to  each  of  the  expressive  and  onomatopoetic  letters. 
A few  of  them  are  directly  imitative,  as  for  example  the  w in 
aov,  which  represents  the  round  form  of  the  egg  by  the  figure 
of  the  mouth  : or  fipovTr)  (thunder),  in  which  the  fulness  of  the 
sound  of  the  word  corresponds  to  the  thing  signified  by  it  ; 
or  fiopfios  (buzzing),  of  which  the  first  syllable,  as  in  its  English 
equivalent,  has  the  meaning  of  a deep  sound.  We  may  observe 


311 

Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


312  Onomatopea;  Differentiation. 

Cralyltis.  also  (as  we  see  in  the  case  of  the  poor  stammerer)  that  speech 

In™™c-  has  the  co-operation  of  the  whole  body  and  may  be  often  assisted 
or  half  expressed  by  gesticulation.  A sound  or  word  is  not 
the  work  of  the  vocal  organs  only;  nearly  the  whole  of  the  upper 
part  of  the  human  frame,  including  head,  chest,  lungs,  have 
a share  in  creating  it ; and  it  may  be  accompanied  by  a move- 
ment of  the  eyes,  nose,  fingers,  hands,  feet  which  contributes 
to  the  effect  of  it. 

The  principle  of  onomatopea  has  fallen  into  discredit,  partly 
because  it  has  been  supposed  to  imply  an  actual  manufacture 
of  words  out  of  syllables  and  letters,  like  a piece  of  joiner’s 
work, — a theory  of  language  which  is  more  and  more  refuted 
by  facts,  and  more  and  more  going  out  of  fashion  with  philo- 
logians ; and  partly  also  because  the  traces  of  onomatopea  in 
separate  words  become  almost  obliterated  in  the  course  of  ages. 
The  poet  of  language  cannot  put  in  and  pull  out  letters,  as  a 
painter  might  insert  or  blot  out  a shade  of  colour  to  give  effect 
to  his  picture.  It  would  be  ridiculous  for  him  to  alter  any 
received  form  of  a word  in  order  to  render  it  more  expressive 
of  the  sense.  He  can  only  select,  perhaps  out  of  some  dialect, 
the  form  which  is  already  best  adapted  to  his  purpose.  The 
true  onomatopea  is  not  a creative,  but  a formative  principle, 
which  in  the  later  stage  of  the  history  of  language  ceases  to  act 
upon  individual  words  ; but  still  works  through  the  collocation 
of  them  in  the  sentence  or  paragraph,  and  the  adaptation  of  every 
word,  syllable,  letter  to  one  another  and  to  the  rhythm  of  the 
whole  passage. 

iv.  Next,  under  a distinct  head,  although  not  separable  from 
the  preceding,  may  be  considered  the  differentiation  of  lan- 
guages, i.e.  the  manner  in  which  differences  of  meaning  and 
form  have  arisen  in  them.  Into  their  first  creation  we  have 
ceased  to  enquire  : it  is  their  aftergrowth  with  which  we  are 
now  concerned.  How  did  the  roots  or  substantial  portions  of  words 
become  modified  or  inflected  ? and  how  did  they  receive  separate 
meanings  ? First  we  remark  that  words  are  attracted  by  the  sounds 
and  senses  of  other  words,  so  that  they  form  groups  of  nouns 
and  verbs  analogous  in  sound  and  sense  to  one  another,  each 
noun  or  verb  putting  forth  inflexions,  generally  of  two  or  three  t 
patterns,  and  with  exceptions.  We  do  not  say  that  we  know 


Differentiation  of  sounds  and  senses.  313 

how  sense  became  first  allied  to  sound  ; but  we  have  no  difficulty  Cratylus. 
in  ascertaining  how  the  sounds  and  meanings  of  words  were  Introduc- 
in  time  parted  off  or  differentiated.  (1)  The  chief  causes  which 
regulate  the  variations  of  sound  are  (Vi)  double  or  differing  analo- 
gies, which  lead  sometimes  to  one  form,  sometimes  to  another ; 

(b)  euphony,  by  which  is  meant  chiefly  the  greater  pleasure  to 
the  ear  and  the  greater  facility  to  the  organs  of  speech  which  is 
given  by  a new  formation  or  pronunciation  of  a word  ; (c)  the 
necessity  of  finding  new  expressions  for  new  classes  or  pro- 
cesses of  things.  We  are  told  that  changes  of  sound  take  place 
by  innumerable  gradations  until  a whole  tribe  or  community 
or  society  find  themselves  acquiescing  in  a new  pronunciation 
or  use  of  language.  Yet  no  one  observes  the  change,  or  is  at 
all  aware  that  in  the  course  of  a lifetime  he  and  his  contem- 
poraries have  appreciably  varied  their  intonation  or  use  of  words. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  necessities  of  language  seem  to  require 
that  the  intermediate  sounds  or  meanings  of  words  should 
quickly  become  fixed  or  set  and  not  continue  in  a state  of 
transition  (see  above,  p.  303).  The  process  of  settling  down  is 
aided  by  the  organs  of  speech  and  by  the  use  of  writing  and 
printing.  (2)  The  meaning  of  words  varies  because  ideas  vary  or 
the  number  of  things  which  is  included  under  them  or  with 
which  they  are  associated  is  increased.  A single  word  is  thus 
made  to  do  duty  for  many  more  things  than  were  formerly 
expressed  by  it ; and  it  parts  into  different  senses  when  the 
classes  of  things  or  ideas  which  are  represented  by  it  are  them- 
selves different  and  distinct.  A figurative  use  of  a word  may 
easily  pass  into  a new  sense  : a new  meaning  caught  up  by  as- 
sociation may  become  more  important  than  all  the  rest.  The  good 
or  neutral  sense  of  a word,  such  as  Jesuit,  Puritan,  Methodist, 

Heretic,  has  been  often  converted  into  a bad  one  by  the  malevo- 
lence of  party  spirit.  Double  forms  suggest  different  mean- 
ings and  are  often  used  to  express  them  ; and  the  form  or 
accent  of  a word  has  been  not  unfrequently  altered  when  there 
is  a difference  of  meaning.  The  difference  of  gender  in  nouns 
is  utilized  for  the  same  reason.  New  meanings  of  words  push 
themselves  into  the  vacant  spaces  of  language  and  retire  when 
they  are  no  longer  needed.  Language  equally  abhors  vacancy 
and  superfluity.  But  the  remedial  measures  by  which  both 


CJ 


i 4 The  Jlaws  or  faults  of  language. 

Cratylus.  are  eliminated  are  not  due  to  any  conscious  action  of  the 
Introduc-  human  mind  ; nor  is  the  force  exerted  by  them  constraining 

TION. 

or  necessary. 

(7)  We  have  shown  that  language,  although  subject  to  laws, 
is  far  from  being  of  an  exact  and  uniform  nature.  We 
may  now  speak  briefly  of  the  faults  of  language.  They  may 
be  compared  to  the  faults  of  Geology,  in  which  different  strata 
cross  one  another  or  meet  at  an  angle,  or  mix  with  one  another 
either  by  slow  transitions  or  by  violent  convulsions,  leaving 
many  lacunae  which  can  be  no  longer  filled  up,  and  often  be- 
coming so  complex  that  no  true  explanation  of  them  can  be 
given.  So  in  language  there  are  the  cross  influences  of  meaning 
and  sound,  of  logic  and  grammar,  of  diff^ing  analogies,  of  words 
and  the  inflexions  of  words,  which  often  come  into  conflict 
with  each  other.  The  grammarian,  if  he  were  to  form  new 
words,  would  make  them  all  of  the  same  pattern  according  to 
what  he  conceives  to  be  the  rule,  that  is,  the  more  common 
usage  of  language.  The  subtlety  of  nature  goes  far  beyond  art, 
and  it  is  complicated  by  irregularity,  so  that  often  we  can  hardly 
saj'-  that  there  is  a right  or  wrong  in  the  formation  of  words. 
For  almost  any  formation  which  is  not  at  variance  with  the  first 
principles  of  language  is  possible  and  may  be  defended. 

The  imperfection  of  language  is  really  due  to  the  formation 
and  correlation  of  words  by  accident,  that  is  to  say,  by  prin- 
ciples which  are  unknown  to  us.  Hence  we  see  why  Plato, 
like  ourselves  unable  to  comprehend  the  whole  of  language, 
was  constrained  to  ‘ supplement  the  poor  creature  imitation  by 
another  poor  creature  convention.’  But  the  poor  cieature  con- 
vention in  the  end  proves  too  much  for  all  the  rest : for  we  do 
not  ask  what  is  the  origin  of  words  or  whether  they  are  formed 
according  to  a correct  analogy,  but  what  is  the  usage  of  them , 
and  we  are  compelled  to  admit  with  Hermogenes  in  Plato  and 
with  Horace  that  usage  is  the  ruling  principle,  ‘quern  penes 
arbitrium  est,  et  jus  et  norma  loquendi.’ 

(8)  There  are  two  ways  in  which  a language  may  attain  per- 
manence or  fixity.  First,  it  may  have  been  embodied  in  poems 
or  hymns  or  laws,  which  may  be  repeated  lor  hundreds,  per- 
haps for  thousands  of  years  with  a religious  accuracy,  so  that 
to  the  priests  or  rhapsodists  of  a nation  the  whole  or  the  greater 


Language  and  dialects.  315 

part  of  a language  is  literally  preserved  ; secondly,  it  may  be  Cratylus. 
written  down  and  in  a written  form  distributed  more  or  less  Introduc- 
widely  among  the  whole  nation.  In  either  case  the  language 
which  is  familiarly  spoken  may  have  grown  up  wholly  or  in 
a great  measure  independently  of  them.  (1)  The  first  of  these 
processes  has  been  sometimes  attended  by  the  result  that  the 
sound  of  the  words  has  been  carefully  preserved  and  that  the 
meaning  of  them  has  either  perished  wholly,  or  is  only  doubt- 
fully recovered  by  the  efforts  of  modern  philology.  The  verses 
have  been  repeated  as  a chant  or  part  of  a ritual,  but  they 
have  had  no  relation  to  ordinary  life  or  speech.  (2)  The  in- 
vention of  writing  again  is  commonly  attributed  to  a particular 
epoch,  and  we  are  apt  to  think  that  such  an  inestimable  gift  would 
have  immediately  been  diffused  over  a whole  country.  But  it 
may  have  taken  a long  time  to  perfect  the  art  ot  writing,  and 
another  long  period  may  have  elapsed  before  it  came  into  com- 
mon use.  Its  influence  on  language  has  been  increased  ten, 
twenty  or  one  hundred  fold  by  the  invention  of  printing. 

Before  the  growth  of  poetry  or  the  invention  of  writing,  lan- 
guages were  only  dialects.  So  they  continued  to  be  in  parts 
of  the  country  in  which  writing  was  not  used  or  in  which  there 
was  no  diffusion  of  literature.  In  most  of  the  counties  of  Eng- 
land  there  is  still  a provincial  style,  which  has  been  sometimes 
made  by  a great  poet  the  vehicle  of  his  fancies.  When  a book 
sinks  into  the  mind  of  a nation,  such  as  Luther’s  Bible  or  the 
Authorized  English  Translation  of  the  Bible,  or  again  great 
classical  works  like  Shakspere  or  Milton,  not  only  have  new 
powers  of  expression  been  diffused  through  a whole  nation,  but 
a great  step  towards  uniformity  has  been  made.  The  instinct 
of  language  demands  regular  grammar  and  correct  spelling : 
these  are  imprinted  deeply  on  the  tablets  of  a nation’s  memory 
by  a common  use  of  classical  and  popular  writers.  In  our 
own  day  we  have  attained  to  a point  at  which  nearly  every 
printed  book  is  spelt  correctly  and  written  grammatically. 

(9)  Proceeding  further  to  trace  the  influence  of  literature  on 
language  we  note  some  other  causes  which  have  affected  the 
higher  use  of  it:  such  as  (1)  the  necessity  of  clearness  and  con- 
nection ; (2)  the  fear  of  tautology  ; (3)  the  influence  of  metre, 


3 1 6 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Comparison  of  ancient  and  modern  languages. 

rhythm,  rhyme,  and  of  the  language  of  prose  and  verse  upon 
one  another ; (4)  the  power  of  idiom  and  quotation  ; (5)  the  re- 
lativeness of  words  to  one  another. 

It  has  been  usual  to  depreciate  modern  languages  when  com- 
pared with  ancient.  The  latter  are  regarded  as  furnishing  a 
type  of  excellence  to  which  the  former  cannot  attain.  But  the 
truth  seems  to  be  that  modern  languages,  if  through  the  loss 
of  inflections  and  genders  they  lack  some  power  or  beauty  or 
expressiveness  or  precision  which  is  possessed  by  the  ancient, 
are  in  many  other  respects  superior  to  them  : the  thought  is 
generally  clearer,  the  connection  closer,  the  sentence  and  para- 
graph are  better  distributed.  The  best  modern  languages,  for 
example  English  or  French,  possess  as  great  a power  of  self- 
improvement  as  the  Latin,  if  not  as  the  Greek.  Nor  does  there 
seem  to  be  any  reason  why  they  should  ever  decline  or  decay. 
It  is  a popular  remark  that  our  great  writers  are  beginning  to 
disappear  : it  may  also  be  remarked  that  whenever  a great 

writer  appears  in  the  future  he  will  find  the  English  language 
as  perfect  and  as  ready  for  use  as  in  the  days  of  Shakspere 
or  Milton.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  English  or  French 
will  ever  be  reduced  to  the  low  level  of  Modern  Greek  or  of 
Mediaeval  Latin.  The  wide  diffusion  of  great  authors  would 
make  such  a decline  impossible.  Nor  will  modern  languages 
be  easily  broken  up  by  amalgamation  with  each  other.  The 
distance  between  them  is  too  wide  to  be  spanned,  the  differences 
are  too  great  to  be  overcome,  and  the  use  of  printing  makes  it 
impossible  that  one  of  them  should  ever  be  lost  in  another. 

The  structure  of  the  English  language  differs  greatly  from 
that  of  either  Latin  or  Greek.  In  the  two  latter,  especially  in 
Greek,  sentences  are  joined  together  by  connecting  particles. 
They  are  distributed  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left  by  pev, 
Se,  dXXd,  kciltoi , teat  84  and  the  like,  or  deduced  from  one  another 
by  apa,  84,  oSv,  roivvv  and  the  like.  In  English  the  majority  of 
sentences  are  independent  and  in  apposition  to  one  another; 
they  are  laid  side  by  side  or  slightly  connected  by  the  copula. 
But  within  the  sentence  the  expression  of  the  logical  relations 
of  the  clauses  is  closer  and  more  exact : there  is  less  of  appo- 
sition and  participial  structure.  The  sentences  thus  laid  side 
by  side  are  also  constructed  into  paragraphs ; these  again 


are 


3 1 7 


The  fear  of  Tautology. 

less  distinctly  marked  in  Greek  and  Latin  than  in  English. 
Generally  French,  German,  and  English  have  an  advantage  over 
the  classical  languages  in  point  of  accuracy.  The  three  concords 
are  more  accurately  observed  in  English  than  in  either  Greek 
or  Latin.  On  the  other  hand,  the  extension  of  the  familiar  use 
of  the  masculine  and  feminine  gender  to  objects  of  sense  and 
abstract  ideas  as  well  as  to  men  and  animals  no  doubt  lends 
a nameless  grace  to  style  which  we  have  a difficulty  in  ap- 
preciating, and  the  possible  variety  in  the  order  of  words  gives 
more  flexibility  and  also  a kind  of  dignity  to  the  period.  Of 
the  comparative  effect  of  accent  and  quantity  and  of  the  rela- 
tion between  them  in  ancient  and  modern  languages  we  are 
not  able  to  judge. 

Another  quality  in  which  modern  are  superior  to  ancient 
languages  is  freedom  from  tautology.  No  English  style  is 
thought  tolerable  in  which,  except  for  the  sake  of  emphasis, 
the  same  words  are  repeated  at  short  intervals.  Of  course  the 
length  of  the  interval  must  depend  on  the  character  of  the  word. 
Striking  words  and  expressions  cannot  be  allowed  to  reappear, 
if  at  all,  except  at  the  distance  of  a page  or  more.  Pronouns, 
prepositions,  conjunctions  may  or  rather  must  recur  in  succes- 
sive lines.  It  seems  to  be  a kind  of  impertinence  to  the  reader 
and  strikes  unpleasantly  both  on  the  mind  and  on  the  ear  that 
the  same  sounds  should  be  used  twice  over,  when  another  word 
or  turn  of  expression  would  have  given  a new  shade  of  mean- 
ing to  the  thought  and  would  have  added  a pleasing  variety 
to  the  sound.  And  the  mind  equally  rejects  the  repetition  of 
the  word  and  the  use  of  a mere  synonym  for  it,— e.  g.  felicity 
and  happiness.  The  cultivated  mind  desires  something  more, 
which  a skilful  writer  is  easily  able  to  supply  out  of  his 
treasure-house. 

The  fear  of  tautology  has  doubtless  led  to  the  multiplications 
of  words  and  the  meanings  of  words,  and  generally  to  an  en- 
largement of  the  vocabulary.  It  is  a very  early  instinct  of  lan- 
guage ; for  ancient  poetry  is  almost  as  free  from  tautology  as 
the  best  modern  writings.  The  speech  of  young  children,  ex- 
cept in  so  far  as  they  are  compelled  to  repeat  themselves  by 
the  fewness  of  their  words,  also  escapes  from  it.  When  they 
grow  up  and  have  ideas  which  are  beyond  their  powers  of 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


3 1 8 Poetry  and  Prose. 

Craiylus.  expression,  especially  in  writing,  tautology  begins  to  appear.  In 

Introduc-  like  manner  when  language  is  ‘ contaminated  ’ by  philosophy 

TION. 

it  is  apt  to  become  awkward,  to  stammer  and  repeat  itself,  to 
lose  its  flow  and  freedom.  No  philosophical  writer  with  the 
exception  of  Plato,  who  is  himself  not  free  from  tautology, 
and  perhaps  Bacon,  has  attained  to  any  high  degree  of  literary 
excellence. 

To  poetry  the  form  and  polish  of  language  is  chiefly  to 
be  attributed ; and  the  most  critical  period  in  the  history  of 
language  is  the  transition  from  verse  to  prose.  At  first  man- 
kind were  contented  to  express  their  thoughts  in  a set  form  of 
words  having  a kind  of  rhythm ; to  which  regularity  was  given 
by  accent  and  quantity.  But  after  a time  they  demanded  a 
greater  degree  of  freedom,  and  to  those  who  had  all  their  life 
been  hearing  poetry  the  first  introduction  of  prose  had  the  charm 
of  novelty.  The  prose  romances  into  which  the  Homeric  Poems 
were  converted,  for  a while  probably  gave  more  delight  to  the 
hearers  or  readers  of  them  than  the  Poems  themselves,  and  in  time 
the  relation  of  the  two  was  reversed  : the  poems  which  had  once 
been  a necessity  of  the  human  mind  became  a luxury : they  were 
now  superseded  by  prose,  which  in  all  succeeding  ages  became 
the  natural  vehicle  of  expression  to  all  mankind.  Henceforward 
prose  and  poetry  formed  each  other.  A comparatively  slender 
link  between  them  was  also  furnished  by  proverbs.  We  may 
trace  in  poetry  how  the  simple  succession  of  lines,  not  without 
monotony,  has  passed  into  a complicated  period,  and  how  in  prose, 
rhythm  and  accent  and  the  order  of  words  and  the  balance  of 
clauses,  sometimes  not  without  a slight  admixture  of  rhyme, 
make  up  a new  kind  of  harmony,  swelling  into  strains  not  less 
majestic  than  those  of  Homer,  Virgil,  or  Dante. 

One  of  the  most  curious  and  characteristic  features  of  language, 
affecting  both  syntax  and  style,  is  idiom.  The  meaning  of  the  word 
‘ idiom  ’ is  that  which  is  peculiar,  that  which  is  familiar,  the  word  or 
expression  which  strikes  us  or  comes  home  to  us,  which  is  more 
readily  understood  or  more  easily  remembered.  It  is  a quality 
which  really  exists  in  infinite  degrees,  which  we  turn  into  dif- 
ferences of  kind  by  applying  the  term  only  to  conspicuous  and 
striking  examples  of  words  or  phrases  which  have  this  quality. 
It  often  supersedes  the  laws  of  language  or  the  rules  of  grammar. 


Idiom. 


or  rather  is  to  be  regarded  as  another  law  of  language  which 
is  natural  and  necessary.  The  word  or  phrase  which  has  been 
repeated  many  times  over  is  more  intelligible  and  familiar  to  us 
than  one  which  is  rare,  and  our  familiarity  with  it  more  than 
compensates  for  incorrectness  or  inaccuracy  in  the  use  of  it. 
Striking  expressions  also  which  have  moved  the  hearts  of  nations 
or  are  the  precious  stones  and  jewels  of  great  authors  partake 
of  the  nature  of  idioms  : they  are  taken  out  of  the  sphere  of 
grammar  and  are  exempt  from  the  proprieties  of  language. 
Every  one  knows  that  we  often  put  words  together  in  a manner 
which  would  be  intolerable  if  it  were  not  idiomatic.  We  cannot 
argue  either  about  the  meaning  of  words  or  the  use  of  construc- 
tions that  because  they  are  used  in  one  connection  they  will 
be  legitimate  in  another,  unless  we  allow  for  this  principle. 
We  can  bear  to  have  words  and  sentences  used  in  new  senses 
or  in  a new  order  or  even  a little  perverted  in  meaning  when 
we  are  quite  familiar  with  them.  Quotations  are  as  often  applied 
in  a sense  which  the  author  did  not  intend  as  in  that  which  he 
did.  The  parody  of  the  words  of  Shakspere  or  of  the  Bible, 
which  has  in  it  something  of  the  nature  of  a lie,  is  far  from 
unpleasing  to  us.  The  better  known  words,  even  if  their 
meaning  be  perverted,  are  more  agreeable  to  us  and  have  a 
greater  power  over  us.  Most  of  us  have  experienced  a sort 
of  delight  and  feeling  of  curiosity  when  we  first  came  across 
or  when  we  first  used  for  ourselves  a new  word  or  phrase 
or  figure  of  speech. 

There  are  associations  of  sound  and  of  sense  by  which  every 
word  is  linked  to  every  other.  One  letter  harmonizes  with 
another ; every  verb  or  noun  derives  its  meaning,  not  only  from 
itself,  but  from  the  words  with  which  it  is  associated.  Some 
reflection  of  them  near  or  distant  is  embodied  in  it.  In  any 
new  use  of  a word  all  the  existing  uses  of  it  have  to  be  con- 
sidered. Upon  these  depends  the  question  whether  it  will  bear 
the  proposed  extension  of  meaning  or  not.  According  to  the 
famous  expression  of  Luther,  ‘ Words  are  living  creatures, 
having  hands  and  feet.’  When  they  cease  to  retain  this  living 
power  of  adaptation,  when  they  are  only  put  together  like  the 
parts  of  a piece  of  furniture,  language  becomes  unpoetical,  in- 
expressive, dead. 


3*9 

Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


32° 


Cratylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


The  relativeness  of  language. 

Grammars  would  lead  us  to  suppose  that  words  have  a fixed 
form  and  sound.  Lexicons  assign  to  each  word  a definite 
meaning  or  meanings.  They  both  tend  to  obscure  the  fact 
that  the  sentence  precedes  the  word  and  that  all  language  is 
relative,  (i)  It  is  relative  to  its  own  context.  Its  meaning  is 
modified  by  what  has  been  said  before  and  after  in  the  same 
or  in  some  other  passage : without  comparing  the  context  we 
are  not  sure  whether  it  is  used  in  the  same  sense  even  in  two 
successive  sentences.  (2)  It  is  relative  to  facts,  to  time,  place, 
and  occasion  : when  they  are  already  known  to  the  hearer  or 
reader,  they  may  be  presupposed ; there  is  no  need  to  allude 
to  them  further.  (3)  It  is  relative  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
writer  and  reader  or  of  the  speaker  and  hearer.  Except  for 
the  sake  of  order  and  consecutiveness  nothing  ought  to  be  ex- 
pressed which  is  already  commonly  or  universally  known.  A 
word  or  two  may  be  sufficient  to  give  an  intimation  to  a friend  ; 
a long  or  elaborate  speech  or  composition  is  required  to  explain 
some  new  idea  to  a popular  audience  or  to  the  ordinary  reader 
or  to  a young  pupil.  Grammars  and  dictionaries  are  not  to 
be  despised  ; for  in  teaching  we  need  clearness  rather  than 
subtlety.  But  we  must  not  therefore  forget  that  there  is  also 
a higher  ideal  of  language  in  which  all  is  relative — sounds  to 
sounds,  words  to  words,  the  parts  to  the  whole — in  which  be- 
sides the  lesser  context  of  the  book  or  speech,  there  is  also  the 
larger  context  of  history  and  circumstances. 

The  study  of  Comparative  Philology  has  introduced  into  the 
world  a new  science  which  more  than  any  other  binds  up 
man  with  nature,  and  distant  ages  and  countries  with  one 
another.  It  may  be  said  to  have  thrown  a light  upon  all  other 
sciences  and  upon  the  nature  of  the  human  mind  itself.  The 
true  conception  of  it  dispels  many  errors,  not  only  of  meta- 
physics and  theology,  but  also  of  natural  knowledge.  \ et  it 
is  far  from  certain  that  this  newly-found  science  will  continue 
to  progress  in  the  same  surprising  manner  as  heretofore  ; or 
that  even  if  our  materials  are  largely  increased,  we  shall  arrive  at 
much  more  definite  conclusions  than  at  present.  Like  some  other 
branches  of  knowledge,  it  may  be  approaching  a point  at  which 
it  can  no  longer  be  profitably  studied.  But  at  any  rate  it  has 
brought  back  the  philosophy  of  language  from  theory  to  fact ; 


Nature  and  growth  of  language. 

it  has  passed  out  of  the  region  of  guesses  and  hypotheses,  and  has 
attained  the  dignity  of  an  Inductive  Science.  And  it  is  not  with- 
out practical  and  political  importance.  It  gives  a new  interest  to 
distant  and  subject  countries  ; it  brings  back  the  dawning  light 
from  one  end  of  the  earth  to  the  other.  Nations,  like  individuals, 
are  better  understood  by  us  when  we  know  something  of  their  early 
life ; and  when  they  are  better  understood  by  us,  we  feel  more 
kindly  towards  them.  Lastly,  we  may  remember  that  all  know- 
ledge is  valuable  for  its  own  sake ; and  we  may  also  hope  that  a 
deeper  insight  into  the  nature  of  human  speech  will  give  us  a 
greater  command  of  it  and  enable  us  to  make  a nobler  use  of  it  '. 

1 Compare  again  W.  Humboldt,  ‘ Ueber  die  V erschiedenheit  des  menschliehen 
Sprachbaues ; ’ M.  Muller,  ‘Lectures  on  the  Science  of  Language;’  Steinthal, 
‘ Einleitnng  in  die  Psychologie  und  Sprachwissenschaft and  for  the  latter  part 
of  the  Essay,  Delbriick,  ‘ Study  of  Language  Paul’s  ‘ Principles  of  the  History 
of  Language  : ’ to  the  latter  work  the  author  of  this  Essay  is  largely  indebted. 


VOL.  I. 


Y 


321 

Cralylus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


CRATYLUS. 


PEA 'SONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 
Socrates,  IIermogenes,  Cratylus. 


steph.  Hermogenes.  Suppose  that  we  make  Socrates  a party  to 
3S3  the  argument  ? 

Cratylus.  If  you  please. 

Her.  I should  explain  to  you,  Socrates,  that  our  friend 
Cratylus  has  been  arguing  about  names ; he  says  that  they 
are  natural  and  not  conventional ; not  a portion  of  the 
human  voice  which  men  agree  to  use ; but  that  there  is  a 
truth  or  correctness  in  them,  which  is  the  same  for  Hellenes 
as  for  barbarians.  Whereupon  I ask  him,  whether  his  own 
name  of  Cratylus  is  a true  name  or  not,  and  he  answers 
‘Yes.’  And  Socrates?  ‘Yes.’  Then  every  man’s  name,  as 
I tell  him,  is  that  which  he  is  called.  To  this  he  replies  — 
‘If  all  the  world  were  to  call  you  Hermogenes,  that  would 
not  be  your  name.’  And  when  I am  anxious  to  have  a 
384  further  explanation  he  is  ironical  and  mysterious,  and  seems 
to  imply  that  he  has  a notion  of  his  own  about  the  matter,  if 
he  would  only  tell,  and  could  entirely  convince  me,  if  he 
chose  to  be  intelligible.  Tell  me,  Socrates,  what  this  oracle 
means ; or  rather  tell  me,  if  you  will  be  so  good,  what  is 
your  own  view  of  the  truth  or  correctness  of  names,  which  I 
would  far  sooner  hear. 

Socrates.  Son  of  Hipponicus,  there  is  an  ancient  saying, 
that  ‘hard  is  the  knowledge  of  the  good.’  And  the  know- 
ledge of  names  is  a great  part  of  knowledge.  If  I had 
not  been  poor,  I might  have  heard  the  fifty-drachma  course 
of  the  great  Prodicus,  which  is  a complete  education  in 


Cratylus. 

Hermo- 

genes, 

Cratylus, 

Socrates. 

Cratylus 
and  Her- 
mogenes 
have  been 
disputing 
about 
names  : 
they  refer 
their  dis- 
pute to 
Socrates. 


Socrates 
not  having 
heard  the 
fifty- 
drachma 
course  of 
Prodicus, 


V 2 


324 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

is  incompe- 
tent to  de- 
ckle. 


There  is  no 
correctness 
in  names 
other  than 
convention, 
says  Her- 
mogenes. 


But  how, 

rejoins 

Socrates, 


Socrates  and  Hermogenes. 

grammar  and  language — these  are  his  own  words — and  then 
I should  have  been  at  once  able  to  answer  your  question 
about  the  correctness  of  names.  But,  indeed,  I have  only 
heard  the  single-drachma  course,  and  therefore,  I do  not 
know  the  truth  about  such  matters ; I will,  however,  gladly 
assist  you  and  Cratylus  in  the  investigation  of  them.  When 
he  declares  that  your  name  is  not  really  Hermogenes,  I 
suspect  that  he  is  only  making  fun  of  you  ; — he  means  to  say 
that  you  are  no  true  son  of  Hermes,  because  you  are  always 
looking  after  a fortune  and  never  in  luck.  But,  as  I was 
saying,  there  is  a good  deal  of  difficulty  in  this  sort  of  know- 
ledge, and  therefore  we  had  better  leave  the  question  open 
until  we  have  heard  both  sides. 

Her.  I have  often  talked  over  this  matter,  both  with 
Cratylus  and  others,  and  cannot  convince  myself  that  there 
is  any  principle  of  correctness  in  names  other  than  con- 
vention and  agreement ; any  name  which  you  give,  in  my 
opinion,  is  the  right  one,  and  if  you  change  that  and  give 
another,  the  new  name  is  as  correct  as  the  old— we  fre- 
quently change  the  names  of  our  slaves,  and  the  newly- 
imposed  name  is  as  good  as  the  old  : for  there  is  no  name 
given  to  anything  by  nature ; all  is  convention  and  habit  of 
the  users ; — such  is  my  view.  But  if  I am  mistaken  I shall 
be  happy  to  hear  and  learn  of  Cratylus,  or  of  any  one  else. 

Soc.  I dare  say  that  you  maybe  right,  Hermogenes:  let  385 
us  see;— Your  meaning  is,  that  the  name  of  each  thing  is 
only  that  which  anybody  agrees  to  call  it  ? 

Her.  That  is  my  notion. 

Soc.  Whether  the  giver  of  the  name  be  an  individual  or  a 
city? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  Well,  now,  let  me  take  an  instance ;— suppose  that  I 
call  a man  a horse  or  a horse  a man,  you  mean  to  say  that  a 
man  will  be  rightly  called  a horse  by  me  individually,  and 
rightly  called  a man  by  the  rest  of  the  world ; and  a horse 
again  would  be  rightly  called  a man  by  me  and  a horse  by 
the  world  that  is  your  meaning? 

Her.  He  would,  according  to  my  view. 

Soc.  But  how  about  truth,  then  ? you  would  acknowledge 
that  there  is  in  words  a true  and  a false  ? 


Names  and  propositions. 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  there  are  true  and  false  propositions  ? 

Her.  To  be  sure. 

Soc.  And  a true  proposition  says  that  which  is,  and  a false 
proposition  says  that  which  is  not  ? 

Her.  Yes  ; what  other  answer  is  possible  ? 

Soc.  Then  in  a proposition  there  is  a true  and  false  ? 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  But  is  a proposition  true  as  a whole  only,  and  are 
the  parts  untrue  ? 

Her.  No ; the  parts  are  true  as  well  as  the  whole. 

Soc.  Would  you  say  the  large  parts  and  not  the  smaller 
ones,  or  every  part  ? 

Her.  I should  say  that  every  part  is  true. 

Soc.  Is  a proposition  resolvable  into  any  part  smaller  than 
a name  ? 

Her.  No;  that  is  the  smallest. 

Soc.  Then  the  name  is  a part  of  the  true  proposition  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  Yes,  and  a true  part,  as  you  say. 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  is  not  the  part  of  a falsehood  also  a falsehood  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  Then,  if  propositions  may  be  true  and  false,  names 
may  be  true  and  false? 

Her.  So  we  must  infer. 

Soc.  And  the  name  of  anything  is  that  which  any  one 
affirms  to  be  the  name? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  will  there  be  so  many  names  of  each  thing  as 
everybody  says  that  there  are  ? and  will  they  be  true  names 
at  the  time  of  uttering  them  ? 

Her.  Yes,  Socrates,  I can  conceive  no  correctness  ot 
names  other  than  this ; you  give  one  name,  and  I another ; 
and  in  different  cities  and  countries  there  are  different 
names  for  the  same  things;  Hellenes  differ  from  barbarians 
in  their  use  of  names,  and  the  several  Hellenic  tribes  from 
one  another. 

Soc.  But  would  you  say,  Hermogenes,  that  the  things 
386  differ  as  the  names  differ?  and  are  they  relative  to  in- 


325 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

is  this  doc- 
trine con- 
sistent with 
any  dis- 
tinction 
between 
truth  and 
falsehood  ? 

If  the  whole 
is  true,  the 
parts  must 
be  true  ; if 
proposi- 
tions, then 
names. 


3 26 


Protagoras  and  Euthydemus. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

GENKS. 


Is  Prota- 
goras right 
or  wrong  in 
his  doctrine 
that  ' man 
is  the 
measure  ’ 
and  that 
things  are 
as  they 
appear  ? 


If  there  is 
any  differ- 
ence be- 
tween good 
and  evil, 
truth  and 
falsehood, 
he  must  be 
wrong,  and 
Euthyde- 
mus, who 
says  that 
all  things 
belong  to 
all,  equally 
wrong. 


dividuals,  as  Protagoras  tells  us?  For  he  says  that  man  is 
the  measure  of  all  things,  and  that  things  are  to  me  as  they 
appear  to  me,  and  that  they  are  to  you  as  they  appear  to 
you.  Do  you  agree  with  him,  or  would  you  say  that  things 
have  a permanent  essence  of  their  own  ? 

Her.  There  have  been  times,  Socrates,  when  I have  been 
driven  in  my  perplexity  to  take  refuge  with  Protagoras;  not 
that  I agree  with  him  at  all. 

Soc.  What ! have  you  ever  been  driven  to  admit  that 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  a bad  man  ? 

Her.  No,  indeed;  but  I have  often  had  reason  to  think 
that  there  are  very  bad  men,  and  a good  many  of  them. 

Soc.  Well,  and  have  you  ever  found  any  very  good  ones? 

Her.  Not  many. 

Soc.  Still  you  have  found  them? 

Her.  Y es. 

Soc.  And  would  you  hold  that  the  very  good  were  the 
very  wise,  and  the  very  evil  very  foolish?  Would  that  be 
your  view  ? 

Her.  It  would. 

Soc.  But  if  Protagoras  is  right,  and  the  truth  is  that 
things  are  as  they  appear  to  any  one,  how  can  some  of  us  be 
wise  and  some  of  us  foolish  ? 

Her.  Impossible. 

Soc.  And  if,  on  the  other  hand,  wisdom  and  folly  are  really 
distinguishable,  you  will  allow,  I think,  that  the  assertion  of 
Protagoras  can  hardly  be  correct.  For  if  what  appears  to 
each  man  is  true  to  him,  one  man  cannot  in  reality  be  wiser 
than  another. 

Her.  He  cannot. 

Soc.  Nor  will  you  be  disposed  to  say  with  Euthydemus, 
that  all  things  equally  belong  to  all  men  at  the  same  moment 
and  always ; for  neither  on  his  view  can  there  be  some  good 
and  others  bad,  if  virtue  and  vice  are  always  equally  to  be 
attributed  to  all. 

Her.  There  cannot. 

Soc.  But  if  neither  is  right,  and  things  are  not  relative  to 
individuals,  and  all  things  do  not  equally  belong  to  all  at  the 
same  moment  and  always,  they  must  be  supposed  to  have 
their  own  proper  and  permanent  essence  : they  are  not  in 


The  sophistries  of  both  exploded. 


32  7 


relation  to  us,  or  influenced  by  us,  fluctuating  according  to 
our  fancy,  but  they  are  independent,  and  maintain  to  their 
own  essence  the  relation  prescribed  by  nature. 

Her.  I think,  Socrates,  that  you  have  said  the  truth. 

Soc.  Does  what  I am  saying  apply  only  to  the  things 
themselves,  or  equally  to  the  actions  which  proceed  from 
them  ? Are  not  actions  also  a class  of  being  ? 

Her.  Yes,  the  actions  are  real  as  well  as  the  things. 

3S7  Soc.  Then  the  actions  also  are  done  according  to  their 
proper  nature,  and  not  according  to  our  opinion  of  them? 
In  cutting,  for  example,  we  do  not  cut  as  we  please,  and 
with  any  chance  instrument;  but  we  cut  with  the  proper 
instrument  only,  and  according  to  the  natural  process  of 
cutting;  and  the  natural  process  is  right  and  will  succeed, 
but  any  other  will  fail  and  be  of  no  use  at  all. 

Her.  I should  say  that  the  natural  way  is  the  right 
way. 

Soc.  Again,  in  burning,  not  every  way  is  the  right  way ; 
but  the  right  way  is  the  natural  way,  and  the  right  instru- 
ment the  natural  instrument. 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  And  this  holds  good  of  all  actions  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  speech  is  a kind  of  action  ? 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  And  will  a man  speak  correctly  who  speaks  as  he 
pleases  ? Will  not  the  successful  speaker  rather  be  he  who 
speaks  in  the  natural  way  of  speaking,  and  as  things  ought 
to  be  spoken,  and  with  the  natural  instrument  ? Any  other 
mode  of  speaking  will  result  in  error  and  failure. 

Her.  I quite  agree  with  you. 

Soc.  And  is  not  naming  a part  of  speaking?  for  in  giving 
names  men  speak. 

Her.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  And  if  speaking  is  a sort  of  action  and  has  a relation 
to  acts,  is  not  naming  also  a sort  of  action  ? 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  And  we  saw  that  actions  were  not  relative  to  our- 
selves, but  had  a special  nature  of  their  own  ? 

Her.  Precisely. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

GENES. 

Things  and 
actions 
have  their 
own  proper 
nature,  and 
are  made  or 
done  by  a 
natural  pro- 
cess. 


This  prin- 
ciple ap- 
plied to 
speech. 


328 


The  analogy  of  other  arts. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cenes. 

The  several 
arts  have 
their  own 
proper  in- 
struments. 


Soc.  Then  the  argument  would  lead  us  to  infer  that  names 
ought  to  be  given  according  to  a natural  process,  and  with  a 
proper  instrument,  and  not  at  our  pleasure : in  this  and  no 
other  way  shall  we  name  with  success. 

Her.  I agree. 

Soc.  But  again,  that  which  has  to  be  cut  has  to  be  cut 
with  something? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  that  which  has  to  be  woven  or  pierced  has  to  be 
woven  or  pierced  with  something? 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  that  which  has  to  be  named  has  to  be  named 
with  something  ? 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  What  is  that  with  which  we  pierce  ? 

Her.  An  awl. 

Soc.  And  with  which  we  weave  ? 3^8 

Her.  A shuttle. 

Soc.  And  with  which  we  name  ? 

Her.  A name. 

Soc.  Very  good  : then  a name  is  an  instrument? 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Suppose  that  I ask,  ‘What  sort  of  instrument  is  a 
shuttle?’  And  you  answer,  ‘A  weaving  instrument.’ 

Her.  Well. 

Soc.  And  I ask  again,  1 What  do  we  do  when  we  weave  ? ’ 

— The  answer  is,  that  we  separate  or  disengage  the  warp 
from  the  woof. 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  And  may  not  a similar  description  be  given  of  an 
awl,  and  of  instruments  in  general  ? 

Her.  To  be  sure. 

Soc.  And  now  suppose  that  I ask  a similar  question  about 
names  : will  you  answer  me  ? Regarding  the  name  as  an 
instrument,  what  do  we  do  when  we  name  ? 

Her.  I cannot  say. 

Soc.  Do  we  not  give  information  to  one  another,  and 
distinguish  things  according  to  their  natures? 

Her.  Certainly  we  do. 

Soc.  Then  a name  is  an  instrument  of  teaching  and  of 


329 


The  analogy  of  other  arts. 

distinguishing  natures,  as  the  shuttle  is  of  distinguishing  the 
threads  of  the  web. 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  the  shuttle  is  the  instrument  of  the  weaver? 

Her.  Assuredly. 

Soc.  Then  the  weaver  will  use  the  shuttle  well — and  well 
means  like  a weaver?  and  the  teacher  will  use  the  name 
well — and  well  means  like  a teacher? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  when  the  weaver  uses  the  shuttle,  whose  work 
will  he  be  using  well  ? 

Her.  That  of  the  carpenter. 

Soc.  And  is  every  man  a carpenter,  or  the  skilled  only? 

Her.  Only  the  skilled. 

Soc.  And  when  the  piercer  uses  the  awl,  whose  work  will 
he  be  using  well  ? 

Her.  That  of  the  smith. 

Soc.  And  is  every  man  a smith,  or  only  the  skilled  ? 

Her.  The  skilled  only. 

Soc.  And  when  the  teacher  uses  the  name,  whose  work 
will  he  be  using  ? 

Her.  There  again  I am  puzzled. 

Soc.  Cannot  you  at  least  say  who  gives  us  the  names 
which  we  use  ? 

Her.  Indeed  I cannot. 

Soc.  Does  not  the  law  seem  to  you  to  give  us  them  ? 

Her.  Y es,  I suppose  so. 

Soc.  Then  the  teacher,  when  he  gives  us  a name,  uses  the 
work  of  the  legislator  ? 

Her.  I agree. 

Soc.  And  is  every  man  a legislator,  or  the  skilled  only  ? 

Her.  The  skilled  only. 

Soc.  Then,  Hermogenes,  not  every  man  is  able  to  give 
a name,  but  only  a maker  of  names ; and  this  is  the 
legislator,  who  of  all  skilled  artisans  in  the  world  is  the 
rarest. 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  And  how  does  the  legislator  make  names  ? and  to 
what  does  he  look?  Consider  this  in  the  light  of  the 
previous  instances : to  what  does  the  carpenter  look  in 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

A name  is 
the  instru- 
ment which 
teaches  and 
distin- 
guishes 
natures. 


And  as  the 
other  arts 
use  the 
work  of 
others,  so 
the  teacher 
uses  the 
work  of  the 
legislator, 
who  is  the 
maker  of 
names. 


33° 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

The  car- 
penter in 
making  the 
shuttle 
looks  to  the 
idea  or 
natural 
form  of  the 
shuttle, 
being  such 
as  is  best 
adapted  to 
each  kind 
of  work. 


And  so  the 
legislator 
looks  to  the 
true  form  or 
expression 
of  things  in 
sounds  and 
syllables, 
though, 
like  the 
carpenter, 
he  may 


The  legislator  who 

making  the  shuttle  ? Does  he  not  look  to  that  which  is 
naturally  fitted  to  act  as  a shuttle? 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  suppose  the  shuttle  to  be  broken  in  making,  will 
he  make  another,  looking  to  the  broken  one?  or  will  he 
look  to  the  form  according  to  which  he  made  the  other? 

Her.  To  the  latter,  I should  imagine. 

Soc.  Might  not  that  be  justly  called  the  true  or  ideal 
shuttle  ? 

Her.  I think  so. 

Soc.  And  whatever  shuttles  are  wanted,  for  the  manu- 
facture of  garments,  thin  or  thick,  of  flaxen,  woollen,  or 
other  material,  ought  all  of  them  to  have  the  true  form  of  the 
shuttle ; and  whatever  is  the  shuttle  best  adapted  to  each 
kind  of  work,  that  ought  to  be  the  form  which  the  maker 
produces  in  each  case. 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  the  same  holds  of  other  instruments:  when  a 
man  has  discovered  the  instrument  which  is  naturally 
adapted  to  each  work,  he  must  express  this  natural  form, 
and  not  others  which  he  fancies,  in  the  material,  whatever  it 
may  be,  which  he  employs ; for  example,  he  ought  to  know 
how  to  put  into  iron  the  forms  of  awls  adapted  by  nature  to 
their  several  uses  ? 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  how  to  put  into  wood  forms  of  shuttles  adapted 
by  nature  to  their  uses  ? 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  For  the  several  forms  of  shuttles  naturally  answer  to 
the  several  kinds  of  webs ; and  this  is  true  ot  instruments  in 
general. 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  Then,  as  to  names : ought  not  our  legislator  also  to 
know  how  to  put  the  true  natural  name  of  each  thing  into 
sounds  and  syllables,  and  to  make  and  give  all  names  with  a 
view  to  the  ideal  name,  if  he  is  to  be  a namer  in  any  true 
sense?  And  we  must  remember  that  different  legislators 
will  not  use  the  same  syllables.  For  neither  does  every 
smith,  although  he  may  be  making  the  same  instrument  for 
the  same  purpose,  make  them  all  of  the  same  iron.  The 


gives  laws  to  language. 


form  must  be  the  same,  but  the  material  may  vary,  and  still  Craiylus. 
the  instrument  may  be  equally  good  of  whatever  iron  made,  Socrates, 
390  whether  in  Hellas  or  in  a foreign  country; — there  is  no  Hermo- 
difference.  , . 

work  in 

Her.  Very  true.  different 

Soc.  And  the  legislator,  whether  he  be  Hellene  or  bar-  matenals- 
barian,  is  not  therefore  to  be  deemed  by  you  a worse  legis- 
lator, provided  he  gives  the  true  and  proper  form  of  the 
name  in  whatever  syllables ; this  or  that  country  makes  no 
matter. 

Her.  Quite  true. 

Soc.  But  who  then  is  to  determine  whether  the  proper  This  true 
form  is  given  to  the  shuttle,  whatever  sort  of  wood  may  be  form  1S  de‘ 

, . termined 

used?  the  carpenter  who  makes,  or  the  weaver  who  is  to  by  the  user. 

use  them  ? 

Her.  I should  say,  he  who  is  to  use  them,  Socrates. 

Soc.  And  who  uses  the  work  of  the  lyre-maker?  Will 
not  he  be  the  man  who  knows  how  to  direct  what  is  being 
done,  and  who  will  know  also  whether  the  work  is  being 
well  done  or  not  ? 

Her.  Certain  1}'. 

Soc.  And  who  is  he  ? 

Her.  The  player  of  the  lyre. 

Soc.  And  who  will  direct  the  shipwright  ? 

Her.  The  pilot. 

Soc.  And  who  will  be  best  able  to  direct  the  legislator  in 
his  work,  and  will  know  whether  the  work  is  well  done,  in 
this  or  any  other  country  ? Will  not  the  user  be  the  man  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  this  is  he  who  knows  how  to  ask  questions  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  how  to  answer  them  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  him  who  knows  how  to  ask  and  answer  you 
would  call  a dialectician  ? 

Her.  Yes;  that  would  be  his  name. 

Soc.  Then  the  work  of  the  carpenter  is  to  make  a rudder, 
and  the  pilot  has  to  direct  him,  if  the  rudder  is  to  be  well 
made. 

Her.  True. 


332 

Cratylus, 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 


Socrates 
cannot 
answer  of 
himself  the 
question, 

' What  is 
the  natural 
fitness  of 
names?' 
The  en- 
quiry must 
be  shared 
between 
them. 


The  irony  of 
Socrates  : — 
' We  must 
learn  of  the 
Sophists.' 


The  doctrine  of  the  Sophists  about  names. 

Soc.  And  the  work  of  the  legislator  is  to  give  names,  and 
the  dialectician  must  be  his  director  if  the  names  are  to  be 
rightty  given  ? 

Her.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Then,  Hermogenes,  I should  say  that  this  giving  of 
names  can  be  no  such  light  matter  as  you  fancy,  or  the  work 
of  light  or  chance  persons ; and  Cratylus  is  right  in  saying 
that  things  have  names  by  nature,  and  that  not  every  man  is 
an  artificer  of  names,  but  he  only  who  looks  to  the  name 
which  each  thing  by  nature  has,  and  is  able  to  express 
the  true  forms  of  things  in  letters  and  syllables. 

Her.  I cannot  answer  you,  Socrates ; but  I find  a difficulty 
in  changing  my  opinion  all  in  a moment,  and  I think  that  I 391 
should  be  more  readily  persuaded,  if  you  would  show  me 
what  this  is  which  you  term  the  natural  fitness  of  names. 

Soc.  My  good  Hermogenes,  I have  none  to  show.  Was 
I not  telling  you  just  now  (but  you  have  forgotten),  that  I 
knew  nothing,  and  proposing  to  share  the  enquiry  with 
you  ? But  now  that  you  and  I have  talked  over  the  matter, 
a step  has  been  gained  ; for  we  have  discovered  that  names 
have  by  nature  a truth,  and  that  not  every  man  knows  how 
to  give  a thing  a name. 

Her.  Very  good. 

Soc.  And  what  is  the  nature  of  this  truth  or  correctness  of 
names  ? That,  if  you  care  to  know,  is  the  next  question. 

Her.  Certainly,  I care  to  know. 

Soc.  Then  reflect. 

Her.  How  shall  I reflect? 

Soc.  The  true  way  is  to  have  the  assistance  of  those  who 
know,  and  you  must  pay  them  well  both  in  money  and  in 
thanks ; these  are  the  Sophists,  of  whom  your  brother, 
Callias,  has— rather  dearly— bought  the  reputation  of  wis- 
dom. But  you  have  not  yet  come  into  your  inheritance, 
and  therefore  you  had  better  go  to  him,  and  beg  and  entreat 
him  to  tell  you  what  he  has  learnt  from  Protagoras  about 
the  fitness  of  names. 

Her.  But  how  inconsistent  should  I be,  if,  whilst  re- 
pudiating Protagoras  and  his  truth  ’,  I were  to  attach  any 
value  to  what  he  and  his  book  affirm  ! 

1 ‘ Truth  ’ was  the  title  of  the  book  of  Protagoras ; cp.  Thcaet.  161  E. 


What  do  the  poets  say  about  navies  ? 


Soc.  Then  if  you  despise  him,  you  must  learn  of  Homer 
and  the  poets. 

Her.  And  where  does  Homer  say  anything  about  names, 
and  what  does  he  say  ? 

Soc.  He  often  speaks  of  them;  notably  and  nobly  in  the 
places  where  he  distinguishes  the  different  names  which 
Gods  and  men  give  to  the  same  things.  Does  he  not  in 
these  passages  make  a remarkable  statement  about  the 
correctness  of  names?  For  the  Gods  must  clearly  be  sup- 
posed to  call  things  by  their  right  and  natural  names;  do 
you  not  think  so  ? 

Her.  Why,  of  course  they  call  them  rightly,  if  they  call 
them  at  all.  But  to  what  are  you  referring  ? 

Soc.  Do  you  not  know  what  he  says  about  the  river  in 
Troy  who  had  a single  combat  with  Hephaestus? 

! Whom,’  as  he  says,  ‘ the  Gods  call  Xanthus,  and  men  call  Scarnander.’ 

Her.  I remember. 

Soc.  Well,  and  about  this  river — to  know  that  he  ought  to 
be  called  Xanthus  and  not  Scamander — is  not  that  a solemn 
lesson  ? Or  about  the  bird  which,  as  he  says, 

‘The  Gods  call  Chalcis,  and  men  Cymindis:’ 

to  be  taught  how  much  more  correct  the  name  Chalcis  is 
than  the  name  Cymindis, — do  you  deem  that  a light  matter? 
Or  about  Batieia  and  Myrina 1 ? And  there  are  many  other 
observations  of  the  same  kind  in  Homer  and  other  poets. 
Now,  I think  that  this  is  beyond  the  understanding  of  you 
and  me  ; but  the  names  of  Scamandrius  and  Astyanax, 
which  he  affirms  to  have  been  the  names  of  Hector’s  son, 
are  more  within  the  range  of  human  faculties,  as  I am 
disposed  to  think ; and  what  the  poet  means  by  correctness 
may  be  more  readily  apprehended  in  that  instance  : you  will 
remember  I dare  say  the  lines  to  which  I refer  '2. 

Her.  I do. 

Soc.  Let  me  ask  you,  then,  which  did  Homer  think  the 
more  correct  of  the  names  given  to  Hector’s  son — Astyanax 
or  Scamandrius  ? 

1 Cp.  11.  ii.  813,  814 : — 

‘The  hill  which  men  call  Batieia  and  the  immortals  the  tomb  of  the 
sportive  Myrina.’ 

2 II.  vi.  402. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

‘ If  not  of 
the  So- 
phists, of 
the  poets, 
then.’ 

The  Ho- 
meric dis- 
tinction of 
the  differ- 
ent names 
given  by 
Gods  and 
men  to 
the  same 
things. 
Xanthus 
and  Sca- 
mander. 


Chalcis  and 
Cymindis. 


Batieia  and 
Myrina. 


Astyanax 
and  Sca- 
mandrius. 


J'he  navies  to  be  found  in  Homer. 


334 

Cratylus.  Her.  1 do  not  know. 

Socrates.  Soc.  How  would  you  answer,  if  you  were  asked  whether 
the  wise  or  the  unwise  are  more  likely  to  give  correct 
names  ? 

Her.  I should  say  the  wise,  of  course. 

Soc.  And  are  the  men  or  the  women  of  a city,  taken  as  a 
class,  the  wiser  ? 

Her.  I should  say,  the  men. 

Soc.  And  Homer,  as  you  know,  says  that  the  Trojan  men 
called  him  Astyanax  (king  of  the  city; ; but  if  the  men  called 
him  Astyanax,  the  other  name  of  Scamandrius  could  only 
have  been  given  to  him  by  the  women. 

Her.  That  may  be  inferred. 

Soc.  And  must  not  Homer  have  imagined  the  Trojans  to 
be  wiser  than  their  wives  ? 

Her.  To  be  sure. 

Soc.  Then  he  must  have  thought  Astyanax  to  be  a more 
correct  name  for  the  boy  than  Scamandrius  ? 

Her.  Clearly. 

Soc.  And  what  is  the  reason  of  this  ? Let  us  consider 
does  he  not  himself  suggest  a very  good  reason,  when  he 
says, 

1 For  he  alone  defended  their  city  and  long  walls  ’ ? 

This  appears  to  be  a good  reason  for  calling  the  son  of  the 
saviour  king  of  the  city  which  his  father  was  saving,  as 
Homer  observes. 

Her.  I see. 

Soc.  Why,  Hermogenes,  I do  not  as  yet  see  myself;  and 
do  you  ? 

Her.  No,  indeed;  not  I. 

Hector.  Soc.  But  tell  me,  friend,  did  not  Homer  himself  also  give  393 

Hector  his  name ? 

Her.  What  of  that  ? 

Soc.  The  name  appears  to  me  to  be  very  nearly  the  same 
as  the  name  of  Astyanax — both  are  Hellenic , and  a king 
(avag)  and  a holder  (Arcop)  have  nearly  the  same  meaning, 
and  are  both  descriptive  of  a king ; for  a man  is  clearly  the 
holder  of  that  of  which  he  is  king ; he  rules,  and  owns,  and 
holds  it.  But,  perhaps,  you  may  think  that  I am  talking 


The  tricks  of  language. 

nonsense ; and  indeed  1 believe  that  1 myself  did  not  know 
what  I meant  when  1 imagined  that  1 had  found  some  indi- 
cation of  the  opinion  of  Homer  about  the  correctness  of 
names. 

Her.  I assure  you  that  I think  otherwise,  and  I believe 
you  to  be  on  the  right  track. 

Soc.  There  is  reason,  I think,  in  calling  the  lion’s  whelp 
a lion,  and  the  foal  of  a horse  a horse ; I am  speaking  only 
of  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  when  an  animal  produces 
after  his  kind  ',  and  not  of  extraordinary  births; — if  contrary 
to  nature  a horse  have  a calf,  then  I should  not  call  that  a 
foal  but  a calf;  nor  do  I call  an}'  inhuman  birth  a man,  but 
only  a natural  birth.  And  the  same  may  be  said  of  trees 
and  other  things.  Do  you  agree  with  me  ? 

Her.  Yes,  I agree. 

Soc.  Very  good.  But  you  had  better  watch  me  and  see 
that  I do  not  play  tricks  with  you.  For  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple the  son  of  a king  is  to  be  called  a king.  And  whether 
the  syllables  of  the  name  are  the  same  or  not  the  same, 
makes  no  difference,  provided  the  meaning  is  retained ; nor 
does  the  addition  or  subtraction  of  a letter  make  any 
difference  so  long  as  the  essence  of  the  thing  remains  in 
possession  of  the  name  and  appears  in  it. 

Her.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  A very  simple  matter.  I may  illustrate  my  meaning 
by  the  names  of  letters,  which  you  know  are  not  the  same  as 
the  letters  themselves  with  the  exception  of  the  four,  e,  v,  o, 
(o ; the  names  of  the  rest,  whether  vowels  or  consonants,  are 
made  up  of  other  letters  which  we  add  to  them  ; but  so  long 
as  we  introduce  the  meaning,  and  there  can  be  no  mistake, 
the  name  of  the  letter  is  quite  correct.  Take,  for  example, 
the  letter  beta — the  addition  of  j?,  t,  a , gives  no  offence,  and 
does  not  prevent  the  whole  name  from  having  the  value 
which  the  legislator  intended — so  well  did  he  know' how  to 
give  the  letters  names. 

Her.  I believe  you  are  right. 

Soc.  And  may  not  the  same  be  said  of  a king  ? a king  will 
394  often  be  the  son  of  a king,  the  good  son  or  the  noble  son  of 
a good  or  noble  sire ; and  similarly  the  offspring  of  every 

1 Reading  oZ  &v. 


335 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

GENES. 


The  addi- 
tion or  sub- 
traction of 
a letter  or 
two  makes 
no  differ- 
ence if  the 
principal 
meaning  is 
retained. 


Sons  usu- 
ally bear 
the  names 
of  their 
fathers,  vet 


336 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

H ERMO- 
GENES. 

they  may 
be  consider- 
ably trans- 
formed ; 
as  before  in 
the  case  of 
animals. 
Other  in- 
stances. 


But  when 
the  nature 
of  the  son 
changes, 
his  name 
should  be 
changed. 


7 he  navies  in  Horner  and  in  the  Tragic  poets. 

kind,  in  the  regular  course  of  nature,  is  like  the  parent,  and 
therefore  has  the  same  name.  Yet  the  syllables  may  be 
disguised  until  they  appear  different  to  the  ignorant  person, 
and  he  may  not  recognize  them,  although  they  are  the  same, 
just  as  any  one  of  us  would  not  recognize  the  same  drugs 
under  different  disguises  of  colour  and  smell,  although  to 
the  physician,  who  regards  the  power  of  them,  they  are  the 
same,  and  he  is  not  put  out  by  the  addition  ; and  in  like 
manner  the  etymologist  is  not  put  out  by  the  addition  or 
transposition  or  subtraction  of  a letter  or  two,  or  indeed  by 
the  change  of  all  the  letters,  for  this  need  not  interfere  with 
the  meaning.  As  was  just  now  said,  the  names  of  Hector 
and  Astyanax  have  only  one  letter  alike,  which  is  the  t,  and 
yet  they  have  the  same  meaning.  And  how  little  in  common 
with  the  letters  of  their  names  has  Archepolis  (ruler  of  the 
city) — and  yet  the  meaning  is  the  same.  And  there  are 
man}'  other  names  which  just  mean  ‘king.’  Again,  there 
are  several  names  for  a general,  as,  for  example,  Agis 
(leader)  and  Polemarchus  (chief  in  war)  and  Eupolemus 
(good  warrior)  ; and  others  which  denote  a physician,  as 
Iatrocles  (famous  healer)  and  Acesimbrotus  (curer  of  mortals) ; 
and  there  are  many  others  which  might  be  cited,  differing  in 
their  syllables  and  letters,  but  having  the  same  meaning. 
Would  you  not  say  so  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  The  same  names,  then,  ought  to  be  assigned  to  those 
who  follow  in  the  course  of  nature? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  what  of  those  who  follow  out  of  the  course  of 
nature,  and  are  prodigies?  for  example,  when  a good  and 
religious  man  has  an  irreligious  son,  he  ought  to  bear  the 
name  not  of  his  father,  but  of  the  class  to  which  he  belongs, 
just  as  in  the  case  which  was  before  supposed  of  a horse 
foaling  a calf. 

Her.  Quite  true. 

Soc.  Then  the  irreligious  son  of  a religious  father  should 
be  called  irreligious  ? 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  He  should  not  be  called  Theophilus  (beloved  of  God) 
or  Mnesitheus  (mindful  of  God),  or  any  of  these  names:  if 


The  names  in  Homer  and  in  the  J'ragic  poets.  337 


names  are  correctly  given,  his  should  have  an  opposite 
meaning. 

Her.  Certainty,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Again,  Hermogenes,  there  is  Orestes  (the  man  of  the 
mountains)  who  appears  to  be  rightly  called  ; whether  chance 
gave  the  name,  or  perhaps  some  poet  who  meant  to  express 
the  brutality  and  fierceness  and  mountain  wildness  of  his 
hero’s  nature. 

395  Her.  That  is  very  likely,  Socrates. 

Soc.  And  his  father’s  name  is  also  according  to  nature. 

Her.  Clearly. 

Soc.  Yes,  for  as  his  name,  so  also  is  his  nature;  Aga- 
memnon (admirable  for  remaining)  is  one  who  is  patient  and 
persevering  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  resolves,  and  by 
his  virtue  crowns  them;  and  his  continuance  at  Troy  with 
all  the  vast  army  is  a proof  of  that  admirable  endurance  in  him 
which  is  signified  by  the  name  Agamemnon  \ I also  think 
that  Atreus  is  rightly  called ; for  his  murder  of  Chrysippus 
and  his  exceeding  cruelty  to  Thyestes  are  damaging  and 
destructive  to  his  reputation — the  name  is  a little  altered  and 
disguised  so  as  not  to  be  intelligible  to  every  one,  but  to  the 
etymologist  there  is  no  difficulty  in  seeing  the  meaning,  for 
whether  you  think  of  him  as  dreipfis  the  stubborn,  or  as 
arpearos  the  fearless,  or  as  drrjpos  the  destructive  one,  the 
name  is  perfectly  correct  in  every  point  of  view.  And  I 
think  that  Pelops  is  also  named  appropriately;  for,  as  the 
name  implies,  he  is  rightly  called  Pelops  who  sees  what  is 
near  only  (6  rd  neXas  opcov). 

Her.  H ow  so  ? 

Soc.  Because,  according  to  the  tradition,  he  had  no  fore- 
thought or  foresight  of  all  the  evil  which  the  murder  of 
Myrtilus  would  entail  upon  his  whole  race  in  remote  ages ; 
he  saw  only  what  was  at  hand  and  immediate, — or  in  other 
words,  neXas  (near),  in  his  eagerness  to  win  Hippodamia  by 
all  means  for  his  bride.  Every  one  would  agree  that  the 
name  of  Tantalus  is  rightly  given  and  in  accordance  with 
nature,  if  the  traditions  about  him  are  true. 

Her.  And  what  are  the  traditions? 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

Orestes. 


Agamem- 

non. 


Atreus. 


Pelops. 


Tantalus. 


'■  ' Xyapipvaiv  — dyruTTds  pivtuv. 


VOJ..  1. 


z 


iR 

.->0° 


The  inspiration  caught  from  Euthyphro. 


Ctatylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cenes. 


The  name 
of  Zeus  is 
a sentence 
in  itself. 


Cronos. 


Uranus. 


Soc.  Many  terrible  misfortunes  are  said  to  have  happened 
to  him  in  his  life — last  of  all,  came  the  utter  ruin  of  his 
country ; and  after  his  death  he  had  the  stone  suspended 
(ruWrfui)  over  his  head  in  the  world  below — all  this  agrees 
wonderfully  well  with  his  name.  You  might  imagine  that 
some  person  who  wanted  to  call  him  raXuvraros  (the  most 
weighed  down  by  misfortune),  disguised  the  name  by  altering 
it  into  Tantalus;  and  into  this  form,  by  some  accident  of 
tradition,  it  has  actually  been  transmuted.  The  name  of 
Zeus,  who  is  his  alleged  father,  has  also  an  excellent  396 
meaning,  although  hard  to  be  understood,  because  really 
like  a sentence,  which  is  divided  into  two  parts,  for  some 
call  him  Zena  (z rjva),  and  use  the  one  half,  and  others  who 
use  the  other  half  call  him  Dia  (Ai'a) ; the  two  together 
signify  the  nature  of  the  God,  and  the  business  of  a name, 
as  we  were  saying,  is  to  express  the  nature.  For  there  is 
none  who  is  more  the  author  of  life  to  us  and  to  all,  than 
the  lord  and  king  of  all.  Wherefore  we  are  right  in  calling 
him  Zena  and  Dia,  which  are  one  name,  although  divided, 
meaning  the  God  through  whom  all  creatures  always  have  life 
(81  ov  (fiv  aii  n am  rois  £a>anv  vnapxci ).  There  is  an  irreverence,  at 
first  sight,  in  calling  him  son  of  Cronos  (who  is  a proverb  for 
stupidity),  and  we  might  rather  expect  Zeus  to  be  the  child 
of  a mighty  intellect.  Which  is  the  fact ; for  this  is  the 
meaning  of  his  father’s  name : K povos  quasi  Kopos  (nopea,  to 
sweep),  not  in  the  sense  of  a youth,  but  signifying  to  KaOapov 
Kal  durfpaTov  rov  vov,  the  pure  and  garnished  mind  (sc.  a-no  tov 
Kopdv).  He,  as  we  are  informed  b}'  tradition,  was  begotten 
of  Uranus,  rightly  so  called  (dno  tov  opav  rd  dv w)  from  looking 
upwards ; which,  as  philosophers  tell  us,  is  the  way  to 
have  a pure  mind,  and  the  name  Uranus  is  therefore  correct. 

If  I could  remember  the  genealogy  of  Hesiod,  I would  have 
gone  on  and  tried  more  conclusions  of  the  same  sort  on  the 
remoter  ancestors  of  the  Gods, — then  I might  have  seen 
whether  this  wisdom,  which  has  come  to  me  all  in  an  instant, 

1 know  not  whence,  will  or  will  not  hold  good  to  the  end. 

Her.  You  seem  to  me,  Socrates,  to  be  quite  like  a prophet 
newly  inspired,  and  to  be  uttering  oracles. 

Soc.  Yes,  Hermogenes,  and  I believe  that  I caught  the 
inspiration  from  the  great  Euthyphro  of  the  Prospaltian 


339 


The  names  oj  the  Gods. 

deme,  who  gave  me  a long  lecture  which  commenced  at 
dawn  : he  talked  and  I listened,  and  his  wisdom  and  en- 
chanting ravishment  has  not  only  filled  my  ears  but  taken 
possession  of  my  soul,  and  to-day  I shall  let  his  superhuman 
power  work  and  finish  the  investigation  of  names — that  will 
be  the  way;  but  to-morrow,  if  you  are  so  disposed,  we 
will  conjure  him  away,  and  make  a purgation  of  him,  if 
we  can  only  find  some  priest  or  sophist  who  is  skilled  in 
397  purifications  of  this  sort. 

Her.  With  all  my  heart ; for  I am  very  curious  to  hear 
the  rest  of  the  enquiry  about  names. 

Soc.  Then  let  us  proceed ; and  where  would  you  have  us 
begin,  now  that  we  have  got  a sort  of  outline  of  the  enquiry  ? 
Are  there  any  names  which  witness  of  themselves  that  they 
are  not  given  arbitrarily,  but  have  a natural  fitness?  The 
names  of  heroes  and  of  men  in  general  are  apt  to  be 
deceptive  because  they  are  often  called  after  ancestors  with 
whose  names,  as  we  were  saying,  they  may  have  no  busi- 
ness ; or  they  are  the  expression  of  a wish  like  Eutychides 
(the  son  of  good  fortune),  or  Sosias  (the  Saviour),  or  Theo- 
philus  (the  beloved  of  God),  and  others.  But  I think  that 
we  had  better  leave  these,  for  there  will  be  more  chance  of 
finding  correctness  in  the  names  of  immutable  essences ; — 
there  ought  to  have  been  more  care  taken  about  them  when 
they  were  named,  and  perhaps  there  may  have  been  some 
more  than  human  power  at  work  occasionally  in  giving  them 
names. 

Her.  I think  so,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Ought  we  not  to  begin  with  the  consideration  of  the 
Gods,  and  show  that  they  are  rightly  named  Gods  ? 

Her.  Yes,  that  will  be  well. 

Soc.  My  notion  would  be  something  of  this  sort : — I sus- 
pect that  the  sun,  moon,  earth,  stars,  and  heaven,  which  are 
still  the  Gods  of  many  barbarians,  were  the  only  Gods  known 
to  the  aboriginal  Hellenes.  Seeing  that  they  were  always 
moving  and  running,  from  their  running  nature  they  were 
called  Gods  or  runners  (Oeovr,  deovras) ; and  when  men  became 
acquainted  with  the  other  Gods,  they  proceeded  to  apply  the 
same  name  to  them  all.  Do  you  think  that  likely  ? 

Her.  I think  it  very  likely  indeed. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hekmo- 

cenes. 


The  Gods 
were  ori- 
ginally only 
the  stars  ; 
and  as  they 
were  always 
running 
about  they 
were  called 
deot. 


Z 2 


Demons  and  Heroes. 


;4Q 


Cralylus. 

Socrates, 
H ERMO- 
GENES. 

Demons. 


Soc.  What  shall  follow  the  Gods? 

Her.  Must  not  demons  and  heroes  and  men  come  next? 
Soc.  Demons  ! And  what  do  you  consider  to  be  the  mean- 
ing of  this  word  ? Tell  me  if  my  view  is  right. 

Her.  Let  me  hear. 

Soc.  You  know  how  Hesiod  uses  the  word  ? 

Her.  I do  not. 

Soc.  Do  you  not  remember  that  he  speaks  of  a golden  race 
of  men  who  came  first  ? 

Her.  Yes,  I do. 

Soc.  He  says  of  them — 

‘ But  now  that  fate  has  closed  over  this  race 
They  are  holy  demons  upon  the  earth, 

Beneficent,  averters  of  ills,  guardians  of  mortal  men 


Her.  What  is  the  inference  ? 

Soc.  What  is  the  inference ! Why,  I suppose  that  he 
means  by  the  golden  men,  not  men  literally  made  of  gold, 
but  good  and  noble ; and  I am  convinced  of  this,  because  he 
further  says  that  we  are  the  iron  race. 

Her.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  And  do  }^ou  not  suppose  that  good  men  of  our  own 
day  would  by  him  be  said  to  be  of  golden  race  ? 

Her.  Very  likely. 

Soc.  And  are  not  the  good  wise  ? 

Her.  Y es,  they  are  wise. 

Soc.  And  therefore  I have  the  most  entire  conviction  that 
he  called  them  demons,  because  they  were  Sm^oi/es  (knowing 
or  wise),  and  in  our  older  Attic  dialect  the  word  itself 
occurs.  Now  he  and  other  poets  say  truty,  that  when  a 
good  man  dies  he  has  honour  and  a mighty  portion  among 
the  dead,  and  becomes  a demon  ; which  is  a name  given  to 
him  signifying  wisdom.  And  I say  too,  that  every  wise  man 
who  happens  to  be  a good  man  is  more  than  human 
(dainoviov)  both  in  life  and  death,  and  is  rightly  called  a 
demon. 

Heroes.  Her.  Then  I rather  think  that  I am  of  one  mind  with  you  ; 

but  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  word  'hero’?  (ijptos,  in  the 
old  writing  epos.) 


1 Hesiod,  Works  and  Days,  1 20  foil. 


34i 


The  inspiration  caught  from  Euthyphro. 

Soc . I think  that  there  is  no  difficulty  in  explaining,  for 
the  name  is  not  much  altered,  and  signifies  that  they  were 
born  of  love. 

Her.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  Do  you  not  know  that  the  heroes  are  demigods  ? 

Her.  What  then  ? 

Soc.  All  of  them  sprang  either  from  the  love  of  a God  for 
a mortal  woman,  or  of  a mortal  man  for  a Goddess  ; think 
of  the  word  in  the  old  Attic,  and  you  will  see  better  that  the 
name  heros  is  only  a slight  alteration  of  Eros,  from  whom 
the  heroes  sprang  : either  this  is  the  meaning,  or,  if  not  this, 
then  they  must  have  been  skilful  as  rhetoricians  and  dialec- 
ticians, and  able  to  put  the  question  (epurav),  for  e’ipeiv  is 
equivalent  to  \eyew.  And  therefore,  as  I was  saying,  in  the 
Attic  dialect  the  heroes  turn  out  to  be  rhetoricians  and 
questioners.  All  this  is  easy  enough  ; the  noble  breed  of 
heroes  are  a tribe  of  sophists  and  rhetors.  But  can  you  tell 
me  why  men  are  called  ilvOpunoi? — that  is  more  difficult. 

Her.  No,  I cannot;  and  I would  not  try  even  if  I could, 
because  I think  that  you  are  the  more  likely  to  succeed. 

3 99  Soc.  That  is  to  say,  you  trust  to  the  inspiration  of  Euthy- 
phro. 

Her.  Of  course. 

Soc.  Your  faith  is  not  vain;  for  at  this  very  moment  a 
new  and  ingenious  thought  strikes  me,  and,  if  I am  not 
careful,  before  to-morrow’s  dawn  I shall  be  wiser  than  I 
ought  to  be.  Now,  attend  to  me  ; and  first,  remember  that 
we  often  put  in  and  pull  out  letters  in  words,  and  give  names 
as  we  please  and  change  the  accents.  Take,  for  example, 
the  word  A it  (friXos ; in  order  to  convert  this  from  a sentence 
into  a noun,  we  omit  one  of  the  iotas  and  sound  the  middle 
syllable  grave  instead  of  acute  ; as,  on  the  other  hand,  letters 
are  sometimes  inserted  in  words  instead  of  being  omitted, 
and  the  acute  takes  the  place  of  the  grave. 

Her.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  The  name  avOpomos,  which  was  once  a sentence,  and  is 
now  a noun,  appears  to  be  a case  just  of  this  sort,  for  one 
letter,  which  is  the  a,  has  been  omitted,  and  the  acute  on  the 
last  syllable  has  been  changed  to  a grave. 

Her.  What  do  you  mean  ? 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 


&vdpa>Tros. 


342 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

GENES. 


l^UXTJ. 


Solemn  truths , but  rather  ridiculous. 

Soc.  I mean  to  say  that  the  word  'man  ’ implies  that  other 
animals  never  examine,  or  consider,  or  look  up  at  what  they 
see,  but  that  man  not  only  sees  (faune)  but  considers  and 
looks  up  at  that  which  he  sees,  and  hence  he  alone  of  all 
animals  is  rightly  called  dv6pa>nos,  meaning  dvaOpwv  & orrwntv. 

Her.  May  I ask  you  to  examine  another  word  about  which 
I am  curious  ? 

Soc.  Certainly. 

Her.  I will  take  that  which  appears  to  me  to  follow  next  in 
order.  You  know  the  distinction  of  soul  and  body? 

Soc.  Of  course. 

Her.  Let  us  endeavour  to  analyze  them  like  the  previous 
words. 

Soc.  You  want  me  first  of  all  to  examine  the  natural 
fitness  of  the  word  -^vxh  (soul),  and  then  of  the  word  <ra>pa 
(body)  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  If  I am  to  say  what  occurs  to  me  at  the  moment,  I 
should  imagine  that  those  who  first  used  the  name  y/sv xn 
meant  to  express  that  the  soul  when  in  the  body  is  the 
source  of  life,  and  gives  the  power  of  breath  and  revival 
(dva\}fvxov),  and  when  this  reviving  power  fails  then  the  body 
perishes  and  dies,  and  this,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  they  called 
psyche.  But  please  stay  a moment ; I fancy  that  I can 
discover  something  which  will  be  more  acceptable  to  the 
disciples  of  Euthyphro,  for  I am  afraid  that  they  will  scorn  400 
this  explanation.  What  do  you  say  to  another  ? 

Her.  Let  me  hear. 

Soc.  What  is  that  which  holds  and  carries  and  gives  life 
and  motion  to  the  entire  nature  of  the  body?  What  else 
but  the  soul  ? 

Her.  Just  that. 

Soc.  And  do  you  not  believe  with  Anaxagoras,  that  mind  or 
soul  is  the  ordering  and  containing  principle  of  all  things  ? 

Her.  Yes  ; I do. 

Soc.  Then  you  may  well  call  that  power  <pv<r ^7  which 
carries  and  holds  nature  (>7  4>vtnv  o^I  *ai  ?*«),  an<^  this  may 
be  refined  away  into 

Her.  Certainly ; and  this  derivation  is,  I think,  more  scien- 
tific than  the  other. 


343 


‘ God  only  knows! 

Soc.  It  is  so;,  but  I cannot  help  laughing,  if  1 am  to 
suppose  that  this  was  the  true  meaning  of  the  name. 

Her.  But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  next  word  ? 

Soc.  You  mean  trcS/un  (the  body). 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  That  may  be  variously  interpreted  ; and  yet  more 
variously  if  a little  permutation  is  allowed.  For  some  say 
that  the  body  is  the  grave  (a-rj^a)  of  the  soul  which  may  be 
thought  to  be  buried  in  our  present  life ; or  again  the  index 
of  the  soul,  because  the  soul  gives  indications  to  (o-^mW)  the 
body;  probably  the  Orphic  poets  were  the  inventors  of  the 
name,  and  they  were  under  the  impression  that  the  soul  is 
suffering  the  punishment  of  sin,  and  that  the  body  is  an 
enclosure  or  prison  in  which  the  soul  is  incarcerated,  kept 
safe  (craS/ja,  aii^rai),  as  the  name  trcS^xa  implies,  until  the  penalty 
is  paid ; according  to  this  view,  not  even  a letter  of  the  word 
need  be  changed. 

Her.  I think,  Socrates,  that  we  have  said  enough  of  this 
class  of  words.  But  have  we  any  more  explanations  of  the 
names  of  the  Gods,  like  that  which  you  were  giving  of  Zeus  ? 
I should  like  to  know  whether  any  similar  principle  of 
correctness  is  to  be  applied  to  them. 

Soc.  Yes,  indeed,  Hermogenes;  and  there  is  one  excellent 
principle  which,  as  men  of  sense,  we  must  acknowledge, — - 
that  of  the  Gods  we  know  nothing,  either  of  their  natures 
or  of  the  names  which  they  give  themselves  ; but  we  are 
sure  that  the  names  by  which  they  call  themselves,  whatever 
they  may  be,  are  true.  And  this  is  the  best  of  all  principles  ; 
and  the  next  best  is  to  say,  as  in  prayers,  that  we  will  call 
them  by  any  sort  or  kind  of  names  or  patronymics  which 
401  they  like,  because  we  do  not  know  of  any  other.  That  also,  I 
think,  is  a very  good  custom,  and  one  which  I should  much 
wish  to  observe.  Let  us,  then,  if  you  please,  in  the  first 
place  announce  to  them  that  we  are  not  enquiring  about 
them  ; we  do  not  presume  that  we  are  able  to  do  so  ; but  we 
are  enquiring  about  the  meaning  of  men  in  giving  them  these 
names, — in  this  there  can  be  small  blame. 

Her.  I think,  Socrates,  that  you  are  quite  right,  and  I 
would  like  to  do  as  you  say. 

Soc.  Shall  we  begin,  then,  with  Hestia,  according  to  custom  ? 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

The  irony 
of  Socrates. 

< rufia . 


We  are  not 
enquiring 
about  the 
Gods,  but 
only  about 
men's 
opinions 
concerning 
them. 


344 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cenes. 


The  first 
im  posers 
of  names 
were  philo- 
sophers. 


ovola,  called 
also  with 
good  rea- 
son eVfa 
(akin  to 
ctrrla)  and 
utrla. 


The  flux 
of  Hera- 
cleitus  con- 
firmed by 
language, 


A hive  of  wisdom. 

Her.  Yes,  that  will  be  very  proper. 

Soc.  What  may  we  suppose  him  to  have  meant  who  gave 
the  name  Hestia  ? 

Her.  That  is  another  and  certainly  a most  difficult  question. 

Soc.  My  dear  Hermogenes,  the  first  imposers  of  names 
must  surely  have  been  considerable  persons;  they  were 
philosophers,  and  had  a good  deal  to  say. 

Her.  Well,  and  what  of  them  ? 

Soc.  They  are  the  men  to  whom  I should  attribute  the 
imposition  of  names.  Even  in  foreign  names,  if  you  analyze 
them,  a meaning  is  still  discernible.  For  example,  that  which 
we  term  ovam  is  by  some  called  tala,  and  by  others  again  <Lola. 
Now  that  the  essence  of  things  should  be  called  carlo,  which 
is  akin  to  the  first  of  these  (co-la  = ecn'a),  is  rational  enough. 
And  there  is  reason  in  the  Athenians  calling  that  carlo  which 
participates  in  ovola.  For  in  ancient  times  we  too  seem  to 
have  said  co-la  for  ovola,  and  this  you  may  note  to  have  been 
the  idea  of  those  who  appointed  that  sacrifices  should  be  first 
offered  to  carlo,  which  was  natural  enough  if  they  meant  that 
cot  la  was  the  essence  of  things.  Those  again  who  read  <oola 
seem  to  have  inclined  to  the  opinion  of  Heracleitus,  that 
all  things  flow  and  nothing  stands;  with  them  the  pushing 
principle  (Mow)  is  the  cause  and  ruling  power  of  all  things, 
and  is  therefore  rightly  called  <!>ola.  Enough  of  this,  which 
is  all  that  we  who  know  nothing  can  affirm.  Next  in  order 
after  Hestia  we  ought  to  consider  Rhea  and  Cronos,  although 
the  name  of  Cronos  has  been  already  discussed.  But  I dare 
say  that  I am  talking  great  nonsense. 

Her.  Why,  Socrates  ? 

Soc.  My  good  friend,  I have  discovered  a hive  of 
wisdom. 

Her.  Of  what  nature  ? 

Soc.  Well,  rather  ridiculous,  and  yet  plausible. 

Her.  I Iow  plausible  ? 

Soc.  I fancy  to  myself  Heracleitus  repeating  wise  traditions 
of  antiquity  as  old  as  the  days  of  Cronos  and  Rhea,  and  of 
which  Homer  also  spoke. 

Her.  How  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  Heracleitus  is  supposed  to  say  that  all  things  are  in 
motion  and  nothing  at  rest;  he  compares  them  to  the  stream 


‘ The  so-called  tradition  of  Heracleitus'. 

of  a river,  and  says  that  you  cannot  go  into  the  same  water 
twice. 

Her.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Well,  then,  how  can  we  avoid  inferring  that  he  who 
gave  the  names  of  Cronos  and  Rhea  to  the  ancestors  of  the 
Gods,  agreed  pretty  much  in  the  doctrine  of  Heracleitus  ? Is 
the  giving  of  the  names  of  streams  to  both  ol  them  purely 
accidental  ? Compare  the  line  in  which  Homer,  and,  as  I 
believe,  Hesiod  also,  tells  of 

‘Ocean,  the  origin  of  Gods,  and  mother  Tethys1.’ 

And  again,  Orpheus  says,  that 

‘ The  fair  river  of  Ocean  was  the  first  to  marry,  and  he  espoused  his  sister 
Tethys,  who  was  his  mother’s  daughter.’ 

You  see  that  this  is  a remarkable  coincidence,  and  all  in  the 
direction  of  Heracleitus. 

Her.  I think  that  there  is  something  in  what  you  say, 
Socrates ; but  I do  not  understand  the  meaning  of  the  name 
T ethys. 

Soc.  Well,  that  is  almost  self-explained,  being  only  the 
name  of  a spring,  a little  disguised  ; for  that  which  is  strained 
and  filtered  (Starrco/aei/oi',  T)dovnevov)  may  be  likened  to  a spring, 
and  the  name  Tethys  is  made  up  of  these  two  words. 

Her.  The  idea  is  ingenious,  Socrates. 

Soc.  To  be  sure.  But  what  comes  next  ? — of  Zeus  we 
have  spoken. 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  Then  let  us  next  take  his  two  brothers,  Poseidon 
and  Pluto,  whether  the  latter  is  called  by  that  or  by  his  other 
name. 

Her.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  Poseidon  is  Troaideafios,  the  chain  of  the  feet ; the 
original  inventor  of  the  name  had  been  stopped  by  the 
watery  element  in  his  walks,  and  not  allowed  to  go  on,  and 
therefore  he  called  the  ruler  of  this  element  Poseidon ; the  e 
was  probably  inserted  as  an  ornament.  Yet,  perhaps,  not  so; 
but  the  name  may  have  been  originally  written  with  a double 
4°3  * and  not  with  an  it,  meaning  that  the  God  knew  many  things 


345 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cenes. 

Other 
names  of 
Gods. 

Cronos  and 
Rhea. 


Tethys. 


Poseidon. 


1 II.  xiv.  201.  302  ; — the  line  is  not  found  in  the  extant  works  of  Hesiod. 


34-6 


The  ‘ tradition  of  H cracle  it  us 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

CENES. 

l’luto. 


Extrava- 
gant expla- 
nations of 
the  name 
Pluto, 
which  are 


(ttoAXA  flSat).  And  perhaps  also  he  being  the  shaker  of  the 
eai  tli,  has  been  named  from  shaking  (ytitiv),  and  then  n-  and  5 
have  been  added.  Pluto  gives  wealth  ( n\oxnot ),  and  his  name 
means  the  giver  of  wealth,  which  comes  out  of  the  earth 
beneath.  People  in  general  appear  to  imagine  that  the  term 
Hades  is  connected  with  the  invisible  (d«8ec) ; and  so  they 
are  led  by  their  fears  to  call  the  God  Pluto  instead. 

Her.  And  what  is  the  true  derivation  ? 

Soc.  In  spite  of  the  mistakes  which  are  made  about  the 
power  of  this  deity,  and  the  foolish  fears  which  people  have 
of  him,  such  as  the  fear  of  always  being  with  him  after  death, 
and  of  the  soul  denuded  of  the  body  going  to  him  \ my  belief 
is  that  all  is  quite  consistent,  and  that  the  office  and  name  of 
the  God  really  correspond. 

Her.  Why,  how  is  that  ? 

Soc.  I will  tell  you  my  own  opinion  ; but  first,  I should 
like  to  ask  you  which  chain  does  any  animal  feel  to  be  the 
stronger?  and  which  confines  him  more  to  the  same  spot, — 
desire  or  necessity  ? 

Her.  Desire,  Socrates,  is  stronger  far. 

Soc.  And  do  you  not  think  that  many  a one  would  escape 
from  Hades,  if  he  did  not  bind  those  who  depart  to  him  by 
the  strongest  of  chains  ? 

Her.  Assuredly  they  would. 

Soc.  And  if  by  the  greatest  of  chains,  then  by  some  desire, 
as  I should  certainly  infer,  and  not  by  necessity? 

Her.  That  is  clear. 

Soc.  And  there  are  many  desires  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  therefore  by  the  greatest  desire,  if  the  chain  is  to 
be  the  greatest  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  is  any  desire  stronger  than  the  thought  that  you 
will  be  made  better  by  associating  with  another  ? 

Her.  Certainly  not. 

Soc.  And  is  not  that  the  reason,  Hermogenes,  why  no  one, 
who  has  been  to  him,  is  willing  to  come  back  to  us  ? Even 
the  Sirens,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  have  been  laid  under 
his  spells.  Such  a charm,  as  I imagine,  is  the  God  able  to 

1 Cp.  Rep.  3.  386,  387. 


347 


enlarged  and  improved  upon  by  Socrates. 

infuse  into  his  words.  And,  according  to  this  view,  he  is  the 
perfect  and  accomplished  Sophist,  and  the  great  benefactor 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  other  world ; and  even  to  us  who 
are  upon  earth  he  sends  from  below  exceeding  blessings. 
For  he  has  much  more  than  he  wants  down  there ; wherefore 
he  is  called  Pluto  (or  the  rich).  Note  also,  that  he  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  men  while  they  are  in  the  body,  but  only 
when  the  soul  is  liberated  from  the  desires  and  evils  of  the 
404  body.  Now  there  is  a great  deal  of  philosophy  and  reflection 
in  that ; for  in  their  liberated  state  he  can  bind  them  with 
the  desire  of  virtue,  but  while  they  are  flustered  and  mad- 
dened by  the  body,  not  even  father  Cronos  himself  would 
suffice  to  keep  them  with  him  in  his  own  far-famed  chains. 

Her.  There  is  a deal  of  truth  in  what  you  say. 

Soc.  Yes,  Hermogenes,  and  the  legislator  called  him 
Hades,  not  from  the  unseen  (dei8ey) — far  otherwise,  but  from 
his  knowledge  (eZSewu)  of  all  noble  things. 

Her.  Very  good ; and  what  do  we  say  of  Demeter,  and 
Here,  and  Apollo,  and  Athene,  and  Hephaestus,  and  Ares, 
and  the  other  deities? 

Soc.  Demeter  is  7 StSoCo-a  71171-7 p,  who  gives  food  like  a 
mother  ; Here  is  the  lovely  one  (epari)) — for  Zeus,  according 
to  tradition,  loved  and  married  her ; possibly  also  the  name 
may  have  been  given  when  the  legislator  was  thinking  of 
the  heavens,  and  may  be  only  a disguise  of  the  air  (drjp), 
putting  the  end  in  the  place  of  the  beginning.  You  will 
recognize  the  truth  of  this  if  you  repeat  the  letters  of  Here 
several  times  over.  People  dread  the  name  of  Pherephatta 
as  they  dread  the  name  of  Apollo, — and  with  as  little  reason  ; 
the  fear,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  only  arises  from  their  ignorance 
of  the  nature  of  names.  But  they  go  changing  the  name  into 
Phersephone,  and  they  are  terrified  at  this  ; whereas  the  new 
name  means  only  that  the  Goddess  is  wise  (o-o^?)) ; for  seeing 
that  all  things  in  the  world  are  in  motion  (epepopevuv),  that 
principle  which  embraces  and  touches  and  is  able  to  follow 
them,  is  wisdom.  And  therefore  the  Goddess  may  be  truly 
called  Pherepaphe  (GepenaQa),  or  some  name  like  it,  because 
she  touches  that  which  is  in  motion  (rot)  popevov  ecpmrTopevrj), 
herein  showing  her  wisdom.  And  Hades,  who  is  wise,  con- 
sorts with  her,  because  she  is  wise.  They  alter  her  name 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

H F.RMO- 
GENES. 

meekly  ac- 
cepted by 
the  simple- 
minded 
Hermo- 
genes. 


A'tSrjs. 


Demeter. 

Iierfe. 


Perse- 

phone. 


34& 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cenes. 

Apollo. 


The  four- 
fold inter- 
pretation of 
the  name. 


He  is  called 
in  the  Thes- 
salian dia- 
lect air\us. 


More  and  more  absurd  etymologies 

into  I herephatta  now-a-days,  because  the  present  generation 
cai  e foi  euphony  more  than  truth.  1 here  is  the  other  name, 
Apollo,  which,  as  I was  saying,  is  generally  supposed  to  have 
some  terrible  signification.  Have  you  remarked  this  fact? 

Her.  1 o be  sure  I have,  and  what  you  say  is  true. 

Soc.  But  the  name,  in  my  opinion,  is  really  most  expressive 
of  the  power  of  the  God. 

Her.  H ow  so  ? 

Soc.  I will  endeavour  to  explain,  for  I do  not  believe  that 
any  single  name  could  have  been  better  adapted  to  express  405 
the  attributes  of  the  God,  embracing  and  in  a manner  signi- 
fying  all  four  of  them, — music,  and  prophecy,  and  medicine, 
and  archery. 

Her.  That  must  be  a strange  name,  and  I should  like  to 
hear  the  explanation. 

Soc.  Say  rather  an  harmonious  name,  as  beseems  the  God 
of  Harmony.  In  the  first  place,  the  purgations  and  purifi- 
cations which  doctors  and  diviners  use,  and  their  fumigations 
with  drugs  magical  or  medicinal,  as  well  as  their  washings 
and  lustral  sprinklings,  have  all  one  and  the  same  object, 
which  is  to  make  a man  pure  both  in  body  and  soul. 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  And  is  not  Apollo  the  purifier,  and  the  washer,  and 
the  absolver  from  all  impurities  ? 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  Then  in  reference  to  his  ablutions  and  absolutions, 
as  being  the  physician  who  orders  them,  he  may  be  rightly 
called  ’ AnoXovwv  (purifier) ; or  in  respect  of  his  powers  of 
divination,  and  his  truth  and  sincerity,  which  is  the  same 
as  truth,  he  may  be  most  fitly  called  'AnXios,  from  anXovs 
(sincere),  as  in  the  Thessalian  dialect,  for  all  the  Thessa- 
lians call  him  'An-Xos;  also  he  is  dei  [SdXXwv  (always  shooting), 
because  he  is  a master  archer  who  never  misses ; or  again, 
the  name  may  refer  to  his  musical  attributes,  and  then,  as  in 
dKoXoudos,  and  iIkoitis,  and  in  many  other,  words  the  a is  supposed 
to  mean  ‘together,’  so  the  meaning  of  the  name  Apollo  will 
be  ‘moving  together,’  whether  in  the  poles  of  heaven  as 
they  are  called,  or  in  the  harmony  of  song,  which  is  termed 
concord,  because  he  moves  all  together  by  an  harmonious 
power,  as  astronomers  and  musicians  ingeniously  declare. 


349 


of  the  names  of  Gods. 

And  he  is  the  God  who  presides  over  harmony,  and  makes 
all  things  move  together,  both  among  Gods  and  among  men. 
And  as  in  the  words  okoXovOos  and  ukoitls  the  a is  substituted 
for  an  o,  so  the  name  ’AttoXXcoe  is  equivalent  to  opoTroXSiv;  only 
the  second  X is  added  in  order  to  avoid  the  ill-omened  sound 
of  destruction  (dnoXcoi’).  Now  the  suspicion  of  this  destructive 
power  still  haunts  the  minds  of  some  who  do  not  consider 
406  the  true  value  of  the  name,  which,  as  I was  saying  just  now1, 
has  reference  to  all  the  powers  of  the  God,  who  is  the  single 
one,  the  everdarting,  the  purifier,  the  mover  together  (djrXoOr, 
(! ft  /SdXXow',  dnoXovcov,  6porroXS>v).  The  name  of  the  Muses  and  of 
music  would  seem  to  be  derived  from  their  making  philo- 
sophical enquiries  (tyo-Ocu)  • and  Leto  is  called  by  this  name, 
because  she  is  such  a gentle  Goddess,  and  so  willing  (ideXtycov) 
to  grant  our  requests ; or  her  name  may  be  Letho,  as  she  is 
often  called  by  strangers— they  seem  to  imply  by  it  her 
amiability,  and  her  smooth  and  easy-going  way  of  behaving. 
Artemis  is  named  from  her  healthy  (dpre^?),  well-ordered 
nature,  and  because  of  her  love  of  virginity,  perhaps 
because  she  is  a proficient  in  virtue  (dpty),  and  perhaps 
also  as  hating  intercourse  of  the  sexes  ( rbv  dporo v pio-tyaaa). 
He  who  gave  the  Goddess  her  name  may  have  had  any  or 
all  of  these  reasons. 

Her.  What  is  the  meaning  of  Dionysus  and  Aphrodite  ? 

Soc.  Son  of  Hipponicus,  you  ask  a solemn  question  ; there 
is  a serious  and  also  a facetious  explanation  of  both  these 
names ; the  serious  explanation  is  not  to  be  had  from  rye, 
but  there  is  no  objection  to  your  hearing  the  facetious  one ; 
for  the  Gods  too  love  a joke.  AtoVuo-oy  is  simply  8i8ovs  olvov 
(giver  of  wine),  Aifiotwo-os,  as  he  might  be  called  in  fun, — and 
olvos  is  properly  oldvovs , because  wine  makes  those  who  drink, 
think  (oietrOcu)  that  they  have  a mind  (yovv)  when  they  have 
none.  The  derivation  of  Aphrodite,  born  of  the  foam  (typos), 
may  be  fairly  accepted  on  the  authority  of  Hesiod. 

Her.  Still  there  remains  Athene,  whom  you,  Socrates,  as 
an  Athenian,  will  surely  not  forget;  there  are  also  Hephaestus 
and  Ares. 

Soc.  I am  not  likely  to  forget  them. 

Her.  No,  indeed. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 


The  Muses. 


Leto. 


Artemis. 


Dionysus. 


Aphrodite. 


Athene. 


1 Omitting  iroAv. 


Solemn  nonsense. 


35° 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cenes. 

Pallas. 


Athene 

again. 


Hephaes- 

tus. 


Soc.  1 here  is  no  difficulty  in  explaining  the  other  appel- 
lation of  Athene. 

Her.  What  other  appellation  ? 

Soc.  We  call  her  Pallas. 

Her.  To  be  sure. 

Soc.  And  we  cannot  be  wrong  in  supposing  that  this  is 
derived  from  armed  dances.  For  the  elevation  of  oneself  or 
anything  else  above  the  earth,  or  by  the  use  of  the  hands,  we  407 
call  shaking  (wdXX eiv),  or  dancing. 

Her.  That  is  quite  true. 

Soc.  Then  that  is  the  explanation  of  the  name  Pallas  ? 

Her.  Yes  ; but  what  do  you  say  of  the  other  name? 

Soc.  Athene  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  That  is  a graver  matter,  and  there,  my  friend,  the 
modern  interpreters  of  Homer  may,  I think,  assist  in  ex- 
plaining the  view  of  the  ancients.  For  most  of  these  in 
their  explanations  of  the  poet,  assert  that  he  meant  by  Athene 
‘mind’  {yov s)  and  ‘intelligence’  (8tdvoia),  and  the  maker  of 
names  appears  to  have  had  a singular  notion  about  her ; and 
indeed  calls  her  by^  a still  higher  title,  'divine  intelligence’  (AoO 
vorjens),  as  though  he  would  say : This  is  she  who  has  the 
mind  of  God  (deovoa) ; — using  a as  a dialectical  variety  for  rj, 
and  taking  away  1 and  a-’.  Perhaps,  however,  the  name 
dfovorj  may  mean  ‘she  who  knows  divine  things’  (0««  voovora) 
better  than  others.  Nor  shall  we  be  far  wrong  in  supposing 
that  the  author  of  it  wished  to  identify  this  Goddess  with  moral 
intelligence  (eV  fjGei  vorjmv),  and  therefore  gave  her  the  name 
r)0ov6ri ; which,  however,  either  he  or  his  successors  have  altered 
into  what  they  thought  a nicer  form,  and  called  her  Athene. 

Her.  But  what  do  you  say  of  Hephaestus  ? 

Soc.  Speak  you  of  the  princely  lord  of  light  (<£ deoy  hnopa)  ? 

Her.  Surely. 

Soc.  "Htpaurroi  is  <i>n!crroy,  and  has  added  the  r]  by  attraction  j 
that  is  obvious  to  anybody. 

Her.  That  is  very  probable,  until  some  more  probable 
notion  gets  into  your  head. 

1 There  seems  to  be  some  error  in  the  MSS.  The  meaning  is  that  the  word 
Beoi/da  — Beovvia  is  a curtailed  form  of  Beov  vixens,  but  the  omitted  letters  do 
not  agree. 


35i 


Enough  of  the  Gods  of  Olympus. 

Soc.  To  prevent  that,  you  had  better  ask  what  is  the  deri- 
vation of  Ares. 

Her.  What  is  Ares  ? 

Soc.  Ares  may  be  called,  if  you  will,  from  his  manhood 
(tlppev)  and  manliness,  or  if  you  please,  from  his  hard  and  un- 
changeable nature,  which  is  the  meaning  of  Sppuros : the  latter 
is  a derivation  in  every  way  appropriate  to  the  God  of  war. 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  And  now,  by  the  Gods,  let  us  have  no  more  of  the 
Gods,  for  I am  afraid  of  them  ; ask  about  anything  but  them, 
and  thou  shalt  see  how  the  steeds  of  Euthyphro  can  prance. 

Her.  Only  one  more  God  ! I should  like  to  know  about 
Hermes,  of  whom  I am  said  not  to  be  a true  son.  Let  us 
make  him  out,  and  then  I shall  know  whether  there  is  any 
meaning  in  what  Cratylus  says. 

Soc.  I should  imagine  that  the  name  Hermes  has  to  do 
408  with  speech,  and  signifies  that  he  is  the  interpreter  (epprjvevs), 
or  messenger,  or  thief,  or  liar,  or  bargainer ; all  that  sort  of 
thing  has  a great  deal  to  do  with  language ; as  I was  telling 
you,  the  word  elpdv  is  expressive  of  the  use  of  speech,  and  there 
is  an  often-recurring  Homeric  word  ip^traro,  which  means  ‘he 
contrived  ’ — out  of  these  two  words,  e’lpuv  and  pi 'i<ra<r6ai,  the 
legislator  formed  the  name  of  the  God  who  invented  language 
and  speech  1 ; and  we  may  imagine  him  dictating  to  us  the 
use  of  this  name  : ‘ O my  friends/  says  he  to  us,  ‘seeing  that 
he  is  the  contriver  of  tales  or  speeches,  you  may  rightly  call 
him  Elpeprjt.’  And  this  has  been  improved  by  us,  as  we  think, 
into  Hermes.  Iris  also  appears  to  have  been  called  from 
the  verb  ‘ to  tell  ’ (e'pei^),  because  she  was  a messenger. 

Her.  Then  I am  very  sure  that  Cratylus  was  quite  right 
in  saying  that  I was  no  true  son  of  Hermes  (Eppoyevrjs),  for  I 
am  not  a good  hand  at  speeches. 

Soc.  There  is  also  reason,  my  friend,  in  Pan  being  the 
double-formed  son  of  Hermes. 

Her.  How  do  you  make  that  out  ? 

Soc.  You  are  aware  that  speech  signifies  all  things  (nav), 
and  is  always  turning  them  round  and  round,  and  has  two 
forms,  true  and  false? 

Her.  Certainly. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

Ares. 


Hermes. 


1 Omitting  rh  Sc  Ktyfiu  St]  Urriv  elpdr. 


352 


Other  Hods. 


Cratylus . 


Socrates, 

Hf.kmo- 

GENES. 


Pan. 


The  stars, 
elements, 
etc. 


(TsA^et). 


Soc.  Is  not  the  truth  that  is  in  him  the  smooth  or  sacred 
form  which  dwells  above  among  the  Gods,  whereas  false- 
hood dwells  among  men  below,  and  is  rough  like  the  goat  of 
tragedy;  for  tales  and  falsehoods  have  generally  to  do  with 
the  tragic  or  goatish  life,  and  tragedy  is  the  place  of  them? 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  Then  surely  Pan,  who  is  the  declarer  of  all  things 
(nav)  and  the  perpetual  mover  (del  tto\wv)  of  all  things,  is 
rightly  called  mVoXos  (goat-herd),  he  being  the  two-formed 
son  of  Hermes,  smooth  in  his  upper  part,  and  rough  and 
goatlike  in  his  lower  regions.  And,  as  the  son  of  Hermes, 
he  is  speech  or  the  brother  of  speech,  and  that  brother 
should  be  like  brother  is  no  marvel.  But,  as  I was  saying, 
my  dear  Hermogenes,  let  us  get  away  from  the  Gods. 

Her.  From  these  sort  of  Gods,  by  all  means,  Socrates. 

But  why  should  we  not  discuss  another  kind  of  Gods — the 
sun,  moon,  stars,  earth,  aether,  air,  fire,  water,  the  seasons, 
and  the  year? 

Soc.  You  impose  a great  many  tasks  upon  me.  Still,  if 
you  wish,  I will  not  refuse. 

Her.  You  will  oblige  me. 

Soc.  How  would  you  have  me  begin?  Shall  I take  first 
of  all  him  whom  you  mentioned  first — the  sun  ? 

Her.  Very  good. 

Soc.  The  origin  of  the  sun  will  probably  be  clearer  in  the 
Doric  form,  for  the  Dorians  call  him  dXior,  and  this  name  is  4°9 
given  to  him  because  when  he  rises  he  gathers  (dXi'foi)  men 
together  or  because  he  is  always  rolling  in  his  course  (del 
et’Xe h>  lav)  about  the  earth ; or  from  aloXeTv , of  which  the 
meaning  is  the  same  as  noiKiWfiv  (to  variegate),  because  he 
variegates  the  productions  of  the  earth. 

Her.  But  what  is  o-eXiiw?  (the  moon)  ? 

Soc.  That  name  is  rather  unfortunate  for  Anaxagoras. 

Her.  How  so? 

Soc.  The  word  seems  to  forestall  his  recent  discovery, 
that  the  moon  receives  her  light  from  the  sun. 

Her.  Why  do  you  say  so  ? 

Soc.  The  two  words  o-eXnr  (brightness)  and  4>cos  (light)  have 
much  the  same  meaning? 

Her.  Yes. 


Many  words  have  a foreign  origin. 

Soc.  This  light  about  the  moon  is  always  new  (ytov)  and 
always  old  (dvov),  if  the  disciples  of  Anaxagoras  say  truly. 
For  the  sun  in  his  revolution  always  adds  new  light,  and 
there  is  the  old  light  of  the  previous  month. 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  The  moon  is  not  unfrequently  called  atXauaia.  ' 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  And  as  she  has  a light  which  is  always  old  and 
always  new  (w  vtov  del),  she  may  very  properly  have  the 
name  aeXasvoveodeia ; and  this  when  hammered  into  shape 
becomes  aeXavaia. 

Her.  A real  dithyrambic  sort  of  name  that,  Socrates.  But 
what  do  you  say  of  the  month  and  the  stars  ? 

Soc.  Mels  (month)  is  called  from  puodadaL  (to  lessen),  be- 
cause suffering  diminution ; the  name  of  darpa  (stars)  seems 
to  be  derived  from  aarpa tt),  which  is  an  improvement  on 
dvaarpanrf],  signifying  the  upsetting  of  the  eyes  ( amarpetpeiv  data). 

Her.  What  do  you  say  of  H p (fire)  and  uScop  (water)  ? 

Soc.  I am  at  a loss  how  to  explain  n vp ; either  the  muse  of 
Euthyphro  has  deserted  me,  or  there  is  some  very  great 
difficulty  in  the  word.  Please,  however,  to  note  the  con- 
trivance which  I adopt  whenever  I am  in  a difficulty  of  this 
sort. 

Her.  What  is  it  ? 

Soc.  I will  tell  you ; but  I should  like  to  know  first 
whether  you  can  tell  me  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  word 

Tiitp  ? 

Her.  Indeed  I cannot. 

Soc.  Shall  I tell  you  what  I suspect  to  be  the  true  expla- 
nation  of  this  and  several  other  words? — My  belief  is  that 
they  are  of  foreign  origin.  For  the  Hellenes,  especially 
those  who  were  under  the  dominion  of  the  barbarians,  often 
borrowed  from  them. 

Her.  What  is  the  inference  ? 

Soc.  Why,  you  know  that  any  one  who  seeks  to  demon- 
strate the  fitness  of  these  names  according  to  the  Hellenic 
language,  and  not  according  to  the  language  from  which  the 
words  are  derived,  is  rather  likely  to  be  at  fault. 

Her.  Yes,  certainly. 

410  .Soc.  Well  then,  consider  whether  this  Hp  is  not  foreign  ; 
vol.  1.  A a 


353 

Craty/us. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cenes. 


pels. 

aarpov. 

irvp. 

v5wp. 


,-54 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cenes. 


aldrip. 


upai. 


diavrSs. 


iroi. 


‘ The  horses  are  running  away'. 

lor  the  word  is  not  easily  brought  into  relation  with  the 
Hellenic  tongue,  and  the  Phrygians  may  be  observed  to 
have  the  same  word  slightly  changed,  just  as  they  have  ?8&>p 
(water)  and  kuws  (dogs),  and  many  other  words. 

Her.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Any  violent  interpretations  of  the  words  should  be 
avoided  ; for  something  to  say  about  them  may  easily  be 
found.  And  thus  I get  rid  of  nip  and  v8a>p.  ’A fjp  (air\ 
Hermogenes,  may  be  explained  as  the  element  which  raises 
( a’lpei ) things  from  the  earth,  or  as  ever  flowing  (dd  pd),  or 
because  the  flux  of  the  air  is  wind,  and  the  poets  call  the 
winds  'air-blasts/  (d^rm) ; he  who  uses  the  term  may  mean, 
so  to  speak,  air-flux  (a^rippow),  in  the  sense  of  wind-flux  (nvev- 
pa roppovv) ; and  because  this  moving  wind  may  be  expressed 
by  either  term  he  employs  the  word  air  (dr)p=m)TT)t  peui).  Aldfjp 
(aether)  I should  interpret  as  deiOerjp ; this  may  be  correctly 
said,  because  this  element  is  always  running  in  a flux  about 
the  air  (dd  del  ntp\  tov  d/pn  pe<ov).  The  meaning  of  the  word  yij 
(earth)  comes  out  better  when  in  the  form  of  ynta,  for  the  earth 
may  be  truly  called  'mother’  (y ala,  yewr)Teipa),  as  in  the  language 
of  Homer  (Od.  ix.  118  ; xiii.  160)  yeydaai  means  yeyevvrjcrOai . 

Her.  Good. 

Soc.  What  shall  we  take  next? 

Her.  There  are  &pai  (the  seasons),  and  the  two  names  of 
the  year,  diavros  and  «Vor. 

Soc.  The  copnt  should  be  spelt  in  the  old  Attic  way,  if  you 
desire  to  know  the  probable  truth  about  them ; they  are 
rightly  called  the  opai  because  they  divide  ( 6pi(ovo-n ) the 
summers  and  winters  and  winds  and  the  fruits  of  the  earth. 
The  words  cviavros  and  Aor  appear  to  be  the  same, — 'that 
which  brings  to  light  the  plants  and  growths  of  the  earth  in 
their  turn,  and  passes  them  in  review  within  itself  (eV  eW<» 
i^TciCfi) this  is  broken  up  into  two  words,  eviavros  from 
iv  eavrS,  and  eros  from  <Yd(Vf,  just  as  the  original  name  of  Zevr 
was  divided  into  Zrjva  and  a la ; and  the  whole  proposition 
means  that  this  power  of  reviewing  from  within  is  one,  but 
has  two  names,  two  words  Aor  and  eVtnvros  being  thus  formed 
out  of  a single  proposition. 

Her.  Indeed,  Socrates,  you  make  surprising  progress. 

Soc.  I am  run  away  with. 


‘ Not  a bad  notion' 


355 


Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  But  am  not  yet  at  my  utmost  speed. 

41 1 Her.  I should  like  very  much  to  know,  in  the  next  place, 
how  you  would  explain  the  virtues.  What  principle  of 
correctness  is  there  in  those  charming  words  — wisdom, 
understanding,  justice,  and  the  rest  of  them  ? 

Soc.  That  is  a tremendous  class  of  names  which  you  are 
disinterring;  still,  as  I have  put  on  the  lion’s  skin,  I must 
not  be  faint  of  heart ; and  I suppose  that  I must  consider  the 
meaning  of  wisdom  (c ppovrja-is ) and  understanding  (o-tWo-tj), 
and  judgment  (yvwprj),  and  knowledge  (fWr?^),  and  all  those 
other  charming  words,  as  you  call  them  ? 

Her.  Surely,  we  must  not  leave  off  until  we  find  out  their 


Cra/ylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

GENF.S. 


meaning. 


Soc.  By  the  dog  of  Egypt  I have  not  a bad  notion  which 
came  into  my  head  only  this  moment : I believe  that  the 
primeval  givers  of  names  were  undoubtedly  like  too  many  of 
our  modern  philosophers,  who,  in  their  search  after  the 
nature  of  things,  are  always  getting  dizzy  from  constantly 
going  round  and  round,  and  then  they  imagine  that  the 
world  is  going  round  and  round  and  moving  in  all  direc- 
tions ; and  this  appearance,  which  arises  out  of  their  own 
internal  condition,  they  suppose  to  be  a reality  of  nature ; 
they  think  that  there  is  nothing  stable  or  permanent,  but 
only  flux  and  motion,  and  that  the  world  is  always  full  of 
every  sort  of  motion  and  change.  The  consideration  of  the 
names  which  I mentioned  has  led  me  into  making  this 
reflection. 

Her.  How  is  that,  Socrates? 

Soc.  Perhaps  you  did  not  observe  that  in  the  names  which 
have  been  just  cited,  the  motion  or  flux  or  generation  of 
things  is  most  surely  indicated. 

Her.  No,  indeed,  I never  thought  of  it. 

Soc.  Take  the  first  of  those  which  you  mentioned  ; clearly 
that  is  a name  indicative  of  motion. 

Her.  What  was  the  name? 

Soc.  <bp6vr)<ris  (wisdom),  which  may  signify  (popas  <a\  pov  vor/tris 
'perception  of  motion  and  flux),  or  perhaps  (popas  oinja-is  (the 
blessing  of  motion),  but  is  at  any  rate  connected  with  <f>tpe<T0ai 
(motion) ; yva>pr)  (judgment),  again,  certainly  implies  the 


The  heads 
of  the  givers 
of  names 
were  going 
round  and 
round,  and 
therefore 
they  ima- 
gined that 
the  world 
was  going 
round  and 
round. 


<pp6vri<us. 


yeufiTj. 


a a 2 


35^ 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

CENES. 

v6t)(r  is. 


cruxppoavvT]. 

(TuaTri/xrj. 


(TVVC<TIS. 


trotpia. 


ayadAv. 


hiKaiocrvvT). 


Explana- 
tion of  jus- 
tice based 
on  the  doc- 
trines of 
Heraclei- 
tus 


Names  of faculties  and  of  virtues  indicative  of  motion. 

ponderation  or  consideration  (yi>pi)cn<i)  of  generation,  for  to 
ponder  is  the  same  as  to  consider ; or,  if  you  would  rather, 
here  is  vfyats,  the  very  word  just  now  mentioned,  which  is 
viov  ea-is  (the  desire  of  the  new) ; the  word  vtos  implies  that 
the  world  is  always  in  process  of  creation.  The  giver  of  the 
name  wanted  to  express  this  longing  of  the  soul,  for  the 
original  name  was  ve oems,  and  not  i >6tj<jis  ; but  17  took  the  place 
of  a double  e.  The  word  u-afpoo-vvrj  is  the  salvation  {a-o-n^pla) 
of  that  wisdom  (^povrja-is)  which  we  were  just  now  con-  412 
sidering.  ’E7t lar^prj  (knowledge)  is  akin  to  this,  and  indicates 
that  the  soul  which  is  good  for  anything  follows  («r erai)  the 
motion  of  things,  neither  anticipating  them  nor  falling 
behind  them ; wherefore  the  word  should  rather  be  read  as 
errLo-Tijpevr)  1)  inserting  tv.  Suvea-is  (understanding)  may  be  re- 
garded in  like  manner  as  a kind  of  conclusion  ; the  word  is 
derived  from  o-vi/ieVat  (to  go  along  with),  and,  like  enivTaadai 
(to  know),  implies  the  progression  of  the  soul  in  company 
with  the  nature  of  things.  2o(pla  (wisdomj  is  very  dark,  and 
appears  not  to  be  of  native  growth  ; the  meaning  is,  touching 
the  motion  or  stream  of  things.  You  must  remember  that  the 
poets,  when  they  speak  of  the  commencement  of  any  rapid 
motion,  often  use  the  word  e<rv 6tj  (he  rushed) ; and  there  was 
a famous  Lacedaemonian  who  was  named  loOr  (Rush),  for 
by  this  word  the  Lacedaemonians  signify  rapid  motion,  and 
the  touching  («ra<^)  of  motion  is  expressed  by  a-ocpla,  for  all 
things  are  supposed  to  be  in  motion.  Good  (dyadov)  is  the 
name  which  is  given  to  the  admirable  (dyaa-ru)  in  nature ; for, 
although  all  things  move,  still  there  are  degrees  of  motion  ; 
some  are  swifter,  some  slower ; but  there  are  some  things 
which  are  admirable  for  their  swiftness,  and  this  admirable 
part  of  nature  is  called  dyadov.  A maioa-vv >7  (justice)  is  clearly 
dtKaiov  ovveais  (understanding  of  the  just)  j but  the  actual  word 
bUmov  is  more  difficult:  men  are  only  agreed  to  a certain 
extent  about  justice,  and  then  they  begin  to  disagree.  For 
those  who  suppose  all  things  to  be  in  motion  conceive  the 
greater  part  of  nature  to  be  a mere  receptacle ; and  they  say 
that  there  is  a penetrating  power  which  passes  through  all 
this,  and  is  the  instrument  of  creation  in  all,  and  is  the 
subtlest  and  swiftest  element ; for  if  it  were  not  the  subtlest, 

1 Reading  ipfidWovras  8«?  tA  « : cp.  infra , 437  A. 


357 


‘ Such  charming  fancies  about  justice'. 

and  a power  which  none  can  keep  out,  and  also  the  swiftest, 
passing  by  other  things  as  if  they  were  standing  still,  it 
could  not  penetrate  through  the  moving  universe.  And  this 
element,  which  superintends  all  things  and  pierces  (hcu&») 
all,  is  rightly  called  SUaiov ; the  letter  k is  only  added  for 
the  sake  of  euphony.  Thus  far,  as  I was  saying,  there  is 
3 a general  agreement  about  the  nature  of  justice;  but  I, 
Hermogenes,  being  an  enthusiastic  disciple,  have  been  told 
in  a mystery  that  the  justice  of  which  I am  speaking  is  also 
the  cause  of  the  world  : now  a cause  is  that  because  of  which 
anything  is  created ; and  some  one  comes  and  whispers  in 
my  ear  that  justice  is  rightly  so  called  because  partaking  of 
the  nature  of  the  cause,  and  I begin,  after  hearing  what  he 
has  said,  to  interrogate  him  gently:  ‘Well,  my  excellent 
friend,’  say  I,  ‘but  if  all  this  be  true,  I still  want  to  know 
what  is  justice.’  Thereupon  they  think  that  I ask  tiresome 
questions,  and  am  leaping  over  the  barriers,  and  have  been 
already  sufficiently  answered,  and  they  try  to  satisfy  me 
with  one  derivation  after  another,  and  at  length  they  quarrel. 
For  one  of  them  says  that  justice  is  the  sun,  and  that  he 
onlv  is  the  piercing  (Siaioi'ra)  and  burning  ( Kaovra ) element 
which  is  the  guardian  of  nature.  And  when  I joyfully 
repeat  this  beautiful  notion,  I am  answered  by  the  satirical 
remark,  ‘What,  is  there  no  justice  in  the  world  when  the 
sun  is  down  ? ’ And  when  I earnestly  beg  my  questioner  to 
tell  me  his  own  honest  opinion,  he  says,  ‘ Fire  in  the 
abstract;’  but  this  is  not  very  intelligible.  Another  says, 
‘No,  not  fire  in  the  abstract,  but  the  abstraction  of  heat  in 
the  fire.’  Another  man  professes  to  laugh  at  all  this,  and  says, 
as  Anaxagoras  says,  that  justice  is  mind,  for  mind,  as  they 
say,  has  absolute  power,  and  mixes  with  nothing,  and  orders 
all  things,  and  passes  through  all  things.  At  last,  my  friend, 
I find  myself  in  far  greater  perplexity  about  the  nature  of 
justice  than  I was  before  I began  to  learn.  But  still  I am  of 
opinion  that  the  name,  which  has  led  me  into  this  digression, 
was  given  to  justice  for  the  reasons  which  I have  mentioned. 

Her.  I think,  Socrates,  that  you  are  not  improvising  now; 
you  must  have  heard  this  from  some  one  else. 

Soc.  And  not  the  rest? 

Her.  Hardly. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 


and  of  An- 
axagoras. 


The  simple 
Hermo- 
genes is 
convinced 
that  So- 


35« 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

GENES. 

crates  is  no 
longer  pre- 
tending. 

avSpela. 


txpppv 

avf]p. 

yvvfi- 

6rj\v. 


Text'll- 


More  and  more  etymologies. 

Soc.  Well,  then,  let  me  go  on  in  the  hope  of  making  you 
believe  in  the  originality  of  the  rest.  What  remains  after 
justice  ? I do  not  think  that  we  have  as  yet  discussed 
courage  (av8peia)} — injustice  (d8i«ia),  which  is  obviously  nothing 
more  than  a hindrance  to  the  penetrating  principle  ( bitiiovros ), 
need  not  be  considered.  Well,  then,  the  name  of  dvbpeia 
seems  to  imply  a battle;— this  battle  is  in  the  world  of 
existence,  and  according  to  the  doctrine  of  flux  is  only  the 
counterflux  (< Ivavria  poll) : if  you  extract  the  8 from  dvSpeia,  the 
name  at  once  signifies  the  thing,  and  you  may  clearly  under- 
stand that  dvbpeia  is  not  the  stream  opposed  to  every  stream, 
but  only  to  that  which  is  contrary  to  justice,  for  otherwise  414 
courage  would  not  have  been  praised.  The  words  Spprjv 
(male)  and  dtnjp  (man)  also  contain  a similar  allusion  to  the 
same  principle  of  the  upward  flux  (rjj  llvco  pop),  rw> ) (woman) 

I suspect  to  be  the  same  word  as  yovlj  (birth) : 6p\v  (female) 
appears  to  be  partly  derived  from  dpXrj  (the  teat),  because  the 
teat  is  like  rain,  and  makes  things  flourish  (rtdtjkevai). 

Her.  That  is  surely  probable. 

Soc.  Yes;  and  the  very  word  6ak\ew  (to  flourish)  seems  to 
figure  the  growth  of  youth,  which  is  swift  and  sudden  ever. 
And  this  is  expressed  by  the  legislator  in  the  name,  which  is 
a compound  of  6e?v  (running),  and  aWeaOu  (leaping).  Pray 
observe  how  I gallop  away  when  I get  on  smooth  ground. 
There  are  a good  many  names  generally  thought  to  be  of 
importance,  which  have  still  to  be  explained. 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  There  is  the  meaning  of  the  word  Te'^w;  (art),  for 
example. 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  That  may  be  identified  with  e'xovor),  and  expresses  the 
possession  of  mind  : you  have  only  to  take  away  the  r and 
insert  two  o’s,  one  between  the  x and  ”,  and  another  between 
the  v and  17. 

Her.  That  is  a very  shabby  etymology. 

Soc.  Yes,  my  dear  friend;  but  then  you  know  that  the 
original  names  have  been  long  ago  buried  and  disguised  by 
people  sticking  on  and  stripping  off  letters  for  the  sake  of 
euphony,  and  twisting  and  bedizening  them  in  all  sorts  of 
ways:  and  time  too  may  have  had  a share  in  the  change. 


359 


•Les  con  sonants  ne  sont pas  grand  'chose,  les  voyelles  men . ’ 

Take,  for  example,  the  word  Kdrourpov ; why  is  the  letter  p 
inserted?  This  must  surely  be  the  addition  of  some  one 
who  cares  nothing  about  the  truth,  but  thinks  only  ol  putting 
the  mouth  into  shape.  And  the  additions  are  often  such 
that  at  last  no  human  being  can  possibly  make  out  the 
original  meaning  ol  the  word.  Another  example  is  the 
word  <r<t> lyi,  erQiyyos,  which  ought  properly  to  be  (plyi,  fryybt, 
and  there  are  other  examples. 

Her.  That  is  quite  true,  Socrates. 

Soc.  And  yet,  if  you  are  permitted  to  put  in  and  pull  out 
any  letters  which  you  please,  names  will  be  too  easily  made, 
and  any  name  may  be  adapted  to  any  object. 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  Yes,  that  is  true.  And  therefore  a wise  dictator,  like 
yourself,  should  observe  the  laws  of  moderation  and  proba- 
bility. 

Her.  Such  is  my  desire. 

Soc.  And  mine,  too,  Hermogenes.  But  do  not  be  too 

5 much  of  a precisian,  or  'you  will  unnerve  me  of  my 
strength  Y When  you  have  allowed  me  to  add  p7Xai"7  (con- 
trivance) to  Tixvri  (art)  I shall  be  at  the  top  of  my  bent,  for  I 
conceive  prjxavrj  to  be  a sign  of  great  accomplishment  aveiv ; 
for  ixijicos  has  the  meaning  of  greatness,  and  these  two,  rfnot 
and  aveiv , make  up  the  word  p-wav^.  But,  as  I was  saying, 
being  now  at  the  top  of  my  bent,  I should  like  to  consider 
the  meaning  of  the  two  words  dperej  (virtue)  and  wua'a  (vice) ; 
aperf/  I do  not  as  yet  understand,  but  kukIu  is  transparent,  and 
agrees  with  the  principles  which  preceded,  for  all  things 
being  in  a flux  (Iovtcov),  mala  is  kgkcos  Ibv  (going  badly) ; and 
this  evil  motion  when  existing  in  the  soul  has  the  general 
name  of  kukLu,  or  vice,  specially  appropriated  to  it.  The 
meaning  of  kokus  levai  may  be  further  illustrated  by  the  use  of 
beCKla  (cowardice),  which  ought  to  have  come  after  dvSpeia,  but 
was  forgotten,  and,  as  I fear,  is  not  the  only  word  which  has 
been  passed  over.  Aei\la  signifies  that  the  soul  is  bound 
with  a strong  chain  (Seo-pos),  for  X/av  means  strength,  and 
therefore  Sa Xia  expresses  the  greatest  and  strongest  bond  of 
the  soul  ; and  unopia  (difficulty)  is  an  evil  of  the  same  nature 
(from  <1  not,  and  iropeveaBai  to  go),  like  anything  else  which  is 

1 Iliad  vi.  265. 


Cra/ylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

Kiroirrpov. 


ft  ?{■ 


H-VXat,V- 


dpeT^i, 

Koucla . 


SetAia. 


o6o 

Craty/us. 

Socrates, 

Hf.rmo- 

GRNES. 

Kaicia 

and 

apfT^] 

again. 


icaicbu, 

(of  foreign 
origin). 


aUrxptv. 


Ka\6v. 


Socrates  ‘ fooling  at  the  top  of  his  bent* 

an  impediment  to  motion  and  movement.  Then  the  word 
KnKl'1  appears  to  mean  k <«<&>?  Uvm,  or  going  badly,  or  limping 
and  halting ; of  which  the  consequence  is,  that  the  soul 
becomes  filled  with  vice.  And  if  naula  is  the  name  of  this 
sort  of  thing,  open)  will  be  the  opposite  of  it,  signifying  in 
the  first  place  ease  of  motion,  then  that  the  stream  of  the 
good  soul  is  unimpeded,  and  has  therefore  the  attribute  of 
ever  flowing  without  let  or  hindrance,  and  is  therefore  called 
dpfn),  or,  more  correctly,  dftpewn)  (ever- flowing),  and  may 
perhaps  have  had  another  form,  «!peri)  (eligible),  indicating 
that  nothing  is  more  eligible  than  virtue,  and  this  has  been 
hammered  into  dptn).  I daresay  that  you  will  deem  this  to 
be  another  invention  of  mine,  but  I think  that  if  the  previous 
word  Kendo,  was  right,  then  dp€n)  is  also  right. 

Her.  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  kok'ov,  which  has  played  416 
so  great  a part  in  your  previous  discourse  ? 

Soc.  That  is  a very  singular  word  about  which  I can 
hardly  form  an  opinion,  and  therefore  I must  have  recourse 
to  my  ingenious  device. 

Her.  What  device  ? 

Soc.  The  device  of  a foreign  origin,  which  I shall  give  to 
this  word  also. 

Her.  Very  likely  you  are  right ; but  suppose  that  we  leave 
these  words,  and  endeavour  to  see  the  rationale  of  naXov  and 

alcrxpov . 

Soc.  The  meaning  of  ala-ypov  is  evident,  being  only  del  la-xov 
poijs  (always  preventing  from  flowing),  and  this  is  in  accord- 
ance with  our  former  derivations.  For  the  name-giver  was 
a great  enemy  to  stagnation  of  all  sorts,  and  hence  he  gave 
the  name  aeiax^povv  to  that  which  hindered  the  flux  (del  laxov 
povv ),  and  this  is  now  beaten  together  into  alo-xpov. 

Her.  But  what  do  you  say  of  kh\6v? 

Soc.  That  is  more  obscure ; yet  the  form  is  only  due  to 
the  quantity,  and  has  been  changed  by  altering  ov  into  o. 

Her.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  This  name  appears  to  denote  mind. 

Her.  How  so  ? 

Soc.  Let  me  ask  you  what  is  the  cause  why  anything  has 
a name ; is  not  the  principle  which  imposes  the  name  the 
cause  ? 


Socrates  still  ‘ at  the  top  of  his  bent  p 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  must  not  this  be  the  mind  of  Gods,  or  of  men, 
or  of  both  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  Is  not  mind  that  which  called  ( KaXeaav ) things  by  their 
names,  and  is  not  mind  the  beautiful  (<aX6v)  ? 

Her.  That  is  evident. 

Soc.  And  are  not  the  works  of  intelligence  and  mind 
worthy  of  praise,  and  are  not  other  works  worthy  of  blame  ? 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Physic  does  the  work  of  a physician,  and  carpentering 
does  the  works  of  a carpenter  ? 

Her.  Exactly. 

Soc.  And  the  principle  of  beauty  does  the  works  of 
beauty  ? 

Her.  Of  course. 

Soc.  And  that  principle  we  affirm  to  be  mind  ? 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  Then  mind  is  rightly  called  beauty  because  she  does 
the  works  which  we  recognize  and  speak  of  as  the  beautiful  ? 

Her.  That  is  evident. 

Soc.  What  more  names  remain  to  us  ? 

Her.  There  are  the  words  which  are  connected  with  dyad ov 
and  KaXdv,  such  as  crvppepov  and  XvcrcreXovv,  ixpekipoVy  KepdaXeov, 
17  and  their  opposites. 

Soc.  The  meaning  of  o-vppepov  (expedient)  I think  that  you 
may  discover  for  yourself  by  the  light  of  the  previous  exam- 
ples,— for  it  is  a sister  word  to  eVtor^,  meaning  just  the 
motion  ( epopd ) of  the  soul  accompanying  the  world,  and  things 
which  are  done  upon  this  principle  are  called  arvpcpopa  or  o-vp- 
epfpovra,  because  they  are  carried  round  with  the  world. 

Her.  That  is  probable. 

Soc.  Again,  KepbaXeov  (gainful)  is  called  from  KcpSos  (gaini, 
but  you  must  alter  the  S into  v if  you  want  to  get  at  the 
meaning;  for  this  word  also  signifies  good,  but  in  another 
way ; he  who  gave  the  name  intended  to  express  the  power 
of  admixture  (Kfpawvpevov)  and  universal  penetration  in  the 
good ; in  forming  the  word,  however,  he  inserted  a 8 instead 
of  an  v,  and  so  made  «f'p8or. 

Her.  Well,  but  what  is  Xva-neXovu  (profitable)  ? 


361 

Cralylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 


<rvp.<pepov. 


KepSa\eov. 


3^2  Hermogenes  admiringly  assenting. 

Cratylus.  Soc.  I suppose,  Hermogenes,  that  people  do  not  mean  by 
Socrates,  the  profitable  the  gainful  or  that  which  pays  (Xv«)  the 

cenes.  retailer,  but  they  use  the  word  in  the  sense  of  swift.  You 

\u<rire\ovv.  reSard  the  profitable  (kvcmekovv),  as  that  which  being  the 
swiftest  thing  in  existence,  allows  of  no  stay  in  things  and 
no  pause  or  end  of  motion,  but  always,  if  there  begins  to  be 
any  end,  lets  things  go  again  (Xv«),  and  makes  motion  im- 
moi tal  and  unceasing:  and  in  this  point  of  view,  as  appears 
to  me,  the  good  is  happily  denominated  kvcrirekovv — being 
ttxpehifiov.  that  which  looses  (Xww)  the  end  (rAoy)  of  motion.  ,tv 

(the  advantageous)  is  derived  from  o</>«XXew,  meaning  that 
which  creates  and  increases;  this  latter  is  a common 
Homeric  word,  and  has  a foreign  character. 

Her.  And  what  do  you  say  of  their  opposites? 

Soc.  Of  such  as  are  mere  negatives  I hardly  think  that  1 
need  speak. 

Her.  Which  are  they  ? 

Soc.  I he  words  dgupepopov  (inexpedient),  di/ax^eXey  (unprofit- 
able), akvo-neXes  (unadvantageous),  dKtp$cs  (ungainful). 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  I would  rather  take  the  words  Pkafapov  (harmful), 

&>8ey  (hurtful). 

Her.  Good. 

&\a&ep6v.  Soc.  The  word  @\a/3(p6v  is  that  which  is  said  to  hinder  or 
harm  ( 3\anreiv ) the  Stream  (poO*')  ; (OkanTov  is  /3 ovkopevov  anrfiv 
(seeking  to  hold  or  bind) ; for  avreiu  is  the  same  as  Sew,  and 
Sew  is  always  a term  of  censure ; ftovkopevov  dnreiv  poiiv  (wanting 
to  bind  the  stream)  would  properly  be  Povkamepovv,  and  this, 
as  I imagine,  is  improved  into  fikaPepov. 

Her.  You  bring  out  curious  results,  Socrates,  in  the  use 
of  names ; and  when  I hear  the  word  Povkanrepow  I cannot 
help  imagining  that  you  are  making  your  mouth  into  a flute, 
and  puffing  away  at  some  prelude  to  Athene. 

Soc.  That  is  the  fault  of  the  makers  of  the  name,  Hermo-  41 
genes;  not  mine. 

Her.  Very  true  ; but  what  is  the  derivation  of  £?/Lu<»8e y? 
(■npiades.  Soc.  What  is  the  meaning  of  wSey  ?— let  me  remark, 

Hermogenes,  how  right  I was  in  saying  that  great  changes 
are  made  in  the  meaning  of  words  by  putting  in  and  pulling 
out  letters ; even  a very  slight  permutation  will  sometimes 


Ancient  pronunciation  of  words . 

give  an  entirely  opposite  sense ; 1 may  instance  the  word 
d(ov,  which  occurs  to  me  at  the  moment,  and  reminds  me  of 
what  I was  going  to  say  to  you,  that  the  fine  fashionable 
language  of  modern  times  has  twisted  and  disguised  and 
entirely  altered  the  original  meaning  both  of  8eov,  and  also  of 
which  in  the  old  language  is  clearly  indicated. 

Her.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  I will  try  to  explain.  You  are  aware  that  our  fore- 
fathers loved  the  sounds  t and  S,  especially  the  women,  who 
are  most  conservative  of  the  ancient  language,  but  now  they 
change  i into  or  f,  and  8 into  f ; this  is  supposed  to  increase 
the  grandeur  of  the  sound. 

Her.  How  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  For  example,  in  very  ancient  times  they  called  the 
dav  either  Ipepa  or  ep-epa,  which  is  called  by  us  fjpepa. 

Her.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Do  you  observe  that  only  the  ancient  form  shows  the 
intention  of  the  giver  of  the  name  ? of  which  the  reason  is, 
that  men  long  for  (ipelpovai)  and  love  the  light  which  comes 
after  the  darkness,  and  is  therefore  called  'Apa,  from  tpepos, 
desire. 

Her.  Clearly. 

Soc.  But  now  the  name  is  so  travestied  that  you  cannot 
tell  the  meaning,  although  there  are  some  who  imagine 
the  day  to  be  called  wepa  because  it  makes  things  gentle 
(frepa). 

Her.  Such  is  my  view. 

Soc.  And  do  you  know  that  the  ancients  said  hvoyhv  and 
not  C vyov ? 

Her.  They  did  so. 

Soc.  And  (vybv  (yoke)  has  no  meaning, — it  ought  to  be 
bvoybv,  which  word  expresses  the  binding  of  two  together 
(tSvflv  aywyrfj  for  the  purpose  of  drawing ; — this  has  been 
changed  into  (vyov,  and  there  are  many  other  examples  ol 
similar  changes. 

Her.  There  are. 

Soc.  Proceeding  in  the  same  train  of  thought  I may 
remark  that  the  word  8eov  (obligation)  has  a meaning  which 
is  the  opposite  of  all  the  other  appellations  of  good  ; for 
8*ov  is  here  a species  of  good,  and  is,  nevertheless,  the  chain 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

Seov. 


We  must 
allow  for 
change  of 
i into  n or 
e,  and  of  S 
into  C 


And  so 
Sfov  — Slav. 


36  4 


More  ridiculous  etymologies : 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

CENES. 


(rifuwdris. 


■qSovq. 


avia. 

a\y7]Suv. 

oSvvr/. 
aySv  Sd>v. 

Xapd. 

repels. 


eixppoo'bvr). 


emOupia. 


(fifcr/xos)  or  hinderer  of  motion,  and  therefore  own  brother  of 

Pbafttpov, 

Her.  Yes,  Socrates;  that  is  quite  plain. 

Soc.  Not  if  you  restore  the  ancient  form,  which  is  more 
likely  to  be  the  correct  one,  and  read  btbv  instead  of  8tov ; if  419 
you  convert  the  f into  an  1 after  the  old  fashion,  this  word  will 
then  agree  with  other  words  meaning  good  ; for  810 v,  not  8«on, 
signifies  the  good,  and  is  a term  of  praise;  and  the  author 
of  names  has  not  contradicted  himself,  but  in  all  these 
various  appellations,  btov  (obligatory),  wcfre \ipov  (advantageous), 
\v<TiTe\ovv  (profitable),  KepSaXeov  (gainful),  ayaOov  (good),  crvpfopov 
(expedient),  evnopov  (plenteous),  the  same  conception  is  im- 
plied of  the  ordering  or  all-pervading  principle  which  is 
praised,  and  the  restraining  and  binding  principle  which  is 
censured.  And  this  is  further  illustrated  by  the  word  (w  1- 
C0817S  (hurtful),  which  if  the  C is  only  changed  into  8 as  in  the 
ancient  language,  becomes  S^tcbS^s ; and  this  name,  as  . you 
will  perceive,  is  given  to  that  which  binds  motion  (Sovvtl  lov). 

Her.  What  do  you  say  of  >78 °vh  (pleasure),  Xvnrj  (pain),  «n- 
Ovpla  (desire),  and  the  like,  Socrates  ? 

Soc.  I do  not  think,  Hermogenes,  that  there  is  any  great 
difficulty  about  them — 17801x7  is  17  01x70-1  r,  the  action  which  tends 
to  advantage ; and  the  original  form  may  be  supposed  to 
have  been  1701x7,  but  this  has  been  altered  by  the  insertion  of 
the  8.  Avnr)  appears  to  be  derived  from  the  relaxation  (Xv«n) 
which  the  body  feels  when  in  sorrow;  avia  (trouble)  is  the 
hindrance  of  motion  (a  and  fiVat) ; dXyi;8<u!/  (distress),  if  I am 
not  mistaken,  is  a foreign  word,  which  is  derived  from 
aXyavos  (grievous);  0801x7  (grief;  is  called  from  the  putting  on 
(eV8oo-«)  sorrow;  in  axfydav  (vexation)  ‘the  word  too  labours,’ 
as  any  one  may  see ; (jo}f)  is  the  very  expression  of  the 
fluency  and  diffusion  of  the  soul  (\eco) ; repots  (delight)  is  so 
called  from  the  pleasure  creeping  (epnov)  through  the  soul, 
which  may  be  likened  to  a breath  ( nvol ))  and  is  properly 
epnvovv,  but  has  been  altered  by  time  into  Tepirvov ; dcppocrwr] 
(cheerfulness)  and  iiriOvpia  explain  themselves ; the  former, 
which  ought  to  be  eoc pepoavvr)  and  has  been  changed  into 
eixppoav  1x7,  is  named,  as  every  one  may  see,  from  the  soul 
moving  (c pepevOcu ) in  harmony  with  nature ; tmdvpia  is  really 
17  tjrl  tov  Gvpnv  iovo'a  bwapis,  the  power  which  enters  into  the 


365 


More  and  more  etymologies. 

soul;  Bvfios  (passion)  is  called  from  the  rushing  (dvcrecos)  and  Cratylus. 
boiling  of  the  soul ; tpfpo?  (desire)  denotes  the  stream  (pour)  Socrates, 
which  most  draws  the  soul  Si  a tt)v  rijs  po^— because 
flowing  with  desire  (Upevos),  and  expresses  a longing  after 
things  and  violent  attraction  of  the  soul  to  them,  and  is  ^ep0S 
termed  i.uepoy  from  possessing  this  power , nodos  (longing)  is  ^680 r. 
expressive  of  the  desire  of  that  which  is  not  present  but 
absent,  and  in  another  place  (n-ov) ; this  is  the  reason  why 
the  name  irodos  is  applied  to  things  absent,  as  ipepos  is  to 
things  present ; <fpa>s  (love)  is  so  called  because  flowing  in  epu r. 
(iapwv)  from  without;  the  stream  is  not  inherent,  but  is  an 
influence  introduced  through  the  eyes,  and  from  flowing  in 
was  called  eo-pos  (influx)  in  the  old  time  when  they  used  o for 
a),  and  is  called  epa>s,  now  that  a>  is  substituted  for  o.  But 
why  do  you  not  give  me  another  word  ? 

Her.  What  do  you  think  of  8o£a  (opinion),  and  that  class  of  5 
words  ? 

Soc.  a o£a  is  either  derived  from  8ub£i?  (pursuit),  and  ex- 
presses the  march  of  the  soul  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  or 
from  the  shooting  of  a bow  (t6£ov)  ; the  latter  is  more  likely, 
and  is  confirmed  by  oi^cm  (thinking),  which  is  only  olais 
(moving),  and  implies  the  movement  of  the  soul  to  the 
essential  nature  of  each  thing — just  as  /3oi/Ai)  (counsel)  has  to  frovs-'p. 
do  with  shooting  (/3oA fj) ; and  /3u {iXeadm  (to  wish)  combines  the 
notion  of  aiming  and  deliberating — all  these  words  seem  to 
follow  8o£a,  and  all  involve  the  idea  of  shooting,  just  as 
a^ovA/a,  absence  of  counsel,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a mishap, 
or  missing,  or  mistaking  of  the  mark,  or  aim,  or  proposal,  or 
object. 

Her.  You  are  quickening  your  pace  now,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Why  yes,  the  end  I now  dedicate  to 1 God,  not,  how- 
ever, until  I have  explained  avayKr,  (necessity),  which  ought  to 
come  next,  and  Uovaiov  (the  voluntary).  'Ekovo-iov  is  certainly  hKovaiou. 
the  yielding  (fi%i>)  and  unresisting — the  notion  implied  is 
yielding  and  not  opposing,  yielding,  as  I was  just  now 
saying,  to  that  motion  which  is  in  accordance  with  our  will  ; 
but  the  necessary  and  resistant  being  contrary  to  our  will, 
implies  error  and  ignorance;  the  idea  is  taken  from  walking 
through  a ravine  which  is  impassable,  and  rugged,  and  over- 

1 Reading  8e<£. 


366 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

H ERMO- 
GENES. 

avayKaiov. 


ivojxa. 


a.\r]d*ia. 


<l/(vSos. 


What  of 

Ibv,  (ifOV, 
Sovv  ? 


Names 
which  we 
do  not  un- 
derstand 
are  proba- 
bly of 
foreign 
origin. 


More  and  more  etymologies. 

grown,  and  impedes  motion — and  this  is  the  derivation  of 
the  word  avayKaiov  (necessary)  a v ayKr)  Ibv , going  through  a 
ravine.  But  while  my  strength  lasts  let  us  persevere,  and  I 
hope  that  you  will  persevere  with  your  questions. 

Her.  Well,  then,  let  me  ask  about  the  greatest  and  noblest, 
such  as  nX^fta  (truth)  and  \//ev8os  (falsehood)  and  bv  (being),  4 
not  forgetting  to  enquire  why  the  word  bvopa  (name),  which  is 
the  theme  of  our  discussion,  has  this  name  of  o^n. 

Soc.  You  know  the  word  paUadai  (to  seek)? 

Her.  Yes;— meaning  the  same  as  C^dv  (to  enquire). 

Soc.  The  word  bvopa  seems  to  be  a compressed  sentence, 
signifying  bv  ov  (being  for  which  there  is  a search) ; as 

is  still  more  obvious  in  wopuTw  (notable),  which  states  in  so 
many  words  that  real  existence  is  that  for  which  there  is  a 
seeking  (ov  ov  paapa) ; a\r]6eia  is  also  an  agglomeration  of  Oda 
aKrj  (divine  wandering),  implying  the  divine  motion  of  exist- 
ence ; \f/tv8os  (falsehood)  is  the  opposite  of  motion  ; here  is 
another  ill  name  given  by  the  legislator  to  stagnation  and 
forced  inaction,  which  he  compares  to  sleep  (tv8eiv) ; but  the 
original  meaning  of  the  word  is  disguised  by  the  addition  of 
' k > °v  and  ovcTLa  are  lov  with  an  1 broken  off ; this  agrees  with 
the  true  principle,  for  being  (o;)  is  also  moving  (Ibv),  and  the 
same  may  be  said  of  not  being,  which  is  likewise  called  not 
going  (ovklov  or  ovki  ov  = ovk  lov). 

Her.  You  have  hammered  away  at  them  man  full}' ; but 
suppose  that  some  one  were  to  say  to  3^011,  what  is  the  word 
Ibv,  and  what  are  peov  and  Sow? — show  me  their  fitness. 

Soc.  You  mean  to  say,  how  should  I answer  him? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  One  way  of  giving  the  appearance  of  an  answer  has 
been  already  suggested. 

Her.  What  way  ? 

Soc.  To  say  that  names  which  we  do  not  understand  are 
of  foreign  origin  ; and  this  is  very  likely  the  right  answer,  and 
something  of  this  kind  may  be  true  of  them  ; but  also  the 
original  forms  of  words  may  have  been  lost  in  the  lapse  of 
ages ; names  have  been  so  twisted  in  all  manner  of  ways, 
that  I should  not  be  surprised  if  the  old  language  when 
compared  with  that  now  in  use  would  appear  to  us  to  be  a 
barbarous  tongue. 


Primary  elements. 


367 


Her.  Very  likely. 

Soc.  Yes,  very  likely.  But  still  the  enquiry  demands  our 
earnest  attention  and  we  must  not  flinch.  For  we  should 
remember,  that  if  a person  go  on  analysing  names  into 
words,  and  enquiring  also  into  the  elements  out  of  which  the 
words  are  formed,  and  keeps  on  always  repeating  this  pro- 
cess, he  who  has  to  answer  him  must  at  last  give  up  the 
enquiry  in  despair. 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  And  at  what  point  ought  he  to  lose  heart  and  give  up 
the  enquiry?  Must  he  not  stop  when  he  comes  to  the  names 
which  are  the  elements  of  all  other  names  and  sentences  ; 
for  these  cannot  be  supposed  to  be  made  up  of  other  names  ? 
The  word  aya6'ov  (good),  for  example,  is,  as  we  were  saying, 
a compound  of  ayaards  (admirable)  and  doos  (swift).  And 
probably  8o6s  is  made  up  of  other  elements,  and  these  again  of 
others.  But  if  we  take  a word  which  is  incapable  of  further 
resolution,  then  we  shall  be  right  in  saying  that  we  have  at 
last  reached  a primary  element,  which  need  not  be  resolved 
any  further. 

Her.  I believe  you  to  be  in  the  right. 

Soc.  And  suppose  the  names  about  which  you  are  now 
asking  should  turn  out  to  be  primary  elements,  must  not 
their  truth  or  law  be  examined  according  to  some  new 
method  ? 

Her.  Very  likely'-. 

Soc.  Quite  so,  Hermogenes  ; all  that  has  preceded  would 
lead  to  this  conclusion.  And  if,  as  I think,  the  conclusion  is 
true,  then  I shall  again  say  to  you,  come  and  help  me,  that  I 
may  not  fall  into  some  absurdity  in  stating  the  principle  of 
primary  names. 

Her.  Let  me  hear,  and  I will  do  my  best  to  assist  you. 

Soc.  I think  that  you  will  acknowledge  with  me,  that  one 
principle  is  applicable  to  all  names,  primary  as  well  as 
secondary — when  they  are  regarded  simply  as  names,  there 
is  no  difference  in  them. 

Her.  Certainly  not. 

Soc.  All  the  names  that  we  have  been  explaining  were  in- 
tended to  indicate  the  nature  of  things. 

Her.  Of  course. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

GENES. 

But  we 
should  con- 
sider also 
that  there 
is  a point  at 
which  the 
analysis  of 
words  must 
stop. 


Then  some 
new  method 
is  required 
in  the  ex- 
planation 
of  primary 
names. 


368 


Onomatopoea. 


Cratylus. 

SoCKATES, 

Hermo- 

GENES. 


Tliey  are 
the  imita- 
tion of  that 
which  we 
want  to  ex- 
press. 


Soc.  And  that  this  is  true  of  the  primary  quite  as  much 
as  of  the  secondary  names,  is  implied  in  their  being 
names. 

Her.  Surely. 

Soc.  But  the  secondary,  as  I conceive,  derive  their  signifi- 
cance from  the  primary. 

Her.  That  is  evident. 

Soc.  Very  good ; but  then  how  do  the  primary  names 
which  precede  analysis  show  the  natures  of  things,  as  far  as 
they  can  be  shown  ; which  they  must  do,  if  they  are  to  be 
real  names  ? And  here  I will  ask  you  a question  : Suppose 
that  we  had  no  voice  or  tongue,  and  wanted  to  communicate 
with  one  another,  should  we  not,  like  the  deaf  and  dumb, 
make  signs  with  the  hands  and  head  and  the  rest  of  the 
body  ? 

Her.  There  would  be  no  choice,  Socrates. 

Soc.  We  should  imitate  the  nature  of  the  thing  ; the  423 
elevation  of  our  hands  to  heaven  would  mean  lightness  and 
upwardness ; heaviness  and  downwardness  would  be  ex- 
pressed by  letting  them  drop  to  the  ground  ; if  we  were 
describing  the  running  of  a horse,  or  any  other  animal,  we 
should  make  our  bodies  and  their  gestures  as  like  as  we 
could  to  them. 

Her.  I do  not  see  that  we  could  do  anything  else. 

Soc.  We  could  not ; for  by  bodily  imitation  only  can  the 
bod}?  ever  express  anything. 

Her.  Very  true. 

Soc.  And  when  we  want  to  express  ourselves,  either  with 
the  voice,  or  tongue,  or  mouth,  the  expression  is  simply  their 
imitation  of  that  which  we  want  to  express. 

Her.  It  must  be  so,  I think. 

Soc.  Then  a name  is  a vocal  imitation  of  that  which  the 
vocal  imitator  names  or  imitates  ? 

Her.  I think  so. 

Soc.  Nay,  my  friend,  I am  disposed  to  think  that  we  have 
not  reached  the  truth  as  yet. 

Her.  Why  not  ? 

Soc.  Because  if  we  have  we  shall  be  obliged  to  admit  that 
the  people  who  imitate  sheep,  or  cocks,  or  other  animals, 
name  that  which  they  imitate. 


The  original  navies  are  imitations. 

Her.  Quite  true. 

Soc.  Then  could  I have  been  right  in  what  I was  saying  ? 

Her.  In  my  opinion,  no.  But  I wish  that  you  would  tell 
me,  Socrates,  what  sort  of  an  imitation  is  a name  ? 

Soc.  In  the  first  place,  I should  reply,  not  a musical 
imitation,  although  that  is  also  vocal ) nor,  again,  an  imitation 
of  what  music  imitates  ; these,  in  my  judgment,  would  not  be 
naming.  Let  me  put  the  matter  as  follows ; All  objects  have 
sound  and  figure,  and  many  have  colour  ? 

Her.  Certainly. 

Soc.  But  the  art  of  naming  appears  not  to  be  concerned 
with  imitations  of  this  kind  ; the  arts  which  have  to  do  with 
them  are  music  and  drawing  ? 

Her.  True. 

Soc.  Again,  is  there  not  an  essence  of  each  thing,  just  as 
there  is  a colour,  or  sound  ? And  is  there  not  an  essence  of 
colour  and  sound  as  well  as  of  anything  else  which  may  be 
said  to  have  an  essence  ? 

Her.  I should  think  so. 

Soc.  Well,  and  if  any  one  could  express  the  essence  of 
each  thing  in  letters  and  syllables,  would  he  not  express  the 
nature  of  each  thing? 

4 Her.  Quite  so. 

Soc.  The  musician  and  the  painter  were  the  two  names 
which  you  gave  to  the  two  other  imitators.  What  will  this 
imitator  be  called  ? 

Her.  I imagine,  Socrates,  that  he  must  be  the  namer,  or 
n am  e-giver,  of  whom  we  are  in  search. 

Soc.  If  this  is  true,  then  I think  that  we  are  in  a condition 
to  consider  the  names  pot)  (stream),  leva i (to  go),  axeens  (re- 
tention), about  which  you  were  asking ; and  we  may  see 
whether  the  namer  has  grasped  the  nature  of  them  in  letters 
and  syllables  in  such  a manner  as  to  imitate  the  essence 
or  not. 

Her.  Very  good. 

Soc.  But  are  these  the  only  primary  names,  or  are  there 
others  ? 

Her.  There  must  be  others. 

Soc.  So  I should  expect.  But  how  shall  we  further  analyse 
them,  and  where  does  the  imitator  begin?  Imitation  of  the 

B I) 


369 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes. 

But  what 
sort  of  an 
imitation  ? 
Not  like 
that  of  a 
musician  or 
of  a painter. 


VOL.  I. 


370 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cenes. 


The  first 
step  to 
separate 
letters  into 
classes, 


and  to  see 
whether  a 
simple  let- 
ter is  used 
to  denote 
simple 
things,  or 
whether 
several  are 
mixed,  like 
the  colours 
of  the 
painter, 
until  the 
manner  in 
which  the 
ancients 
found  lan- 
guage is 
discovered 
by  us. 


7 he  imitation  of  nature  in  names. 

essence  is  made  by  syllables  and  letters  ; ought  vve  not,  there- 
fore, first  to  separate  the  letters,  just  as  those  who  are  be- 
ginning rhythm  first  distinguish  the  powers  of  elementary, 
and  then  of  compound  sounds,  and  when  they  have  done  so, 
but  not  before,  they  proceed  to  the  consideration  of  rhythms  ? 

Her.  Yes. 

Soc.  Must  we  not  begin  in  the  same  way  with  letters;  first 
separating  the  vowels,  and  then  the  consonants  and  mutes', 
into  classes,  according  to  the  received  distinctions  of  the 
learned ; also  the  semi-vowels,  which  are  neither  vowels, 
nor  yet  mutes  ; and  distinguishing  into  classes  the  vowels 
themselves  ? And  when  we  have  perfected  the  classification 
of  things,  we  shall  give  them  names,  and  see  whether,  as 
in  the  case  of  letters,  there  are  any  classes  to  which  they 
may  be  all  referred  2 ; and  hence  we  shall  see  their  natures, 
and  see,  too,  whether  they  have  in  them  classes  as  there  are 
in  the  letters  ; and  when  we  have  well  considered  all  this, 
we  shall  know  how  to  apply  them  to  what  they  resemble — 
whether  one  letter  is  used  to  denote  one  thing,  or  whether 
there  is  to  be  an  admixture  of  several  of  them ; just,  as  in 
painting,  the  painter  who  wants  to  depict  anything  sometimes 
uses  purple  only,  or  any  other  colour,  and  sometimes  mixes 
up  several  colours,  as  his  method  is  when  he  has  to  paint 
flesh  colour  or  anything  of  that  kind — he  uses  his  colours  as 
his  figures  appear  to  require  them  ; and  so,  too,  we  shall 
apply  letters  to  the  expression  of  objects,  either  single 
letters  when  required,  or  several  letters  ; and  so  we 
shall  form  sjdlables,  as  they  are  called,  and  from  S3'llables 
make  nouns  and  verbs  ; and  thus,  at  last,  from  the  com-  425 
binations  of  nouns  and  verbs  arrive  at  language,  large  and 
fair  and  whole  ; and  as  the  painter  made  a figure,  even  so 
shall  we  make  speech  by  the  art  of  the  narner  or  the 
rhetorician,  or  by  some  other  art.  Not  that  I am  literally 
speaking  of  ourselves,  but  I was  carried  away — meaning  to 
say  that  this  was  the  way  in  which  (not  we  but)  the  ancients 
formed  language,  and  what  they  put  together  we  must  take 
to  pieces  in  like  manner,  if  we  are  to  attain  a scientific  view 
of  the  whole  subject ; and  we  must  see  whether  the  primar}', 

1 Letters  which  are  neither  vowels  nor  semivowels. 

- Cf.  Phaedrus,  271. 


jYo  better  principle  than  imitation. 


371 


and  also  whether  the  secondary  elements  are  rightly  given  or 
not,  for  if  they  are  not,  the  composition  of  them,  my  dear 
Hermogenes,  will  be  a sorry  piece  of  work,  and  in  the  wrong 
direction. 

Her.  That,  Socrates,  I can  quite  believe. 

Soc.  Well,  but  do  you  suppose  that  you  will  be  able  to 
analyse  them  in  this  way?  for  I am  certain  that  I should  not. 

Her.  Much  less  am  I likely  to  be  able. 

Soc.  Shall  we  leave  them,  then  ? or  shall  we  seek  to 
discover,  if  we  can,  something  about  them,  according  to  the 
measure  of  our  ability,  saying  by  way  of  preface,  as  I 
said  before  of  the  Gods,  that  of  the  truth  about  them  we 
know  nothing,  and  do  but  entertain  human  notions  of  them. 
And  in  this  present  enquiry,  let  us  say  to  ourselves,  before 
we  proceed,  that  the  higher  method  is  the  one  which  we  or 
others  who  would  analyse  language  to  any  good  purpose 
must  follow  ; but  under  the  circumstances,  as  men  say,  we 
must  do  as  well  as  we  can.  What  do  you  think  ? 

Her.  I very  much  approve. 

Soc.  That  objects  should  be  imitated  in  letters  and  syllables, 
and  so  find  expression,  may  appear  ridiculous,  Hermogenes, 
but  it  cannot  be  avoided— there  is  no  better  principle  to  which 
we  can  look  for  the  truth  of  first  names.  Deprived  of  this, 
we  must  have  recourse  to  divine  help,  like  the  tragic  poets, 
who  in  any  perplexity  have  their  gods  waiting  in  the  air; 
and  must  get  out  of  our  difficulty  in  like  fashion,  by  saying 
that  ‘the  Gods  gave  the  first  names,  and  therefore  they  are 
right.’  This  will  be  the  best  contrivance,  or  perhaps  that 
other  notion  may  be  even  better  still,  of  deriving  them  from 
some  barbarous  people,  for  the  barbarians  are  older  than  we 
426  are  ; or  we  may  say  that  antiquity  has  cast  a veil  over  them, 
which  is  the  same  sort  of  excuse  as  the  last ; for  all  these 
are  not  reasons  but  only  ingenious  excuses  for  having  no 
reasons  concerning  the  truth  of  words.  And  yet  any  sort 
of  ignorance  of  first  or  primitive  names  involves  an  ignorance 
of  secondary  words  ; for  they  can  only  be  explained  by  the 
primary.  Clearly  then  the  professor  of  languages  should  be 
able  to  give  a very  lucid  explanation  of  first  names,  or  let 
him  be  assured  he  will  only  talk  nonsense  about  the  rest. 
Do  you  not  suppose  this  to  be  true  ? 

B b 2 


Cratylus. 

SoC  RATES, 
Hermo- 

CENES. 


But  can  we 
take  lan- 
guage to 
pieces  in 
this  way  ? 


Our  method 
imperfect, 
but  we  have 
no  other. 


If  we  reject 
imitation  we 
must  have 
recourse  to 
the  ‘ Deus 
ex  machina' 
or  ' the  bar- 
barian’ or 
‘ the  veil  of 
antiquity.' 


372 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

cknes. 


f>  expresses 
motion. 

kIvti<tis  = 
Urns. 


i expressive 
of  penetra- 
tion : 

<p,  'P,  <r,  £ 

of  shaking 
and  shiver- 
ing : 


S,r,  of  bind- 
ing and  rest 
at  a place : 


The  meaning  of  letters. 

Her.  Certainty,  Socrates. 

Soc.  My  first  notions  of  original  names  are  truly  wild  and 
ridiculous,  though  I have  no  objection  to  impart  them  to  you 
if  you  desire,  and  I hope  that  you  will  communicate  to  me  in 
return  anything  better  which  you  may  have. 

Her.  Fear  not;  I will  do  my  best. 

Soc.  In  the  first  place,  the  letter  p appears  to  me  to  be  the 
general  instrument  expressing  all  motion  (n'w^an).  But  I 
have  not  yet  explained  the  meaning  of  this  latter  word, 
which  is  just  ?e<m  (going) ; for  the  letter  j?  was  not  in  use 
among  the  ancients,  who  only  employed  e ; and  the  root  is 
idfiv,  which  is  a foreign  form,  the  same  as  Uvai.  And  the  old 
word  Kiurjcru  will  be  correctly  given  as  lean  in  corresponding 
modern  letters.  Assuming  this  foreign  root  uleiv,  and  allow- 
ing for  the  change  of  the  >7  and  the  insertion  of  the  v,  we 
have  Klvrjo-Ls,  which  should  have  been  Kielvrjan  or  elan ; and 
araan  is  the  negative  of  levm  (or  elan),  and  has  been  improved 
into  ardan.  Now  the  letter  p,  as  I was  saying,  appeared  to 
the  imposer  of  names  an  excellent  instrument  for  the  ex- 
pression of  motion  ; and  he  frequently  uses  the  letter  for 
this  purpose : for  example,  in  the  actual  words  pelv  and  pop 
he  represents  motion  by  p ; also  in  the  words  rpopos  (tremb- 
ling), rpaxvs  (rugged) ; and  again,  in  words  such  as  Kpoveiv 
(strike),  Gpciveiv  (crush),  epeixeiv  (bruise),  Bpvirreiv  (break),  tceppa- 
Ti£eiv  (crumble),  pvpflelv  (whirl) : of  all  these  sorts  of  move- 
ments he  generally  finds  an  expression  in  the  letter  R, 
because,  as  I imagine,  he  had  observed  that  the  tongue  was 
most  agitated  and  least  at  rest  in  the  pronunciation  of  this 
letter,  which  he  therefore  used  in  order  to  express  motion, 
just  as  by  the  letter  i he  expresses  the  subtle  elements  which  427 
pass  through  all  things.  This  is  why  he  uses  the  letter  1 as 
imitative  of  motion,  levm,  leaOm.  And  there  is  another  class  of 
letters,  <£,  i?,  a and  f,  of  which  the  pronunciation  is  accom- 
panied by  great  expenditure  of  breath  ; these  are  used  in  the 
imitation  of  such  notions  as  ^ vXp'ov  (shivering),  (eov  (seething), 
aeleaGm  (to  be  shaken),  aeiapos  (shock),  and  are  always  intro- 
duced by  the  giver  of  names  when  he  wants  to  imitate 
what  is  (pvaebdes  (windy).  He  seems  to  have  thought  that  the 
closing  and  pressure  of  the  tongue  in  the  utterance  of  S and 
r was  expressive  of  binding  and  rest  in  a place:  he  further 


373 


Hermogenes  and  Cratylus. 

observed  the  liquid  movement  of  X,  in  the  pronunciation  of 
which  the  tongue  slips,  and  in  this  he  found  the  expression 
of  smoothness,  as  in  Xeioy  (level),  and  in  the  word  oXtoAmem  (to 
slip)  itself,  \mapbv  (sleek),  in  the  word  xoXXJiSey  (gluey),  and 
the  like : the  heavier  sound  of  y detained  the  slipping 
tongue,  and  the  union  of  the  two  gave  the  notion  of  a 
glutinous  clammy  nature,  as  in  yXiaxpos,  yXvKvs,  y\oiS>8es.  The 
v he  observed  to  be  sounded  from  within,  and  therefore  to 
have  a notion  of  inwardness ; hence  he  introduced  the  sound 
in  tvbov  and  eVos : a he  assigned  to  the  expression  of  size,  and 
r , of  length,  because  they  are  great  letters ; o was  the  sign  of 
roundness,  and  therefore  there  is  plenty  of  o mixed  up  in 
the  word  yoyyvXuv  (round).  Thus  did  the  legislator,  reducing  all 
things  into  letters  and  syllables,  and  impressing  on  them  names 
and  signs,  and  out  of  them  by  imitation  compounding  other 
signs.  That  is  my  view,  Hermogenes,  of  the  truth  of  names; 
but  I should  like  to  hear  what  Cratylus  has  more  to  say. 

Her.  But,  Socrates,  as  I was  telling  you  before,  Cratylus 
mystifies  me ; he  says  that  there  is  a fitness  of  names,  but  he 
never  explains  what  is  this  fitness,  so  that  I cannot  tell 
whether  his  obscurity  is  intended  or  not.  Tell  me  now, 
Cratylus,  here  in  the  presence  of  Socrates,  do  you  agree  in 
what  Socrates  has  been  saying  about  names,  or  have  you 
something  better  of  your  own  ? and  if  you  have,  tell  me  what 
your  view  is,  and  then  you  will  either  learn  of  Socrates,  or 
Socrates  and  I will  learn  of  you. 

Crat.  Well,  but  surely,  Hermogenes,  you  do  not  suppose 
that  you  can  learn,  or  I explain,  any  subject  of  importance 
all  in  a moment;  at  any  rate,  not  such  a subject  as  language, 
which  is,  perhaps,  the  very  greatest  of  all. 

428  Her.  No,  indeed;  but,  as  Hesiod  says,  and  I agree  with 
him,  'to  add  little  to  little’  is  worth  while.  And,  therefore, 
if  you  think  that  you  can  add  anything  at  all,  however  small, 
to  our  knowledge,  take  a little  trouble  and  oblige  Socrates, 
and  me  too,  who  certainly  have  a claim  upon  you. 

Soc.  I am  by  no  means  positive,  Cratylus,  in  the  view 
which  Hermogenes  and  myself  have  worked  out;  and  there- 
fore do  not  hesitate  to  say  what  you  think,  which  if  it  be 
better  than  my  own  view  1 shall  gladly  accept.  And  I 
should  not  be  at  all  surprized  to  find  that  you  have  found 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Hermo- 

genes, 

Cratylus. 

X expressive 
of  liquidity : 
■y  of  deten- 
tion : 

v of  inward- 
ness : 

a of  size  : 

7}  of  length  : 

0 of  round- 
ness. 


Hermo- 
genes asks 
Cratylus 
to  give  an 
opinion  ; 
but  the  lat- 
ter declines 
to  explain 
so  import- 
ant a sub- 
ject all  in  a 
moment. 


37.4  Cratylus  and  Socrates. 

Cratj'/us.  some  better  notion,  tor  you  have  evidently  reflected  on 
Socrates,  these  matters  and  have  had  teachers,  and  if  you  have  really 

Ckm w.i  a better  theory  of  the  truth  of  names,  you  may  count  me  in 

the  number  of  your  disciples. 

Oral.  You  are  right,  Socrates,  in  saying  that  I have 
made  a study  of  these  matters,  and  I might  possibly  convert 
3?ou  into  a disciple.  But  1 fear  that  the  opposite  is  more 
probable,  and  I already  find  myself  moved  to  say  to  you 
what  Achilles  in  the  ‘ Prayers  ’ says  to  Ajax, — 

‘ Illustrious  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon,  lord  of  the  people, 

You  appear  to  have  spoken  in  all  things  much  to  my  mind.’ 


Socrates 
seeks  to 
gain  the 
assent  of 
Cratylus  to 
the  pre- 
vious argu- 
ment. 


And  you,  Socrates,  appear  to  me  to  be  an  oracle,  and  to  give 
answers  much  to  my  mind,  whether  you  are  inspired  by 
Euthyphro,  or  whether  some  Muse  may  have  long  been  an 
inhabitant  of  your  breast,  unconsciously  to  yourself. 

Soc.  Excellent  Cratylus,  I have  long  been  wondering  at 
my  own  wisdom  ; I cannot  trust  myself.  And  I think  that  I 
ought  to  stop  and  ask  m)'self  What  am  I saying?  for  there 
is  nothing  worse  than  self-deception — when  the  deceiver  is 
always  at  home  and  always  with  you — it  is  quite  terrible,  and 
therefore  I ought  often  to  retrace  my  steps  and  endeavour  to 
‘look  fore  and  aft,’  in  the  words  of  the  aforesaid  Homer. 
And  now  let  me  see;  where  are  we?  Have  we  not  been 
saying  that  the  correct  name  indicates  the  nature  of  the 
thing  : — has  this  proposition  been  sufficiently  proven  ? 

Crat.  Yes,  Socrates,  what  you  say,  as  I am  disposed  to 
think,  is  quite  true. 

Soc.  Names,  then,  are  given  in  order  to  instruct? 

Crat.  Certainly. 

Soa.  And  naming  is  an  art,  and  has  artificers  ? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  who  are  they  ? 

Crat.  The  legislators,  of  whom  you  spoke  at  first.  4 

Soc.  And  does  this  art  grow  up  among  men  like  other 
arts?  Let  me  explain  what  I mean:  of  painters,  some  are 
better  and  some  worse  ? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  The  better  painters  execute  their  works,  I mean  their 
figures,  better,  and  the  worse  execute  them  worse ; and  ol 


375 


How  can  a wan  say  that  which  is  not  ? 

builders  also,  the  better  sort  build  lairei  houses,  and  the 
worse  build  them  worse. 

Crat.  T rue. 

Soc.  And  among  legislators,  there  are  some  who  do  theii 
work  better  and  some  worse  ? 

Crat.  No;  there  I do  not  agree  with  you. 

Soc.  Then  you  do  not  think  that  some  laws  are  better  and 

others  worse  ? 

Crat.  No,  indeed. 

Soc.  Or  that  one  name  is  better  than  another? 

Crat.  Certainly  not. 

Soc.  Then  all  names  are  rightly  imposed  ? 

Crat.  Yes,  if  they  are  names  at  all. 

Soc.  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  the  name  of  our  friend 
Hermogenes,  which  was  mentioned  before  : — assuming  that 
he  has  nothing  of  the  nature  of  Hermes  in  him,  shall  we  say 
that  this  is  a wrong  name,  or  not  his  name  at  all  ? 

Crat.  I should  reply  that  Hermogenes  is  not  his  name 
at  all,  but  only  appears  to  be  his,  and  is  really  the  name 
of  somebody  else,  who  has  the  nature  which  corresponds 
to  it. 

Soc.  And  if  a man  were  to  call  him  Hermogenes,  would 
he  not  be  even  speaking  falsely?  For  there  may  be  a doubt 
whether  you  can  call  him  Hermogenes,  if  he  is  not. 

Crat.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  Are  you  maintaining  that  falsehood  is  impossible  ? 
For  if  this  is  your  meaning  I should  answer,  that  there  have 
been  plenty  of  liars  in  all  ages. 

Crat.  Why,  Socrates,  how  can  a man  say  that  which  is 
not? — say  something  and  yet  say  nothing?  For  is  not  false- 
hood saying  the  thing  which  is  not  ? 

Soc.  Your  argument,  friend,  is  too  subtle  for  a man  of  my 
age.  But  I should  like  to  know  whether  you  are  one  of 
those  philosophers  who  think  that  falsehood  may  be  spoken 
but  not  said  ? 

Crat.  Neither  spoken  nor  said. 

Soc.  Nor  uttered  nor  addressed?  For  example:  If  a 
person,  saluting  you  in  a foreign  country,  were  to  take  your 
hand  and  say:  ‘Hail,  Athenian  stranger,  Hermogenes,  son 
of  Smicrion  ’ — these  words,  whether  spoken,  said,  uttered,  or 


Cratylus. 

Sockatks, 

Cratylus. 


But  Craty- 
lus cannot 
be  induced 
by  the  ar- 
gument 
from  ana- 
logy to  ad- 
mit that 
names, 
when  not 
rightly  im- 
posed, are 
names  at 
all. 


Cratylus 
denies  the 
existence  of 
falsehood, 
which  he 
declares  to 
be  only  an 
unmeaning 
sound. 

This  is  too 
much  for 
the  com- 
mon sense 
of  Socrates. 


376 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratylus. 


Cratylus  is 
induced  to 
agree  that 
the  likeness 
of  a man 
cannot 
rightly  be 
attributed 
to  a woman 
or  of  a 
woman  to 
a man  ; 


Cratylus  unwilling  to  be  refuted. 

addressed,  would  have  no  application  to  you  but  only  to  our 
friend  Hermogenes,  or  perhaps  to  nobody  at  all  ? 

Crat.  In  my  opinion,  Socrates,  the  speaker  would  only  be 
talking  nonsense. 

Soc.  Well,  but  that  will  be  quite  enough  for  me,  if  you 
will  tell  me  whether  the  nonsense  would  be  true  or  false,  or  430 
partly  true  and  partly  false which  is  all  that  I want  to 
know. 

Crat.  I should  say  that  he  would  be  putting  himself  in 
motion  to  no  purpose ; and  that  his  words  would  be  an  un- 
meaning sound  like  the  noise  of  hammering  at  a brazen  pot. 

Soc.  But  let  us  see,  Cratylus,  whether  we  cannot  find  a 
meeting-point,  for  you  would  admit  that  the  name  is  not  the 
same  with  the  thing  named  ? 

Crat.  I should. 

Soc.  And  would  you  further  acknowledge  that  the  name  is 
an  imitation  of  the  thing  ? 

Crat.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  you  would  say  that  pictures  are  also  imitations 
of  things,  but  in  another  way  ? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  I believe  you  may  be  right,  but  I do  not  rightly 
understand  you.  Please  to  say,  then,  whether  both  sorts  of 
imitation  (I  mean  both  pictures  or  words)  are  not  equally 
attributable  and  applicable  to  the  things  of  which  they  are 
the  imitation. 

Crat.  They  are. 

Soc.  First  look  at  the  matter  thus:  you  may  attribute  the 
likeness  of  the  man  to  the  man,  and  of  the  woman  to  the 
woman  ; and  so  on  ? 

Crat.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  conversely  you  may  attribute  the  likeness  of  the 
man  to  the  woman,  and  of  the  woman  to  the  man  ? 

Crat.  Very  true. 

Soc.  And  are  both  modes  of  assigning  them  right,  or  only 
the  first  ? 

Crat.  Only  the  first. 

Soc.  That  is  to  say,  the  mode  of  assignment  which  attri- 
butes to  each  that  which  belongs  to  them  and  is  like  them  ? 

Crat.  That  is  my  view. 


377 


Cratylus  begins  to  give  way. 

Soc.  Now  then,  as  I am  desirous  that  we  being  friends 
should  have  a good  understanding  about  the  argument,  let 
me  state  my  view  to  you : the  first  mode  of  assignment, 
whether  applied  to  figures  or  to  names,  I call  1 ight,  and 
when  applied  to  names  only,  true  as  well  as  right ; and  the 
other  mode  of  giving  and  assigning  the  name  which  is  un- 
like, 1 call  wrong,  and  in  the  case  of  names,  false  as  well  as 
wrong. 

Crat.  That  may  be  true,  Socrates,  in  the  case  of  pictures ; 
thev  may  be  wrongly  assigned  ; but  not  in  the  case  ol  names 
— they  must  be  always  right. 

Soc.  Why,  what  is  the  difference?  May  I not  go  to  a man 
and  say  to  him,  ‘This  is  your  picture,’  showing  him  his  own 
likeness,  or  perhaps  the  likeness  of  a woman ; and  when  I 
say  ‘show,’  I mean  bring  before  the  sense  of  sight. 

Crat.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  may  I not  go  to  him  again,  and  say,  ‘ This  is 
your  name  ’ ? — for  the  name,  like  the  picture,  is  an  imitation. 

431  May  I not  say  to  him — ‘This  is  your  name  ’ ? and  may  I not 
then  bring  to  his  sense  of  hearing  the  imitation  of  himself, 
when  I say,  ‘This  is  a man  or  of  a female  of  the  human 
species,  when  I say,  ' This  is  a woman,’  as  the  case  may  be  ? 
Is  not  all  that  quite  possible  ? 

Crat.  I would  fain  agree  with  you>  Socrates ; and  there- 
fore I say,  Granted. 

Soc.  That  is  very  good  of  you,  if  I am  right,  which  need 
hardly  be  disputed  at  present.  But  if  I can  assign  names  as 
well  as  pictures  to  objects,  the  right  assignment  of  them  we 
may  call  truth,  and  the  wrong  assignment  of  them  falsehood. 
Now  if  there  be  such  a wrong  assignment  of  names,  there 
may  also  be  a wrong  or  inappropriate  assignment  of  verbs ; 
and  if  of  names  and  verbs  then  of  the  sentences,  which  are 
made  up  of  them.  What  do  you  say,  Cratylus  ? 

Crat.  I agree ; and  think  that  what  you  say  is  very  true. 

Soc.  And  further,  primitive  nouns  may  be  compared  to 
pictures,  and  in  pictures  you  may  either  give  all  the  appro- 
priate colours  and  figures,  or  you  may  not  give  them  all — 
some  may  be  wanting;  or  there  may  be  too  many  or  too 
much  of  them — may  there  not? 

Crat.  Very  true. 


Cratylus. 

Socratks, 

Cratylus. 


and  the 
same  is  true 
of  words. 


And  as 
there  are 
perfect  or 
imperfect 
pictures, 
there  may 
be  perfect 
or  imper- 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratylus. 

feet  repre- 
sentations 
in  words. 


Cratylus 
tries  to  dis- 
tinguish the 
case  of  lan- 
guage. 


Socrates 
replies  that 
language  is 
an  image, 
and  that  no 
image  is 
ever  perfect. 


But  a scruple  still  remains. 

Soc.  And  he  who  gives  all  gives  a perfect  picture  or 
figui  e , and  lie  who  takes  away  or  adds  also  gives  a picture 
or  figure,  but  not  a good  one. 

Crat.  Y es. 

Soc.  In  like  manner,  he  who  by  syllables  and  letters 
imitates  the  nature  of  things,  if  he  gives  all  that  is  appro- 
priate will  produce  a good  image,  or  in  other  words  a name  ; 
but  if  he  subtracts  or  perhaps  adds  a little,  he  will  make  an 
image  but  not  a good  one ; whence  I infer  that  some  names 
are  well  and  others  ill  made. 

Crat.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Then  the  artist  of  names  may  be  sometimes  good,  or 
he  may  be  bad  ? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  this  artist  of  names  is  called  the  legislator  ? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  Then  like  other  artists  the  legislator  may  be  good  or 
be  may  be  bad  ; it  must  surely  be  so  if  our  former  admissions 
hold  good  ? 

Crat.  Very  true,  Socrates;  but  the  case  of  language,  you 
see,  is  different ; for  when  by  the  help  of  grammar  we  assign 
the  letters  a or  /3,  or  any  other  letters  to  a certain  name, 
then,  if  we  add,  or  subtract,  or  misplace  a letter,  the  name 
which  is  written  is  not  only  written  wrongly,  but  not  written 
at  all ; and  in  any  of  these  cases  becomes  other  than  a name. 

Soc.  But  I doubt  whether  your  view  is  altogether  correct, 
Cratylus. 

Crat.  H ow  so  ? 

Soc.  I believe  that  what  you  say  may  be  true  about 
numbers,  which  must  be  just  what  they  are,  or  not  be  at 
all  ; for  example,  the  number  ten  at  once  becomes  other  than 
ten  if  a unit  be  added  or  subtracted,  and  so  of  any  other 
number:  but  this  does  not  apply  to  that  which  is  qualitative  or 
to  anything  which  is  represented  under  an  image.  I should 
say  rather  that  the  image,  if  expressing  in  every  point  the 
entire  reality,  would  no  longer  be  an  image.  Let  us  suppose 
the  existence  of  two  objects  : one  of  them  shall  be  Cratylus, 
and  the  other  the  image  of  Cratylus ; and  we  will  suppose, 
further,  that  some  God  makes  not  only  a representation  such 
as  a painter  would  make  of  your  outward  form  and  colour, 


Names  correct  and  incorrect. 


379 


but  also  creates  an  inward  organization  like  yours,  having  the 
same  warmth  and  softness;  and  into  this  infuses  motion, 
and  soul,  and  mind,  such  as  you  have,  and  in  a word  copies 
all  your  qualities,  and  places  them  by  you  in  another  form  ; 
would  you  say  that  this  was  Cratylus  and  the  image  of 
Cratylus,  or  that  there  were  two  Cratyluses  ? 

Crat.  I should  say  that  there  were  two  Cratyluses. 

Soc.  Then  you  see,  my  friend,  that  we  must  find  some 
other  principle  of  truth  in  images,  and  also  in  names ; and 
not  insist  that  an  image  is  no  longer  an  image  when  some- 
thing is  added  or  subtracted.  Do  you  not  perceive  that 
images  are  very  far  from  having  qualities  which  are  the 
exact  counterpart  of  the  realities  which  they  represent  ? 

Oral.  Yes,  I see. 

Soc.  But  then  how  ridiculous  would  be  the  effect  of  names 
on  things,  if  they  were  exactly  the  same  with  them!  For 
they  would  be  the  doubles  of  them,  and  no  one  would  be 
able  to  determine  which  were  the  names  and  which  were  the 
realities. 

Crat.  Quite  true. 

Soc.  Then  fear  not,  but  have  the  courage  to  admit  that 
one  name  may  be  correctly  and  another  incorrectly  given  ; 
and  do  not  insist  that  the  name  shall  be  exactly  the  same 
with  the  thing;  but  allow  the  occasional  substitution  of  a 
wrong  letter,  and  if  of  a letter  also  of  a noun  in  a sentence, 
and  if  of  a noun  in  a sentence  also  of  a sentence  which  is 
not  appropriate  to  the  matter,  and  acknowledge  that  the 
thing  may  be  named,  and  described,  so  long  as  the  general 
character  of  the  thing  which  you  are  describing  is  retained  ; 
and  this,  as  you  will  remember,  was  remarked  by  Her- 
433  mogenes  and  myself  in  the  particular  instance  of  the  names 
of  the  letters. 

Crat.  Yes,  I remember. 

Soc.  Good ; and  when  the  general  character  is  preserved, 
even  if  some  of  the  proper  letters  are  wanting,  still  the  thing 
is  signified  ; — well,  if  all  the  letters  are  given  ; not  well, 
when  only  a few  of  them  are  given.  I think  that  we  had 
better  admit  this,  lest  we  be  punished  like  travellers  in 
TEgina  who  wander  about  the  street  late  at  night : and  be 
likewise  told  by  truth  herself  that  we  have  arrived  too  late ; 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratylus. 

If  it  were  it 
would  be 
no  longer 
an  image. 


We  shall 
only  waste 
time  and 
contradict 
ourselves 
if  we  deny 
that  the 
general 
character  of 
something 


380 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratylus. 

may  be 
incorrectly 
represented 
as  well  as 
correctly. 


Assimila- 
tion or  con- 
vention, 
which  do 
you  prefer? 


A name  the  representation  of  a thing. 

01  if  not,  you  must  find  out  some  new  notion  of  cor- 
rectness of  names,  and  no  longer  maintain  that  a name 
is  the  expression  of  a thing  in  letters  or  syllables ; 

for  if  you  say  both,  you  will  be  inconsistent  with  vour- 
self.  J 

Crat.  I quite  acknowledge,  Socrates,  what  you  say  to  be 
very  reasonable. 

Soc.  Then  as  we  are  agreed  thus  far,  let  us  ask  ourselves 
whether  a name  rightly  imposed  ought  not  to  have  the 
proper  letters. 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  the  proper  letters  are  those  which  are  like  the 
things  ? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  Enough  then  of  names  which  are  rightly  given.  And 
in  names  which  are  incorrectly  given,  the  greater  part  may 
be  supposed  to  be  made  up  of  proper  and  similar  letters,  or 
there  would  be  no  likeness  ; but  there  will  be  likewise  a 
part  which  is  improper  and  spoils  the  beauty  and  formation 
of  the  word  : you  would  admit  that  ? 

Crat.  There  would  be  no  use,  Socrates,  in  my  quarrelling 
with  you,  since  I cannot  be  satisfied  that  a name  which  is 
incorrectly  given  is  a name  at  all. 

Soc.  Do  you  admit  a name  to  be  the  representation  of 
a thing  ? 

Crat.  Yes,  I do. 

Soc.  But  do  you  not  allow  that  some  nouns  are  primitive, 
and  some  derived  ? 

Crat.  Yes,  I do. 

Soc.  Then  if  you  admit  that  primitive  or  first  nouns  are 
representations  of  things,  is  there  any  better  way  of  framing 
representations  than  by  assimilating  them  to  the  objects  as 
much  as  you  can ; or  do  you  prefer  the  notion  of  Her- 
mogenes  and  of  many  others,  who  say  that  names  are 
conventional,  and  have  a meaning  to  those  who  have  agreed 
about  them,  and  who  have  previous  knowledge  of  the  things 
intended  by  them,  and  that  convention  is  the  only  principle  ; 
and  whether  you  abide  by  our  present  convention,  or  make 
a new  and  opposite  one,  according  to  which  you  call  small 
great  and  great  small — that,  they  would  say,  makes  no 


Recapitulation  of  the  argument. 

difference,  if  you  are  only  agreed.  Which  of  these  two 
notions  do  you  prefer  ? 

434  Crot.  Representation  by  likeness,  Socrates,  is  infinitely 
better  than  representation  by  any  chance  sign. 

Soc.  Very  good  : but  if  the  name  is  to  be  like  the  thing, 
the  letters  out  of  which  the  first  names  are  composed  must 
also  be  like  things.  Returning  to  the  image  of  the  picture, 

1 would  ask,  How  could  any  one  ever  compose  a picture 
which  would  be  like  anything  at  all,  if  there  were  not 
pigments  in  nature  which  resembled  the  things  imitated,  and 
out  of  which  the  picture  is  composed  ? 

Crat.  Impossible. 

Soc.  No  more  could  names  ever  resemble  any  actually 
existing  thing,  unless  the  original  elements  of  which  they  are 
compounded  bore  some  degree  of  resemblance  to  the  objects 
of  which  the  names  are  the  imitation:  And  the  original 
elements  are  letters? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  Let  me  now  invite  you  to  consider  what  Hermogenes 
and  I were  saying  about  sounds.  Do  you  agree  with  me 
that  the  letter  p is  expressive  of  rapidity,  motion,  and  hard- 
ness ? Were  we  right  or  wrong  in  saying  so  ? 

Crat.  I should  say  that  you  were  right. 

Soc.  And  that  X was  expressive  of  smoothness,  and  soft- 
ness, and  the  like  ? 

Crat.  There  again  you  were  right. 

Soc.  And  yet,  as  you  are  aware,  that  which  is  called  by 
us  (tk\t)p6tt)s,  is  by  the  Eretrians  called  o-KX^porpp. 

Crat.  Very  true. 

Soc.  But  are  the  letters  p and  <j  equivalents ; and  is  there 
the  same  significance  to  them  in  the  termination  p,  which 
there  is  to  us  in  a,  or  is  there  no  significance  to  one  of  us? 

Crat.  Nay,  surely  there  is  a significance  to  both  of  us. 

Soc.  In  as  far  as  they  are  like,  or  in  as  far  as  they  are 
unlike  ? 

Crat.  In  as  far  as  they  are  like. 

Soc.  Are  they  altogether  alike? 

Crat.  Yes  ; for  the  purpose  of  expressing  motion. 

Soc.  And  what  do  you  say  of  the  insertion  of  the  X?  for 
that  is  expressive  not  of  hardness  but  of  softness. 


381 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratyuis. 


Resem- 
blance of 
sounds  to 
things  is 
the  first 
principle  of 
language. 


Lik  eness  and  Convention. 


Cratyltts. 

SOCUATF.S, 

Ckatylus. 


But  there  is 
unlikeness 
as  well  as 
likeness 
in  names  to 
things,  and 
therefore 
convention 
or  custom 
must  also 
be  allowed 
to  have  a 
place. 


drat.  Why,  perhaps  the  letter  X is  wrongly  inserted, 
Socrates,  and  should  be  altered  into  p,  as  you  were  saying  to 
Hermogenes,  and  in  my  opinion  rightly,  when  you  spoke  of 
adding  and  subtracting  letters  upon  occasion. 

Soc.  Good.  But  still  the  word  is  intelligible  to  both  of  us  ; 
when  I say  oTcX^pta  (hard),  you  know  what  I mean. 

Crat.  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  and  the  explanation  of  that  is 
custom. 

Soc.  And  what  is  custom  but  convention  ? I utter  a sound 
which  I understand,  and  you  know  that  I understand  the 
meaning  of  the  sound  : this  is  what  you  are  saying? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  if  when  I speak  you  know  my  meaning,  there  is 
an  indication  given  by  me  to  you? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  This  indication  of  my  meaning  may  proceed  from 
unlike  as  well  as  from  like,  for  example  in  the  X of  o-KXqpdnjv. 
But  if  this  is  true,  then  you  have  made  a convention  with 
yourself,  and  the  correctness  of  a name  turns  out  to  be 
convention,  since  letters  which  are  unlike  are  indicative 
equally  with  those  which  are  like,  if  they  are  sanctioned 
by  custom  and  convention.  And  even  supposing  that  you 
distinguish  custom  from  convention  ever  so  much,  still  you 
must  say  that  the  signification  of  words  is  given  by  custom 
and  not  by  likeness,  for  custom  may  indicate  by  the  unlike  as 
well  as  by  the  like.  But  as  we  are  agreed  thus  far,  Cratylus 
(for  I shall  assume  that  your  silence  gives  consent^,  then 
custom  and  convention  must  be  supposed  to  contribute  to 
the  indication  of  our  thoughts  ; for  suppose  we  take  the 
instance  of  number,  how  can  you  ever  imagine,  my  good 
friend,  that  you  will  find  names  resembling  every  individual 
number,  unless  you  allow  that  which  you  term  convention 
and  agreement  to  have  authority  in  determining  the  correct- 
ness of  names?  I quite  agree  with  you  that  words  should  as 
far  as  possible  resemble  things  ; but  I fear  that  this  dragging 
in  of  resemblance,  as  Hermogenes  says1,  is  a shabby  thing, 
which  has  to  be  supplemented  by  the  mechanical  aid  of 
convention  with  a view  to  correctness;  for  I believe  that  if 
we  could  always,  or  almost  always,  use  likenesses,  which  are 

1 V id.  supra,  414  C. 


Cratylus  harps  upon  the  old  string. 

perfectly  appropriate,  this  would  be  the  most  perfect  state 
of  language  ; as  the  opposite  is  the  most  imperfect.  But 
let  me  ask  you,  what  is  the  force  of  names,  and  what  is 
the  use  of  them  ? 

Crat.  The  use  of  names,  Socrates,  as  I should  imagine,  is 
to  inform  : the  simple  truth  is,  that  he  who  knows  names 
knows  also  the  things  which  are  expressed  by  them. 

Soc.  I suppose  you  mean  to  say,  Cratylus,  that  as  the 
name  is,  so  also  is  the  thing;  and  that  he  who  knows  the 
one  will  also  know  the  other,  because  they  are  similars,  and 
all  similars  fall  under  the  same  art  or  science;  and  therefore 
you  would  say  that  he  who  knows  names  will  also  know 
things. 

Crat.  That  is  precisely  what  I mean. 

Soc.  But  let  us  consider  what  is  the  nature  of  this  in- 
formation about  things  which,  according  to  you,  is  given  us 
by  names.  Is  it  the  best  sort  of  information  ? or  is  there 
any  other  ? What  do  you  say  ? 

436  Crat.  I believe  that  to  be  both  the  only  and  the  best  sort  of 
information  about  them ; there  can  be  no  other. 

Soc.  But  do  you  believe  that  in  the  discovery  of  them,  he 
who  discovers  the  names  discovers  also  the  things;  or  is 
this  only  the  method  of  instruction,  and  is  there  some  other 
method  of  enquiry  and  discovery. 

Crat.  I certainly  believe  that  the  methods  of  enquiry 
and  discovery  are  of  the  same  nature  as  instruction. 

Soc.  Well,  but  do  you  not  see,  Cratylus,  that  he  who 
follows  names  in  the  search  after  things,  and  analyses  their 
meaning,  is  in  great  danger  of  being  deceived  ? 

Crat.  How  so? 

Soc.  Why  clearly  he  who  first  gave  names  gave  them 
according  to  his  conception  of  the  things  which  they  signified 
— did  he  not? 

Crat.  True. 

Soc.  And  if  his  conception  was  erroneous,  and  he  gave 
names  according  to  his  conception,  in  what  position  shall  we 
who  are  his  followers  find  ourselves?  Shall  we  not  be 
deceived  by  him? 

Crat.  But,  Socrates,  am  I not  right  in  thinking  that  he 
must  surely  have  known  ; or  else,  as  I was  saying,  his 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratylus. 


Cratylus 

maintains 

that  he  who 

knows 

names  also 

knows 

things. 


But  sup- 
posing that 
the  original 
giver  of 
names  was 
mistaken, 
what  then  ? 


384 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratylus. 


He  may 
have  been 
perfectly 
consistent, 
and  yet 
have  pro- 
ceeded on 
a false  prin- 
ciple. 


But  names 
are  not 
really  con- 
sistent. 
Many 
words  are 
expressive 
of  rest, 
though 
many  more 
of  motion. 
In  any  case, 
however, 
the  truth  of 
a principle 
cannot  be 
established 
by  majori- 
ties. 


Rest  as  well  as  motion  found  in  language. 

names  would  not  be  names  at  all  ? And  you  have  a clear 
proof  that  he  has  not  missed  the  truth,  and  the  proof  is — 
that  he  is  perfectly  consistent.  Did  you  ever  observe  in 
speaking  that  all  the  words  which  you  utter  have  a common 
character  and  purpose  ? 

Soc.  But  that,  friend  Cratylus,  is  no  answer.  For  if  he 
did  begin  in  error,  he  may  have  forced  the  remainder  into 
agreement  with  the  original  error  and  with  himself;  there 
would  be  nothing  strange  in  this,  any  more  than  in  geo- 
metrical diagrams,  which  have  often  a slight  and  invisible 
flaw  in  the  first  part  of  the  process,  and  are  consistently 
mistaken  in  the  long  deductions  which  follow.  And  this  is 
the  reason  why  every  man  should  expend  his  chief  thought 
and  attention  on  the  consideration  of  his  first  principles: — 
are  they  or  are  they  not  rightly  laid  down  ? and  when  he 
has  duly  sifted  them,  all  the  rest  will  follow.  Now  I should 
be  astonished  to  find  that  names  are  really  consistent.  And 
here  let  us  revert  to  our  former  discussion  : Were  we  not 
saying  that  all  things  are  in  motion  and  progress  and  flux, 
and  that  this  idea  of  motion  is  expressed  bynames?  Do 
you  not  conceive  that  to  be  the  meaning  of  them  ? 

Crat.  Yes;  that  is  assuredly  their  meaning,  and  the  true 
meaning. 

Soc.  Let  us  revert  to  eVto-nj/w?  (knowledge),  and  observe  437 
how  ambiguous  this  word  is,  seeming  rather  to  signify 
stopping  the  soul  at  things  than  going  round  with  them  ; 
and  therefore  we  should  leave  the  beginning  as  at  present, 
and  not  reject  the  e (cp.  412  A),  but  make  an  insertion  of  an 
1 instead  of  an  e (not  ni(rrrjprj,  but  enuaTijpri).  Take  another 
example : l3e/3cuov  (sure)  is  clearly  the  expression  of  station 
and  position,  and  not  of  motion.  Again,  the  word  lo-ropia 
(enquiry)  bears  upon  the  face  of  it  the  stopping  ( io-rduai ) of 
the  stream  ; and  the  word  mo-rov  (faithful)  certainly  indicates 
cessation  of  motion  ; then,  again,  pvt/py  (memory),  as  any  one 
may  see,  expresses  rest  in  the  soul,  and  not  motion.  More- 
over, words  such  as  apapria  and  avp<f>opat  which  have  a bad 
sense,  viewed  in  the  light  of  their  etymologies  will  be  the 
same  as  avveais  and  f7ncm)/x7/  and  other  words  which  have  a 

good  Sense  (cp.  opaprfiv,  (rvvifvcu,  tnecrdm,  crvp(f)epea6(u'j  ; and 

much  the  same  may  be  said  of  npaOia  and  aKoXaa-ia,  for  apaOia 


Which  come  first  ? Names  or  things  ? 

may  be  explained  as  17  Spa  Otu  lovros  iropem,  and  wcoXnara  as  v 
dicoXovOta  rols  npAypaatu.  Thus  the  names  which  in  these 
instances  we  find  to  have  the  worst  sense,  will  turn  out  to  be 
framed  on  the  same  principle  as  those  which  have  the  best. 
And  any  one  1 believe  who  would  take  the  trouble  might 
find  many  other  examples  in  which  the  giver  of  names  indi- 
cates, not  that  things  are  in  motion  or  progress,  but  that  they 
are  at  rest ; which  is  the  opposite  ol  motion. 

Crat.  Yes,  Socrates,  but  observe ; the  greater  number  ex- 
press motion. 

Soc.  What  of  that,  Cratylus  ? Are  we  to  count  them  like 
votes  ? and  is  correctness  of  names  the  voice  of  the  majority? 
Are  we  to  say  of  whichever  sort  there  are  most,  those  are  the 

true  ones  ? 

Crat.  No;  that  is  not  reasonable. 

Soc.  Certainly  not.  But  let  us  have  done  with  this 
question  and  proceed  to  another,  about  which  I should 
like  to  know  whether  you  think  with  me.  Were  we  not 
lately  acknowledging  that  the  first  givers  of  names  in 
states,  both  Hellenic  and  barbarous,  were  the  legislators, 
and  that  the  art  which  gave  names  was  the  art  of  the 
legislator  ? 

Crat.  Quite  true. 

Soc.  Tell  me,  then,  did  the  first  legislators,  who  were  the 
givers  of  the  first  names,  know  or  not  know  the  things  which 
they  named  ? 

Crat.  They  must  have  known,  Socrates. 

438  Soc.  Why,  yes,  friend  Cratylus,  they  could  hardly  have 
been  ignorant. 

Crat.  I should  say  not. 

Soc.  Let  us  return  to  the  point  from  which  we  digressed. 
You  were  saying,  if  you  remember,  that  he  who  gave  names 
must  have  known  the  things  which  he  named ; are  you  still 
of  that  opinion  ? 

Crat.  I am. 

Soc.  And  would  you  say  that  the  giver  of  the  first  names 
had  also  a knowledge  of  the  things  which  he  named  ? 

Crat.  I should. 

Soc.  But  how  could  he  have  learned  or  discovered  things 
from  names  if  the  primitive  names  were  not  yet  given  ? For, 


385 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratylus. 


Another 
question  : 

If  the 
knowledge 
of  things  is 
only  given 
through 
names,  how 
could  the 
legislators 
who  first 
gave  names 
have  known 
things? 

And  yet 
they  could 
hardly  have 
been  ig- 
norant. 


VOL.  I. 


C C 


386 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratylus. 


The  truth 
is  that  God 
gave  lan- 
guage. 

Then  how 
came  the 
inspired 
giver  of 
language  to 
contradict 
himself? 


and  how 
can  we 
distinguish 
between  the 
true  and 
false  in  lan- 
guage ? 


We  must 

know 

things 

without 

words. 


A power  more  than  hitman  gave  language. 

ii  vve  aie  correct  in  our  view,  the  only  way  of  learning  and 
discovering  things,  is  either  to  discover  names  for  ourselves 
or  to  learn  them  from  others. 

Crat.  I think  that  there  is  a good  deal  in  what  you  say, 
Socrates. 

Soc.  But  if  things  are  only  to  be  known  through  names, 
how  can  we  suppose  that  the  givers  of  names  had  know- 
ledge, or  were  legislators  before  there  were  names  at  all, 
and  therefore  before  they  could  have  known  them  ? 

Crat.  I believe,  Socrates,  the  true  account  of  the  matter  to 
be,  that  a power  more  than  human  gave  things  their  first 
names,  and  that  the  names  which  are  thus  given  are  neces- 
sarily their  true  names. 

Soc.  Then  how  came  the  giver  of  the  names,  if  he  was  an 
inspired  being  or  God,  to  contradict  himself?  For  were  we 
not  saying  just  now  that  he  made  some  names  expressive  of 
rest  and  others  of  motion  ? Were  we  mistaken  ? 

Crat.  But  I suppose  one  of  the  two  not  to  be  names 
at  all. 

Soc.  And  which,  then,  did  he  make,  my  good  friend  ; 
those  which  are  expressive  of  rest,  or  those  which  are 
expressive  of  motion  ? This  is  a point  which,  as  I said 
before,  cannot  be  determined  by  counting  them. 

Crat.  No ; not  in  that  way,  Socrates. 

Soc.  But  if  this  is  a battle  of  names,  some  of  them  assert- 
ing that  they  are  like  the  truth,  others  contending  that  they 
are,  how  or  by  what  criterion  are  we  to  decide  between 
them?  For  there  are  no  other  names  to  which  appeal  can 
be  made,  but  obviously  recourse  must  be  had  to  another 
standard  which,  without  employing  names,  will  make  clear 
which  of  the  two  are  right ; and  this  must  be  a standard 
which  shows  the  truth  of  things. 

Crat.  I agree. 

Soc.  But  if  that  is  true,  Cratylus,  then  I suppose  that 
things  may  be  known  without  names? 

Crat.  Clearly. 

Soc.  But  how  would  you  expect  to  know  them  ? What 
other  way  can  there  be  of  knowing  them,  except  the  true 
and  natural  way,  through  their  affinities,  when  they  are  akin 
to  each  other,  and  through  themselves?  For  that  which  is 


387 


The  He  racin' lean  flux  and  the  doctrine  of  ideas. 

other  and  different  from  them  must  signify  something  other 
and  different  from  them. 

Crat.  What  you  are  saying  is,  I think,  true. 

439  Soc.  Well,  but  reflect ; have  we  not  several  times  acknow- 
ledged that  names  rightly  given  are  the  likenesses  and 
images  of  the  things  which  they  name  ? 

Crat.  Yes. 

Soc.  Let  us  suppose  that  to  any  extent  you  please  you 
can  learn  things  through  the  medium  of  names,  and  suppose 
also  that  you  can  learn  them  from  the  things  themselves— 
which  is  likely  to  be  the  nobler  and  clearer  way;  to  learn 
of  the  image,  whether  the  image  and  the  truth  of  which  the 
image  is  the  expression  have  been  rightly  conceived,  or  to 
learn  of  the  truth  whether  the  truth  and  the  image  of  it  have 
been  duly  executed  ? 

Crat.  I should  say  that  we  must  learn  of  the  truth. 

Soc.  How  real  existence  is  to  be  studied  or  discovered  is, 

I suspect,  beyond  you  and  me.  But  we  may  admit  so  much, 
that  the  knowledge  of  things  is  not  to  be  derived  from 
names.  No ; they  must  be  studied  and  investigated  in 
themselves. 

Crat.  Clearly,  Socrates. 

Soc.  There  is  another  point.  I should  not  like  us  to  be 
imposed  upon  by  the  appearance  of  such  a multitude  of  names, 
all  tending  in  the  same  direction.  I myself  do  not  deny 
that  the  givers  of  names  did  really  give  them  under  the  idea 
that  all  things  were  in  motion  and  flux ; which  was  their 
sincere  but,  I think,  mistaken  opinion.  And  having  fallen 
into  a kind  of  whirlpool  themselves,  they  are  carried  round, 
and  want  to  drag  us  in  after  them.  There  is  a matter, 
master  Cratylus,  about  which  I often  dream,  and  should 
like  to  ask  your  opinion  : Tell  me,  whether  there  is  or  is 
not  any  absolute  beauty  or  good,  or  any  other  absolute 
existence  ? 

Crat.  Certainly,  Socrates,  I think  so. 

Soc.  Then  let  us  seek  the  true  beauty  : not  asking  whether 
a face  is  fair,  or  anything  of  that  sort,  for  all  such  things 
appear  to  be  in  a flux  ; but  let  us  ask  whether  the  true  beauty 
is  not  always  beautiful. 

Crat.  Certainly. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates. 

Cratyi.us. 


Which  is 
the  nobler 
way — to 
study 
things  in 
names  or  in 
themselves? 


But  are 
there 
things  in 
themselves? 


C C 2 


388 

Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratyi.us. 

Not  if  all  is 
in  a state  of 
flux  and 
transition. 


Cratylus  is  almost  persuaded  by  Socrates ; 

Soc.  And  can  we  rightly  speak  of  a beauty  which  is  always 
passing  away,  and  is  first  this  and  then  that ; must  not  the 
same  thing  be  born  and  retire  and  vanish  while  the  word  is 
in  our  mouths  ? 

Crat.  Undoubtedly. 

Soc.  Then  how  can  that  be  a real  thing  which  is  never  in 
the  same  state?  for  obviously  things  which  are  the  same 
cannot  change  while  they  remain  the  same;  and  if  they  are 
always  the  same  and  in  the  same  state,  and  never  depart 
from  their  original  form,  they  can  never  change  or  be  moved. 

Crat.  Certainly  they  cannot. 

Soc.  Nor  yet  can  the}'  be  known  by  any  one;  for  at  the  440 
moment  that  the  observer  approaches,  then  they  become 
other  and  of  another  nature,  so  that  you  cannot  get  any 
further  in  knowing  their  nature  or  state,  for  you  cannot 
know  that  which  has  no  state. 

Crat.  True. 

Soc.  Nor  can  we  reasonably  say,  Cratylus,  that  there  is 
knowledge  at  all,  if  everything  is  in  a state  of  transition  and 
there  is  nothing  abiding;  for  knowledge  too  cannot  continue 
to  be  knowledge  unless  continuing  always  to  abide  and 
exist.  But  if  the  very  nature  of  knowledge  changes,  at  the 
time  when  the  change  occurs  there  will  be  no  knowledge ; 
and  if  the  transition  is  always  going  on,  there  will  always 
be  no  knowledge,  and,  according  to  this  view,  there  will  be 
no  one  to  know  and  nothing  to  be  known  : but  if  that  which 
knows  and  that  which  is  known  exists  ever,  and  the  beautiful 
and  the  good  and  every  other  thing  also  exist,  then  I do 
not  think  that  they  can  resemble  a process  or  flux,  as  we 
were  just  now  supposing.  Whether  there  is  this  eternal 
nature  in  things,  or  whether  the  truth  is  what  Heracleitus 
and  his  followers  and  many  others  say,  is  a question  hard  to 
determine ; and  no  man  of  sense  will  like  to  put  himself  or 
the  education  of  his  mind  in  the  power  of  names : neither 
will  he  so  far  trust  names  or  the  givers  of  names  as  to  be 
confident  in  any  knowledge  which  condemns  himself  and 
other  existences  to  an  unhealthy  state  of  unreality;  he  will 
not  believe  that  all  things  leak  like  a pot,  or  imagine  that 
the  world  is  a man  who  has  a running  at  the  nose.  This 
may  be  true,  Cratylus,  but  is  also  very  likely  to  be  untrue; 


3*9 


but  he  still  inclines  to  his  former  opinion. 

and  therefore  1 would  not  have  you  be  too  easily  persuaded 
of  it.  Reflect  well  and  like  a man,  and  do  not  easily  accept 
such  a doctrine ; for  you  are  young  and  of  an  age  to  learn. 
And  when  you  have  found  the  truth,  come  and  tell  me. 

Crat.  I will  do  as  you  say,  though  I can  assure  you, 
Socrates,  that  I have  been  considering  the  matter  already, 
and  the  result  of  a great  deal  of  trouble  and  consideration  is 
that  I incline  to  Heracleitus. 

Soc.  Then,  another  day,  my  friend,  when  you  come  back, 
you  shall  give  me  a lesson;  but  at  present,  go  into  the 
country,  as  you  are  intending,  and  Hermogenes  shall  set 
you  on  your  way. 

Crat.  Very  good,  Socrates ; I hope,  however,  that  you  will 
continue  to  think  about  these  things  yourself. 


Cratylus. 

Socrates, 

Cratylus. 


PHAEDRUS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  Phaedrus  is  closely  connected  with  the  Symposium,  and 
may  be  regarded  either  as  introducing  or  following  it.  The  two 
Dialogues  together  contain  the  whole  philosophy  of  Plato  on  the 
nature  of  love,  which  in  the  Republic  and  in  the  later  writings  of 
Plato  is  only  introduced  playfully  or  as  a figure  of  speech.  But  in 
the  Phaedrus  and  Symposium  love  and  philosophy  join  hands, 
and  one  is  an  aspect  of  the  other.  The  spiritual  and  emotional 
part  is  elevated  into  the  ideal,  to  which  in  the  Symposium  man- 
kind are  described  as  looking  forward,  and  which  in  the  Phaedrus, 
as  well  as  in  the  Phaedo,  they  are  seeking  to  recover  from  a former 
state  of  existence.  Whether  the  subject  of  the  Dialogue  is  love  or 
rhetoric,  or  the  union  of  the  two,  or  the  relation  of  philosophy  to 
love  and  to  art  in  general,  and  to  the  human  soul,  will  be  here- 
after considered.  And  perhaps  we  may  arrive  at  some  conclusion 
such  as  the  following — that  the  dialogue  is  not  strictly  confined 
to  a single  subject,  but  passes  from  one  to  another  with  the  natural 
freedom  of  conversation. 

:Steph.  Phaedrus  has  been  spending  the  morning  with  Lysias,  the 

22~  celebrated  rhetorician,  and  is  going  to  refresh  himself  by  taking  a 
walk  outside  the  wall,  when  he  is  met  by  Socrates,  who  professes 
that  he  will  not  leave  him  until  he  has  delivered  up  the  speech 

228  with  which  Lysias  has  regaled  him,  and  which  he  is  carrying 
about  in  his  mind,  or  more  probably  in  a book  hidden  under  his 
cloak,  and  is  intending  to  study  as  he  walks.  The  imputation  is 
not  denied,  and  the  two  agree  to  direct  their  steps  out  of  the 
public  way  along  the  stream  of  the  Ilissus  towards  a plane-tree 
which  is  seen  in  the  distance.  There,  lying  down  amidst  pleasant 
sounds  and  scents,  they  will  read  the  speech  of  Lysias.  The 

229  country  is  a novelty  to  Socrates,  who  never  goes  out  of  the  town  ; 


Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Analysis. 


394 


Analysis  229-237. 


Phaedrus. 

Analysis. 


and  hence  he  is  full  of  admiration  for  the  beauties  of  nature,  which 
he  seems  to  be  drinking  in  for  the  first  time. 

As  they  are  on  their  way,  Phaedrus  asks  the  opinion  of  Socrates 
respecting  the  local  tradition  of  Boreas  and  Oreithyia.  Socrates, 
after  a satirical  allusion  to  the  ‘ rationalizers  ’ of  his  day,  replies 
that  he  has  no  time  for  these  ‘nice’  interpretations  of  mythology, 
and  he  pities  any  one  who  has.  When  you  once  begin  there  is  no 
end  of  them,  and  they  spring  from  an  uncritical  philosophy  after 
all.  * The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man  ; ’ and  he  is  a far  more 
complex  and  wonderful  being  than  the  serpent  Typho.  Socrates  230 
as  yet  does  not  know  himself ; and  why  should  he  care  to  know 
about  unearthly  monsters  ? Engaged  in  such  conversation,  they 
arrive  at  the  plane-tree ; when  they  have  found  a convenient 
resting-place,  Phaedrus  pulls  out  the  speech  and  reads 

The  speech  consists  of  a foolish  paradox  which  is  to  the  effect 
that  the  non-lover  ought  to  be  accepted  rather  than  the  lover—  231 
because  he  is  more  rational,  more  agreeable,  more  enduring,  less 
suspicious,  less  hurtful,  less  boastful,  less  engrossing,  and  because 
there  are  more  of  them,  and  for  a great  many  other  reasons  which 
are  equally  unmeaning.  Phaedrus  is  captivated  with  the  beauty  of 
the  periods,  and  wants  to  make  Socrates  say  that  nothing  was  or 
ever  could  be  written  better.  Socrates  does  not  think  much  of  235 
the  matter,  but  then  he  has  only  attended  to  the  form,  and  in  that 
he  has  detected  several  repetitions  and  other  marks  of  haste.  He 
cannot  agree  with  Phaedrus  in  the  extreme  value  which  he  sets 
upon  this  performance,  because  he  is  afraid  of  doing  injustice  to 
Anacreon  and  Sappho  and  other  great  writers,  and  is  almost 
inclined  to  think  that  he  himself,  or  rather  some  power  residing 
within  him,  could  make  a speech  better  than  that  of  Lysias  on  the 
same  theme,  and  also  different  from  his,  if  he  may  be  allowed  the  236 
use  of  a few  commonplaces  which  all  speakers  must  equally 
employ. 

Phaedrus  is  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  having  another  speech, 
and  promises  that  he  will  set  up  a golden  statue  of  Socrates  at 
Delphi,  if  he  keeps  his  word.  Some  raillery  ensues,  and  at  length 
Socrates,  conquered  by  the  threat  that  he  shall  never  again 
hear  a speech  of  Lysias  unless  he  fulfils  his  promise,  veils  his  face  237 
and  begins. 

First,  invoking  the  Muses  and  assuming  ironically  the  person  of 


395 


Analysis  237-242. 

the  non-lover  (who  is  a lover  all  the  same),  he  will  enquiie  into 
the  nature  and  power  of  love.  For  this  is  a necessary  preliminary 
to  the  other  question — How  is  the  non-lover  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  lover?  In  all  of  us  there  are  two  principles  a bettei 
and  a worse— reason  and  desire,  which  are  generally  at  war  with 
one  another ; and  the  victory  of  the  rational  is  called  temperance, 
and  the  victory  of  the  irrational  intemperance  or  excess.  The 

23S  latter  takes  many  forms  and  has  many  bad  names —gluttony, 
drunkenness,  and  the  like.  But  of  all  the  irrational  desires  or 
excesses  the  greatest  is  that  which  is  led  away  by  desires  of  a 
kindred  nature  to  the  enjoyment  of  personal  beauty.  And  this  is 
the  master  power  of  love. 

Here  Socrates  fancies  that  he  detects  in  himself  an  unusual  flow 
of  eloquence— this  newly-found  gift  he  can  only  attribute  to  the 
inspiration  ol  the  place,  which  appears  to  be  dedicated  to  the 

239  nymphs.  Starting  again  from  the  philosophical  basis  which  has 
been  laid  down,  he  proceeds  to  show  how  many  advantages  the 
non-lover  has  over  the  lover.  The  one  encourages  softness  and 
effeminacy  and  exclusiveness ; he  cannot  endure  any  superiority 
in  his  beloved ; he  will  train  him  in  luxury,  he  will  keep  him  out 

240  of  society,  he  will  deprive  him  of  parents,  friends,  money,  know- 
ledge, and  of  every  other  good,  that  he  may  have  him  all  to  himself. 
Then  again  his  ways  are  not  ways  of  pleasantness  ; he  is  mighty 
disagreeable ; ‘ crabbed  age  and  youth  cannot  live  together.’  At 
every  hour  of  the  night  and  day  he  is  intruding  upon  him ; there 
is  the  same  old  withered  face  and  the  remainder  to  match— and 
he  is  always  repeating,  in  season  or  out  of  season,  the  praises  or 
dispraises  of  his  beloved,  which  are  bad  enough  when  he  is  sober, 

241  and  published  all  over  the  world  when  he  is  drunk.  At  length 
his  love  ceases  ; he  is  converted  into  an  enemy,  and  the  spectacle 
may  be  seen  of  the  lover  running  away  from  the  beloved,  who 
pursues  him  with  vain  reproaches,  and  demands  his  reward  which 
the  other  refuses  to  pay.  Too  late  the  beloved  learns,  after  all  his 
pains  and  disagreeables,  that  ‘ As  wolves  love  lambs  so  lovers  love 
their  loves.’  (Cp.  Char.  155  D.)  Here  is  the  end;  the  ‘other’  or 
‘non-lover’  part  of  the  speech  had  better  be  understood,  for  if  in 
the  censure  of  the  lover  Socrates  has  broken  out  in  verse,  what 

242  will  he  not  do  in  his  praise  of  the  non-lover  ? He  has  said  his 
say  and  is  preparing  to  go  away. 


Phaedrus. 

Analysis. 


396 

Phaedrus. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  242-247. 

Phaedrus  begs  him  to  remain,  at  any  rate  until  the  heat  of  noon 
lias  passed ; he  would  like  to  have  a little  more  conversation 
before  they  go.  Socrates,  who  has  risen,  recognizes  the  oracular 
sign  which  forbids  him  to  depart  until  he  has  done  penance.  His  243 
conscience  has  been  awakened,  and  like  Stesichorus  when  he  had 
reviled  the  lovely  Helen  he  will  sing  a palinode  for  having 
blasphemed  the  majesty  of  love.  His  palinode  takes  the  form  of 
a myth. 

Socrates  begins  his  tale  with  a glorification  of  madness,  which  244 
he  divides  into  four  kinds  : first,  there  is  the  art  of  divination  or 
prophecy— this,  in  a vein  similar  to  that  pervading  the  Cratylus 
and  Io,  he  connects  with  madness  by  an  etymological  explanation 
(fj.avri.Krj,  fxaviKrj — compare  olovoicrTiKTj , oicovicttlkt),  ‘ ’tis  all  one  reckon- 
ing, save  the  phrase  is  a little  variations  ’)  ; secondly,  there  is  the 
art  of  purification  by  mysteries  ; thirdly,  poetry  or  the  inspiration  245 
of  the  Muses  (cp.  Ion,  533  foil.),  without  which  no  man  can 
enter  their  temple.  All  this  shows  that  madness  is  one  of 
heaven’s  blessings,  and  may  sometimes  be  a great  deal  better 
than  sense.  There  is  also  a fourth  kind  of  madness— that  of 
love — which  cannot  be  explained  without  enquiring  into  the 
nature  of  the  soul. 

All  soul  is  immortal,  for  she  is  the  source  of  all  motion  both  in 
herself  and  in  others.  Her  form  may  be  described  in  a figure  as  246 
a composite  nature  made  up  of  a charioteer  and  a pair  of  winged 
steeds.  The  steeds  of  the  gods  are  immortal,  but  ours  are  one 
mortal  and  the  other  immortal.  The  immortal  soul  soars  upwards 
into  the  heavens,  but  the  mortal  drops  her  plumes  and  settles 
upon  the  earth. 

Now  the  use  of  the  wing  is  to  rise  and  carry  the  downward 
element  into  the  upper  world— there  to  behold  beauty,  wisdom, 
goodness,  and  the  other  things  of  God  by  which  the  soul  is 
nourished.  On  a certain  day  Zeus  the  lord  of  heaven  goes  forth  247 
in  a winged  chariot ; and  an  array  of  gods  and  demi-gods  and  of 
human  souls  in  their  train,  follows  him.  There  are  glorious  and 
blessed  sights  in  the  interior  of  heaven,  and  he  who  will  may 
freely  behold  them.  The  great  vision  of  all  is  seen  at  the  feast  of 
the  gods,  when  they  ascend  the  heights  of  the  empyrean — all  but 
Hestia,  who  is  left  at  home  to  keep  house.  The  chariots  of  the 
gods  glide  readily  upwards  and  stand  upon  the  outside;  the 


397 


Analysis  247-249. 

revolution  of  the  spheres  carries  them  round,  and  they  have  a 
vision  of  the  world  beyond.  But  the  others  labour  in  vain  ; for 
the  mortal  steed,  if  he  has  not  been  properly  trained,  keeps  them 
down  and  sinks  them  towards  the  earth.  Of  the  world  which  is 
beyond  the  heavens,  who  can  tell  ? There  is  an  essence  formless, 
colourless,  intangible,  perceived  by  the  mind  only,  dwelling  in  the 
region  of  true  knowledge.  The  divine  mind  in  her  revolution 
enjoys  this  fair  prospect,  and  beholds  justice,  temperance,  and 
knowledge  in  their  everlasting  essence.  When  fulfilled  with  the 
sight  of  them  she  returns  home,  and  the  charioteer  puts  up  the 
248  horses  in  their  stable,  and  gives  them  ambrosia  to  eat  and  nectai 
to  drink.  This  is  the  life  of  the  gods;  the  human  soul  tries  to 
reach  the  same  heights,  but  hardly  succeeds ; and  sometimes  the 
head  of  the  charioteer  rises  above,  and  sometimes  sinks  below, 
the  fair  vision,  and  he  is  at  last  obliged,  after  much  contention,  to 
turn  away  and  leave  the  plain  of  truth.  But  if  the  soul  has 
followed  in  the  train  of  her  god  and  once  beheld  truth  she  is 
preserved  from  harm,  and  is  carried  round  in  the  next  revolution  of 
the  spheres ; and  if  always  following,  and  always  seeing  the  truth, 
is  then  for  ever  unharmed.  If,  however,  she  drops  her  wings  and 
falls  to  the  earth,  then  she  takes  the  form  of  man,  and  the  soul 
which  has  seen  most  of  the  truth  passes  into  a philosopher  or 
lover ; that  which  has  seen  truth  in  the  second  degree,  into  a king 
or  warrior ; the  third,  into  a householder  or  money-maker ; the 
fourth,  into  a gymnast ; the  fifth,  into  a prophet  or  mystic ; the 
sixth,  into  a poet  or  imitator ; the  seventh,  into  a husbandman  or 
craftsman  ; the  eighth,  into  a sophist  or  demagogue ; the  ninth, 
into  a tyrant.  All  these  are  states  of  probation,  wherein  he  who 
lives  righteously'  is  improved,  and  he  who  lives  unrighteously 
deteriorates.  After  death  comes  the  judgment ; the  bad  depart 
to  houses  of  correction  under  the  earth,  the  good  to  places  of  joy 
in  heaven.  When  a thousand  years  have  elapsed  the  souls  meet 
together  and  choose  the  lives  which  they  will  lead  for  another 
period  of  existence.  The  soul  which  three  times  in  succession 
has  chosen  the  life  of  a philosopher  or  of  a lover  who  is  not 
without  philosophy  receives  her  wings  at  the  close  of  the  third 
millennium ; the  remainder  have  to  complete  a cycle  of  ten  thousand 
years  before  their  wings  are  restored  to  them.  Each  time  there 
249  is  full  liberty  of  choice.  The  soul  of  a man  may  descend  into  a 


Phaedrus. 

Analysis. 


39&  Analysis  249-253. 

Phacdiits.  beast,  and  return  again  into  the  form  of  man.  But  the  form  of 

Analysis,  man  will  only  be  taken  by  the  soul  which  has  once  seen  truth 
and  acquired  some  conception  of  the  universal : — this  is  the 
recollection  of  the  knowledge  which  she  attained  when  in  the 
company  of  the  Gods.  And  men  in  general  recall  only  with 
difficulty  the  things  of  another  world,  but  the  mind  of  the 
philosopher  has  a better  remembrance  of  them.  For  when  he 
beholds  the  visible  beauty  of  earth  his  enraptured  soul  passes 
in  thought  to  those  glorious  sights  of  justice  and  wisdom  and  250 
temperance  and  truth  which  she  once  gazed  upon  in  heaven. 
Then  she  celebrated  holy  mysteries  and  beheld  blessed  appari- 
tions shining  in  pure  light,  herself  pure,  and  not  as  yet  entombed 
in  the  body.  And  still,  like  a bird  eager  to  quit  its  cage,  she 
flutters  and  looks  upwards,  and  is  therefore  deemed  mad.  Such 
a recollection  of  past  days  she  receives  through  sight,  the  keenest 
of  our  senses,  because  beauty,  alone  of  the  ideas,  has  any  re- 
presentation on  earth  : wisdom  is  invisible  to  mortal  eyes.  But 
the  corrupted  nature,  blindly  excited  by  this  vision  of  beauty, 
rushes  on  to  enjoy,  and  would  fain  wallow  like  a brute  beast  in  251 
sensual  pleasures.  Whereas  the  true  mystic,  who  has  seen  the 
many  sights  of  bliss,  when  he  beholds  a god-like  form  or  face  is 
amazed  with  delight,  and  if  he  were  not  afraid  of  being  thought 
mad  he  would  fall  down  and  worship.  Then  the  stiffened  wing 
begins  to  relax  and  grow  again  ; desire  which  has  been  imprisoned 
pours  over  the  soul  of  the  lover ; the  germ  of  the  wing  unfolds, 
and  stings,  and  pangs  of  birth,  like  the  cutting  of  teeth,  are  every- 
where felt.  (Cp.  Symp.  206  foil.)  Father  and  mother,  and  goods  252 
and  laws  and  proprieties  are  nothing  to  him  ; his  beloved  is  his 
physician,  who  can  alone  cure  his  pain.  An  apocryphal  sacred 
writer  says  that  the  power  which  thus  works  in  him  is  by  mortals 
called  love,  but  the  immortals  call  him  dove,  or  the  winged  one,  in 
order  to  represent  the  force  of  his  wings— such  at  any  rate  is  his 
nature.  Now  the  characters  of  lovers  depend  upon  the  god  whom 
they  followed  in  the  other  world  ; and  they  choose  their  loves  in 
this  world  accordingly.  The  followers  of  Ares  are  fierce  and  253 
violent ; those  of  Zeus  seek  out  some  philosophical  and  imperial 
nature;  the  attendants  of  Here  find  a royal  love;  and  in  like 
manner  the  followers  of  every  god  seek  a love  who  is  like 
their  god  ; and  to  him  they  communicate  the  nature  which  they 


399 


A nalysis  253-257. 

have  received  from  their  god.  The  manner  in  which  they  take  Phaedrm. 
their  love  is  as  follows  : — Analysis. 

I told  you  about  the  charioteer  and  his  two  steeds,  the  one  a 
noble  animal  who  is  guided  by  word  and  admonition  only,  the 
other  an  ill-looking  villain  who  will  hardly  yield  to  blow  or  spur. 

Together  all  three,  who  are  a figure  of  the  soul,  approach  the 

254  vision  of  love.  And  now  a fierce  conflict  begins.  The  ill- 
conditioned  steed  rushes  on  to  enjoy,  but  the  charioteer,  who 
beholds  the  beloved  with  awe,  falls  back  in  adoration,  and  forces 
both  the  steeds  on  their  haunches ; again  the  evil  steed  rushes 
forwards  and  pulls  shamelessly.  The  conflict  grows  more  and 
more  severe ; and  at  last  the  charioteer,  throwing  himself  back- 
wards, forces  the  bit  out  of  the  clenched  teeth  of  the  brute, 
and  pulling  harder  than  ever  at  the  reins,  covers  his  tongue  and 
jaws  witli  blood,  and  forces  him  to  rest  his  legs  and  haunches 
with  pain  upon  the  ground.  When  this  has  happened  several 
times,  the  villain  is  tamed  and  humbled,  and  from  that  time 
forward  the  soul  of  the  lover  follows  the  beloved  in  modesty  and 

255  holy  fear.  And  now  their  bliss  is  consummated ; the  same  image 
of  love  dwells  in  the  breast  of  either ; and  if  they  have  self- 
control,  they  pass  their  lives  in  the  greatest  happiness  which  is 
attainable  by  man— they  continue  masters  of  themselves,  and 

256  conquer  in  one  of  the  three  heavenly  victories.  But  if  they  choose 
the  lower  life  of  ambition  they  may  still  have  a happy  destiny, 
though  inferior,  because  they  have  not  the  approval  of  the  whole 
soul.  At  last  they  leave  the  body  and  proceed  on  their  pilgrim’s 
progress,  and  those  who  have  once  begun  can  never  go  back. 

When  the  time  comes  they  receive  their  wings  and  fly  away,  and 
the  lovers  have  the  same  wings. 

Socrates  concludes : — 

257  These  are  the  blessings  of  love,  and  thus  have  I made  my 
recantation  in  finer  language  than  before  : I did  so  in  order  to 
please  Phaedrus.  If  I said  what  was  wrong  at  first,  please  to 
attribute  my  error  to  Lysias,  who  ought  to  study  philosophy 
instead  of  rhetoric,  and  then  he  will  not  mislead  his  disciple 
Phaedrus. 

Phaedrus  is  afraid  that  he  will  lose  conceit  of  Lysias,  and  that 
Lysias  will  be  out  of  conceit  with  himself,  and  leave  off  making 
speeches,  for  the  politicians  have  been  deriding  him.  Socrates  is 


400 


Phaedrus. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  257-265. 

of  opinion  that  there  is  small  danger  of  this;  the  politicians  are 
themselves  the  great  rhetoricians  of  the  age,  who  desire  to  attain  258 
immortality  by  the  authorship  of  laws.  And  therefore  there  is 
nothing  with  which  they  can  reproach  Lysias  in  being  a writer  ; 
but  there  may  be  disgrace  in  being  a bad  one. 

And  what  is  good  or  bad  writing  or  speaking?  While  the  sun 
is  hot  in  the  sky  above  us,  let  us  ask  that  question  : since  by 
rational  conversation  man  lives,  and  not  by  the  indulgence  of 
bodily  pleasures.  And  the  grasshoppers  who  are  chirruping  259 
around  may  carry  our  words  to  the  Muses,  who  are  their 
patronesses ; for  the  grasshoppers  were  human  beings  them- 
selves in  a world  before  the  Muses,  and  when  the  Muses  came 
they  died  of  hunger  for  the  love  of  song.  And  they  carry  to  them 
in  heaven  the  report  of  those  who  honour  them  on  earth.  260 

The  first  rule  of  good  speaking  is  to  know  and  speak  the  truth  ; 
as  a Spartan  proverb  says,  ‘true  art  is  truth’ ; whereas  rhetoric  is  261 
an  art  of  enchantment,  which  makes  things  appear  good  and  evil, 
like  and  unlike,  as  the  speaker  pleases.  Its  use  is  not  confined,  as 
people  commonly  suppose,  to  arguments  in  the  law  courts  and 
speeches  in  the  assembly ; it  is  rather  a part  of  the  art  of  disputa- 
tion, under  which  are  included  both  the  rules  of  Gorgias  and  the 
eristic  of  Zeno.  But  it  is  not  wholly  devoid  of  truth.  Superior 
knowledge  enables  us  to  deceive  another  by  the  help  of  resem- 
blances, and  to  escape  from  such  a deception  when  employed 
against  ourselves.  We  see  therefore  that  even  in  rhetoric  an 
element  of  truth  is  required.  For  if  we  do  not  know  the  truth,  262 
we  can  neither  make  the  gradual  departures  from  truth  by 
which  men  are  most  easily  deceived,  nor  guard  ourselves  against 
deception. 

Socrates  then  proposes  that  they  shall  use  the  two  speeches  as  263 
illustrations  of  the  art  of  rhetoric  ; first  distinguishing  between  the 
debatable  and  undisputed  class  of  subjects.  In  the  debatable 
class  there  ought  to  be  a definition  of  all  disputed  matters.  But  264 
there  was  no  such  definition  in  the  speech  of  Lysias ; nor  is  there 
any  order  or  connection  in  his  words  any  more  than  in  a nursery 
rhyme.  With  this  he  compares  the  regular  divisions  of  the  other  265 
speech,  which  was  his  own  (and  yet  not  his  own,  for  the  local 
deities  must  have  inspired  him).  Although  only  a playful  com- 
position, it  will  be  found  to  embody  two  principles  : first,  that  of 


401 


Analysis  266-274. 

266  synthesis  or  the  comprehension  of  parts  in  a whole ; secondly, 
analysis,  or  the  resolution  of  the  whole  into  parts.  These  are  the 
processes  of  division  and  generalization  which  are  so  dear  to  the 
dialectician,  that  king  of  men.  They  arc  effected  by  dialectic,  and 
not  by  rhetoric,  of  which  the  remains  are  but  scanty  after  order 
and  arrangement  have  been  subtracted.  There  is  nothing  left 
but  a heap  of ‘ologies’  and  other  technical  terms  invented  by 

267  Polus,  Theodorus,  Evenus,  Tisias,  Gorgias,  and  others,  who  have 
rules  for  everjthing,  and  who  teach  how  to  be  short  or  long  at 
pleasure.  Prodicus  showed  his  good  sense  when  he  said  that 
there  was  a better  thing  than  either  to  be  short  or  long,  which 
was  to  be  of  convenient  length. 

-.gS  Still,  notwithstanding  the  absurdities  of  Polus  and  others, 
rhetoric  has  great  power  in  public  assemblies.  This  power, 
however,  is  not  given  by  any  technical  rules,  but  is  the  gift  of 
genius.  The  real  art  is  always  being  confused  by  rhetoricians 

269  with  the  preliminaries  of  the  art.  The  perfection  of  oratory  is 
like  the  perfection  of  anything  else ; natural  power  must  be  aided 
by  art.  But  the  art  is  not  that  which  is  taught  in  the  schools  of 
rhetoric  ; it  is  nearer  akin  to  philosophy.  Pericles,  for  instance,  who 

270  was  the  most  accomplished  of  all  speakers,  derived  his  eloquence 
not  from  rhetoric  but  from  the  philosophy  of  nature  which  he 
learnt  of  Anaxagoras.  True  rhetoric  is  like  medicine,  and  the 

271  rhetorician  has  to  consider  the  natures  of  men’s  souls  as  the 
physician  considers  the  natures  of  their  bodies.  Such  and  such 
persons  are  to  be  affected  in  this  way,  such  and  such  others  in 
that ; and  he  must  know  the  times  and  the  seasons  for  saying  this 

272  or  that.  This  is  not  an  easy  task,  and  this,  if  there  be  such  an  ar£, 
is  the  art  of  rhetoric. 

273  I know  that  there  are  some  professors  of  the  art  who  maintain 
probability  to  be  stronger  than  truth.  But  we  maintain  that 
probability  is  engendered  by  likeness  of  the  truth  which  can  only 
be  attained  by  the  knowledge  of  it,  and  that  the  aim  of  the  good 

274  man  should  not  be  to  please  or  persuade  his  fellow-servants,  but  to 
please  his  good  masters  who  are  the  gods.  Rhetoric  has  a fair 
beginning  in  this. 

Enough  of  the  art  of  speaking  ; let  us  now  proceed  to  consider 
the  true  use  of  writing.  There  is  an  old  Egyptian  tale  of  Theuth, 
the  inventor  of  writing,  showing  his  invention  to  the  god  Thamus, 
vol.  1.  d d 


Phacdnts. 

Analysis. 


402 


Analysis  275-279. 


1 haedrtts.  who  told  him  that  he  would  only  spoil  men’s  memories  and  take  275 
Analysis,  away  their  understandings.  From  this  tale,  of  which  young 
Athens  will  probably  make  fun,  may  be  gathered  the  lesson  that 
writing  is  inferior  to  speech.  For  it  is  like  a picture,  which  can 
give  no  answer  to  a question,  and  has  only  a deceitful  likeness  of 
a living  creature.  It  has  no  power  of  adaptation,  but  uses  the 
same  words  for  all.  It  is  not  a legitimate  son  of  knowledge, 


but  a bastard,  and  when  an  attack  is  made  upon  this  bastard  276 
neither  parent  nor  any  one  else  is  there  to  defend  it.  The 
husbandman  will  not  seriously  incline  to  sow  his  seed  in  such  a 
hot-bed  or  garden  of  Adonis ; he  will  rather  sow  in  the  natural  277 
soil  of  the  human  soul  which  has  depth  of  earth  ; and  he  will 
anticipate  the  inner  growth  of  the  mind,  by  writing  only,  if  at  all, 
as  a remedy  against  old  age.  The  natural  process  will  be  far 
nobler,  and  will  bring  forth  fruit  in  the  minds  of  others  as  well 
as  in  his  own. 

The  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  is  just  this,— that  until  a 
man  knows  the  truth,  and  the  manner  of  adapting  the  truth  to  the 
natures  of  other  men,  he  cannot  be  a good  orator ; also,  that  the  278 
living  is  better  than  the  written  word,  and  that  the  principles  of 
justice  and  truth  when  delivered  by  word  of  mouth  are  the 
legitimate  offspring  of  a man’s  own  bosom,  and  their  lawful 
descendants  take  up  their  abode  in  others.  Such  an  orator  as  he 
is  who  is  possessed  of  them,  you  and  I would  fain  become.  And 
to  all  composers  in  the  world,  poets,  orators,  legislators,  we 
hereby  announce  that  if  their  compositions  are  based  upon  these 
principles,  then  they  are  not  only  poets,  orators,  legislators,  but 


of  words.  This  is  the  message  which  Phaedrus  undertakes  to 
carry  to  Lysias  from  the  local  deities,  and  Socrates  himself  will  279 
carry  a similar  message  to  his  favourite  Isocrates,  whose  future 
distinction  as  a great  rhetorician  he  prophesies.  The  heat  of  the 
day  has  passed,  and  after  offering  up  a prayer  to  Pan  and  the 
nymphs,  Socrates  and  Phaedrus  depart. 


about  the  Phaedrus  ; the  first  relates  to  the  subject,  the  second 
to  the  date  of  the  Dialogue. 

There  seems  to  be  a notion  that  the  work  of  a great  artist 


ers.  All  others  are  mere  flatterers  and  putters  together 


Introduc- 

tion. 


There  are  two  principal  controversies  which  have  been  raised 


403 


The  subject  of  the  Dialogue. 

like  Plato  cannot  fail  in  unity,  and  that  the  unity  of  a dialogue 
requires  a single  • subject.  But  the  conception  of  unity  ieally 
applies  in  very  different  degrees  and  ways  to  different  kinds 
of  art ; to  a statue,  for  example,  far  more  than  to  any  kind  of 
literary  composition,  and  to  some  species  of  literatme  far  more 
than  to  others.  Nor  does  the  dialogue  appear  to  be  a style  of 
composition  in  which  the  requirement  of  unity  is  most  stringent ; 
nor  should  the  idea  of  unity  derived  from  one  soit  of  ait  be 
hastily  transferred  to  another.  Ihe  double  titles  of  several  of 
the  Platonic  Dialogues  are  a further  proof  that  the  severer  rule 
was  not  observed  by  Plato.  The  Republic  is  divided  between 
the  search  after  justice  and  the  construction  of  the  ideal  state ; 
the  Parmenides  between  the  criticism  of  the  Platonic  ideas  and 
of  the  Eleatic  one  or  being;  the  Gorgias  between  the  art  of 
speaking  and  the  nature  of  the  good ; the  Sophist  between  the 
detection  of  the  Sophist  and  the  correlation  of  ideas.  The 
Theaetetus,  the  Politicus,  and  the  Philebus  have  also  digressions 
which  are  but  remotely  connected  with  the  main  subject. 

Thus  the  comparison  of  Plato’s  other  writings,  as  well  as  the 
reason  of  the  thing,  lead  us  to  the  conclusion  that  we  must  not 
expect  to  find  one  idea  pervading  a whole  work,  but  one,  two,  or 
more,  as  the  invention  of  the  writer  may  suggest,  or  his  fancy 
wander.  If  each  dialogue  were  confined  to  the  development  of  a 
single  idea,  this  would  appear  on  the  face  of  the  dialogue,  nor  could 
any  controversy  be  raised  as  to  whether  the  Phaedrus  treated 
of  love  or  rhetoric.  But  the  truth  is  that  Plato  subjects  himself 
to  no  rule  of  this  sort.  Like  every  great  artist  he  gives  unity 
of  form  to  the  different  and  apparently  distracting  topics  which 
he  brings  together.  He  works  freely  and  is  not  to  be  supposed 
to  have  arranged  every  part  of  the  dialogue  before  he  begins 
to  write.  He  fastens  or  weaves  together  the  frame  of  his  dis- 
course loosely  and  imperfectly,  and  which  is  the  warp  and  which 
is  the  woof  cannot  always  be  determined. 

The  subjects  of  the  Phaedrus  (exclusive  of  the  short  intro- 
ductory passage  about  mythology  which  is  suggested  by  the 
local  tradition)  are  first  the  false  or  conventional  art  of  rhetoric  ; 
secondly,  love  or  the  inspiration  of  beauty  and  knowledge,  which 
is  described  as  madness  ; thirdly,  dialectic  or  the  art  of  com- 
position and  division  ; fourthly,  the  true  rhetoric,  which  is  based 

d d 2 


Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


404 


Phaedrus. 

I INTRODUC- 
TION. 


The  subject  of  the  Dialogue. 

upon  dialectic,  and  is  neither  the  art  of  persuasion  nor  knowledge 
of  the  truth  alone,  but  the  art  of  persuasion  founded  on  knowledge 
of  truth  and  knowledge  of  character ; fifthly,  the  superiority  of 
the  spoken  over  the  written  word.  The  continuous  thread  which 
appears  and  reappears  throughout  is  rhetoric;  this  is  the  ground 
into  which  the  rest  of  the  Dialogue  is  worked,  in  parts  embroidered 
with  fine  words  which  are  not  in  Socrates’  manner,  as  he  says, 
‘in  order  to  please  Phaedrus.’  The  speech  of  Lysias  which 
has  thrown  Phaedrus  into  an  ecstacy  is  adduced  as  an  example 
of  the  false  rhetoric ; the  first  speech  of  Socrates,  though  an 
improvement,  partakes  of  the  same  character;  his  second  speech, 
which  is  full  of  that  higher  element  said  to  have  been  learned 
of  Anaxagoras  by  Pericles,  and  which  in  the  midst  of  poetry 
does  not  forget  order,  is  an  illustration  of  the  higher  or  true 
rhetoric.  This  higher  rhetoric  is  based  upon  dialectic,  and 
dialectic  is  a sort  of  inspiration  akin  to  love  (cp.  Symp.  210  foil.) ; 
in  these  two  aspects  of  philosophy  the  technicalities  of  rhetoric 
are  absorbed.  And  so  the  example  becomes  also  the  deeper 
theme  of  discourse.  The  true  knowledge  of  things  in  heaven 
and  earth  is  based  upon  enthusiasm  or  love  of  the  ideas  going 
before  us  and  ever  present  to  us  in  this  world  and  in  another; 
and  the  true  order  of  speech  or  writing  proceeds  accordingly. 
Love,  again,  has  three  degrees  : first,  of  interested  love  corre- 
sponding to  the  conventionalities  of  rhetoric ; secondly,  of  dis- 
interested or  mad  love,  fixed  on  objects  of  sense,  and  answering, 
perhaps,  to  poetry  ; thirdly,  of  disinterested  love  directed  towards 
the  unseen,  answering  to  dialectic  or  the  science  of  the  ideas. 
Lastly,  the  art  of  rhetoric  in  the  lower  sense  is  found  to  rest  on  a 
knowledge  of  the  natures  and  characters  of  men,  which  Socrates 
at  the  commencement  of  the  Dialogue  has  described  as  his  own 
peculiar  study. 

Thus  amid  discord  a harmony  begins  to  appear ; there  are 
many  links  of  connection  which  are  not  visible  at  first  sight. 
At  the  same  time  the  Phaedrus,  although  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  the  Platonic  Dialogues,  is  also  more  irregular  than 
any  other.  For  insight  into  the  world,  for  sustained  irony,  for 
depth  of  thought,  there  is  no  Dialogue  superior,  or  perhaps 
equal  to  it.  Nevertheless  the  form  of  the  work  has  tended  to 
obscure  some  of  Plato’s  higher  aims. 


The  speech  of  Lysias  and  the  first  speech  of  Socrates. 

The  first  speech  is  composed  ‘in  that  balanced  style  in  which 
the  wise  love  to  talk’  (Symp.  185  C).  The  characteristics  of 
rhetoric  are  insipidity,  mannerism,  and  monotonous  parallelism 
of  clauses.  There  is  more  rhythm  than  reason  ; the  creative 
power  of  imagination  is  wanting. 

‘’Tis  Greece,  bnt  living  Greece  no  more.’ 

Plato  has  seized  by  anticipation  the  spirit  which  hung  over  Greek 
literature  for  a thousand  years  afterwards.  Yet  doubtless  there 
were  some  who,  like  Phaedrus,  felt  a delight  in  the  harmonious 
cadence  and  the  pedantic  reasoning  of  the  rhetoricians  newly 
imported  from  Sicily,  which  had  ceased  to  be  awakened  in 
them  by  really  great  works,  such  as  the  odes  of  Anacreon  or 
Sappho  or  the  orations  of  Pericles.  That  the  first  speech  was 
really  written  by  Lysias  is  improbable.  Like  the  poem  of  Solon, 
or  the  story  of  Thamus  and  Theuth,  or  the  funeral  oration  of 
Aspasia  (if  genuine),  or  the  pretence  of  Socrates  in  the  Cratylus 
that  his  knowledge  of  philology  is  derived  from  Euthyphro,  the 
invention  is  really  due  to  the  imagination  of  Plato,  and  may 
be  compared  to  the  parodies  of  the  Sophists  in  the  Protagoras. 
Numerous  fictions  of  this  sort  occur  in  the  Dialogues,  and  the 
gravity''  of  Plato  has  sometimes  imposed  upon  his  commentators. 
The  introduction  of  a considerable  writing  of  another  would 
seem  not  to  be  in  keeping  with  a great  work  of  art,  and  has 
no  parallel  elsewhere. 

In  the  second  speech  Socrates  is  exhibited  as  beating  the 
rhetoricians  at  their  own  weapons ; he  ‘ an  unpractised  man 
and  they  masters  of  the  art.’  True  to  his  character,  he  must, 
however,  profess  that  the  speech  which  he  makes  is  not  his 
own,  for  he  knows  nothing  of  himself.  (Cp.  Symp.  201  D.)  Re- 
garded as  a rhetorical  exercise,  the  superiority  of  his  speech 
seems  to  consist  chiefly  in  a better  arrangement  of  the  topics ; 
he  begins  with  a definition  of  love,  and  he  gives  weight  to  his 
words  by  going  back  to  general  maxims ; a lesser  merit  is  the 
greater  liveliness  of  Socrates,  which  hurries  him  into  verse  and 
relieves  the  monotony  of  the  style. 

But  Plato  had  doubtless  a higher  purpose  than  to  exhibit 
Socrates  as  the  rival  or  superior  of  the  Athenian  rhetoricians. 
Even  in  the  speech  of  Lysias  there  is  a germ  of  truth,  and 


405 

Phaedrus. 

Intkoouc- 

. TION. 


406 


I'hacdrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Love  and  marriage. 

this  is  further  developed  in  the  parallel  oration  of  Socrates.  First, 
passionate  love  is  overthrown  by  the  sophistical  or  interested, 
and  then  both  yield  to  that  higher  view  of  love  which  is  after- 
wards revealed  to  us.  I he  extreme  of  commonplace  is  contrasted 
with  the  most  ideal  and  imaginative  of  speculations.  Socrates, 
half  in  jest  and  to  satisfy  his  own  wild  humour,  takes  the  disguise 
ol  Lysias,  but  he  is  also  in  profound  earnest  and  in  a deeper 
vein  of  irony  than  usual.  Having  improvised  his  own  speech, 
which  is  based  upon  the  model  of  the  preceding,  he  condemns 
them  both.  Yet  the  condemnation  is  not  to  be  taken  seriously, 
for  he  is  evidently  trying  to  express  an  aspect  of  the  truth.  To 
understand  him,  we  must  make  abstraction  of  morality  and  of 
the  Greek  manner  of  regarding  the  relation  of  the  sexes.  In 
this,  as  in  his  other  discussions  about  love,  what  Plato  says  of  the 
loves  of  men  must  be  transferred  to  the  loves  of  women  before 
we  can  attach  any  serious  meaning  to  his  words.  Had  he  lived 
in  our  times  he  would  have  made  the  transposition  himself. 
But  seeing  in  his  own  age  the  impossibility  of  woman  being 
the  intellectual  helpmate  or  friend  of  man  (except  in  the  rare 
instances  of  a Diotima  or  an  Aspasia),  seeing  that,  even  as 
to  personal  beauty,  her  place  was  taken  by  young  mankind 
instead  of  womankind,  he  tries  to  work  out  the  problem  of 
love  without  regard  to  the  distinctions  of  nature.  And  full  of 
the  evils  which  he  recognized  as  flowing  from  the  spurious 
form  of  love,  he  proceeds  with  a deep  meaning,  though  partly 
in  joke,  to  show  that  the  ‘non-lover’s’  love  is  better  than  the 
‘ lover’s.’ 

We  may  raise  the  same  question  in  another  form  : Is  marriage 
preferable  with  or  without  love  ? ‘ Among  ourselves,’  as  we  may 

say,  a little  parodying  the  words  of  Pausanias  in  the  Symposium, 

‘ there  would  be  one  answer  to  this  question  : the  practice  and 
feeling  of  some  foreign  countries  appears  to  be  more  doubtful.’ 
Suppose  a modern  Socrates,  in  defiance  of  the  received  notions  of 
society  and  the  sentimental  literature  of  the  day,  alone  against 
all  the  writers  and  readers  of  novels,  to  suggest  this  enquiry', 
would  not  the  younger  ‘part  of  the  world  be  ready  to  take  off 
its  coat  and  run  at  him  might  and  main  ?’  (Rep.  v.  474.)  Yet, 
if  like  Peisthetaerus  in  Aristophanes,  he  could  persuade  the 
‘ birds’  to  hear  him,  retiring  a little  behind  a rampart,  not  of  pots 


40  / 


Love  and  marriage. 

and  dishes,  but  of  unreadable  books,  he  might  have  something 
to  say  for  himself.  Might  he  not  argue,  ‘ that  a rational  being 
should  not  follow  the  dictates  of  passion  in  the  most  important 
act  of  his  or  her  life’  ? Who  would  willingly  enter  into  a contract 
at  first  sight,  almost  without  thought,  against  the  advice  and 
opinion  of  his  friends,  at  a time  when  he  acknowledges  that  he 
is  not  in  his  right  mind  ? And  yet  they  are  praised  by  the  authors 
of  romances,  who  reject  the  warnings  of  their  friends  or  parents, 
rather  than  those  who  listen  to  them  in  such  matters.  Two 
inexperienced  persons,  ignorant  of  the  world  and  of  one  another, 
how  can  they  be  said  to  choose  ? — they  draw  lots,  whence  also  the 
saj'ing,  ‘ marriage  is  a lottery.’  Then  he  would  describe  their 
way  of  life  after  marriage  ; how  they  monopolize  one  another’s 
affections  to  the  exclusion  of  friends  and  relations  : how  they 
pass  their  days  in  unmeaning  fondness  or  trivial  conversa- 
tion ; how  the  inferior  of  the  two  drags  the  other  down  to 
his  or  her  level ; how  the  cares  of  a family  ‘ breed  mean- 
ness in  their  souls.’  In  the  fulfilment  of  military  or  public 
duties,  they  are  not  helpers  but  hinderers  of  one  another  : they 
cannot  undertake  any  noble  enterprise,  such  as  makes  the  names 
of  men  and  women  famous,  from  domestic  considerations.  Too 
late  their  eyes  are  opened  ; they  were  taken  unawares  and  desire 
to  part  company.  Better,  he  would  say,  a ‘little  love  at  the 
beginning,’  for  heaven  might  have  increased  it ; but  now  their 
foolish  fondness  has  changed  into  mutual  dislike.  In  the  days 
of  their  honeymoon  they  never  understood  that  they  must  provide 
against  offences,  that  they  must  have  interests,  that  they  must 
learn  the  art  of  living  as  well  as  loving.  Our  misogamist  will 
not  appeal  to  Anacreon  or  Sappho  for  a confirmation  of  his  view, 
but  to  the  universal  experience  of  mankind.  How  much  nobler, 
in  conclusion,  he  will  say,  is  friendship,  which  does  not  receive 
unmeaning  praises  from  novelists  and  poets,  is  not  exacting  or 
exclusive,  is  not  impaired  by  familiarity,  is  much  less  expensive, 
is  not  so  likely  to  take  offence,  seldom  changes,  and  may  be 
dissolved  from  time  to  time  without  the  assistance  of  the  courts. 
Besides,  he  will  remark  that  there  is  a much  greater  choice  of 
friends  than  of  wives — you  may  have  more  of  them  and  they 
will  be  far  more  improving  to  your  mind.  They  will  not  keep 
you  dawdling  at  home,  or  dancing  attendance  upon  them  ; or 


Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


408 


Phacdrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


The  true  love. 

withdraw  you  from  the  great  world  and  stirring  scenes  of  life 
and  action  which  would  make  a man  of  you. 

In  such  a manner,  turning  the  seamy  side  outwards,  a modern 
Socrates  might  describe  the  evils  of  married  and  domestic  life. 
They  are  evils  which  mankind  in  general  have  agreed  to  conceal, 
partly  because  they  are  compensated  by  greater  goods.  Socrates 
or  Archilochus  would  soon  have  to  sing  a palinode  for  the  injustice 
done  to  lovely  Helen,  or  some  misfortune  worse  than  blindness 
might  befall  them.  Then  they  would  take  up  their  parable  again 
and  say  . that  there  were  two  loves,  a higher  and  a lower,  holy 
and  unholy,  a love  of  the  mind  and  a love  of  the  body. 

‘ Let  me  not  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds 
Admit  impediments.  Love  is  not  love 
Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds. 
*****  * 

Love ’s  not  time’s  fool,  though  rosy  lips  and  cheeks 
Within  his  bending  sickle’s  compass  come; 

Love  alters  not  with  his  brief  hours  and  weeks, 

But  bears  it  out  even  to  the  edge  of  doom.’ 

But  this  true  love  of  the  mind  cannot  exist  between  two  souls, 
until  they  are  purified  from  the  grossness  of  earthly  passion  : 
they  must  pass  through  a time  of  trial  and  conflict  first ; in  the 
language  of  religion  they  must  be  converted  or  born  again.  Then 
they  would  see  the  world  transformed  into  a scene  of  heavenly 
beauty;  a divine  idea  would  accompany  them  in  all  their  thoughts 
and  actions.  Something  too  of  the  recollections  of  childhood 
might  float  about  them  still  ; they  might  regain  that  old  simplicity 
which  had  been  theirs  in  other  days  at  their  first  entrance  on 
life.  And  although  their  love  of  one  another  was  ever  present  to 
them,  they  would  acknowledge  also  a higher  love  of  duty  and 
of  God,  which  united  them.  And  their  happiness  would  depend 
upon  their  preserving  in  them  this  principle— not  losing  the  ideals 
of  justice  and  holiness  and  truth,  but  renewing  them  at  the  foun- 
tain of  light.  When  they  have  attained  to  this  exalted  state,  let 
them  marry  (something  too  maybe  conceded  to  the  animal  nature 
of  man)  : or  live  together  in  holy  and  innocent  friendship.  The 
poet  might  describe  in  eloquent  words  the  nature  of  such  a union  ; 
how  after  many  struggles  the  true  love  was  found  : how  the  two 
passed  their  lives  together  in  the  service  of  God  and  man ; how 


409 


Love  and  marriage. 

their  characters  were  reflected  upon  one  another,  and  seemed 
to  grow  more  like  year  by  year  ; how  they  read  in  one  another  s 
eyes  the  thoughts,  wishes,  actions  of  the  other  ; how  they  saw 
each  other  in  God  ; how  in  a figure  they  grew  wings  like  doves, 
and  were  ‘ ready  to  fly  away  together  and  be  at  rest.  And  lastly, 
he  might  tell  how,  after  a time  at  no  long  intervals,  first  one 
and  then  the  other  fell  asleep,  and  ‘appeared  to  the  unwise’ 
to  die,  but  were  reunited  in  another  state  of  being,  in  which 
they  saw  justice  and  holiness  and  truth,  not  according  to  the 
imperfect  copies  of  them  which  are  found  in  this  world,  but 
justice  absolute  in  existence  absolute,  and  so  of  the  rest.  And 
they  would  hold  converse  not  only  with  each  other,  but  with 
blessed  souls  everywhere  ; and  would  be  employed  in  the  ser- 
vice of  God,  every  soul  fulfilling  his  own  nature  and  character, 
and  would  see  into  the  wonders  of  earth  and  heaven,  and  trace 
the  works  of  creation  to  their  author. 

So,  partly  in  jest  but  also  ‘with  a certain  degree  of  serious- 
ness,’ we  may  appropriate  to  ourselves  the  words  of  Plato.  The 
use  of  such  a parody,  though  very  imperfect,  is  to  transfer  his 
thoughts  to  our  sphere  of  religion  and  feeling,  to  bring  him 
nearer  to  us  and  us  to  him.  Like  the  Scriptures,  Plato  admits  of 
endless  applications,  if  we  allow  for  the  difference  of  times 
and  manners  ; and  we  lose  the  better  half  of  him  when  we  regard 
his  Dialogues  merely  as  literary  compositions.  Any  ancient 
work  which  is  worth  reading  has  a practical  and  speculative 
as  well  as  a literary  interest.  And  in  Plato,  more  than  in  any 
other  Greek  writer,  the  local  and  transitory  is  inextricably 
blended  with  what  is  spiritual  and  eternal.  Socrates  is  neces- 
sarily ironical ; for  he  has  to  withdraw  from  the  received  opinions 
and  beliefs  of  mankind.  We  cannot  separate  the  transitory  from 
the  permanent ; nor  can  we  translate  the  language  of  irony 
into  that  of  plain  reflection  and  common  sense.  But  we  can 
imagine  the  mind  of  Socrates  in  another  age  and  country ; and  we 
can  interpret  him  by  analogy  with  reference  to  the  errors  and 
prejudices  which  prevail  among  ourselves.  To  return  to  the 
Phaedrus : — 

Both  speeches  are  strongly  condemned  by  Socrates  as  sinful 
and  blasphemous  towards  the  god  Love,  and  as  worthy  only  of 
some  haunt  of  sailors  to  which  good  manners  were  unknown. 


Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


4io 


Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


J he  myth  and  its  interpretation . 

I he  meaning  of  this  and  other  wild  language  to  the  same  effect, 
which  is  introduced  by  way  of  contrast  to  the  formality  of  the 
two  speeches  (Socrates  has  a sense  of  relief  when  he  has  escaped 
from  the  trammels  of  rhetoric),  seems  to  be  that  the  two  speeches 
proceed  upon  the  supposition  that  love  is  and  ought  to  be  in- 
terested, and  that  no  such  thing  as  a real  or  disinterested  passion, 
which  would  be  at  the  same  time  lasting,  could  be  conceived. 
‘But  did  I call  this  “love”?  O God,  forgive  my  blasphemy. 
This  is  not  love.  Rather  it  is  the  love  of  the  world.  But  there  is 
another  kingdom  of  love,  a kingdom  not  of  this  world,  divine, 
eternal.  And  this  other  love  I will  now  show  you  in  a mystery.’ 
Then  follows  the  famous  myth,  which  is  a sort  of  parable, 
and  like  other  parables  ought  not  to  receive  too  minute  an  in- 
terpretation. In  all  such  allegories  there  is  a great  deal  which 
is  merely  ornamental,  and  the  interpreter  has  to  separate  the 
important  from  the  unimportant.  Socrates  himself  has  given 
the  right  clue  when,  in  using  his  own  discourse  afterwards  as 
the  text  for  his  examination  of  rhetoric,  he  characterizes  it  as 
a ‘partly  true  and  tolerably  credible  mythus,’  in  which  amid 
poetical  figures,  order  and  arrangement  were  not  forgotten. 

The  soul  is  described  in  magnificent  language  as  the  self-moved 
and  the  source  of  motion  in  all  other  things.  This  is  the  philo- 
sophical theme  or  proem  of  the  whole.  But  ideas  must  be  given 
through  something,  and  under  the  pretext  that  to  realize  the 
true  nature  of  the  soul  would  be  not  only  tedious  but  impossible, 
we  at  once  pass  on  to  describe  the  souls  of  gods  as  well  as 
men  under  the  figure  of  two  winged  steeds  and  a charioteer.  No 
connection  is  traced  between  the  soul  as  the  great  motive  power 
and  the  triple  soul  which  is  thus  imaged.  There  is  no  difficulty 
in  seeing  that  the  charioteer  represents  the  reason,  or  that  the 
black  horse  is  the  symbol  of  the  sensual  or  concupiscent  element 
of  human  nature.  The  white  horse  also  represents  rational  im- 
pulse, but  the  description  in  253,  ‘ a lover  of  honour  and  modesty 
and  temperance,  and  a follower  of  true  glory,’  though  similar, 
does  not  at  once  recall  the  ‘ spirit  ’ (dv^os)  of  the  Republic. 
The  two  steeds  really  correspond  in  a figure  more  nearly  to  the 
appetitive  and  moral  or  semi-rational  soul  of  Aristotle.  And  thus, 
for  the  first  time  perhaps  in  the  history  of  philosophy,  we  have 
represented  to  us  the  threefold  division  of  psychology.  The 


The  myth  and  its  interpretation . 4 1 1 

image  of  the  charioteer  and  the  steeds  has  been  compared  with  a Phaedrus. 
similar  image  which  occurs  in  the  verses  of  Parmenides ; but  Introduc- 
it  is  important  to  remark  that  the  horses  of  Parmenides  have 
no  allegorical  meaning,  and  that  the  poet  is  only  describing  his 
own  approach  in  a chariot  to  the  regions  of  light  and  the  house  of 
the  goddess  of  truth. 

The  triple  soul  has  had  a previous  existence,  in  which  following 
in  the  train  of  some  god,  from  whom  she  derived  her  character, 
she  beheld  partially  and  imperfectly  the  vision  of  absolute  truth. 

All  her  after  existence,  passed  in  many  forms  of  men  and 
animals,  is  spent  in  regaining  this.  The  stages  of  the  conflict  are 
many  and  various;  and  she  is  sorely  let  and  hindered  by  the 
animal  desires  of  the  inferior  or  concupiscent  steed.  Again  and 
again  she  beholds  the  flashing  beauty  of  the  beloved.  But  before 
that  vision  can  be  finally  enjoyed  the  animal  desires  must  be 
subjected. 

The  moral  or  spiritual  element  in  man  is  represented  by  the 
immortal  steed  which,  like  dv^us  in  the  Republic,  always  sides 
with  the  reason.  Both  are  dragged  out  of  their  course  by  the 
furious  impulses  of  desire.  In  the  end  something  is  conceded 
to  the  desires,  after  they  have  been  finally  humbled  and  over- 
powered. And  yet  the  way  of  philosophy,  or  perfect  love  of 
the  unseen,  is  total  abstinence  from  bodily  delights.  ‘ But  all 
men  cannot  receive  this  saying’:  in  the  lower  life  of  ambition 
they  may  be  taken  off  their  guard  and  stoop  to  folly  unawares, 
and  then,  although  they  do  not  attain  to  the  highest  bliss,  yet 
if  they  have  once  conquered  they  may  be  happy  enough. 

The  language  of  the  Meno  and  the  Phaedo  as  well  as  of  the 
Phaedrus  seems  to  show  that  at  one  time  of  his  life  Plato  was 
quite  serious  in  maintaining  a former  state  of  existence.  His 
mission  was  to  realize  the  abstract;  in  that,  all  good  and  truth, 
all  the  hopes  of  this  and  another  life  seemed  to  centre.  To 
him  abstractions,  as  we  call  them,  were  another  kind  of  know- 
ledge— an  inner  and  unseen  world,  which  seemed  to  exist  far 
more  truly  than  the  fleeting  objects  of  sense  which  were  without 
him.  When  we  are  once  able  to  imagine  the  intense  power 
which  abstract  ideas  exercised  over  the  mind  of  Plato,  we 
see  that  there  was  no  more  difficulty  to  him  in  realizing  the 
eternal  existence  of  them  and  of  the  human  minds  which  were 


41  2 


1 he  myth  and  its  interpretation. 

Phaedrus.  associated  with  them,  in  the  past  and  future  than  in  the 

Wo™;-  present.  The  difficulty  was  not  how  they  could  exist,  but  how 

they  could  fail  to  exist.  In  the  attempt  to  regain  this  ‘saving’ 

knowledge  of  the  ideas,  the  sense  was  found  to  be  as  great 

an  enemy  as  the  desires;  and  hence  two  things  which  to  us 
seem  quite  distinct  are  inextricably  blended  in  the  representation 
of  Plato. 

Thus  far  we  may  believe  that  Plato  was  serious  in  his  con- 
ception of  the  soul  as  a motive  power,  in  his  reminiscence  of 

a former  state  of  being,  in  his  elevation  of  the  reason  over  sense 
and  passion,  and  perhaps  in  his  doctrine  of  transmigration. 
Was  he  equally  serious  in  the  rest?  For  example,  are  we  to 

attribute  his  tripartite  division  of  the  soul  to  the  gods?  Or  is 

this  merely  assigned  to  them  by  way  of  parallelism  with  men? 
The  latter  is  the  more  probable;  for  the  horses  of  the  gods 
are  both  white,  i.e.  their  every  impulse  is  in  harmony  with 
reason  ; their  dualism,  on  the  other  hand,  only  carries  out  the 
figure  of  the  chariot.  Is  he  serious,  again,  in  regarding  love  as 
‘a  madness’?  That  seems  to  arise  out  of  the  antithesis  to  the 
former  conception  of  love.  At  the  same  time  he  appears  to 
intimate  here,  as  in  the  Ion,  Apology,  Meno,  and  elsewhere, 
that  there  is  a faculty  in  man,  whether  to  be  termed  in  modern 
language  genius,  or  inspiration,  or  imagination,  or  idealism,  or 
communion  with  God,  which  cannot  be  reduced  to  rule  and 
measure.  Perhaps,  too,- he  is  ironically  repeating  the  common 
language  of  mankind  about  philosophy,  and  is  turning  their 
jest  into  a sort  of  earnest.  (Cp.  Phaedo,  61  B;  Symp.  218  B.) 
Or  is  he  serious  in  holding  that  each  soul  bears  the  character 
of  a god?  He  may  have  had  no  other  account  to  give  of  the 
differences  of  human  characters  to  which  he  afterwards  refers. 
Or,  again,  in  his  absurd  derivation  of  pavnicrj  and  otaivtcrruci)  and 
Ifxfpos  (cp.  Cratylus)  ? It  is  characteristic  of  the  irony  of  Socrates 
to  mix  up  sense  and  nonsense  in  such  a way  that  no  exact  line 
can  be  drawn  between  them.  And  allegory  helps  to  increase  this 
sort  of  confusion. 

As  is  often  the  case  in  the  parables  and  prophecies  of  Scripture, 
the  meaning  is  allowed  to  break  through  the  figure,  and  the 
details  are  not  always  consistent.  When  the  charioteers  and  their 
steeds  stand  upon  the  dome  of  heaven  they  behold  the  intangible 


4i3 


The  myth  and  its  interpretation. 

invisible  essences  which  are  not  objects  of  sight.  This  is  because 
the  force  of  language  can  no  further  go.  Nor  can  we  dwell 
much  on  the  circumstance,  that  at  the  completion  of  ten 
thousand  years  all  are  to  return  to  the  place  from  whence 
they  came ; because  he  represents  their  return  as  dependent 
on  their  own  good  conduct  in  the  successive  stages  of  existence. 
Nor  again  can  we  attribute  anything  to  the  accidental  inference 
which  would  also  follow,  that  even  a tyrant  may  live  righteously 
in  the  condition  of  life  to  which  fate  has  called  him  (‘he  aiblins 
might,  I dinna  ken  ’)•  But  to  suppose  this  would  be  at  variance 
with  Plato  himself  and  with  Greek  notions  generally.  Pie  is 
much  more  serious  in  distinguishing  men  from  animals  by 
their  recognition  of  the  universal  which  they  have  known  in 
a former  state,  and  in  denying  that  this  gift  of  reason  can  ever 
be  obliterated  or  lost.  In  the  language  of  some  modern  theo- 
logians he  might  be  said  to  maintain  the  ‘ final  perseverance  ’ 
of  those  who  have  entered  on  their  pilgrim’s  progress.  Other 
intimations  of  a ‘ metaphysic  ’ or  ‘ theology  ’ of  the  future  may 
also  be  discerned  in  him  : (i)  The  moderate  predestinarianism 
which  here,  as  in  the  Republic,  acknowledges  the  element  of 
chance  in  human  life,  and  yet  asserts  the  freedom  and  respon- 
sibility" of  man  ; (2)  The  recognition  of  a moral  as  well  as  an 
intellectual  principle  in  man  under  the  image  of  an  immortal 
steed ; (3)  The  notion  that  the  divine  nature  exists  by  the 
contemplation  of  ideas  of  virtue  and  justice  — or,  in  other  words, 
the  assertion  of  the  essentially  moral  nature  of  God  ; (4)  Again, 
there  is  the  hint  that  human  life  is  a life  of  aspiration  only, 
and  that  the  true  ideal  is  not  to  be  found  in  art ; (5)  There 
occurs  the  first  trace  of  the  distinction  between  necessary  and 
contingent  matter  ; (6)  The  conception  of  the  soul  itself  as  the 
motive  power  and  reason  of  the  universe. 

The  conception  of  the  philosopher,  or  the  philosopher  and 
lover  in  one,  as  a sort  of  madman,  may  be  compared  with 
the  Republic  and  Theaetetus,  in  both  of  which  the  philosopher 
is  regarded  as  a stranger  and  monster  upon  the  earth.  The 
whole  myth,  like  the  other  myths  of  Plato,  describes  in  a figure 
things  which  are  beyond  the  range  of  human  faculties,  or  in- 
accessible to  the  knowledge  of  the  age.  That  philosophy  should 
be  represented  as  the  inspiration  of  love  is  a conception  that 


Phaedt  us. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


4 1 4 


I'haedms. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Ihe  ambiguities  of  the  Phaedrus. 

has  already  become  familiar  to  us  in  the  Symposium,  and  is 
the  expression  partly  of  Plato’s  enthusiasm  for  the  idea,  and 
is  also  an  indication  of  the  real  power  exercised  by  the  passion 
of  friendship  over  the  mind  of  the  Greek.  The  master  in  the 
art  of  love  knew  that  there  was  a mystery  in  these  feelings 
and  their  associations,  and  especially  in  the  contrast  of  the 
sensible  and  permanent  which  is  afforded  by  them  ; and  he 
sought  to  explain  this,  as  he  explained  universal  ideas,  by  a 
reference  to  a former  state  of  existence.  The  capriciousness 
of  love  is  also  derived  by  him  from  an  attachment  to  some 
god  in  a former  world.  The  singular  remark  that  the  beloved 
is  more  affected  than  the  lover  at  the  final  consummation  of 
their  love,  seems  likewise  to  hint  at  a psychological  truth. 

It  is  difficult  to  exhaust  the  meanings  of  a word  like  the 
Phaedrus,  which  indicates  so  much  more  than  it  expresses ; 
and  is  full  of  inconsistencies  and  ambiguities  which  were  not 
perceived  by  Plato  himself.  For  example,  when  he  is  speaking 
of  the  soul  does  he  mean  the  human  or  the  divine  soul?  and 
are  they  both  equally  self-moving  and  constructed  on  the  same 
threefold  principle?  We  should  certainly  be  disposed  to  reply 
that  the  self-motive  is  to  be  attributed  to  God  only;  and  on 
the  other  hand  that  the  appetitive  and  passionate  elements 
have  no  place  in  His  nature.  So  we  should  infer  from  the 
reason  of  the  thing,  but  there  is  no  indication  in  Plato’s  own 
writings  that  this  was  his  meaning.  Or,  again,  when  he  explains 
the  different  characters  of  men  by  referring  them  back  to  the 
nature  of  the  God  whom  they  served  in  a former  state  of  exist- 
ence, we  are  inclined  to  ask  whether  he  is  serious : Is  he 

not  rather  using  a mythological  figure,  here  as  elsewhere,  to 
draw  a veil  over  things  which  are  beyond  the  limits  of  mortal 
knowledge  ? Once  more,  in  speaking  of  beauty  is  he  really 
thinking  of  some  external  form  such  as  might  have  been 
expressed  in  the  works  of  Phidias  or  Praxiteles  ; and  not 
rather  of  an  imaginary  beauty,  of  a sort  which  extinguishes 
rather  than  stimulates  vulgar  love  (254  E), — a heavenly  beauty 
like  that  which  flashed  from  time  to  time  before  the  eyes  of 
Dante  or  Bunyan  ? Surely  the  latter.  But  it  would  be  idle 
to  reconcile  all  the  details  of  the  passage  : it  is  a picture,  not 


4 1 5 


Love  in  the  Phaedrus  a figure  ofi  speech. 

a system,  and  a picture  which  is  for  the  greater  part  an  allegory, 
and  an  allegory  which  allows  the  meaning  to  come  through.  The 
image  of  the  charioteer  and  his  steeds  is  placed  side  by  side 
with  the  absolute  forms  of  justice,  temperance,  and  the  like, 
which  are  abstract  ideas  only,  and  which  are  seen  with  the 
eye  of  the  soul  in  her  heavenly  journey.  The  first  impression 
of  such  a passage,  in  which  no  attempt  is  made  to  separate  the 
substance  from  the  form,  is  far  truer  than  an  elaborate  philo- 
sophical analysis. 

It  is  too  often  forgotten  that  the  whole  of  the  second  discourse 
of  Socrates  is  only  an  allegory,  or  figure  of  speech.  For  this 
reason,  it  is  unnecessary  to  enquire  whether  the  love  of  which 
Plato  speaks  is  the  love  of  men  or  of  women.  It  is  really  a 
o-eneral  idea  which  includes  both,  and  in  which  the  sensual 
element,  though  not  wholly  eradicated,  is  reduced  to  order  and 
measure.  We  must  not  attribute  a meaning  to  every  fanciful 
detail.  Nor  is  there  any  need  to  call  up  revolting  associations, 
which  as  a matter  of  good  taste  should  be  banished,  and  which 
were  far  enough  away  from  the  mind  of  Plato.  These  and  similar 
passages  should  be  interpreted  by  the  Laws,  book  viii.  36.  Nor  is 
there  anything  in  the  Symposium,  219,  or  in  the  Charmides,  155  d, 
in  reality  inconsistent  with  the  sterner  rule  which  Plato  lays 
down  in  the  Laws.  At  the  same  time  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
love  and  philosophy  are  described  by  Socrates  in  figures  of  speech 
which  would  not  be  used  in  Christian  times ; or  that  nameless 
vices  were  prevalent  at  Athens  and  in  other  Greek  cities ; or  that 
friendships  between  men  were  a more  sacred  tie,  and  had  a more 
important  social  and  educational  influence  than  among  ourselves. 
(See  note  on  Symposium,  sub  fin.). 

In  the  Phaedrus,  as  well  as  in  the  Symposium,  there  are  two 
kinds  of  love,  a lower  and  a higher,  the  one  answering  to  the 
natural  wants  of  the  animal,  the  other  rising  above  them  and 
contemplating  with  religious  awe  the  forms  of  justice,  temperance, 
holiness,  yet  finding  them  also  ‘too  dazzling  bright  for  mortal 
eye,’  and  shrinking  from  them  in  amazement.  The  opposition 
between  these  two  kinds  of  love  may  be  compared  to  the 
opposition  between  the  flesh  and  the  spirit  in  the  Epistles  of 
St.  Paul.  It  would  be  unmeaning  to  suppose  that  Plato,  in 
describing  the  spiritual  combat,  in  which  the  rational  soul  is 


Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


416 


Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Rhetoric  and  dialectic. 

finally  victor  and  master  of  both  the  steeds,  condescends  to 
allow  any  indulgence  of  unnatural  lusts. 

Two  other  thoughts  about  love  are  suggested  by  this  passage, 
first  of  all,  love  is  represented  here,  as  in  the  Symposium,  as 
one  of  the  great  powers  of  nature,  which  takes  many  forms 
and  two  principal  ones,  having  a predominant  influence  over 
the  lives  of  men.  And  these  two,  though  opposed,  are  not 
absolutely  separated  the  one  from  the  other.  Plato,  with  his 
great  knowledge  of  human  nature,  was  well  aware  how  easily 
one  is  transformed  into  the  other,  or  how  soon  the  noble  but 
fleeting  aspiration  may  return  into  the  nature  of  the  animal, 
while  the  lower  instinct  which  is  latent  always  remains.  The 
intermediate  sentimentalism,  which  has  exercised  so  great  an 
influence  on  the  literature  of  modern  Europe,  had  no  place  in  the 
classical  times  of  Hellas  ; the  higher  love,  of  which  Plato  speaks, 
is  the  subject,  not  of  poetry  or  fiction,  but  of  philosophy. 

Secondly,  there  seems  to  be  indicated  a natural  yearning  of 
the  human  mind  that  the  great  ideas  of  justice,  temperance, 
wisdom,  should  be  expressed  in  some  form  of  visible  beauty, 
like  the  absolute  purity  and  goodness  which  Christian  art  has 
sought  to  realize  in  the  person  of  the  Madonna.  But  although 
human  nature  has  often  attempted  to  represent  outwardly  what 
can  be  only  ‘spiritually  discerned,’  men  feel  that  in  pictures 
and  images,  whether  painted  or  carved,  or  described  in  words 
only,  we  have  not  the  substance  but  the  shadow  of  the  truth 
which  is  in  heaven.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  in  the 
fairest  works  of  Greek  art,  Plato  ever  conceived  himself  to 
behold  an  image,  however  faint,  of  ideal  truths.  ‘ Not  in  that 
way  was  wisdom  seen  ’ (250  D).  • 

We  may  now  pass  on  to  the  second  part  of  the  Dialogue, 
which  is  a criticism  on  the  first.  Rhetoric  is  assailed  on  various 
grounds : first,  as  desiring  to  persuade,  without  a knowledge 
of  the  truth  ; and  secondly,  as  ignoring  the  distinction  between 
certain  and  probable  matter.  The  three  speeches  are  then 
passed  in  review : the  first  of  them  has  no  definition  of  the 
nature  of  love,  and  no  order  in  the  topics  (being  in  these 
respects  far  inferior  to  the  second) ; while  the  third  of  them 
is  found  (though  a fancy  of  the  hour)  to  be  framed  upon  real 


4i7 


Criticism  and  Creative  power. 

dialectical  principles.  But  dialectic  is  not  rhetoric  ; nothing  on 
that  subject  is  to  be  found  in  the  endless  treatises  of  rhetoric, 
however  prolific  in  hard  names.  When  Plato  has  sufficiently 
put  them  to  the  test  of  ridicule  he  touches,  as  with  the  point 
of  a needle,  the  real  error,  which  is  the  confusion  of  preliminary 
knowledge  with  creative  power.  No  attainments  will  provide 
the  speaker  with  genius ; and  the  sort  of  attainments  which 
can  alone  be  of  any  value  are  the  higher  philosophy  and  the 
power  of  psychological  analysis,  which  is  given  by  dialectic, 
but  not  by  the  rules  of  the  rhetoricians. 

In  this  latter  portion  of  the  Dialogue  there  are  many  texts 
which  may  help  us  to  speak  and  to  think.  The  names  dialectic 
and  rhetoric  are  passing  out  of  use  ; we  hardly  examine  seriously 
into  their  nature  and  limits,  and  probably  the  arts  both  of  speaking 
and  of  conversation  have  been  unduly  neglected  by  us.  But  the 
mind  of  Socrates  pierces  through  the  differences  of  times  and 
countries  into  the  essential  nature  of  man ; and  his  words 
apply  equally  to  the  modern  world  and  to  the  Athenians  of 
old.  Would  he  not  have  asked  of  us,  or  rather  is  he  not  asking 
of  us,  Whether  we  have  ceased  to  prefer  appearances  to  reality  ? 
Let  us  take  a survey  of  the  professions  to  which  he  refers  and 
try  them  by  his  standard.  Is  not  all  literature  passing  into 
criticism,  just  as  Athenian  literature  in  the  age  of  Plato  was 
degenerating  into  sophistry  and  rhetoric  ? We  can  discourse 
and  write  about  poems  and  paintings,  but  we  seem  to  have 
lost  the  gift  of  creating  them.  Can  we  wonder  that  few  of  them 
‘come  sweetly  from  nature,’  while  ten  thousand  reviewers 
(jiAXa  fivpioij  are  engaged  in  dissecting  them?  Young  men,  like 
Phaedrus,  are  enamoured  of  their  own  literary  clique  and  have 
but  a feeble  sympathy  with  the  master-minds  of  former  ages. 
They  recognize  ‘a  poetical  necessity  in  the  writings  of  their 
favourite  author,  even  when  he  boldly  wrote  off  just  what 
came  in  his  head.’  They  are  beginning  to  think  that  Art  is 
enough,  just  at  the  time  when  Art  is  about  to  disappear  from 
the  world.  And  would  not  a great  painter,  such  as  Michael 
Angelo,  or  a great  poet,  such  as  Shakespeare,  returning  to 
earth,  ‘courteously  rebuke’  us— would  he  not  say  that  we  are 
putting  ‘in  the  place  of  Art  the  preliminaries  of  Art,’  confusing 
Art  the  expression  of  mind  and  truth  with  Art  the  composition 


Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


VOL.  I. 


E e 


4 1 & Modern  applications  of  Plato. 

Phaedrus.  0f  colours  and  forms ; and  perhaps  he  might  more  severely 

Introduc-  chastise  some  of  us  for  trying  to  invent  ‘a  new  shudder’  instead 

.TION. 

of  bringing  to  the  birth  living  and  healthy  creations?  These  he 
would  regard  as  the  signs  of  an  age  wanting  in  original  power. 

I urning  from  literature  and  the  arts  to  law  and  politics,  again 
we  fall  under  the  lash  of  Socrates.  For  do  we  not  often  make 
1 the  worse  appear  the  better  cause ; ’ and  do  not  ‘ both  parties 
sometimes  agree  to  tell  lies  ’ ? Is  not  pleading  ‘ an  art  of  speaking 
unconnected  with  the  truth  ’ ? There  is  another  text  of  Socrates 
which  must  not  be  forgotten  in  relation  to  this  subject.  In  the 
endless  maze  of  English  law  is  there  any  ‘ dividing  the  whole  into 
parts  or  reuniting  the  parts  into  a whole’— any  semblance  of  an 
organized  being  ‘ having  hands  and  feet  and  other  members  ’ ? 
Instead  of  a system  there  is  the  Chaos  of  Anaxagoras  (o/xov  vavrn 
Xpwara)  and  no  Mind  or  Order.  Then  again  in  the  noble  art  of 
politics,  who  thinks  of  first  principles  and  of  true  ideas?  We 
avowedly  follow  not  the  truth  but  the  will  of  the  many  (cp.  Rep. 
493).  Is  not  legislation  too  a sort  of  literary  effort,  and  might  not 
statesmanship  be  described  as  the  ‘ art  of  enchanting  ’ the  house  ? 
While  there  are  some  politicians  who  have  no  knowledge  of  the 
truth,  but  only  of  what  is  likely  to  be  approved  by  ‘ the  many  who 
sit  in  judgment,’  there  are  others  who  can  give  no  form  to  their 
ideal,  neither  having  learned  ‘ the  art  of  persuasion,’  nor  having 
any  insight  into  the  ‘characters  of  men.’  Once  more,  has  not 
medical  science  become  a professional  routine,  which  many 
‘ practise  without  being  able  to  say  who  were  their  instructors’ — 
the  application  of  a few  drugs  taken  from  a book  instead  of  a 
life-long  study  of  the  natures  and  constitutions  of  human  beings  ? 
Do  we  see  as  clearly  as  Hippocrates  ‘that  the  nature  of  the  body 
can  only  be  understood  as  a whole  ’ ? (270  C ; cp.  Charm.  156  E). 
And  are  not  they  held  to  be  the  wisest  physicians  who  have  the 
greatest  distrust  of  their  art  ? What  would  Socrates  think  of  our 
newspapers,  of  our  theology?  Perhaps  he  would  be  afraid  to 
speak  of  them  the  one  vox  populi,  the  other  vox  Dei , he  might 
hesitate  to  attack  them ; or  he  might  trace  a fanciful  connexion 
between  them,  and  ask  doubtfully,  whether  they  are  not  equally 
inspired  ? He  would  remark  that  we  are  always  searching  for  a 
belief  and  deploring  oifr  unbelief,  seeming  to  prefer  popular 
opinions  unverified  and  contradictory  to  unpopular  truths  which 


419 


Speech  and  writing. 

are  assured  to  us  by  the  most  certain  proofs : that  our  preachers 
are  in  the  habit  of  praising  God  ‘ without  regard  to  truth  and 
falsehood,  attributing  to  Him  every  species  of  greatness  and 
glory,  sa37ing  that  He  is  all  this  and  the  cause  of  all  that,  in  order 
that  we  may  exhibit  Him  as  the  fairest  and  best  of  all  (Symp. 
198),  without  any  consideration  ol  His  real  nature  and  character 
or  of  the  laws  by  which  He  governs  the  world— seeking  for  a 
‘ private  judgment  ’ and  not  for  the  truth  or  ‘ God’s  judgment.’ 
What  would  he  say  of  the  Church,  which  we  praise  in  like 
manner,  ‘ meaning  ourselves  ’ (258  A),  without  regard  to  history 
or  experience  ? Might  he  not  ask,  whether  we  ‘ care  more  for  the 
truth  of  religion,  or  for  the  speaker  and  the  country  from  which 
the  truth  comes’?  or,  whether  the  ‘select  wise’  are  not  ‘the 
many’  after  all?  (Symp.  194  C.)  So  we  may  fill  up  the  sketch 
of  Socrates,  lest,  as  Phaedrus  says,  the  argument  should  be  too 
‘ abstract  and  barren  of  illustrations.’  (Cp.  Symp.,  Apol.,  Euthy- 
phro.) 

He  next  proceeds  with  enthusiasm  to  define  the  royal  art  of 
dialectic  as  the  power  of  dividing  a whole  into  parts,  and  of 
uniting  the  parts  in  a whole,  and  which  may  also  be  regarded 
(cp.  Soph.)  as  the  process  of  the  mind  talking  with  herself.  The 
latter  view  has  probably  led  Plato  to  the  paradox  that  speech  is 
superior  to  writing,  in  which  he  may  seem  also  to  be  doing  an 
injustice  to  himself.  For  the  two  cannot  be  fairly  compared  in 
the  manner  which  Plato  suggests.  The  contrast  of  the  living  and 
dead  word,  and  the  example  of  Socrates,  which  he  has  repre- 
sented in  the  form  of  the  Dialogue,  seem  to  have  misled  him. 
For  speech  and  writing  have  really  different  functions ; the  one 
is  more  transitory,  more  diffuse,  more  elastic  and  capable  of 
adaptation  to  moods  and  times  ; the  other  is  more  permanent, 
more  concentrated,  and  is  uttered  not  to  this  or  that  person  or 
audience,  but  to  all  the  world.  In  the  Politicus  (294  foil.)  the 
paradox  is  carried  further ; the  mind  or  will  of  the  king  is 
preferred  to  the  written  law;  he  is  supposed  to  be  the  Law 
personified,  the  ideal  made  Life. 

Yet  in  both  these  statements  there  is  also  contained  a truth  ; 
they  may  be  compared  with  one  another,  and  also  with  the  other 
famous  paradox,  that  ‘knowledge  cannot  be  taught.’  Socrates 
means  to  say,  that  what  is  truly  written  is  written  in  the  soul, 


Phaedrus . 

Introduc- 

tion. 


E e 2 


420 


J'haedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Date  of  the  Dialogue. 

just  as  what  is  truly  taught  grows  up  in  the  soul  from  within  and 
is  not  forced  upon  it  from  without.  When  planted  in  a congenial 
soil  the  little  seed  becomes  a tree,  and  ‘ the  birds  of  the  air  build 
their  nests  in  the  branches.’  There  is  an  echo  of  this  in  the 
prayer  at  the  end  of  the  Dialogue,  ‘Give  me  beauty  in  the  inward 
soul,  and  may  the  inward  and  outward  man  be  at  one.’  We  may 
further  compare  the  words  of  St.  Paul,  ‘Written  not  on  tables  of 
stone,  but  on  fleshly  tables  of  the  heart ; ’ and  again,  ‘ Ye  are  my 
epistles  known  and  read  of  all  men.’  There  may  be  a use  in 
writing  as  a preservative  against  the  forgetfulness  of  old  age,  but 
to  live  is  higher  far,  to  be  ourselves  the  book,  or  the  epistle,  the 
truth  embodied  in  a person,  the  Word  made  flesh.  Something 
like  this  we  may  believe  to  have  passed  before  Plato’s  mind  when 
he  affirmed  that  speech  was  superior  to  writing.  So  in  other 
ages,  weary  of  literature  and  criticism,  of  making  many  books, 
of  writing  articles  in  reviews,  some  have  desired  to  live  more 
closely  in  communion  with  their  fellow-men,  to  speak  heart  to 
heart,  to  speak  and  act  only,  and  not  to  write,  following  the 
example  of  Socrates  and  of  Christ 

Some  other  touches  of  inimitable  grace  and  art  and  of  the 
deepest  wisdom  may  be  also  noted ; such  as  the  prayer  or 
‘ collect  ’ which  has  just  been  cited,  ‘ Give  me  beauty,’  etc. ; or 
‘the  great  name  which  belongs  to  God  alone’  (278);  or  ‘the 
saying  of  wiser  men  than  ourselves  that  a man  of  sense  should 
try  to  please  not  his  fellow-servants,  but  his  good  and  noble 
masters  ’ (274),  like  St.  Paul  again  ; or  the  description  of  the 
‘ heavenly  originals  ’ at  p.  250 

The  chief  criteria  for  determining  the  date  of  the  Dialogue  are 
(1)  the  ages  of  Lysias  and  Isocrates ; (2)  the  character  of  the  work. 

Lysias  was  born  in  the  year  458;  Isocrates  in  the  year  436, 
about  seven  years  before  the  birth  of  Plato.  The  first  of  the  two 
great  rhetoricians  is  described  as  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame ; the 
second  is  still  young  and  full  of  promise.  Now  it  is  argued  that 
this  must  have  been  written  in  the  youth  of  Isocrates,  when  the 
promise  was  not  yet  fulfilled.  And  thus  we  should  have  to  assign 
the  Dialogue  to  a year  not  later  than  406,  when  Isocrates  was 
thirty  and  Plato  twenty-three  years  of  age,  and  while  Socrates 
himself  was  still  alive. 


Date  of  the  Dialogue. 

Those  who  argue  in  this  way  seem  not  to  reflect  how  easily 
Plato  can  * invent  Egyptians  or  anything  else,’  and  how  careless 
he  is  of  historical  truth  or  probability.  Who  would  suspect  that 
the  wise  Critias,  the  virtuous  Charinides,  had  ended  their  lives 
among  the  thirty  tyrants  ? Who  would  imagine  that  Lysias,  who 
is  here  assailed  by  Socrates,  is  the  son  of  his  old  friend  Cephalus  ? 
or  that  Isocrates  himself  is  the  enemy  of  Plato  and  his  school  ? 
No  arguments  can  be  drawn  from  the  appropriateness  or  in- 
appropriateness oi  the  characters  of  Plato.  (Else,  perhaps,  it 
might  be  further  argued  that,  judging  from  their  extant  remains, 
insipid  rhetoric  is  far  more  characteristic  of  Isocrates  than  of 
Lysias.)  But  Plato  makes  use  of  names  which  have  often  hardly 
any  connexion  with  the  historical  characters  to  whom  they  belong. 
In  this  instance  the  comparative  favour  shown  to  Isocrates  may 
possibly  be  accounted  for  by  the  circumstance  of  his  belonging  to 
the  aristocratical,  as  Lysias  to  the  democratical  party. 

Few  persons  will  be  inclined  to  suppose,  in  the  superficial 
manner  of  some  ancient  critics,  that  a dialogue  which  treats  of 
love  must  necessarily  have  been  written  in  youth.  As  little 
weight  can  be  attached  to  the  argument  that  Plato  must  have 
visited  Egypt  before  he  wrote  the  story  of  Theuth  and  Thamus. 
For  there  is  no  real  proof  that  he  ever  went  to  Egypt ; and  even 
if  he  did,  he  might  have  known  or  invented  Egyptian  traditions 
before  he  went  there.  The  late  date  of  the  Phaedrus  will  have  to 
be  established  by  other  arguments  than  these : the  maturity  of 
the  thought,  the  perfection  of  the  style,  the  insight,  the  relation  to 
the  other  Platonic  Dialogues,  seem  to  contradict  the  notion  that  it 
could  have  been  the  work  of  a youth  of  twenty  or  twenty-three 
years  of  age.  The  cosmological  notion  of  the  mind  as  the  primum 
mobile , and  the  admission  of  impulse  into  the  immortal  nature, 
also  afford  grounds  for  assigning  a later  date.  (Cp.  Tim.,  Soph., 
Laws.)  Add  to  this  that  the  picture  of  Socrates,  though  in  some 
lesser  particulars,- — e.g.  his  going  without  sandals,  his  habit  of 
remaining  within  the  walls,  his  emphatic  declaration  that  his 
study  is  human  nature, — an  exact  resemblance,  is  in  the  main  the 
Platonic  and  not  the  real  Socrates.  Can  we  suppose  ‘ the  young 
man  to  have  told  such  lies  ’ about  his  master  while  he  was  still 
alive  ? Moreover,  when  two  Dialogues  are  so  closely  connected 
as  the  Phaedrus  and  Symposium,  there  is  great  improbability  in 


42  I 

Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


422  Plato's  treatment  of  mythology. 

Phaec/rus.  supposing  that  one  of  them  was  written  at  least  twenty  years 
INtT°nUC'  after  the  otllcn  Tllc  conclusion  seems  to  be,  that  the  Dialogue 
was  written  at  some  comparatively  late  but  unknown  period  of 
Plato’s  life,  after  he  had  deserted  the  purely  Socratic  point  of 
view,  but  before  he  had  entered  on  the  more  abstract  speculations 
of  the  Sophist  or  the  Philebus.  Taking  into  account  the  divisions 
of  the  soul,  the  doctrine  of  transmigration,  the  contemplative  nature 
of  the  philosophic  life,  and  the  character  of  the  style,  we  shall 
not  be  far  wrong  in  placing  the  Phaedrus  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  Republic;  remarking  only  that  allowance  must  be  made 
for  the  poetical  element  in  the  Phaedrus,  which,  while  falling 
short  of  the  Republic  in  definite  philosophic  results,  seems  to 
have  glimpses  of  a truth  beyond. 

Two  short  passages,  which  are  unconnected  with  the  main 
subject  of  the  Dialogue,  may  seem  to  merit  a more  particular 
notice  : (i)  the  locus  classicus  about  mythology;  (2)  the  tale  of  the 
grasshoppers. 

The  first  passage  is  remarkable  as  showing  that  Plato  was 
entirely  free  from  what  may  be  termed  the  Euhemerism  of  his  age. 
For  there  were  Euhemerists  in  Hellas  long  before  Euhemerus. 
Early  philosophers,  like  Anaxagoras  and  Metrodorus,  had  found 
in  Homer  and  mythology  hidden  meanings.  Plato,  with  a truer 
instinct,  rejects  these  attractive  interpretations ; he  regards  the 
inventor  of  them  as  ‘ unfortunate ; ’ and  they  draw  a man  off 
from  the  knowledge  of  himself.  There  is  a latent  criticism,  and 
also  a poetical  sense  in  Plato,  which  enable  him  to  discard  them, 
and  yet  in  another  way  to  make  use  of  poetry  and  mythology 
as  a vehicle  of  thought  and  feeling.  What  would  he  have  said  of 
the  discovery  of  Christian  doctrines  in  these  old  Greek  legends  ? 
While  acknowledging  that  such  interpretations  are  ‘very  nice,’ 
would  he  not  have  remarked  that  they  are  found  in  all  sacred 
literatures  ? They  cannot  be  tested  by  any  criterion  of  truth, 
or  used  to  establish  any  truth ; they  add  nothing  to  the  sum 
of  human  knowledge  ; they  are— what  we  please,  and  if  employed 
as  ‘ peacemakers  ’ between  the  new  and  old  are  liable  to  serious 
misconstruction,  as  he  elsewhere  remarks  (Rep.  378  E).  And 
therefore  he  would  have  ‘ bid  Farewell  to  them  ; the  study  of 
them  would  take  up  too  much  of  his  time  ; and  he  has  not 
as  yet  learned  the  true  nature  of  religion.’  The  * sophistical  ’ 


423 


Tale  of  the  Grasshoppers : — mysticism  in  Plato. 

interest  of  Phaedrus,  the  little  touch  about  the  two  versions  of 
the  story,  the  ironical  manner  in  which  these  explanations  arc 
set  aside— ‘the  common  opinion  about  them  is  enough  for  me’ 

the  allusion  to  the  serpent  Typho  may  be  noted  in  passing , 

also  the  general  agreement  between  the  tone  of  this  speech  and 
the  remark  of  Socrates  which  follows  afterwards,  ‘lama  diviner, 
but  a poor  one.’ 

The  tale  of  the  grasshoppers  is  naturally  suggested  by  the 
surrounding  scene.  They  are  also  the  representatives  of  the 
Athenians  as  children  of  the  soil.  Under  the  image  of  the  lively 
chirruping  grasshoppers  who  inform  the  Muses  in  heaven  about 
those  who  honour  them  on  earth,  Plato  intends  to  represent 
an  Athenian  audience  (reTTiyeaaiv  eoiKores).  The  story  is  introduced, 
apparently,  to  mark  a change  of  subject,  and  also,  like  several 
other  allusions  which  occur  in  the  course  of  the  Dialogue,  in  order 
to  preserve  the  scene  in  the  recollection  of  the  reader. 


No  one  can  duly  appreciate  the  dialogues  of  Plato,  especially 
the  Phaedrus,  Symposium,  and  portions  of  the  Republic,  who  has 
not  a sympathy  with  mysticism.  To  the  uninitiated,  as  he 
would  himself  have  acknowledged,  they  will  appear  to  be  the 
dreams  of  a poet  who  is  disguised  as  a philosopher.  There  is 
a twofold  difficulty  in  apprehending  this  aspect  of  the  Platonic 
writings.  First,  we  do  not  immediately  realize  that  under  the 
marble  exterior  of  Greek  literature  was  concealed  a soul  thrilling 
with  spiritual  emotion.  Secondly,  the  forms  or  figures  which 
the  Platonic  philosophy  assumes,  are  not  like  the  images  of 
the  prophet  Isaiah,  or  of  the  Apocalypse,  familiar  to  us  in  the 
days  of  our  youth.  By  mysticism  we  mean,  not  the  extravagance 
of  an  erring  fancy,  but  the  concentration  of  reason  in  feeling,  the 
enthusiastic  love  of  the  good,  the  true,  the  one,  the  sense  of  the  in- 
finity of  knowledge  and  of  the  marvel  of  the  human  faculties. 
When  feeding  upon  such  thoughts  the  ‘wing  of  the  soul’  is 
renewed  and  gains  strength ; she  is  raised  above  ‘ the  manikins 
of  earth  ’ and  their  opinions,  waiting  in  wonder  to  know,  and 
working  with  reverence  to  find  out  what  God  in  this  or  in  another 
life  may  reveal  to  her. 


Phaedrus. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


On  the  decline  of  Greek  Literature. 


Phaedrus. 


One  of  the  main  purposes  of  Plato  in  the  Phaedrus  is  to  satirize 
Rhetoric,  or  rather  the  Professors  of  Rhetoric  who  swarmed 
at  Athens  in  the  fourth  century  before  Christ.  As  in  the  opening 
of  the  Dialogue  he  ridicules  the  interpreters  of  mythology ; as 
in  the  Protagoras  he  mocks  at  the  Sophists;  as  in  the  Euthy- 
demus  he  makes  fun  of  the  word-splitting  Eristics ; as  in  the 
Cratylus  he  ridicules  the  fancies  of  Etymologers ; as  in  the  Meno 
and  Gorgias  and  some  other  dialogues  he  makes  reflections 
and  casts  sly  imputations  upon  the  higher  classes  at  Athens  ; so 
in  the  Phaedrus,  chiefly  in  the  latter  part,  he  aims  his  shafts 
at  the  rhetoricians.  The  profession  of  rhetoric  was  the  greatest 
and  most  popular  in  Athens,  necessary  ‘ to  a man’s  salvation,’ 
or  at  any  rate  to  his  attainment  of  wealth  or  power;  but  Plato 
finds  nothing  wholesome  or  genuine  in  the  purpose  of  it.  It 
is  a veritable  ‘sham,’  having  no  relation  to  fact,  or  to  truth  of 
any  kind.  It  is  antipathetic  to  him  not  only  as  a philosopher,  but 
also  as  a great  writer.  He  cannot  abide  the  tricks  of  the  rhetori- 
cians, or  the  pedantries  and  mannerisms  which  they  introduce  into 
speech  and  writing.  He  sees  clearly  how  far  removed  they  are 
from  the  ways  of  simplicity  and  truth,  and  how  ignorant  of  the 
very  elements  of  the  art  which  they  are  professing  to  teach.  The 
thing  which  is  most  necessary  of  all,  the  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  is  hardly  if  at  all  considered  by  them.  The  true  rules  of 
composition,  which  are  very  few’,  are  not  to  be  found  in  their 
voluminous  systems.  Their  pretentiousness,  their  omniscience, 
their  large  fortunes,  their  impatience  of  argument,  their  in- 
difference to  first  principles,  their  stupidity,  their  progresses 
through  Hellas  accompanied  by  a troop  of  their  disciples— these 
things  were  very  distasteful  to  Plato,  who  esteemed  genius  far 
above  art,  and  was  quite  sensible  of  the  interval  which  separated 
them  (Phaedrus,  269  D).  It  is  the  interval  which  separates 


Characteristics  of  the  decline. 

Sophists  and  rhetoricians  from  ancient  famous  men  and  women 
such  as  Homer  and  I lesiod,  Anacreon  and  Sappho,  Aeschylus  and 
Sophocles ; and  the  Platonic  Socrates  is  afraid  that,  if  he  approves 
the  former,  he  will  be  disowned  by  the  latter  (235  B).  The  spirit 
of  rhetoric  was  soon  to  overspread  all  Hellas  j and  Plato  with 
prophetic  insight  may  have  seen,  from  afar,  the  great  literary 
waste  or  dead  level,  or  interminable  marsh,  in  which  Greek  litera- 
ture was  soon  to  disappear.  A similar  vision  of  the  decline  of 
the  Greek  drama  and  of  the  contrast  of  the  old  literature  and  the 
new  was  present  to  the  mind  of  Aristophanes  after  the  death  of  the 
three  great  tragedians  (Frogs,  1.  93  ff*)-  After  about  a hundred,  or 
at  most  two  hundred  years  if  we  exclude  Homer,  the  genius  of 
Hellas  had  ceased  to  flower  or  blossom.  The  dreary  waste  which 
follows,  beginning  with  the  Alexandrian  writers  and  even  before 
them  in  the  platitudes  of  Isocrates  and  his  school,  spreads  over 
much  more  than  a thousand  years.  And  from  this  decline  the 
Greek  language  and  literature,  unlike  the  Latin,  which  has  come  to 
life  in  new  forms  and  been  developed  into  the  great  European 
languages,  never  recovered. 

This  monotony  of  literature,  without  merit,  without  genius 
and  without  character,  is  a phenomenon  which  deserves  more 
attention  than  it  has  hitherto  received  ; it  is  a phenomenon  unique 
in  the  literary  history  of  the  world.  How  could  there  have  been 
so  much  cultivation,  so  much  diligence  in  writing,  and  so  little 
mind  or  real  creative  power  ? Why  did  a thousand  years  in- 
vent nothing  better  than  Sibylline  books,  Orphic  poems,  Byzan- 
tine imitations  of  classical  histories,  Christian  reproductions 
of  Greek  plays,  novels  like  the  silly  and  obscene  romances  of 
Longus  and  Heliodorus,  innumerable  forged  epistles,  a great 
many  epigrams,  biographies  of  the  meanest  and  most  meagre 
description,  a sham  philosophy  which  was  the  bastard  progeny 
of  the  union  between  Hellas  and  the  East?  Only  in  Plutarch, 
in  Lucian,  in  Longinus,  in  the  Roman  emperors  Marcus 
Aurelius  and  Julian,  in  some  of  the  Christian  fathers  are 
there  any  traces  of  good  sense  or  originality,  or  any  power 
of  arousing  the  interest  of  later  ages.  And  when  new  books 
ceased  to  be  written,  why  did  hosts  of  grammarians  and  in- 
terpreters flock  in,  who  never  attain  to  any  sound  notion  either  of 
grammar  or  interpretation  ? Why  did  the  physical  sciences 


425 

Phaedrm. 


426 

Phaedrta, 


Causes  and  symptoms  of  the  decline. 

never  arrive  at  any  true  knowledge  or  make  any  real  progress  ? 
Why  did  poetry  droop  and  languish?  Why  did  history  degenerate 
into  fable  ? Why  did  words  lose  their  power  of  expression  ? Why 
were  ages  of  external  greatness  and  magnificence  attended  by 
all  the  signs  of  decay  in  the  human  mind  which  are  possible? 

To  these  questions  many  answers  may  be  given,  which  if  not 
the  true  causes,  are  at  least  to  be  reckoned  among  the  symptoms 
of  the  decline.  There  is  the  want  of  method  in  physical  science, 
the  want  of  criticism  in  history,  the  want  of  simplicity  or  delicacy 
in  poetry,  the  want  of  political  freedom,  which  is  the  true 
atmosphere  of  public  speaking,  in  oratory.  The  ways  of  life 
were  luxurious  and  commonplace.  Philosophy  had  become 
extravagant,  eclectic,  abstract,  devoid  of  any  real  content.  At 
length  it  ceased  to  exist.  It  had  spread  words  like  plaster  over 
the  whole  field  of  knowledge.  It  had  grown  ascetic  on  one  side, 
mystical  on  the  other.  Neither  of  these  tendencies  was  favour- 
able to  literature.  There  was  no  sense  of  beauty  either  in 
language  or  in  art.  The  Greek  world  became  vacant,  barbaric, 
oriental.  No  one  had  anything  new  to  say,  or  any  conviction  of 
truth.  The  age  had  no  remembrance  of  the  past,  no  power  of 
understanding  what  other  ages  thought  and  felt.  The  Catholic 
faith  had  degenerated  into  dogma  and  controversy.  For  more 
than  a thousand  years  not  a single  writer  of  first-rate,  or  even  of 
second-rate,  reputation  has  a place  in  the  innumerable  rolls  of 
Greek  literature. 

If  we  seek  to  go  deeper,  we  can  still  only  describe  the  outward 
nature  of  the  clouds  or  darkness  which  were  spread  over  the 
heavens  during  so  many  ages  without  relief  or  light.  We  may 
say  that  this,  like  several  other  long  periods  in  the  history  of 
the  human  race,  was  destitute,  or  deprived  of  the  moral  qualities 
which  are  the  root  of  literary  excellence.  It  had  no  life  or 
aspiration,  no  national  or  political  force,  no  desire  for  consis- 
tency, no  love  of  knowledge  for  its  own  sake.  It  did  not  attempt 
to  pierce  the  mists  which  surrounded  it.  It  did  not  propose  to 
itself  to  go  forward  and  scale  the  heights  of  knowledge,  but  to 
go  backwards  and  seek  at  the  beginning  what  can  only  be  found 
towards  the  end.  It  was  lost  in  doubt  and  ignorance.  It  rested 
upon  tradition  and  authority.  It  had  none  of  the  higher  play 
of  fancy  which  creates  poetry  ; and  where  there  is  no  true  poetry, 


Parallel  of  Modern  Literature. 

neither  can  there  be  any  good  prose.  It  had  no  great  characters, 
and  therefore  it  had  no  great  writers.  It  was  incapable  of  dis- 
tinguishing between  words  and  things.  It  was  so  hopelessly 
below  the  ancient  standard  of  classical  Greek  art  and  literature 
that  it  had  no  power  of  understanding  or  of  valuing  them.  It 
is  doubtful  whether  any  Greek  author  was  justly  appreciated  in 
antiquity  except  by  his  own  contemporaries ; and  this  neglect  ol 
the  great  authors  of  the  past  led  to  the  disappearance  of  the  larger 
part  of  them,  while  the  Greek  fathers  were  mostly  preserved. 
There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that,  in  the  century  before  the 
taking  of  Constantinople,  much  more  was  in  existence  than  the 
scholars  of  the  Renaissance  carried  away  with  them  to  Italy. 

The  character  of  Greek  literature  sank  lower  as  time  went 
on.  It  consisted  more  and  more  of  compilations,  of  scholia,  oi 
extracts,  of  commentaries,  forgeries,  imitations.  The  commen- 
tator or  interpreter  had  no  conception  of  his  author  as  a whole, 
and  very  little  of  the  context  of  any  passage  which  he  was  ex- 
plaining. The  least  things  were  preferred  by  him  to  the  greatest. 
The  question  of  a reading,  or  a grammatical  form,  or  an  accent, 
or  the  uses  of  a word,  took  the  place  of  the  aim  or  subject  of 
the  book.  He  had  no  sense  of  the  beauties  of  an  author,  and 
very  little  light  is  thrown  by  him  on  real  difficulties.  He  in- 
terprets past  ages  by  his  own.  The  greatest  classical  writers 
are  the  least  appreciated  by  him.  This  seems  to  be  the  reason 
why  so  many  of  them  have  perished,  why  the  lyric  poets  have 
almost  wholly  disappeared  ; why,  out  of  the  eighty  or  ninety 
tragedies  of  /Eschylus  and  Sophocles,  only  seven  of  each  have 
been  preserved. 

Such  an  age  of  sciolism  and  scholasticism  may  possibly  once 
more  get  the  better  of  the  literary  world.  There  are  those  who 
prophesy  that  the  signs  of  such  a day  are  again  appearing  among 
us,  and  that  at  the  end  of  the  present  century  no  writer  of  the 
first  class  will  be  still  alive.  They  think  that  the  Muse  of  Litera- 
ture may  transfer  herself  to  other  countries  less  dried  up  or 
worn  out  than  our  own.  They  seem  to  see  the  withering  effect 
of  criticism  on  original  genius.  No  one  can  doubt  that  such  a 
decay  or  decline  of  literature  and  of  art  seriously  affects  the 
manners  and  character  of  a nation.  It  takes  away  half  the  joys 
and  refinements  of  life  ; it  increases  its  dulness  and  grossness. 


427 

Phaedrus. 


428 

Phaedrtts. 


Can  such  a decline  be  arrested? 

Hence  it  becomes  a matter  of  great  interest  to  consider  how, 
if  at  all,  such  a degeneracy  may  be  averted.  Is  there  any  elixir 
which  can  restore  life  and  youth  to  the  literature  of  a nation, 
or  at  any  rate  which  can  prevent  it  becoming  unmanned  and 
enfeebled  ? 

First  there  is  the  progress  of  education.  It  is  possible,  and 
even  probable,  that  the  extension  of  the  means  of  knowledge  over 
a wider  area  and  to  persons  living  under  new  conditions  may  lead 
to  many  new  combinations  of  thought  and  language.  But,  as  yet, 
experience  does  not  favour  the  realization  of  such  a hope  or 
promise.  It  maybe  truly  answered  that  at  present  the  training  of 
teachers  and  the  methods  of  education  are  very  imperfect,  and 
therefore  that  we  cannot  judge  of  the  future  by  the  present. 
When  more  of  our  youth  are  trained  in  the  best  literatures,  and 
in  the  best  parts  of  them,  their  minds  may  be  expected  to  have  a 
larger  growth.  They  will  have  more  interests,  more  thoughts, 
more  material  for  conversation  ; they  will  have  a higher  standard 
and  begin  to  think  for  themselves.  The  number  of  persons  who 
will  have  the  opportunity  of  receiving  the  highest  education 
through  the  cheap  press,  and  by  the  help  of  high  schools  and 
colleges,  may  increase  tenfold.  It  is  likely  that  in  every  thousand 
persons  there  is  at  least  one  who  is  far  above  the  average  in 
natural  capacity,  but  the  seed  which  is  in  him  dies  for  want  of 
cultivation.  It  has  never  had  any  stimulus  to  grow,  or  any  field 
in  which  to  blossom  and  produce  fruit.  Here  is  a great  reservoir 
or  treasure-house  of  human  intelligence  out  of  which  new  waters 
may  flow  and  cover  the  earth.  If  at  any  time  the  great  men  of 
the  world  should  die  out,  and  originality  or  genius  appear  to 
suffer  a partial  eclipse,  there  is  a boundless  hope  in  the  multitude 
of  intelligences  for  future  generations.  They  may  bring  gifts  to 
men  such  as  the  world  has  never  received  before.  They  may 
begin  at  a higher  point  and  yet  take  with  them  all  the  results 
of  the  past.  The  co-operation  of  many  may  have  effects  not 
less  striking,  though  different  in  character  from  those  which  the 
creative  genius  of  a single  man,  such  as  Bacon  or  Newton,  formerly 
produced.  There  is  also  great  hope  to  be  derived,  not  merely 
from  the  extension  of  education  over  a wider  area,  but  from  the 
continuance  of  it  during  many  generations.  Educated  parents 
will  have  children  fit  to  receive  education;  and  these  again  will 


Hope  for  the  future. 

grow  up  under  circumstances  far  more  favourable  to  the  growth 
of  intelligence  than  any  which  have  hitherto  existed  in  our 
own  or  in  former  ages. 

Even  if  we  were  to  suppose  no  more  men  of  genius  to  be 
produced,  the  great  writers  of  ancient  or  of  modern  times  will 
remain  to  furnish  abundant  materials  of  education  to  the  coming 
generation.  Now  that  every  nation  holds  communication  with 
every  other,  we  may  truly  say  in  a fuller  sense  than  formerly  that 
‘ the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the  process  of  the  suns. 
They  will  not  be  ‘ cribbed,  cabined,  and  confined’  within  a pro- 
vince or  an  island.  The  East  will  provide  elements  of  culture  to  the 
West  as  well  as  the  West  to  the  East.  The  religions  and  literatures 
of  the  world  will  be  open  books,  which  he  who  wills  may  read. 
The  human  race  may  not  be  always  ground  down  by  bodily  toil, 
but  may  have  greater  leisure  for  the  improvement  of  the  mind. 
The  increasing  sense  of  the  greatness  and  infinity  of  nature  will 
tend  to  awaken  in  men  larger  and  more  liberal  thoughts.  The 
love  of  mankind  may  be  the  source  of  a greater  development  of 
literature  than  nationality  has  ever  been.  There  may  be  a greater 
freedom  from  prejudice  and  party ; we  may  better  understand  the 
whereabouts  of  truth,  and  therefore  there  may  be  more  success 
and  fewer  failures  in  the  search  for  it.  Lastly,  in  the  coming  ages 
we  shall  carry  with  us  the  recollection  of  the  past,  in  which  are 
necessarily  contained  many  seeds  of  revival  and  renaissance  in  the 
future.  So  far  is  the  world  from  becoming  exhausted,  so  ground- 
less is  the  fear  that  literature  will  ever  die  out. 


429 

Phacdrus. 


P H A E D R U S. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 
Socrates.  Phaedrus. 


Scene  Under  a plane-tree,  by  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus. 

teph.  Socrates.  My  dear  Phaedrus,  whence  come  you,  and  whither 
227  are  you  going? 

Phaedrus.  I have  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  accom- 
pany 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 


Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

Phaedrus, 
who  has 
just  left 
Lysias  the 
orator,  is 
about  to 
take  a walk 
in  the  coun- 
try, when 
he  meets 
Socrates. 


The  theme 
of  Lysias 
was  a para- 
dox about 
love. 


432 

Phacdins. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


The  ways  of 
Phaedrus 
are  well 
known  to 
Socrates, 


Phaedrtis  has  I carved  by  heart  a speech  of  Lysias. 

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  228 
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  un- 
usually 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  re- 
joiced ; 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. 


The  walk  along  the  Ilissus. 

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 
29  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  an}',  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  that  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? 

vol.  1.  f f 


433 

Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


who  ob- 
serves that 
he  has  got 
the  roll 
hidden 
under  his 
cloak. 


On  the  way 
to  the 
Ilissus 
Phaedrus 
asks  the 
opinion  of 
Socrates 
respecting 
the  truth 
of  a local 
legend. 


434 


Phciedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

Socrates 
desires  to 
know  him- 
self before 
he  enquires 
into  the 
newly  found 
philosophy 
of  myth- 
ology. 


Socrates, 
who  is  an 
inhabitant 
of  the  city, 
is  charmed 
with  the 
sights  and 
sounds  of 
the  country 
which  are 
so  new  to 
him. 


The  allegorical  interpretation  of  mythology. 

Soc.  The  wise  are  doubtful,  and  I should  not  be  singular 
if,  like  them,  I too  doubted.  I might  have  a rational  ex- 
planation 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,  how- 
ever, about  the  locality;  according  to  another  version  of  the 
story  she  was  taken  from  the  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  Hippo- 
centaurs  and  chimeras  dire.  Gorgons  and  winged  steeds 
flow  in  apace,  and  numberless  other  inconceivable  and  por- 
tentous 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  1 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  230 
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  nryself : 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  castus  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 


7 'he  bait  oj  discourse. 

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; 

231  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  torment- 
ing 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 ; 

f f 2 


435 

Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


He  is  a 
lover  of 
knowledge 
and  of  man- 
kind, and 
therefore 
can  only  be 
drawn  out 
of  the  city 
by  the  help 
of  a book. 


The  non- 
lover should 
be  preferred 
to  the  lover, 
because  he 
is  more  his 
own  mas- 
ter, less 
exacting, 
more  likely 
to  keep 
another's 
secrets, 
less  fickle, 
less  sus- 
pected, less 
jealous,  less 
exclusive  ; 


436 


Phaedrus. 

Lysias. 

and  there 
are  more 
of  them. 


The  discourse  of  Lysias. 

—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  232 
them,  will  boast  to  some  one  1 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  }^ou  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 


Reading  r<j>  \tyeiv  ; cf.  infra,  rtji  SiaSeyecrdai. 


The  /over  and  the  non-lover . 


437 


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  com- 
panions 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 
33  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 


Phacdrus. 

Lysias. 


The  non- 
lover  will 
improve, 
the  lover 
will  spoil, 
the  object 
of  his  af- 
fections. 


The  non- 
lover is  the 
firmer 
friend ; he 
is  less  of  a 
beggar  and 


438 

Phaedrus. 

Lysias, 

Socrates. 

more  of  a 
giver;  his 
love  is  more 
lasting  and 
is  never 
censured. 


'J'he  superiority  of  the  non-lover. 

love  oi  them  arises  not  from  passion,  but  from  other  asso- 
ciations. F urther,  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  234 
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  any- 
thing 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. 


439 


Socrates  criticism  of  the  speech  oj  Lysias. 


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  senti- 
ments of  the  author,  or  only  the  clearness,  and  roundness, 
and  finish,  and  tournure  of  the  language?  As  to  the  first 
35  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 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

Socrates 
has  no  great 
opinion  of 
the  speech. 
At  first  the 
effect  on 
him  was 
ravishing, 
but  only 
because  he 
saw  that 
Phaedrus 
was  ra- 
vished. Of 
the  matter 
he  will 
submit  to 
Phaedrus's 
judgement ; 
of  the  man- 
ner he  does 
not  think 
much. 


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  com- 


plaisance 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  He  has 
moment  I do  not  remember  from  whom ; perhaps  from  a^tt™any 
Sappho  the  fair,  or  Anacreon  the  wise ; or,  possibly,  from  a speech,  and 
prose  writer.  Why  do  I say  so?  Why,  because  I peiceive  hecou]d 
that  my  bosom  is  full,  and  that  I could  make  another  speech  make  one 


1 Reading  ravra. 


440 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

himself,  not 
entirely  dif- 
ferent, for 
this  or  any 
speech 
must  have 
some  good 
topics 
which  are 
common- 
places. 


One  at  least 
of  Lysias' 
common- 
places is 
not  to  be 
excluded. 


Banter  of  Phaedrus  and  Socrates. 

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. 

Phacih . That  is  grand  : but  never  mind  where  you  heard 

the  discourse  or  from  whom  j let  that  be  a mystery  not  to 
be  divulged  even  at  my  earnest  desire.  Only,  as  you  say, 
promise  1 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. 

Soc.  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.  Wh.o,  for  example,  could  speak  on  this  thesis 
of  yours  without  praising  the  discretion  of  the  non-lover  236 
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  them,  for  there  can 
be  none  in  the  invention  j but  when  you  leave  the  common- 
places, then  there  may  be  some  originality. 

Phaedr.  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. 

Soc.  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  Lj^sias  ? 

Phaedr.  There  I have  you  as  you  had  me,  and  you  must 


1 Leading  {rri<rxss  thruv. 


The  parody  of  Socrates. 

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  ol  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. 

Soc.  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. 

P/iaedr.  You  see  how  matters  stand  ; and  therefore  let 
there  be  no  more  pretences ; for,  indeed,  I know  the  word 
that  is  irresistible. 

Soc.  Then  don’t  say  it. 

Phaedr.  Yes,  but  I will;  and  my  word  shall  be  an  oath. 
‘I  say,  or  rather  swear’ — but  what  god  will  be  the  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 ! ’ 

Soc.  Villain  ! I am  conquered ; the  poor  lover  of  dis- 
course has  no  more  to  say. 

Phaedr.  Then  why  are  you  still  at  your  tricks  ? 

Soc.  I am  not  going  to  play  tricks  now  that  you  have  taken 
the  oath,  for  I cannot  allow  myself  to  be  starved. 

Phaedr.  Proceed. 

37  Soc.  Shall  I tell  you  what  I will  do  ? 

Phaedr.  What? 

X 

Soc.  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. 

Phaedr.  Only  go  on  and  }^ou  may  do  anything  else  which 
you  please. 

Soc.  Come,  O ye  Muses,  melodious,  as  ye  are  called, 
whether  you  have  received  this  name  from  the  character 
of  your  strains,  or  because  the  Melians1  are  a musical  race, 


441 

Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

Fair  play. 
Phaedrus  is 
determined 
to  extort  a 
speech  from 
Socrates,  as 
Socrates 
has  already 
extorted 
the  speech 
of  Lysias 
from  him- 
self. 


1 In  the  original,  \lyeiat,  Alyuts. 


442 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates. 


Before  we 
can  deter- 
mine whe- 
ther the 
non-lover  or 
lover  is  to 
be  preferred 
we  must  en- 
quire into 
the  nature 
of  love. 


There  are 
two  princi- 
ples in  man, 
rational  de- 
sire and  ir- 
rational : 
the  latter  is 
the  power 
of  love. 


Socrates  has  become  inspired 

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  now  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  some- 
times 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 


with  a new  sort  oj  discourse. 


443 


these  forms  when  very  marked  gives  a name,  neither  honour- 
able 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  leading1  conquers  and  by  the  force  of  passion 
is  reinforced,  from  this  very  force,  receiving  a name,  is  called 
love  (eppco/ifwos  epeosj.’ 

And  now,  dear  Phaedrus,  I shall  pause  for  an  instant 
to  ask  whether  you  do  not  think  me,  as  I appear  to  myself, 
inspired  ? 

Phaedr.  Yes,  Socrates,  you  seem  to  have  a very  unusual 
flow  of  words. 

Soc.  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  dithy- 
rambics. 

Phaedr.  Nothing  can  be  truer. 

Soc.  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  en- 
quire 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  plea- 
sure will  of  course  desire  to  make  his  beloved  as  agreeable 
to  himself  as  possible.  Now  to  him  who  has  a mind  diseased 

1 Reading  ayuyfi. 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


Socrates  at- 
tributes to 
inspiration 
the  flow  of 
words 
which  is  so 
unusual 
with  him. 


The  elderly  lover , disagreeable  while  loving, 


444 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates. 


The  lover 
desires  to 
secure  the 
inferiority 
and  subser- 
viency of 
thebeloved 


He  will 
banish  from 
him  society 
and  philo- 
sophy. 


He  will 
choose  an 
effeminate 
person 
for  his  be- 
loved, and 
train  him 
to  be  more 
effeminate. 


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  239 
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  im- 
planted 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  com- 
pelled 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  plea- 
sure 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 


445 


and  when  ceasing  to  love,  utterly  detestable. 

his  lover  in  the  matter  of  his  property;  this  is  the  next  Phaedms. 
point  to  be  considered.  4 he  lover  will  be  the  first  to  see  Socrates. 
what,  indeed,  will  be  sufficiently  evident  to  all  men,  that 
he  desires  above  all  things  to  deprive  his  beloved  of  his 
240  dearest  and  best  and  holiest  possessions,  father,  mother,  of  friends, 
kindred,  friends,  of  all  whom  he  thinks  may  be  hinderers  or  parent^ 
reprovers  of  their  most  sweet  converse ; he  will  even  cast  and  of 
a jealous  eye  upon  his  gold  and  silver  or  other  property,  e^jy°ther 
because  these  make  him  a less  easy  prey,  and  when  caught  go°  ' 
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  The  flat- 
are  dangerous  and  mischievous  enough,  and  yet  nature  has 
mingled  a temporary  pleasure  and  grace  in  their  composi-  San maybe 
tion.  You  may  say  that  a courtesan  is  hurtful,  and  dis- 
approve  of  such  creatures  and  their  practices,  and  yet  for  the  pernicious, 
time  they  are  very  pleasant.  But  the  lover  is  not  only  °,d 

hurtful  to  his  love ; he  is  also  an  extremely  disagreeable  iover  must 

companion.  The  old  proverb  says  that  ‘birds  of  a feather  always  be 
flock  together  ’ ; I suppose  that  equality  of  years  inclines  to  thelob_ 
them  to  the  same  pleasures,  and  similarity  begets  friendship  ; jectofhis 
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  de- 
lighted 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  lias  to  hear  misplaced 


446 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates. 


The  lover, 
having  ef- 
fected the 
ruin  of  his 
beloved  in 
body  and 
mind,  runs 
away  with- 
out paying, 


IV hat  the  beloved  suffers  from  the  lover. 

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,  but  when  his  love  ceases  he  becomes  a 
perfidious  enemy  of  him  on  whom  he  showered  his  oaths  241 
and  prayers  and  promises,  and  yet  could  hardly  prevail  upon 
him  to  tolerate  the  tedium  of  his  company  even  from  motives 
of  interest.  The  hour  of  payment  arrives,  and  now  he  is  the 
seivant  of  another  master  ; instead  of  love  and  infatuation, 
wisdom  and  temperance  are  his  bosom’s  lords;  but  the 
beloved  has  not  discovered  the  change  which  has  taken 
place  in  him,  when  he  asks  for  a return  and  recalls  to  his 
recollection  former  sayings  and  doings;  he  believes  himself 
to  be  speaking  to  the  same  person,  and  the  other,  not  having 
the  courage  to  confess  the  truth,  and  not  knowing  how  to 
fulfil  the  oaths  and  promises  which  he  made  when  under  the 
dominion  of  folly,  and  having  now  grown  wise  and  tem- 
perate, does  not  want  to  do  as  he  did  or  to  be  as  he  was 
before.  And  so  he  runs  away  and  is  constrained  to  be 
a defaulter;  the  oyster-shell1  has  fallen  with  the  other  side 
uppermost — he  changes  pursuit  into  flight,  while  the  other  is 
compelled  to  follow  him  with  passion  and  imprecation,  not 
knowing  that  He  ought  never  from  the  first  to  have  accepted 
a demented  lover  instead  of  a sensible  non-lover;  and  that  in 
making  such  a choice  he  was  giving  himself  up  to  a faithless, 
morose,  envious,  disagreeable  being,  hurtful  to  his  estate, 
hurtful  to  his  bodily  health,  and  still  more  hurtful  to  the 
cultivation  of  his  mind,  than  which  there  neither  is  nor  ever 
will  be  anything  more  honoured  in  the  eyes  both  of  gods 
and  men.  Consider  this,  fair  youth,  and  know  that  in  the 
friendship  of  the  lover  there  is  no  real  kindness;  he  has 
an  appetite  and  wants  to  feed  upon  you  : 

‘ As  wolves  love  lambs  so  lovers  love  their  loves.’ 

But  I told  you  so,  I am  speaking  in  verse,  and  therefore  I 
had  better  make  an  end  ; enough. 

1 In  allusion  to  a game  in  which  two  parties  fled  or  pursued  according  as 
an  oyster-shell  which  was  thrown  into  the  air  fell  with  the  dark  or  light  side 
uppermost. 


447 


Socrates  having  finished , proposes  to  return  home. 

Phctedr.  I thought  that  you  were  only  half-way  and  were  Phaedrm. 
going  to  make  a similar  speech  about  all  the  advantages  of  Socrates, 
accepting  the  non-lover.  Why  do  you  not  proceed  ? 

Soc.  Does  not  your  simplicity  observe  that  1 have  got  out  Enough:- 
of  dithyrambics  into  heroics,  when  only  uttering  a censure  said^n‘dis- 
on  the  lover  ? And  if  I am  to  add  the  praises  of  the  non-  praise^of 
lover  what  will  become  of  me?  Do  you  not  perceive  that  maybe 
1 am  already  overtaken  by  the  Nymphs  to  whom  you  have  converted^ 
mischievously  exposed  me  ? And  therefore  I will  only  add  ofthgnon_ 
that  the  non-lover  has  all  the  advantages  in  which  the  lover  lover, 
is  accused  of  being  deficient.  And  now  I will  say  no 
more ; there  has  been  enough  of  both  of  them.  Leaving 
the  tale  to  its  fate,  I will  cross  the  river  and  make  the 
best  of  my  way  home,  lest  a worse  thing  be  inflicted  upon 
me  by  you. 

Phaedr.  Not  yet,  Socrates  ; not  until  the  heat  of  the  day 
has  passed ; do  you  not  see  that  the  hour  is  almost  noon  ? 
there  is  the  midday  sun  standing  still,  as  people  say,  in  the 
meridian.  Let  us  rather  stay  and  talk  over  what  has  been 
said,  and  then  return  in  the  cool. 

Soc.  Your  love  of  discourse,  Phaedrus,  is  superhuman, 
simply  marvellous,  and  I do  not  believe  that  there  is  any  one 
of  your  contemporaries  who  has  either  made  or  in  one  way 
or  another  has  compelled  others  to  make  an  equal  number  of 
speeches.  I would  except  Simmias  the  Theban,  but  all  the 
rest  are  far  behind  you.  And  now  I do  verily  believe  that 
vou  have  been  the  cause  of  another. 

Phaedr.  That  is  good  news.  But  what  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  I mean  to  say  that  as  I was  about  to  cross  the  stream  The  divine 
the  usual  sign  was  given  to  me,  — that  sign  which  always 
forbids,  but  never  bids,  me  to  do  anything  which  I am  going  depart;  he 
to  do ; and  I thought  that  I heard  a voice  saying  in  my  ear 
that  I had  been  guilty  of  impiety,  and  that  I must  not  go  been  guilty 
away  until  I had  made  an  atonement.  Now  I am  a diviner,  of  impiety, 
though  not  a very  good  one,  but  I have  enough  religion  for 
my  own  use,  as  you  might  say  of  a bad  writer — his  writing  is 
good  enough  for  him  ; and  I am  beginning  to  see  that  I was 
in  error.  O my  friend,  how  prophetic  is  the  human  soul ! 

At  the  time  1 had  a sort  of  misgiving,  and,  like  Ibycus,  ‘ I 
was  troubled  ; 1 feared  that  I might  be  buying  honour  from 


448 


But  he  is  detained  by  a presentiment. 


Phaedrus. 

Sockates, 

Phaedrus. 


The  two 
speeches 
were  a 
blasphemy 
against  the 
God  of 
love. 
Socrates 
therefore 
before  any 
evil  hap- 
pens to 
him  will 
make  a re- 
cantation. 


men  at  the  price  of  sinning  against  the  gods.’  Now  I re- 
cognize my  error. 

Phaedr.  What  error  ? 

Soc.  That  was  a dreadful  speech  which  you  brought  with 
you,  and  you  made  me  utter  one  as  bad. 

Phaedr.  H ow  so  ? 

Soc.  It  was  foolish,  I say, — to  a certain  extent,  impious; 
can  anything  be  more  dreadful? 

Phaedr.  Nothing,  if  the  speech  was  really  such  as  you 
describe. 

Soc.  Well,  and  is  not  Eros  the  son  of  Aphrodite,  and 
a god  ? 

Phaedr.  So  men  say. 

Soc.  But  that  was  not  acknowledged  by  Lysias  in  his 
speech,  nor  by  you  in  that  other  speech  which  you  by  a 
charm  drew  from  my  lips.  For  if  love  be,  as  he  surely  is, 
a divinity,  he  cannot  be  evil.  Yet  this  was  the  error  of  both 
the  speeches.  There  was  also  a simplicity  about  them 
which  was  refreshing ; having  no  truth  or  honesty  in  them,  243 
nevertheless  they  pretended  to  be  something,  hoping  to 
succeed  in  deceiving  the  manikins  of  earth  and  gain  celebrity 
among  them.  Wherefore  I must  have  a purgation.  And  I 
bethink  me  of  an  ancient  purgation  of  mythological  error 
which  was  devised,  not  by  Homer,  for  he  never  had  the  wit 
to  discover  why  he  was  blind,  but  by  Stesichorus,  who  was 
a philosopher  and  knew  the  reason  why;  and  therefore, 
when  he  lost  his  eyes,  for  that  was  the  penalty  which  was 
inflicted  upon  him  for  reviling  the  lovety  Helen,  he  at  once 
purged  himself.  And  the  purgation  was  a recantation, 
which  began  thus, — 

‘ False  is  that  word  of  mine — the  truth  is  that  thou  didst  not  embark 
in  ships,  nor  ever  go  to  the  walls  of  Troy 

and  when  he  had  completed  his  poem,  which  is  called  ' the 
recantation,’  immediately  his  sight  returned  to  him.  Now 
I will  be  wiser  than  either  Stesichorus  or  Homer,  in  that  I 
am  going  to  make  my  recantation  for  reviling  love  before 
I suffer ; and  this  I will  attempt,  not  as  before,  veiled  and 
ashamed,  but  with  forehead  bold  and  bare. 

Phaedr.  Nothing  could  be  more  agreeable  to  me  than  to 
hear  you  say  so. 


449 


The  impiety  oj  the  two  discourses. 

Soc.  Only  think,  my  good  Phaedrus,  what  an  utter  want 
of  delicacy  was  shown  in  the  two  discourses ; I mean,  in  my 
own  and  in  that  which  you  recited  out  of  the  book.  Would 
not  any  one  who  was  himself  of  a noble  and  gentle  nature, 
and  who  loved  or  ever  had  loved  a nature  like  his  own, 
when  we  tell  of  the  petty  causes  of  lovers’  jealousies,  and  of 
their  exceeding  animosities,  and  of  the  injuries  which  they  do 
to  their  beloved,  have  imagined  that  our  ideas  of  love  were 
taken  from  some  haunt  of  sailors  to  which  good  manners 
were  unknown  — he  would  certainly  never  have  admitted  the 
justice  of  our  censure? 

Phaedr.  I dare  say  not,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Therefore,  because  I blush  at  the  thought  of  this 
person,  and  also  because  I am  afraid  of  Love  himself,  I 
desire  to  wash  the  brine  out  of  my  ears  with  water  from  the 
spring ; and  I would  counsel  Lysias  not  to  delay,  but  to 
write  another  discourse,  which  shall  prove  that  ‘ ceteris 
paribus’  the  lover  ought  to  be  accepted  rather  than  the  non- 
lover. 

Phaedr.  Be  assured  that  he  shall.  You  shall  speak  the 
praises  of  the  lover,  and  Lysias  shall  be  compelled  by  me  to 
write  another  discourse  on  the  same  theme. 

Soc.  You  will  be  true  to  your  nature  in  that,  and  therefore 
I believe  you. 

Phaedr.  Speak,  and  fear  not. 

Soc.  But  where  is  the  fair  youth  whom  I was  addressing 
before,  and  who  ought  to  listen  now ; lest,  if  he  hear  me  not, 
he  should  accept  a non-lover  before  he  knows  wh'at  he  is 
doing? 

Phaedr.  He  is  close  at  hand,  and  always  at  your  service. 

Soc.  Know  then,  fair  youth,  that  the  former  discourse  was 
244  the  word  of  Phaedrus,  the  son  of  Vain  Man,  who  dwells  in 
the  city  of  Myrrhina  (Myrrhinusius).  And  this  which  I am 
about  to  utter  is  the  recantation  of  Stesichorus  the  son  of 
Godly  Man  (Euphemus),  who  comes  from  the  town  of 
Desire  (Himera),  and  is  to  the  following  effect:  ‘I  told 
a lie  when  I said  ’ that  the  beloved  ought  to  accept  the  non- 
lover when  he  might  have  the  lover,  because  the  one  is 
sane,  and  the  other  mad.  It  might  be  so  if  madness  were 
simply  an  evil ; but  there  is  also  a madness  which  is  a 

VOL.  i.  eg 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

The  love 
which  they 
described 
was  of  a 
very  mean 
and  ignoble 
sort. 


The  second 
discourse  of 
Socrates : — 
the  purport 
of  this  is  to 
show  that 
love  is  a 
madness  of 
the  noble 
sort. 


45^ 

Phaedrus. 

Socrates. 

This  mad- 
ness is 
of  four 
kinds : — 

i.  Prophe- 
cy is  mad- 
ness, as  is 
proved  by 
considera- 
tions of 
philology. 


2.  The  in- 
spiration 
which 
purges 
away  an- 
cient wrath. 


The  palinode. 

divine  gift,  and  the  source  of  the  chiefest  blessings  granted 
to  men.  For  prophecy  is  a madness,  and  the  prophetess  at 
Delphi  and  the  priestesses  at  Dodona  when  out  of  their 
senses  have  conferred  great  benefits  on  Hellas,  both  in 
public  and  private  life,  but  when  in  their  senses  few  or 
none.  And  1 might  also  tell  you  how  the  Sibyl  and  other 
inspired  persons  have  given  to  many  an  one  many  an  in- 
timation of  the  future  which  has  saved  them  from  falling. 
But  it  would1  be  tedious  to  speak  of  what  every  one  knows. 

There  will  be  more  reason  in  appealing  to  the  ancient 
inventors  of  names1,  who  would  never  have  connected  pro- 
phecy (ixavTiKrj),  which  foretells  the  future  and  is  the  noblest 
of  arts,  with  madness  (p avt*)),  or  called  them  both  by  the 
same  name,  if  they  had  deemed  madness  to  be  a disgrace  or 
dishonour; — they  must  have  thought  that  there  was  an 
inspired  madness  which  was  a noble  thing;  for  the  two 
words,  fxcivTLKrj  and  are  really  the  same,  and  the  letter 

r is  only  a modern  and  tasteless  insertion.  And  this  is  con- 
firmed by  the  name  which  was  given  by  them  to  the  rational 
investigation  of  futurity,  whether  made  by  the  help  of  birds 
or  of  other  signs — this,  for  as  much  as  it  is  an  art  which 
supplies  from  the  reasoning  faculty  mind  (v<w)  and  inform- 
ation ( 'urropia ) to  human  thought  (oirjiTis),  they  originally 
termed  oIovoio-tikI /,  but  the  word  has  been  lately  altered  and 
made  sonorous  by  the  modern  introduction  of  the  letter 
Omega  (oiovourruo)  and  olcoviariKrj),  and  in  proportion  as 
prophecy  (/ uavriKt ))  is  more  perfect  and  august  than  augury, 
both  in  name  and  fact,  in  the  same  proportion,  as  the 
ancients  testify,  is  madness  superior  to  a sane  mind  (craxfrpo- 
o-vvt]),  for  the  one  is  only  of  human,  but  the  other  of  divine 
origin.  Again,  where  plagues  and  mightiest  woes  have  bred 
in  certain  families,  owing  to  some  ancient  blood-guiltiness, 
there  madness  has  entered  with  holy  prayers  and  rites,  and 
by  inspired  utterances  found  a way  of  deliverance  for  those 
who  are  in  need ; and  he  who  has  part  in  this  gift,  and  is 
truly  possessed  and  duly  out  of  his  mind,  is  by  the  use  of 
purifications  and  mysteries  made  whole  and  exempt  from 
evil,  future  as  well  as  present,  and  has  a release  from  the 


1 Cp.  Cratvlus  38S  foil. 


The  divine  madness 


45 1 


45  calamity  which  was  afflicting  him.  The  third  kind  is  the 
madness  of  those  who  are  possessed  by  the  Muses;  which 
taking  hold  of  a delicate  and  virgin  soul,  and  there  inspiring 
frenzy,  awakens  lyrical  and  all  other  numbers;  with  these 
adorning  the  myriad  actions  of  ancient  heroes  for  the  in- 
struction of  posterity.  But  he  who,  having  no  touch  of  the 
Muses’  madness  in  his  soul,  comes  to  the  door  and  thinks 
that  he  will  get  into  the  temple  by  the  help  of  art  he,  I 
say,  and  his  poetry  are  not  admitted ; the  sane  man  dis- 
appears and  is  nowhere  when  he  enters  into  rivalry  with  the 
madman. 

I might  tell  of  many  other  noble  deeds  which  have  sprung 
from  inspired  madness.  And  therefore,  let  no  one  frighten 
or  flutter  us  by  saying  that  the  temperate  friend  is  to  be 
chosen  rather  than  the  inspired,  but  let  him  further  show 
that  love  is  not  sent  by  the  gods  for  any  good  to  lover  or 
beloved  ; if  he  can  do  so  we  will  allow  him  to  carry  oft  the 
palm.  And  we,  on  our  part,  will  prove  in  answer  to  him  that 
the  madness  of  love  is  the  greatest  of  heaven’s  blessings,  and 
the  proof  shall  be  one  which  the  wise  will  receive,  and  the 
witling  disbelieve.  But  first  of  all,  let  us  view  the  affections 
and  actions  of  the  soul  divine  and  human,  and  try  to  ascer- 
tain the  truth  about  them.  The  beginning  of  our  proof  is  as 
follows : — 

JThe  soul  through  all  her  being  is  immortal,  for  that  which 
is  ever  in  motion  is  immortal ; but  that  which  moves  another 
and  is  moved  by  another,  in  ceasing  to  move  ceases  also  to 
live.  Only  the  self-moving,  never  leaving  self,  never  ceases 
to  move,  and  is  the  fountain  and  beginning  of  motion  to  all 
that  moves  besides.  Now,  the  beginning  is  unbegotten,  for 
that  which  is  begotten  has  a beginning ; but  the  beginning 
is  begotten  of  nothing,  for  if  it  were  begotten  of  something, 
then  the  begotten  would  not  come  from  a beginning.  But  it 
unbegotten,  it  must  also  be  indestructible ; for  if  beginning 
were  destroyed,  there  could  be  no  beginning  out  of  any- 
thing, nor  anything  out  of  a beginning;  and  all  things  must 
have  a beginning.  And  therefore  the  self-moving  is  the 
beginning  of  motion  ; and  this  can  neither  be  destroyed  nor 


Phaedms. 

Socrates. 

3.  Poetry  is 
madness. 


4.  Love  is 
madness. 


Soul  is  self- 
moving, 
and  there- 
fore immor- 
tal and  un- 
begotten. 


1 Translated  by  Cic.  Tus.  Quaest.  s.  24. 
G g 2 


45-’ 


Ike  mortal  and  immortal  creature. 


PhaeJrus. 

Socrates. 


The  soul 
described 
under  the 
image  of 
two  winged 
horses  and 
a chariot- 
eer. 


The  wing  is 
the  element 
of  earth 
which  soars 
upward. 


begotten,  else  the  whole  heavens  and  all  creation  would 
collapse  and  stand  still,  and  never  again  have  motion  or 
birth.  But  if  the  self-moving  is  proved  to  be  immortal,  he 
who  affirms  that  self-motion  is  the  very  idea  and  essence  of 
the  soul  will  not  be  put  to  confusion.  For  the  body  which 
is  moved  from  without  is  soulless;  but  that  which  is  moved 
from  within  has  a soul,  for  such  is  the  nature  of  the  soul. 

But  if  this  be  true,  must  not  the  soul  be  the  self-moving,  and  246 
therefore  of  necessity  unbegotten  and  immortal  ? Enough 
of  the  soul’s  immortality. 

Ol  the  nature  of  the  soul,  though  her  true  form  be  ever 
a theme  of  large  and  more  than  mortal  discourse,  let  me 
speak  briefly,  and  in  a figure.  And  let  the  figure  be  com- 
posite— a pair  of  winged  horses  and  a charioteer.  Now  the 
winged  horses  and  the  charioteers  of  the  gods  are  all  of  them 
noble  and  of  noble  descent,  but  those  of  other  races  are 
mixed  ; the  human  charioteer  drives  his  in  a pair;  and  one 
of  them  is  noble  and  of  noble  breed,  and  the  other  is  ignoble 
and  of  ignoble  breed ; and  the  driving  of  them  of  necessity 
gives  a great  deal  of  trouble  to  him.  I will  endeavour  to 
explain  to  3^0  u in  what  way  the  mortal  differs  from  the 
immortal  creature.  The  soul  in  her  totality  has  the  care 
of  inanimate  being  everywhere,  and  traverses  the  whole 
heaven  in  divers  forms  appearing ;— when  perfect  and  fully 
winged  she  soars  upward,  and  orders  the  whole  world ; 
whereas  the  imperfect  soul,  losing  her  wings  and  drooping 
in  her  flight  at  last  settles  on  the  solid  ground — there, 
finding  a home,  she  receives  an  earthly  frame  which  appears 
to  be  self-moved,  but  is  really  moved  by  her  power ; and 
this  composition  of  soul  and  body  is  called  a living  and 
mortal  creature.  For  immortal  no  such  union  can  be 
reasonably  believed  to  be ; although  fancy,  not  having  seen 
nor  surely  known  the  nature  of  God,  may  imagine  an 
immortal  creature  having  both  a body  and  also  a soul  which 
are  united  throughout  all  time.  Let  that,  however,  be  as 
God  wills,  and  be  spoken  of  acceptably  to  him.  And  now 
let  us  ask  the  reason  why  the  soul  loses  her  wings ! 

The  wing  is  the  corporeal  element  which  is  most  akin  to 
the  divine,  and  which  by  nature  tends  to  soar  aloft  and 
carry  that  which  gravitates  downwards  into  the  upper 


The  procession  oj  the  Gods. 


453 


region,  which  is  the  habitation  of  the  gods.  The  divine  is 
beauty,  wisdom,  goodness,  and  the  like  ; and  by  these  the 
wing  of  the  soul  is  nourished,  and  grows  apace ; but  when 
fed  upon  evil  and  foulness  and  the  opposite  of  good,  wastes 
and  falls  away.  Zeus,  the  mighty  lord,  holding  the  reins  of 
a winged  chariot,  leads  the  way  in  heaven,  ordering  all  and 
taking  care  of  all ; and  there  follows  him  the  array  of  gods 
247  and  demi-gods,  marshalled  in  eleven  bands;  Hestia  alone 
abides  at  home  in  the  house  of  heaven  ; of  the  rest  they  who 
are  reckoned  among  the  princely  twelve  march  in  their 
appointed  order.  They  see  many  blessed  sights  in  the 
inner  heaven,  and  there  are  many  ways  to  and  fro,  along 
which  the  blessed  gods  are  passing,  every  one  doing  his 
own  work ; he  may  follow  who  will  and  can,  for  jealousy 
has  no  place  in  the  celestial  choir.  But  when  they  go  to 
banquet  and  festival,  then  they  move  up  the  steep  to  the  top 
of  the  vault  of  heaven.  The  chariots  of  the  gods  in  even 
poise,  obeying  the  rein,  glide  rapidly;  but  the  others  labour, 
for  the  vicious  steed  goes  heavily,  weighing  down  the 
charioteer  to  the  earth  when  his  steed  has  not  been 
thoroughly  trained : — and  this  is  the  hour  of  agony  and 
extremest  conflict  for  the  soul.  For  the  immortals,  when 
they  are  at  the  end  of  their  course,  go  forth  and  stand  upon 
the  outside  of  heaven,  and  the  revolution  of  the  spheres 
carries  them  round,  and  they  behold  the  things  beyond. 
But  of  the  heaven  which  is  above  the  heavens,  what  earthly 
poet  ever  did  or  ever  will  sing  worthily?  It  is  such  as  I will 
describe ; for  I must  dare  to  speak  the  truth,  when  truth  is 
my  theme.  There  abides  the  very  being  with  which  true 
knowledge  is  concerned ; the  colourless,  formless,  intangible 
essence,  visible  only  to  mind,  the  pilot  of  the  soul.  The 
divine  intelligence,  being  nurtured  upon  mind  and  pure  know- 
ledge, and  the  intelligence  of  every  soul  which  is  capable  of 
receiving  the  food  proper  to  it,  rejoices  at  beholding  reality, 
and  once  more  gazing  upon  truth,  is  replenished  and  made 
glad,  until  the  revolution  of  the  worlds  brings  her  round 
again  to  the  same  place.  In  the  revolution  she  beholds 
justice,  and  temperance,  and  knowledge  absolute,  not  in  the 
form  of  generation  or  of  relation,  which  men  call  exist- 
ence, but  knowledge  absolute  in  existence  absolute;  and 


Phaedrus. 

SOCKATES. 


The  great 
festival  of 
the  Gods, 
which  is 
celebrated 
in  the  outer 
heavens : 
mortals 
feebly  fol- 
low. 


The  revolu- 
tion of  the 
worlds  in 
which  the 
soul  beholds 
all  truth. 


454 


Transmigration  of  souls. 


' Phaedrus. 
Socrates. 


'I  he  trouble 
of  other 
souls  in  the 
upper 
world. 


They  drop 
to  earth 
and  pass 
into  many 
natures  of 
men. 


beholding  the  other  true  existences  in  like  manner,  and 
feasting  upon  them,  she  passes  down  into  the  interior  of  the 
heavens  and  returns  home  ; and  there  the  charioteer  putting 
up  his  horses  at  the  stall,  gives  them  ambrosia  to  eat  and 
nectar  to  drink. 

Such  is  the  life  of  the  gods  ; but  of  other  souls,  that  which  248 
follows  God  best  and  is  likest  to  him  lifts  the  head  of  the 
charioteer  into  the  outer  world,  and  is  carried  round  in  the 
revolution,  troubled  indeed  by  the  steeds,  and  with  difficulty 
beholding  true  being;  while  another  only  rises  and  falls, 
and  sees,  and  again  fails  to  see  by  reason  of  the  unruliness 
of  the  steeds.  The  rest  of  the  souls  are  also  longing  after 
the  upper  world  and  they  all  follow,  but  not  being  strong 
enough  they  are  carried  round  below  the  surface,  plunging, 
treading  on  one  another,  each  striving  to  be  first ; and  there 
is  confusion  and  perspiration  and  the  extremity  of  effort ; 
and  many  of  them  are  lamed  or  have  their  wings  broken 
through  the  ill-driving  of  the  charioteers ; and  all  of  them 
after  a fruitless  toil,  not  having  attained  to  the  mysteries  of 
true  being,  go  away,  and  feed  upon  opinion.  The  reason 
why  the  souls  exhibit  this  exceeding  eagerness  to  behold 
the  plain  of  truth  is  that  pasturage  is  found  there,  which  is 
suited  to  the  highest  part  of  the  soul ; and  the  wing  on 
which  the  soul  soars  is  nourished  with  this.  And  there  is 
a law  of  Destiny,  that  the  soul  which  attains  any  vision  of 
truth  in  company  with  a god  is  preserved  from  harm  until 
the  next  period,  and  if  attaining  always  is  always  unharmed 
But  when  she  is  unable  to  follow,  and  fails  to  behold  the 
truth,  and  through  some  ill-hap  sinks  beneath  the  double 
load  of  forgetfulness  and  vice,  and  her  wings  fall  from  her 
and  she  drops  to  the  ground,  then  the  law  ordains  that  this 
soul  shall  at  her  first  birth  pass,  not  into  any  other  animal, 
but  only  into  man ; and  the  soul  which  has  seen  most  of 
truth  shall  come  to  the  birth  as  a philosopher,  or  artist,  or 
some  musical  and  loving  nature ; that  which  has  seen  truth 
in  the  second  degree  shall  be  some  righteous  king  or 
warrior  chief;  the  soul  which  is  of  the  third  class  shall  be 
a politician,  or  economist,  or  trader;  the  fourth  shall  be  a 
lover  of  gymnastic  toils,  or  a physician  ; the  fifth  shall  lead 
the  life  of  a prophet  or  hierophant;  to  the  sixth  the 


455 


The  fourth  kind  of  madness. 

character  of  a poet  or  some  other  imitative  artist  will  be 
assigned ; to  the  seventh  the  life  of  an  artisan  or  husband- 
man0; to  the  eighth  that  of  a sophist  or  demagogue ; to  the 
ninth  that  of  a tyrant all  these  are  states  of  probation,  in 
which  he  who  does  righteously  improves,  and  he  who  does 
unrighteously,  deteriorates  his  lot. 

Ten  thousand  years  must  elapse  before  the  soul  of  each 
one  can  return  to  the  place  from  whence  she  came,  for  she 
249  cannot  grow  her  wings  in  less ; only  the  soul  of  a philoso- 
pher, guileless  and  true,  or  the  soul  of  a lover,  who  is  not 
devoid  of  philosophy,  may  acquire  wings  in  the  third  of  the 
recurring  periods  of  a thousand  years ; he  is  distinguished 
from  the  ordinary  good  man  who  gains  wings  in  three 
thousand  years  : — and  they  who  choose  this  life  three  times 
in  succession  have  wings  given  them,  and  go  away  at  the 
end  of  three  thousand  years.  But  the  others1  receive  judg- 
ment when  they  have  completed  their  first  life,  and  after  the 
judgment  they  go,  some  of  them  to  the  houses  of  correction 
which  are  under  the  earth,  and  are  punished  ; others  to 
some  place  in  heaven  whither  they  are  lightly  borne  by 
justice,  and  there  they  live  in  a manner  worthy  of  the  life 
which  they  led  here  when  in  the  form  of  men.  And  at  the 
end  of  the  first  thousand  years  the  good  souls  and  also  the 
evil  souls  both  come  to  draw  lots  and  choose  their  second 
life,  and  they  may  take  any  which  they  please.  The  soul 
of  a man  may  pass  into  the  life  of  a beast,  or  from  the  beast 
return  again  into  the  man.  But  the  soul  which  has  never 
seen  the  truth  will  not  pass  into  the  human  form.  For  a 
man  must  have  intelligence  of  universals,  and  be  able  to 
proceed  from  the  many  particulars  of  sense  to  one  concep- 
tion of  reason  ; — this  is  the  recollection  of  those  things  which 
our  soul  once  saw  while  Following  God — when  regardless 
of  that  which  we  now  call  being  she  raised  her  head  up 
towards  the  true  being.  And  therefore  the  mind  of  the 
philosopher  alone  has  wings ; and  this  is  just,  for  he  is 
always,  according  to  the  measure  of  his  abilities,  clinging 
in  recollection  to  those  things  in  which  God  abides,  and  in 
beholding  which  He  is  what  He  is.  And  he  who  employs 

1 The  philosopher  alone  is  not  subject  to  judgment  (/cpi'ors),  for  he  has 
never  lost  the  vision  of  truth. 


rhaedrtts. 

Socrates. 


The  com- 
mon soul 
can  only 
grow  wings 
in  ten  thou- 
sand years  ; 
the  philoso- 
pher or  phi- 
losopher- 
lover  ac- 
quires them 
in  three 
thousand . 

The  judg- 
ment. 


The  souls 
of  those 
who  have 
never  seen 
general  no- 
tions will 
never  pass 
into  men. 


456 

Phaedrus. 

Socrates. 


The  true 
light  is  the 
recollection 
of  the  past. 


J he  vision  of  heavenly  beauty. 

aright  these  memories  is  ever  being  initiated  into  perfect 
mysteries  and  alone  becomes  truly  perfect.  But,  as  he 
forgets  earthly  interests  and  is  rapt  in  the  divine,  the  vulgar 
deem  him  mad,  and  rebuke  him ; they  do  not  see  that  he 
is  inspired. 

Thus  far  I have  been  speaking  of  the  fourth  and  last  kind 
of  madness,  which  is  imputed  to  him  who,  when  he  sees  the 
beauty  of  earth,  is  transported  with  the  recollection  of  the 
true  beauty;  he  would  like  to  fly  away,  but  he  cannot;  he  is 
like  a bird  fluttering  and  looking  upward  and  careless  of  the 
world  below ; and  he  is  therefore  thought  to  be  mad.  And 
I have  shown  this  of  all  inspirations  to  be  the  noblest  and 
highest  and  the  offspring  of  the  highest  to  him  who  has  or 
shares  in  it,  and  that  he  who  loves  the  beautiful  is  called 
a lover  because  he  partakes  of  it.  For,  as  has  been  already 
said,  every  soul  of  man  has  in  the  way  of  nature  beheld  true 
being;  this  was  the  condition  of  her  passing  into  the  form 
of  man.  But  all  souls  do  not  easily  recall  the  things  of  the  250 
other  world ; they  may  have  seen  them  for  a short  time 
only,  or  they  may  have  been  unfortunate  in  their  earthly 
lot,  and,  having  had  their  hearts  turned  to  unrighteousness 
through  some  corrupting  influence,  they  may  have  lost  the 
memory  of  the  holy  things  which  once  they  saw.  Few  only 
retain  an  adequate  remembrance  of  them  ; and  they,  when 
they  behold  here  any  image  of  that  other  world,  are  rapt  in 
amazement ; but  they  are  ignorant  of  what  this  rapture 
means,  because  they  do  not  clearly  perceive.  For  there  is 
no  light  of  justice  or  temperance  or  any  of  the  higher  ideas 
which  are  precious  to  souls  in  the  earthly  copies  of  them  : 
they  are  seen  through  a glass  dimly;  and  there  are  few  who, 
going  to  the  images,  behold  in  them  the  realities,  and  these 
only  with  difficulty.  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  com- 
pany 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  inno- 
cence, 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 


45  7 

Phaednis. 


The  pangs  of  new  birth. 

pure  light,  pure  ourselves  and  not  yet  enshrined  in  that 
living  tomb  which  we  carry  about,  now  that  we  are  im- 
prisoned 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  equalfy  lovely.  But  this  is  the  pri- 
vilege of  beaut}'-,  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 
i beast  he  rushes  on  to  enjoy  and  beget ; he  consorts  with 
wantonness,  and  is  not  afraid  or  ashamed  of  pursuing  plea- 
sure 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 


Socrates. 


We  find 
beauty  here 
on  earth, 
but  of  wis- 
dom there 
is  no  visi- 
ble image. 


The  recol- 
lection of 
the  true 
beauty 
quickly 
fades,  but  is 
renewed 
with  a sort 
of  ecstasy  at 
the  sight  of 
the  higher 
beauties  of 
earth. 


458 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates. 


' Fruitio 
dei.’ 


The  souls  who  wait  upon  the  Gods 

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  (Vp°*),  ar>d  *s  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  pulsa- 
tions 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  252 
the  reason  why  the  soul  of  the  lover  will  never  forsake 
his  beautiful  one,  whom  he  esteems  above  all ; he  has  for- 
gotten 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  : — 


take  the  nature  of  the  God  whom  they  choose. 

< Mortals  call  him  fluttering  love, 

But  the  immortals  call  him  winged  one, 

Because  the  growing  of  wings1  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  Thesoub 
better  able  to  bear  the  winged  god,  and  can  endure  a heavier  choose  each 
burden  ; but  the  attendants  and  companions  of  Ares,  when  a Deity  who 
under  the  influence  of  love,  il  they  fancy  that  they  have  been  to  their  own 
at  all  wronged,  are  ready  to  kill  and  put  an  end  to  themselves  nature, 
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 
253  difficulty  in  finding  the  nature  of  their  own  god  in  them- 
selves, 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  They  walk 
a royal  love,  and  when  they  have  found  him  they  do  just  the 
same  with  him  ; and  in  like  manner  the  followers  of  Apollo,  god. 

1 Or,  reading  itTtpA<ponov,  ‘the  movement  of  wings. 


459 

Phacdrus. 

Socrates. 


460 


J he  tzoo  steeds  and  the  charioteer. 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates. 


The  cha- 
racters of 
the  two 
steeds. 


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  enter- 
tained 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  re- 
main, 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  1 ; 
the  mate  of  insolence  and  pride,  shag-eared  and  deaf,  hardly 
yielding  to  whip  and  spur.  Now  when  the  charioteer  be- 
holds 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  govern-  254 
ment  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 
1 Or  with  grey  and  blood-shot  eyes. 


The  victory  over  the  unruly  steed. 

bids  them.  And  now  they  are  at  the  spot  and  behold  the 
flashing;  beauty  of  the  beloved ; which  when  the  charioted 
sees,  Ids  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  for- 
gotten, 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. 

5 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  ad- 
mirer1, if  in  former  days  he  has  blushed  to  own  his  passion 

* Omitting  els  r axiTbv  a.yei  ryv  ipi\lav. 


46  r 

Phaedrus. 

Socrates. 

At  the 
vision  of 
beauty  the 
ill-condi- 
tioned steed 
rushes  on 
to  enjoy, 
but  is  re- 
strained by 
his  com- 
panion and 
by  the 
charioteer. 


The  con- 
flict grows 
worse  and 
worse. 


462 


Phaedrus. 


Socrates. 


The  perfect 
communion 
of  the 
good. 


The  reflec- 
tion of  the 
beloved  in 
the  lover. 


Some  satis- 
faction of 
sensual 
pleasure 
also 

granted. 


The  perfect  vision  of  the  beloved. 

and  turned  away  his  lover,  because  his  youthful  companions 
or  others  slanderously  told  him  that  he  would  be  disgraced, 
now  as  years  advance,  at  the  appointed  age  and  time,  is  led 
to  receive  him  into  communion.  For  fate  which  has  ordained 
that  there  shall  be  no  friendship  among  the  evil  has  also 
ordained  that  there  shall  ever  be  friendship  among  the  good. 
And  the  beloved  when  he  has  received  him  into  communion 
and  intimacy,  is  quite  amazed  at  the  good-will  of  the  lover ; 
he  recognises  that  the  inspired  friend  is  worth  all  other 
friends  or  kinsmen  ; they  have  nothing  of  friendship  in  them 
worthy  to  be  compared  with  his.  And  when  this  feeling 
continues  and  he  is  nearer  to  him  and  embraces  him,  in 
gymnastic  exercises  and  at  other  times  of  meeting,  then  the 
fountain  of  that  stream,  which  Zeus  when  he  was  in  love 
with  Ganymede  named  Desire,  overflows  upon  the  lover, 
and  some  enters  into  his  soul,  and  some  when  he  is  filled 
flows  out  again  ; and  as  a breeze  or  an  echo  rebounds  from 
the  smooth  rocks  and  returns  whence  it  came,  so  does  the 
stream  of  beauty,  passing  through  the  eyes  which  are  the 
windows  of  the  soul,  come  back  to  the  beautiful  one ; there 
arriving  and  quickening  the  passages  of  the  wings,  watering 
them  and  inclining  them  to  grow,  and  filling  the  soul  of  the 
beloved  also  with  love.  And  thus  he  loves,  but  he  knows 
not  what ; he  does  not  understand  and  cannot  explain  his 
own  state  ; he  appears  to  have  caught  the  infection  of  blind- 
ness from  another ; the  lover  is  his  mirror  in  whom  he  is 
beholding  himself,  but  he  is  not  aware  of  this.  When  he 
is  with  the  lover,  both  cease  from  their  pain,  but  when  he  is 
away  then  he  longs  as  he  is  longed  for,  and  has  love’s  image, 
love  for  love  (Anteros)  lodging  in  his  breast,  which  he  calls 
and  believes  to  be  not  love  but  friendship  only,  and  his 
desire  is  as  the  desire  of  the  other,  but  weaker ; he  wants  to 
see  him,  touch  him,  kiss,  embrace  him,  and  probably  not  long 
afterwards  his  desire  is  accomplished.  When  they  meet,  the 
wanton  steed  of  the  lover  has  a word  to  say  to  the  cha- 
rioteer ; he  would  like  to  have  a little  pleasure  in  return  for  256 
many  pains,  but  the  wanton  steed  of  the  beloved  says  not 
a word,  for  he  is  bursting  with  passion  which  he  understands 
not ; — he  throws  his  arms  round  the  lover  and  embraces  him 
as  his  dearest  friend  ; and,  when  they  are  side  by  side,  he  is 


463 


The  higher  and  lower  life. 

not  in  a state  in  which  he  can  refuse  the  lover  anything,  if  he  PAatdrus. 
ask  him  ; although  his  fellow-steed  and  the  charioteer  oppose  Socrates. 
him  with  the  arguments  of  shame  and  reason.  After  this  The  har- 
their  happiness  depends  upon  their  self-control ; if  the  better  |"°ny  of 
elements  of  the  mind  which  lead  to  order  and  philosophy 
prevail,  then  the}'  pass  their  life  here  in  happiness  and  har- 
mony— masters  of  themselves  and  orderly  enslaving  the 
vicious  and  emancipating  the  virtuous  elements  of  the  soul ; 
and  when  the  end  comes,  they  are  light  and  winged  foi 
flight,  having  conquered  in  one  of  the  three  heavenly  or 
truly  Olympian  victories  ; nor  can  human  discipline  or  divine 
inspiration  confer  any  greater  blessing  on  man  than  this.  If,  ^^sophy 
on  the  other  hand,  they  leave  philosophy  and  lead  the  lower  ^nd  the 
life  of  ambition,  then  probably,  after  wine  or  in  some  other  lower  life  of 
careless  hour,  the  two  wanton  animals  take  the  two  souls  when 
oft'  their  guard  and  bring  them  together,  and  they  accomplish 
that  desire  of  their  hearts  which  to  the  many  is  bliss ; and 
this  having  once  enjoyed  they  continue  to  enjoy,  yet  rarely 
because  they  have  not  the  approval  of  the  whole  soul.  They 
too  are  dear,  but  not  so  dear  to  one  another  as  the  others, 
either  at  the  time  of  their  love  or  afterwards.  They  consider 
that  they  have  given  and  taken  from  each  other  the  most 
sacred  pledges,  and  they  may  not  break  them  and  fall  into 
enmity.  At  last  they  pass  out  of  the  body,  unwinged,  but 
eager  to  soar,  and  thus  obtain  no  mean  reward  of  love  and 
madness.  For  those  who  have  once  begun  the  heavenward 
pilgrimage  may  not  go  down  again  to  darkness  and  the 
journey  beneath  the  earth,  but  they  live  in  light  always ; 
happy  companions  in  their  pilgrimage,  and  when  the  time  The  end  of 
comes  at  which  they  receive  their  wings  they  have  the  same 
plumage  because  of  their  love. 

Thus  great  are  the  heavenly  blessings  which  the  friendship 
of  a lover  will  confer  upon  you,  my  youth.  Whereas  the 
attachment  of  the  non-lover,  which  is  alloyed  with  a worldly 
prudence  and  has  worldly  and  niggardly  ways  of  doling  out 
benefits,  will  breed  in  your  soul  those  vulgar  qualities  which 
the  populace  applaud,  will  send  you  bowling  round  the  earth 
257  during  a period  of  nine  thousand  years,  and  leave  you  a fool 
in  the  world  below. 

And  thus,  dear  Eros,  I have  made  and  paid  my  recantation, 


464 


Lysias  and  Phaednts. 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

The  poeti- 
cal form  is 
only  in- 
tended to 
please 
Phaedrus. 


The  speech 
is  far  finer 
than  that  of 
Lysias,  who 
will  be  out 
of  conceit 
with  him- 
self. 


The  poli- 
ticians are 
fond  of 
writing. 


as  well  and  as  fairly  as  I could ; more  especially  in  the 
matter  of  the  poetical  figures  which  I was  compelled  to  use, 
because  Phaedrus  would  have  them  \ And  now  forgive  the 
past  and  accept  the  present,  and  be  gracious  and  merciful  to 
me,  and  do  not  in  thine  anger  deprive  me  of  sight,  or  take 
from  me  the  art  of  love  which  thou  hast  given  me,  but  grant 
that  I may  be  yet  more  esteemed  in  the  eyes  of  the  fair. 
And  if  Phaedrus  or  I myself  said  anything  rude  in  our  first 
speeches,  blame  Lysias,  who  is  the  father  of  the  brat,  and 
let  us  have  no  more  of  his  progeny;  bid  him  study  philo- 
sophy,  like  his  brother  Polemarchus ; and  then  his  lover 
Phaedrus  will  no  longer  halt  between  two  opinions,  but 
will  dedicate  himself  wholly  to  love  and  to  philosophical 
discourses. 

Phaedr.  I join  in  the  prayer,  Socrates,  and  Say  with  you,  if 
this  be  for  my  good,  may  your  words  come  to  pass.  But 
why  did  you  make  your  second  oration  so  much  finer  than 
the  first?  I wonder  why.  And  I begin  to  be  afraid  that 
I shall  lose  conceit  of  Lysias,  and  that  he  will  appear  tame 
in  comparison,  even  if  he  be  willing  to  put  another  as  fine 
and  as  long  as  yours  into  the  field,  which  I doubt.  For 
quite  lately  one  of  your  politicians  was  abusing  him  on  this 
very  account;  and  called  him  a ‘speech-writer’  again  and 
again.  So  that  a feeling  of  pride  may  probably  induce  him 
to  give  up  writing  speeches. 

Soc.  What  a very  amusing  notion  ! But  I think,  my  young 
man,  that  you  are  much  mistaken  in  your  friend  if  you 
imagine  that  he  is  frightened  at  a little  noise  ; and,  possibly, 
you  think  that  his  assailant  was  in  earnest? 

Phaedr.  I thought,  Socrates,  that  he  was.  And  you  are 
aware  that  the  greatest  and  most  influential  statesmen  are 
ashamed  of  writing  speeches  and  leaving  them  in  a written 
form,  lest  they  should  be  called  Sophists  by  posterity. 

Soc.  You  seem  to  be  unconscious,  Phaedrus,  that  the 
‘ sweet  elbow1  2 ’ of  the  proverb  is  really  the  long  arm  of  the 
Nile.  And  you  appear  to  be  equally  unaware  of  the  fact  that 

1 See  234  C. 

* A proverb,  like  ‘ the  grapes  are  sour,’  applied  to  pleasures  which  cannot  be 
had,  meaning  sweet  things  which,  like  the  elbow,  are  out  of  the  reach  of  the 
mouth.  The  promised  pleasure  turns  out  to  be  a long  and  tedious  affair. 


4^5 


The  iinmortality  of  authorship. 

this  sweet  elbow  of  theirs  is  also  a long  arm.  For  there  is 
nothing  of  which  our  great  politicians  are  so  fond  as  of 
writing  speeches  and  bequeathing  them  to  posterity.  And 
they  add  their  admirers’  names  at  the  top  of  the  writing,  out 
of  gratitude  to  them. 

5S  Phaedr.  What  do  you  mean  ? I do  not  understand. 

Soc.  Why,  do  you  not  know  that  when  a politician  writes, 
he  begins  with  the  names  of  his  approvers  ? 

Phaedr.  How  so? 

Soc.  Why,  he  begins  in  this  manner : ‘ Be  it  enacted  by 
the  senate,  the  people,  or  both,  on  the  motion  of  a certain 
person,’  who  is  our  author ; and  so  putting  on  a serious  face, 
he  proceeds  to  display  his  own  wisdom  to  his  admirers  in 
what  is  often  a long  and  tedious  composition.  Now  what  is 
that  sort  of  thing  but  a regular  piece  of  authorship  ? 

Phaedr.  True. 

Soc.  And  if  the  law  is  finally  approved,  then  the  author 
leaves  the  theatre  in  high  delight ; but  if  the  law  is  rejected 
and  he  is  done  out  of  his  speech-making,  and  not  thought 
good  enough  to  write,  then  he  and  his  party  are  in  mourning. 

Phaedr.  Very  true. 

Soc.  So  far  are  they  from  despising,  or  rather  so  highly  do 
they  value  the  practice  of  writing. 

Phaedr.  No  doubt. 

Soc.  And  when  the  king  or  orator  has  the  power,  as  Ly- 
curgus  or  Solon  or  Darius  had,  of  attaining  an  immortality 
of  authorship  in  a state,  is  he  not  thought  by  posterity,  when 
they  see  his  compositions,  and  does  he  not  think  himself, 
while  he  is  yet  alive,  to  be  a god  ? 

Phaedr.  Very  true. 

Soc.  Then  do  you  think  that  any  one  of  this  class,  how- 
ever ill-disposed,  would  reproach  Lysias  with  being  an 
author  ? 

Phaedr.  Not  upon  your  view;  for  according  to  you  he 
would  be  casting  a slur  upon  his  own  favourite  pursuit. 

Soc.  Any  one  may  see  that  there  is  no  disgrace  in  the 
mere  fact  of  writing. 

Phaedr.  Certainly  not. 

Soc.  The  disgrace  begins  when  a man  writes  not  well,  but 
badly. 

h h 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

They  are 
always  re- 
hearsing 
their  own 
praises  in 
the  form 
of  laws. 


They  be- 
come like 
gods. 


VOL.  I. 


466 


Phacdrvs. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


What  mo- 
tive is 
higher  than 
the  love  of 
discourse  ? 


The  grass- 
hoppers 
will  laugh 
at  us  if  we 
sleep. 


The  grass- 
hoppers 
were  ori- 
ginally men 
who  died 
from  the 
love  of 
song. 


The  tale  of  the  grasshoppers. 

Phacdr.  Clearly. 

Soc.  And  what  is  well  and  what  is  badly — need  we  ask 
Lysias,  or  any  other  poet  or  orator,  who  ever  wrote  or  will 
write  either  a political  or  any  other  work,  in  metre  or  out  of 
metre,  poet  or  prose  writer,  to  teach  us  this  ? 

Phacdr.  Need  we?  For  what  should  a man  live  if  not  for 
the  pleasures  of  discourse  ? Surely  not  for  the  sake  of  bodily 
pleasures,  which  almost  always  have  previous  pain  as  a con- 
dition of  them,  and  therefore  are  rightly  called  slavish. 

Soc.  There  is  time  enough.  And  I believe  that  the  grass- 
hoppers chirruping  after  their  manner  in  the  heat  of  the  sun  259 
over  our  heads  are  talking  to  one  another  and  looking  down 
at  us.  What  would  they  say  if  they  saw  that  we,  like  the 
many,  are  not  conversing,  but  slumbering  at  mid-day,  lulled 
by  their  voices,  too  indolent  to  think  ? Would  they  not  have 
a right  to  laugh  at  us?  They  might  imagine  that  we  were 
slaves,  who,  coming  to  rest  at  a place  of  resort  of  theirs,  like 
sheep  lie  asleep  at  noon  around  the  well.  But  if  they  see 
us  discoursing,  and  like  Odysseus  sailing  past  them,  deaf  to 
their  siren  voices,  they  may  perhaps,  out  of  respect,  give  us 
of  the  gifts  which  they  receive  from  the  gods  that  they  may 
impart  them  to  men. 

Phacdr.  What  gifts  do  you  mean  ? I never  heard  of  any. 

Soc.  A lover  of  music  like  yourself  ought  surely  to  have 
heard  the  story  of  the  grasshoppers,  who  are  said  to  have 
been  human  beings  in  an  age  before  the  Muses.  And  when 
the  Muses  came  and  song  appeared  they  were  ravished  with 
delight ; and  singing  always,  never  thought  of  eating  and 
drinking,  until  at  last  in  their  forgetfulness  they  died.  And 
now  they  live  again  in  the  grasshoppers  ; and  this  is  the 
return  which  the  Muses  make  to  them  — they  neither  hunger, 
nor  thirst,  but  from  the  hour  of  their  birth  are  always  sing- 
ing, and  never  eating  or  drinking ; and  when  they  die  they 
go  and  inform  the  Muses  in  heaven  who  honours  them  on 
earth.  They  win  the  love  of  Terpsichore  for  the  dancers  by 
their  report  of  them ; of  Erato  for  the  lovers,  and  of  the 
other  Muses  for  those  who  do  them  honour,  according  to 
the  several  ways  of  honouring  them  ; — of  Calliope  the  eldest 
Muse  and  of  Urania  who  is  next  to  her,  for  the  philoso- 
phers, of  whose  music  the  grasshoppers  make  report  to 


467 


The  rules  of  writing • and  speech. 

them;  for  these  are  the  Muses  who  are  chiefly  concerned  Phaedrvs. 
with  heaven  and  thought,  divine  as  well  as  human,  and  they  Socrates, 
have  the  sweetest  utterance.  For  many  reasons,  then,  we  Pha«>rus. 
ought  always  to  talk  and  not  to  sleep  at  mid-day. 

Phaedr.  Let  us  talk. 

Soc.  Shall  we  discuss  the  rules  of  writing  and  speech  as 
we  were  proposing  ? 

Phaedr.  Very  good. 

Soc.  In  good  speaking  should  not  the  mind  of  the  speaker 
know  the  truth  of  the  matter  about  which  he  is  going  to  speak  ? 

60  Phaedr.  And  yet,  Socrates,  I have  heard  that  he  who  Does  the 
would  be  an  orator  has  nothing  to  do  with  true  justice,  but  orator  re' 

. . 0 J quire  to 

only  with  that  which  is  likely  to  be  approved  by  the  many  have  know- 
who  sit  in  judgment;  nor  with  the  truly  good  or  honourable,  ledse? 
but  only  with  opinion  about  them,  and  that  from  opinion 
comes  persuasion,  and  not  from  the  truth. 

Soc.  The  words  of  the  wise  are  not  to  be  set  aside ; for 
there  is  probably  something  in  them  ; and  therefore  the 
meaning  of  this  saying  is  not  hastily  to  be  dismissed. 

Phaedr.  Very  true. 

Soc.  Let  us  put  the  matter  thus Suppose  that  I per- Of  course, 
suaded  you  to  buy  a horse  and  go  to  the  wars.  Neither  of  °r  else  he 

0 will  put 

us  knew  what  a horse  was  like,  but  I knew  that  you  believed  good  for 
a horse  to  be  of  tame  animals  the  one  which  has  the  longest  evil,  just  as 

* he  mieht 

earS>  put  a horse 

Phaedr.  That  would  be  ridiculous.  in  the  place 

Soc.  There  is  something  more  ridiculous  coming: — Sup-°fanass‘ 
pose,  further,  that  in  sober  earnest  I,  having  persuaded  you 
of  this,  went  and  composed  a speech  in  honour  of  an  ass, 
whom  I entitled  a horse,  beginning:  ‘A  noble  animal  and  a 
most  useful  possession,  especially  in  war,  and  you  may  get 
on  his  back  and  fight,  and  he  will  carry  baggage  or  any- 
thing.’ 

Phaedr.  How  ridiculous  ! 

Soc.  Ridiculous!  Yes;  but  is  not  even  a ridiculous  friend 
better  that  a cunning  enemy? 

Phaedr.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  when  the  orator  instead  of  putting  an  ass  in 
the  place  of  a horse,  puts  good  for  evil,  being  himself  as 
ignorant  of  their  true  nature  as  the  city  on  which  he  imposes 

11  h 2 


408 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


The  mere 
knowledge 
of  the  truth 
not  enough 
to  give  the 
art  of  per- 
suasion. 
But  neither 
is  the  art 
of  persua- 
sion sepa- 
rable from 
the  truth. 


The  rheto- 
rician can 
produce 
any  impres- 
sion which 
he  pleases, 
in  any  place 
or  upon  any 
occasion. 


Rhetoric  an  art  of  enchantment. 

is  ignorant ; and  having  studied  the  notions  of  the  multitude, 
falsely  persuades  them  not  about  ‘the  shadow  of  an  ass,’ 
which  he  confounds  with  a horse,  but  about  good  which  he 
confounds  with  evil, — what  will  be  the  harvest  which  rhetoric 
will  be  likely  to  gather  after  the  sowing  of  that  seed  ? 

Phaedr.  The  reverse  of  good. 

Soc.  But  perhaps  rhetoric  has  been  getting  too  roughly 
handled  by  us,  and  she  might  answer : What  amazing  non- 
sense you  are  talking ! As  if  I forced  any  man  to  learn  to 
speak  in  ignorance  of  the  truth  ! Whatever  my  advice  may 
be  worth,  I should  have  told  him  to  arrive  at  the  truth  first, 
and  then  come  to  me.  At  the  same  time  I boldly  assert  that 
mere  knowledge  of  the  truth  will  not  give  you  the  art  of 
persuasion. 

Phaedr.  There  is  reason  in  the  lady’s  defence  of  herself. 

Soc.  Quite  true  ; if  only  the  other  arguments  which  remain 
to  be  brought  up  bear  her  witness  that  she  is  an  art  at 
all.  But  I seem  to  hear  them  arraying  themselves  on  the 
opposite  side,  declaring  that  she  speaks  falsely,  and  that 
rhetoric  is  a mere  routine  and  trick,  not  an  art.  Lo ! a 
Spartan  appears,  and  says  that  there  never  is  nor  ever  will 
be  a real  art  of  speaking  which  is  divorced  from  the  truth. 

Phaedr.  And  what  are  these  arguments,  Socrates?  Bring  261 
them  out  that  we  may  examine  them. 

Soc.  Come  out,  fair  children,  and  convince  Phaedrus,  who 
is  the  father  of  similar  beauties,  that  he  will  never  be  able  to 
speak  about  anything  as  he  ought  to  speak  unless  he  have  a 
knowledge  of  philosophy.  And  let  Phaedrus  answer  you. 

Phaedr.  Put  the  question. 

Soc.  Is  not  rhetoric,  taken  generally,  a universal  art  of 
enchanting  the  mind  by  arguments ; which  is  practised  not 
only  in  courts  and  public  assemblies,  but  in  private  houses 
also,  having  to  do  with  all  matters,  great  as  well  as  small, 
good  and  bad  alike,  and  is  in  all  equally  right,  and  equally 
to  be  esteemed — that  is  what  you  have  heard  ? 

Phaedr.  Nay,  not  exactly  that;  I should  say  rather  that  I 
have  heard  the  art  confined  to  speaking  and  writing  in  law- 
suits, and  to  speaking  in  public  assemblies— not  extended 
farther. 

Soc.  Then  I suppose  that  you  have  only  heard  of  the 


The  Rhetorician  must  know  differences. 


469 


rhetoric  of  Nestor  and  Odysseus,  which  they  composed  in 
their  leisure  hours  when  at  Troy,  and  never  of  the  rhetoric 
of  Palamedes  ? 

Phaedr.  No  more  than  of  Nestor  and  Odysseus,  unless 
Gorgias  is  your  Nestor,  and  Thrasymachus  or  Theodoras 
your  Odysseus. 

Soc.  Perhaps  that  is  my  meaning.  But  let  us  leave  them. 
And  do  you  tell  me,  instead,  what  are  plaintiff  and  defendant 
doing  in  a law-court — are  they  not  contending  ? 

Phaedr.  Exactly  so. 

Soc.  About  the  just  and  unjust — that  is  the  matter  in 
dispute  ? 

Phaedr.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  a professor  of  the  art  will  make  the  same  thing 
appear  to  the  same  persons  to  be  at  one  time  just,  at  another 
time,  if  he  is  so  inclined,  to  be  unjust? 

Phaedr.  Exactly. 

Soc.  And  when  he  speaks  in  the  assembly,  he  will  make 
the  same  things  seem  good  to  the  city  at  one  time,  and  at 
another  time  the  reverse  of  good  ? 

Phaedr.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Have  we  not  heard  of  the  Eleatic  Palamedes  (Zeno), 
who  has  an  art  of  speaking  by  which  he  makes  the  same 
things  appear  to  his  hearers  like  and  unlike,  one  and  many, 
at  rest  and  in  motion  ? 

Phaedr.  Very  true. 

Soc.  The  art  of  disputation,  then,  is  not  confined  to  the 
courts  and  the  assembly,  but  is  one  and  the  same  in  every 
use  of  language  ; this  is  the  art,  if  there  be  such  an  art, 
which  is  able  to  find  a likeness  of  everything  to  which  a 
likeness  can  be  found,  and  draws  into  the  light  of  day  the 
likenesses  and  disguises  which  are  used  by  others  ? 

Phaedr.  How  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  Let  me  put  the  matter  thus  : When  will  there  be 
more  chance  of  deception — when  the  difference  is  large  or 
small  ? 

262  Phaedr.  When  the  difference  is  small. 

Soc.  And  you  will  be  less  likely  to  be  discovered  in 
passing  by  degrees  into  the  other  extreme  than  when  you  go 
all  at  once  ? 


Phnedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

Gorgias 
and  Thra- 
symachus 
or  Theo- 
dorus  in  the 
disguise  of 
Nestor  and 
Odysseus. 


Zeno  the 
Eleatic. 


The  de- 
ceiver must 
know  the 
truth,  be- 
cause he 
has  to  find 
a likeness 
of  the  truth ; 
he  must 
learn  to 
deceive  by 
degrees. 


470 

Pkaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


Illustra- 
tions of 
skill  and 
want  of 
skill  from 
the  speech 
of  Lysias. 


Criticism  of  the  two  speeches. 

Phacdr.  Of' course. 

Soc.  He,  then,  who  would  deceive  others,  and  not  be  de- 
ceived, must  exactly  know  the  real  likenesses  and  differences 
of  things  ? 

Phacdr.  He  must. 

Soc.  And  if  he  is  ignorant  of  the  true  nature  of  anv 
subject,  how  can  he  detect  the  greater  or  less  degree  of 
likeness  in  other  things  to  that  of  which  by  the  hypothesis 
he  is  ignorant  ? 

Phacdr.  He  cannot. 

Soc.  And  when  men  are  deceived  and  their  notions  are  at 
variance  with  realities,  it  is  clear  that  the  error  slips  in 
through  resemblances  ? 

Phacdr.  Yes,  that  is  the  way. 

Soc.  Then  he  who  would  be  a master  of  the  art  must 
understand  the  real  nature  of  everything ; or  he  will  never 
know  either  how  to  make  the  gradual  departure  from  truth 
into  the  opposite  of  truth  which  is  effected  by  the  help  of 
resemblances,  or  how  to  avoid  it  ? 

Phacdr.  He  will  not. 

Soc.  He  then,  who  being  ignorant  of  the  truth  aims  at 
appearances,  will  only  attain  an  art  of  rhetoric  which  is 
ridiculous  and  is  not  an  art  at  all? 

Phacdr.  That  may  be  expected. 

Soc.  Shall  1 propose  that  we  look  for  examples  of  art  and 
want  of  art,  according  to  our  notion  of  them,  in  the  speech 
of  Lysias  which  you  have  in  your  hand,  and  in  my  own 
speech  ? 

Phacdr.  Nothing  could  be  better;  and  indeed  I think  that 
our  previous  argument  has  been  too  abstract  and  wanting  in 
illustrations. 

Soc.  Yes;  and  the  two  speeches  happen  to  afford  a very 
good  example  of  the  way  in  which  the  speaker  who  knows 
the  truth  may,  without  any  serious  purpose,  steal  away  the 
hearts  of  his  hearers.  This  piece  of  good-fortune  I attribute 
to  the  local  deities;  and,  perhaps,  the  prophets  of  the  Muses 
who  are  singing  over  our  heads  may  have  imparted  their 
inspiration  to  me.  For  1 do  not  imagine  that  I have  any 
rhetorical  art  of  my  own. 

Phacdr.  Granted  ; if  you  will  only  please  to  get  on. 


There  should  be  order  and  division  of  classes  in  a speech. 

Sac.  Suppose  that  you  read  me  the  first  words  of  Lysias’ 
speech. 

Phaedr.  1 You  know  how  matters  stand  with  me,  and  how, 
as  I conceive,  they  might  be  arranged  for  our  common 
interest ; and  I maintain  that  I ought  not  to  fail  in  my  suit, 
because  I am  not  your  lover.  For  lovers  repent— — ’ 

63  Soc.  Enough  : — Now,  shall  I point  out  the  rhetorical  error 
of  those  words  ? 

Phaedr.  Yes. 

Soc.  Every  one  is  aware  that  about  some  things  we  are 
agreed,  whereas  about  other  things  we  differ. 

Phaedr.  I think  that  I understand  you ; but  will  you 
explain  yourself? 

Soc.  When  any  one  speaks  of  iron  and  silver,  is  not  the 
same  thing  present  in  the  minds  of  all  ? 

Phaedr.  Certainly. 

Soc.  But  when  any  one  speaks  of  justice  and  goodness  we 
part  company  and  are  at  odds  with  one  another  and  with 
ourselves  ? 

Phaedr.  Precisely. 

Soc.  Then  in  some  things  we  agree,  but  not  in  others  ? 

Phaedr.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  In  which  are  we  more  likely  to  be  deceived,  and  in 
which  has  rhetoric  the  greater  power  ? 

Phaedr.  Clearly,  in  the  uncertain  class. 

Soc.  Then  the  rhetorician  ought  to  make  a regular 
division,  and  acquire  a distinct  notion  of  both  classes,  as 
well  of  that  in  which  the  many  err,  as  of  that  in  which  they 
do  not  err? 

Phaedr.  He  who  made  such  a distinction  would  have  an 
excellent  principle. 

Soc.  Yes;  and  in  the  next  place  he  must  have  a keen 
eye  for  the  observation  of  particulars  in  speaking,  and  not 
make  a mistake  about  the  class  to  which  they  are  to  be 
referred. 

Phaedr.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Now  to  which  class  does  love  belong — to  the 
debatable  or  to  the  undisputed  class  ? 

Phaedr.  To  the  debatable,  clearly;  for  if  not,  do  you 
think  that  love  would  have  allowed  you  to  sa}r  as  you  did, 


47  1 

I'kaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrl's. 


The  rhetori- 
cian should 
distinguish 
things  such 
as  iron  and 
silver,  about 
which  we 
are  agreed, 
from  things 
such  as 
justice  and 
goodness, 
about  which 
we  are  dis- 
agreed. 


Love  be- 
longs to  the 
debatable 
class. 


472 

Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


Lysias 
should 
have  be- 
gun, as  I 
did,  by  de- 
fining love. 


He  begins 
at  the  end. 


No  order 
or  arrange- 
ment of 
parts  in  his 
discourse. 


Further  criticisms  of  Lysias. 

that  he  is  an  evil  both  to  the  lover  and  the  beloved,  and  also 
the  greatest  possible  good  ? 

Soc.  Capital.  But  will  you  tell  me  whether  I defined  love 
at  the  beginning  of  my  speech?  for,  having  been  in  an 
ecstasy,  I cannot  well  remember. 

Phacdr.  Yes,  indeed  ; that  you  did,  and  no  mistake. 

Soc.  Then  I perceive  that  the  Nymphs  of  Achelous  and 
Pan  the  son  of  Hermes,  who  inspired  me,  were  far  better 
rhetoricians  than  Lysias  the  son  of  Cephalus.  Alas!  how 
inferior  to  them  he  is  ! But  perhaps  I am  mistaken  ; and 
Lysias  at  the  commencement  of  his  lover’s  speech  did  insist 
on  our  supposing  love  to  be  something  or  other  which  he 
lancied  him  to  be,  and  according  to  this  model  he  fashioned 
and  framed  the  remainder  of  his  discourse.  Suppose  we 
read  his  beginning  over  again  : 

Phacdr.  If  you  please;  but  you  will  not  find  what  you 
want. 

Soc.  Read,  that  I may  have  his  exact  words. 

Phacdr.  ‘You  know  how  matters  stand  with  me,  and  how, 
as  I conceive,  they  might  be  arranged  for  our  common  264 
interest ; and  I maintain  I ought  not  to  fail  in  my  suit 
because  I am  not  your  lover,  for  lovers  repent  of  the  kind- 
nesses which  they  have  shown,  when  their  love  is  over.’ 

Soc.  Here  he  appears  to  have  done  just  the  reverse  of 
what  he  ought ; for  he  has  begun  at  the  end,  and  is  swim- 
ming on  his  back  through  the  flood  to  the  place  of  starting. 

His  address  to  the  fair  youth  begins  where  the  lover  would 
have  ended.  Am  I not  right,  sweet  Phaedrus? 

Phacdr.  Yes,  indeed,  Socrates;  he  does  begin  at  the  end. 

Soc.  Then  as  to  the  other  topics — are  they  not  thrown 
down  anyhow?  Is  there  any  principle  in  them?  Why 
should  the  next  topic  follow  next  in  order,  or  any  other 
topic  ? I cannot  help  fancying  in  my  ignorance  that  he 
wrote  off  boldly  just  what  came  into  his  head,  but  I dare  say 
that  you  would  recognize  a rhetorical  necessity  in  the 
succession  of  the  several  parts  of  the  composition  ? 

Phaedr.  You  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  me  if  you  think 
that  I have  any  such  insight  into  his  principles  of  compo- 
sition. 

Soc.  At  any  rate,  you  will  allow  that  every  discourse 


Recapitulation. 

• 

ought  to  be  a living  creature,  having  a body  of  its  own  and  a 
head  and  feet;  there  should  be  a middle,  beginning,  and 
end,  adapted  to  one  another  and  to  the  whole  ? 

Phaedr.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Can  this  be  said  of  the  discourse  of  Lysias?  See 
whether  you  can  find  any  more  connexion  in  his  words  than 
in  the  epitaph  which  is  said  by  some  to  have  been  inscribed 
on  the  grave  of  Midas  the  Phrygian. 

Phaedr.  What  is  there  remarkable  in  the  epitaph  ? 

Soc.  It  is  as  follows  : — 

‘I  am  a maiden  of  bronze  and  He  on  the  tomb  of  Midas; 

So  long  as  water  flows  and  tall  trees  grow, 

So  long  here  on  this  spot  by  his  sad  tomb  abiding, 

I shall  declare  to  passers-by  that  Midas  sleeps  below.’ 

Now  in  this  rhyme  whether  a line  comes  first  or  comes  last, 
as  you  will  perceive,  makes  no  difference. 

Phaedr.  You  are  making  fun  of  that  oration  of  ours. 

Soc.  Well,  I will  say  no  more  about  your  friend’s  speech 
lest  I should  give  offence  to  you ; although  I think  that  it 
might  furnish  many  other  examples  of  what  a man  ought 
265  rather  to  avoid.  But  I will  proceed  to  the  other  speech, 
which,  as  I think,  is  also  suggestive  to  students  of  rhetoric. 

Phaedr.  In  what  way? 

Soc.  The  two  speeches,  as  you  may  remember,  were  un- 
like ; the  one  argued  that  the  lover  and  the  other  that  the 
non-lover  ought  to  be  accepted. 

Phaedr.  And  right  manfully. 

Soc.  You  should  rather  say  ‘madly;’  and  madness  was 
the  argument  of  them,  for,  as  I said,  ‘ love  is  a madness.’ 

Phaedr.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  of  madness  there  were  two  kinds  ; one  produced 
by  human  infirmity,  the  other  was  a divine  release  of  the 
soul  from  the  yoke  of  custom  and  convention. 

Phaedr.  True. 

Soc.  The  divine  madness  was  subdivided  into  four  kinds, 
prophetic,  initiatory,  poetic,  erotic,  having  four  gods  pre- 
siding over  them  ; the  first  was  the  inspiration  of  Apollo,  the 
second  that  of  Dionysus,  the  third  that  of  the  Muses,  the 
fourth  that  of  Aphrodite  and  Eros.  In  the  description  of  the 
last  kind  of  madness,  which  was  also  said  to  be  the  best,  we 


473 

Phaednis. 

Socrates, 

Piiaedrus. 

Every  dis- 
course 
should  be 
a living 
creature, 
having  a 
body,  head, 
and  feet. 


The  dis- 
course of 
Lysias  had 
no  more  ar- 
rangement 
than  the 
silliest  of 
epitaphs. 


Four  subdi- 
visions of 
madness — 
prophetic, 
initiatory, 
poetic, 
erotic. 


474 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


The  myth 
was  a crea- 
tion of 
fancy,  yet 
true  princi- 
ples were 
involved  in 
it : (i)  unity 
of  particu- 
lars in  a 
single  note ; 
(2)  natural 
division 
intospecies. 


The  dialec- 
tician is 
concerned 
with  the 
one  and 
many. 


The  serious  meaning  of  the  myth. 

% 

spoke  of  the  affection  of  love  in  a figure,  into  which  we 
introduced  a tolerably  credible  and  possibly  true  though 
partly  erring  myth,  which  was  also  a hymn  in  honour  of 
Love,  who  is  your  lord  and  also  mine,  Phaedrus,  and  the 
guardian  of  fair  children,  and  to  him  we  sung  the  hymn  in 
measured  and  solemn  strain. 

Phaedr.  I know  that  f had  great  pleasure  in  listening  to 
you. 

Soc.  Let  us  take  this  instance  and  note  how  the  transition 
was  made  from  blame  to  praise. 

Phaedr.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  I mean  to  say  that  the  composition  was  mostly  play- 
ful. Yet  in  these  chance  fancies  of  the  hour  were  involved 
two  principles  of  which  we  should  be  too  glad  to  have  a 
clearer  description  if  art  could  give  us  one. 

Phaedr.  What  are  they  ? 

Soc.  hirst,  the  comprehension  of  scattered  particulars  in 
one  idea ; as  in  our  definition  of  love,  which  whether  true  or 
false  certainly  gave  clearness  and  consistency  to  the  dis- 
course, the  speaker  should  define  his  several  notions  and  so 
make  his  meaning  clear. 

Phaedr.  What  is  the  other  principle,  Socrates  ? 

Soc.  1 he  second  principle  is  that  of  division  into  species 
according  to  the  natural  formation,  where  the  joint  is,  not 
breaking  any  part  as  a bad  carver  might.  Just  as  our  two  266 
discourses,  alike  assumed,  first  of  all,  a single  form  of  un- 
reason ; and  then,  as  the  body  which  from  being  one  becomes 
double  and  may  be  divided  into  a left  side  and  right  side, 
each  having  parts  right  and  left  of  the  same  name — after  this 
manner  the  speaker  proceeded  to  divide  the  parts  of  the  left 
side  and  did  not  desist  until  he  found  in  them  an  evil  or  left- 
handed  love  which  he  justly  reviled  ; and  the  other  discourse 
leading  us  to  the  madness  which  lay  on  the  right  side,  found 
another  love,  also  having  the  same  name,  but  divine,  which 
the  speaker  held  up  before  us  and  applauded  and  affirmed  to 
be  the  author  of  the  greatest  benefits. 

Phaedr.  Most  true. 

Soc.  I am  myself  a great  lover  of  these  processes  of 
division  and  generalization ; they  help  me  to  speak  and  to 
think.  And  if  I find  any  man  who  is  able  to  see  'a  One  and 


The  rhetoricians  of  the  age. 


47 


Many’  in  nature,  him  I follow,  and  'walk  in  his  footsteps  as 
if  he  were  a god.’  And  those  who  have  this  art,  I have 
hitherto  been  in  the  habit  of  calling  dialecticians;  but  God 
knows  whether  the  name  is  right  or  not.  And  I should  like 
to  know  what  name  you  would  give  to  your  or  to  Lysias’ 
disciples,  and  whether  this  may  not  be  that  famous  art  of 
rhetoric  which  Thrasymachus  and  others  teach  and  practise  ? 
Skilful  speakers  they  are,  and  impart  their  skill  to  any  who 
is  willing  to  make  kings  of  them  and  to  bring  gilts  to  them. 

Phaedr.  Yes,  they  are  royal  men ; but  their  art  is  not  the 
same  with  the  art  of  those  whom  you  call,  and  rightly,  in 
my  opinion,  dialecticians : — Still  we  are  in  the  dark  about 
rhetoric. 

Soc.  What  do  you  mean  ? The  remains  of  it,  if  there  be 
anything  remaining  which  can  be  brought  under  rules  of  art, 
must  be  a fine  thing ; and,  at  any  rate,  is  not  to  be  despised 
by  you  and  me.  But  how  much  is  left  ? 

Phaedr.  There  is  a great  deal  surely  to  be  found  in  books 
of  rhetoric  ? 

Soc.  Yes;  thank  you  for  reminding  me: — There  is  the 
exordium,  showing  how  the  speech  should  begin,  if  I remem- 
ber rightly;  that  is  what  you  mean— the  niceties  of  the  art? 

Phaedr.  Yes. 

Soc.  Then  follows  the  statement  of  facts,  and  upon  that 
witnesses ; thirdly,  proofs ; fourthly,  probabilities  are  to 
come ; the  great  Byzantian  word-maker  also  speaks,  if  I am 
not  mistaken,  of  confirmation  and  further  confirmation. 

Phaedr.  You  mean  the  excellent  Theodoras. 

Soc.  Yes ; and  he  tells  how  refutation  or  further  refutation 
is  to  be  managed,  whether  in  accusation  or  defence.  I ought 
also  to  mention  the  illustrious  Parian,  Evenus,  who  first 
invented  insinuations  and  indirect  praises ; and  also  in- 
direct censures,  which  according  to  some  he  put  into  verse 
to  help  the  memory.  But  shall  I ‘to  dumb  forgetfulness 
consign  ’ Tisias  and  Gorgias,  who  are  not  ignorant  that 
probability  is  superior  to  truth,  and  who  by  force  of  argu- 
ment make  the  little  appear  great  and  the  great  little, 
disguise  the  new  in  old  fashions  and  the  old  in  new  fashions, 
and  have  discovered  forms  for  everything,  either  short  or 
going  on  to  infinity.  1 remember  Prodicus  laughing  when 


Phaedr  us. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


He  is  not  to 
be  confused 
with  the 
rhetorician. 


Still  rhe- 
toric when 
separated 
from  dia- 
lectic must 
be  a valu- 
able art. 


Theodoras. 


Evenus. 


Tisias  and 
Gorgias. 


\n 


476 


Phaedrus . 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

Prodicus. 

Hippias. 

Polus. 

Licymnius. 

Protagoras. 

Thrasyma- 
chus  again. 


Rhetoric  a 
superficial 
art. 


The  insufficiency  of  rhetoric. 

I told  him  of  this ; he  said  that  he  had  himself  discovered 
the  true  rule  of  art,  which  was  to  be  neither  long  nor  short, 
but  of  a convenient  length. 

Phaedr.  Well  done,  Prodicus  ! 

Soc.  Then  there  is  Hippias  the  Elean  stranger,  who 
probably  agrees  with  him. 

Phaedr.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  there  is  also  Polus,  who  has  treasuries  of  dipla- 
siology,  and  gnomology,  and  eikonology,  and  who  teaches 
in  them  the  names  of  which  Licymnius  made  him  a present ; 
they  were  to  give  a polish. 

Phaedr.  Had  not  Protagoras  something  of  the  same  sort? 

Soc.  Yes,  rules  of  correct  diction  and  many  other  fine  pre- 
cepts ; for  the  ‘sorrows  of  a poor  old  man,’  or  any  other 
pathetic  case,  no  one  is  better  than  the  Chalcedonian  giant ; 
he  can  put  a whole  company  of  people  into  a passion  and  out 
of  one  again  by  his  mighty  magic,  and  is  first-rate  at  invent- 
ing or  disposing  of  any  sort  of  calumny  on  any  grounds  or 
none.  All  of  them  agree  in  asserting  that  a speech  should 
end  in  a recapitulation,  though  they  do  not  all  agree  to  use 
the  same  word. 

Phaedr.  You  mean  that  there  should  be  a summing  up  of 
the  arguments  in  order  to  remind  the  hearers  of  them. 

Soc.  I have  now  said  all  that  I have  to  say  of  the  art  of 
rhetoric  : have  you  anything  to  add  ? 

Phaedr.  Not  much  ; nothing  very  important. 

Soc.  Leave  the  unimportant  and  let  us  bring  the  really  268 
important  question  into  the  light  of  day,  which  is : What 
power  has  this  art  of  rhetoric,  and  when  ? 

Phaedr.  A very  great  power  in  public  meetings. 

Soc.  It  has.  But  I should  like  to  know  whether  you  have 
the  same  feeling  as  I have  about  the  rhetoricians  ? To  me 
there  seem  to  be  a great  many  holes  in  their  web. 

Phaedr.  Give  an  example. 

Soc.  I will.  Suppose  a person  to  come  to  your  friend 
Eryximachus,  or  to  his  father  Acumenus,  and  to  say  to  him  : 

‘ I know  how  to  apply  drugs  which  shall  have  either  a 
heating  or  a cooling  effect,  and  I can  give  a vomit  and  also 
a purge,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ; and  knowing  all  this,  as 
I do,  I claim  to  be  a physician  and  to  make  physicians  by 


The  mere  critic  and  the  true  artist. 


47  7 


imparting  this  knowledge  to  others,’— what  do  you  suppose 
that  they  would  say  ? 

Phaedr.  They  would  be  sure  to  ask  him  whether  he  knew 
‘ to  whom  ’ he  would  give  his  medicines,  and  when,  and 
‘ how  much.’ 

Soc.  And  suppose  that  he  were  to  reply:  ‘No;  I know 
nothing  of  all  that ; I expect  the  patient  who  consults  me  to 
be  able  to  do  these  things  for  himself’  ? 

Phaedr.  They  would  say  in  reply  that  he  is  a madman  or  a 
pedant  who  fancies  that  he  is  a physician  because  he  has  read 
something  in  a book,  or  has  stumbled  on  a prescription  or  two, 
although  he  has  no  real  understanding  of  the  art  of  medicine. 

Soc.  And  suppose  a person  were  to  come  to  Sophocles  or 
Euripides  and  say  that  he  knows  how  to  make  a very  long 
speech  about  a small  matter,  and  a short  speech  about  a 
great  matter,  and  also  a sorrowful  speech,  or  a terrible,  or 
threatening  speech,  or  any  other  kind  of  speech,  and  in 
teaching  this  fancies  that  he  is  teaching  the  art  of  tragedy—  ? 

Phaedr.  They  too  would  surely  laugh  at  him  if  he  fancies 
that  tragedy  is  anything  but  the  arranging  of  these  elements 
in  a manner  which  will  be  suitable  to  one  another  and  to  the 
whole. 

Soc.  But  I do  not  suppose  that  they  would  be  rude  or 
abusive  to  him  : Would  they  not  treat  him  as  a musician 
would  a man  who  thinks  that  he  is  a harmonist  because 
he  knows  how  to  pitch  the  highest  and  lowest  note ; happen- 
ing to  meet  such  an  one  he  would  not  say  to  him  savagely, 

‘ Fool,  you  are  mad  ! ’ But  like  a musician,  in  a gentle 
and  harmonious  tone  of  voice,  he  would  answer : ‘ My  good 
friend,  he  who  would  be  a harmonist  must  certainly  know 
this,  and  yet  he  may  understand  nothing  of  harmony  if  he 
has  not  got  beyond  your  stage  of  knowledge,  for  you  only 
know  the  preliminaries  of  harmony  and  not  harmony  itself.’ 

Phaedr.  Very  true. 

269  Soc.  And  will  not  Sophocles  say  to  the  display  of  the 
would-be  tragedian,  that  this  is  not  tragedy  but  the  prelimi- 
naries of  tragedy?  and  will  not  Acumenus  say  the  same  of 
medicine  to  the  would-be  physician  ? 

Phaedr.  Quite  true. 

Soc.  And  if  Adrastus  the  mellifluous  or  Pericles  heard  of 


Phdedrus. 

Socrates, 

Piiaedrus. 


What 
would 
Sophocles 
or  Euri- 
pides say 
to  the  pro- 
fessors of 
rhetoric  ? 


They  would 
say  to  him 
in  the  most 
courteous 
manner  and 
in  the  sweet- 
est tone  of 
voice,  ‘ You 
only  know 
the  alpha- 
bet of  your 
art.' 


478 


Pericles  and  Anaxagoras. 


Phaedrm, 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


We  should 
not  be  too 
hard  on  the 
rhetorician 
for  teaching 
only  part 
of  his  art. 


The  perfec- 
tion of  ora- 
tory is  part- 
ly a gift  of 
nature.  But 
it  may  be 
improved 
by  art.  This 
art,  how- 
ever, is  not 
the  art  of 
Thrasyma- 
chus,  but 
partakes  of 
the  nature 
of  philoso- 
phy. 


these  wonderful  arts,  brachylogies  and  eikonologies  and  all 
the  hard  names  which  we  have  been  endeavouring  to  draw 
into  the  light  of  day,  what  would  they  say?  Instead  of 
losing  temper  and  applying  uncomplimentary  epithets,  as  you 
and  I have  been  doing,  to  the  authors  of  such  an  imaginary 
art,  their  superior  wisdom  would  rather  censure  us,  as  well 
as  them.  ' Have  a little  patience,  Phaedrus  and  Socrates, 
they  would  say ; you  should  not  be  in  sucb  a passion  with 
those  who  from  some  want  of  dialectical  skill  are  unable  to 
define  the  nature  of  rhetoric,  and  consequently  suppose  that 
they  have  found  the  art  in  the  preliminary  conditions  of  it, 
and  when  these  have  been  taught  by  them  to  others,  fancy  that 
the  whole  art  of  rhetoric  has  been  taught  by  them  ; but  as  to 
using  the  several  instruments  of  the  art  effectively,  or  making 
the  composition  a whole,— an  application  of  it  such  as  this 
is  they  regard  as  an  easy  thing  which  their  disciples  may 
make  for  themselves.’ 

Phaedr.  I quite  admit,  Socrates,  that  the  art  of  rhetoric 
which  these  men  teach  and  of  which  they  write  is  such  as 
you  describe— there  I agree  with  you.  But  I still  want  to 
know  where  and  how  the  true  art  of  rhetoric  and  persuasion 
is  to  be  acquired. 

Soc.  The  perfection  which  is  required  of  the  finished  orator 
is,  or  rather  must  be,  like  the  perfection  of  anything  else, 
partly  given  by  nature,  but  may  also  be  assisted  by  art.  If 
you  have  the  natural  power  and  add  to  it  knowledge  and 
practice,  you  will  be  a distinguished  speaker ; if  you  fall  short 
in  either  of  these,  you  will  be  to  that  extent  defective.  But 
the  art,  as  far  as  there  is  an  art,  of  rhetoric  does  not  lie  in  the 
direction  of  Lysias  or  Thrasymachus. 

Phaedr.  In  what  direction  then  ? 

Soc.  I conceive  Pericles  to  have  been  the  most  accom- 
plished of  rhetoricians. 

Phaedr.  What  of  that  ? 

Soc.  All  the  great  arts  require  discussion  and  high  specula- 
tion about  the  truths  of  nature  ; hence  come  loftiness  of  27° 
thought  and  completeness  of  execution.  And  this,  as  I con- 
ceive, was  the  quality  which,  in  addition  to  his  natural  gifts, 
Pericles  acquired  from  his  intercourse  with  Anaxagoras 
whom  he  happened  to  know.  He  was  thus  imbued  with  the 


The  virtue  of  analysis. 


479 


higher  philosophy,  and  attained  the  knowledge  of  Mind 
and  the  negative  of  Mind,  which  were  favourite  themes  of 
Anaxagoras,  and  applied  what  suited  his  purpose  to  the  art 
of  speaking. 

Phaedr.  Explain. 

Soc.  Rhetoric  is  like  medicine. 

Phaedr.  How  so  ? 

Soc.  Why,  because  medicine  has  to  define  the  nature  of 
the  body  and  rhetoric  of  the  soul— if  we  would  proceed,  not 
empirically  but  scientifically,  in  the  one  case  to  impart  health 
and  strength  by  giving  medicine  and  food,  in  the  other  to 
implant  the  conviction  or  virtue  which  you  desire,  by  the  right 
application  of  words  and  training. 

Phaedr.  There,  Socrates,  I suspect  that  you  are  right. 

Soc.  And  do  you  think  that  you  can  know  the  nature  of  the 
soul  intelligently  without  knowing  the  nature  of  the  whole? 

Phaedr.  Hippocrates  the  Asclepiad  says  that  the  nature 
even  of  the  body  can  only  be  understood  as  a whole  \ 

Soc.  Yes,  friend,  and  he  was  right : — still,  we  ought  not  to 
be  content  with  the  name  of  Hippocrates,  but  to  examine  and 
see  whether  his  argument  agrees  with  his  conception  of 
nature. 

Phaedr.  I agree. 

Soc.  Then  consider  what  truth  as  well  as  Hippocrates  says 
about  this  or  about  any  other  nature.  Ought  we  not  to  con- 
sider first  whether  that  which  we  wish  to  learn  and  to  teach 
is  a simple  or  multiform  thing,  and  if  simple,  then  to  enquire 
what  power  it  has  of  acting  or  being  acted  upon  in  relation  to 
other  things,  and  if  multiform,  then  to  number  the  forms ; 
and  see  first  in  the  case  of  one  of  them,  and  then  in  the  case 
of  all  of  them,  what  is  that  power  of  acting  or  being  acted 
upon  which  makes  each  and  all  of  them  to  be  what  they  are  ? 

Phaedr.  You  may  very  likely  be  right,  Socrates. 

Soc.  The  method  which  proceeds  without  analysis  is  like 
the  groping  of  a blind  man.  Yet,  surely,  he  who  is  an  artist 
ought  not  to  admit  of  a comparison  with  the  blind,  or  deaf. 
The  rhetorician,  who  teaches  his  pupil  to  speak  scientifically, 
will  particularly  set  forth  the  nature  of  that  being  to  which  he 
addresses  his  speeches;  and  this,  I conceive,  to  be  the  soul. 


Phaedms. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


First  there 
must  be  an 
analysis  of 
the  soul. 


1 Cp.  Charmides,  1 56  C. 


480 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


Then  the 
rhetorician 
must  show 
by  what 
means  the 
soul  affects 
or  is  af- 
fected, and 
why  one 
soul  in  one 
way  and 
another  in 
another. 


Oratory  is 
the  art  of 
enchanting 
the  soul, 
and  there- 
fore the 
orator  must 
learn  the 
differences 
of  human 
souls  by  re- 
flection and 
experience. 


The  true  nature  of  oratory. 

Phacdr.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Mis  whole  effort  is  directed  to  the  soul;  for  in  that  27 
he  seeks  to  produce  conviction. 

Phacdr.  Yes. 

Soc.  Then  clearly,  Thrasymachus  or  any  one  else  who 
teaches  rhetoric  in  earnest  will  give  an  exact  description  of 
the  nature  of  the  soul ; which  will  enable  us  to  see  whether 
she  be  single  and  same,  or,  like  the  body,  multiform.  That 
is  what  we  should  call  showing  the  nature  of  the  soul. 

Phacdr.  Exactly. 

Soc.  He  will  explain,  secondly,  the  mode  in  which  she  acts 
or  is  acted  upon. 

Phaedr.  True. 

Soc.  Thirdly,  having  classified  men  and  speeches,  and 
their  kinds  and  affections,  and  adapted  them  to  one  another, 
he  will  tell  the  reasons  of  his  arrangement,  and  show  why 
one  soul  is  persuaded  by  a particular  form  of  argument,  and 
another  not. 

Phaedr.  You  have  hit  upon  a very  good  way. 

Soc.  Yes,  that  is  the  true  and  only  way  in  which  any  sub- 
ject can  be  set  forth  or  treated  by  rules  of  art,  whether  in 
speaking  or  writing.  But  the  writers  of  the  present  day,  at 
whose  feet  you  have  sat,  craftily  conceal  the  nature  of  the 
soul  which  they  know  quite  well.  Nor,  until  they  adopt  our 
method  of  reading  and  writing,  can  we  admit  that  they  write 
by  rules  of  art  ? 

Phaedr.  What  is  our  method  ? 

Soc.  I cannot  give  you  the  exact  details ; but  I should  like 
to  tell  you  generally,  as  far  as  is  in  my  power,  how  a man 
ought  to  proceed  according  to  rules  of  art. 

Phaedr.  Let  me  hear. 

Soc.  Oratory  is  the  art  of  enchanting  the  soul,  and  there- 
fore he  who  would  be  an  orator  has  to  learn  the  differences  of 
human  souls — they  are  so  many  and  of  such  a nature,  and 
from  them  come  the  differences  between  man  and  man. 
Having  proceeded  thus  far  in  his  analysis,  he  will  next 
divide  speeches  into  their  different  classes  : — ' Such  and  such 
persons,’  he  will  say,  'are  affected  by  this  or  that  kind  of 
speech  in  this  or  that  way,’  and  he  will  tell  you  why.  The 
pupil  must  have  a good  theoretical  notion  of  them  first,  and 


48 1 


The  so-called  art  of  Rhetoric. 

then  he  must  have  experience  of  them  in  actual  life,  and  be 
able  to  follow  them  with  all  his  senses  about  him,  or  he  will 
never  get  beyond  the  precepts  of  his  masters.  But  when 
he  understands  what  persons  are  persuaded  by  what  argu- 
72  ments,  and  sees  the  person  about  whom  he  was  speaking  in 
the  abstract  actually  before  him,  and  knows  that  it  is  he,  and 
can  say  to  himself,  ‘ This  is  the  man  or  this  is  the  character 
who  ought  to  have  a certain  argument  applied  to  him  in  order 
to  convince  him  of  a certain  opinion ; ’ — he  who  knows  all 
this,  and  knows  also  when  he  should  speak  and  when  he 
should  refrain,  and  when  he  should  use  pithy  sayings, 
pathetic  appeals,  sensational  effects,  and  all  the  other  modes 
of  speech  which  he  has  learned ; — when,  I say,  he  knows 
the  times  and  seasons  of  all  these  things,  then,  and  not  till 
then,  he  is  a perfect  master  of  his  art ; but  if  he  fail  in  any 
of  these  points,  whether  in  speaking  or  teaching  or  writing 
them,  and  yet  declares  that  he  speaks  by  rules  of  art,  he  who 
says  ‘ I don’t  believe  you  ’ has  the  better  of  him.  Well,  the 
teacher  will  say,  is  this,  Phaedrus  and  Socrates,  your  account 
of  the  so-called  art  of  rhetoric,  or  am  I to  look  for  another  ? 

Pliaedr.  He  must  take  this,  Socrates,  for  there  is  no  pos- 
sibility of  another,  and  yet  the  creation  of  such  an  art  is  not 
easy.  > 

Soc.  Very  true;  and  therefore  let  us  consider  this  matter 
in  every  light,  and  see  whether  we  cannot  find  a shorter  and 
easier  road  ; there  is  no  use  in  taking  a long  rough  round- 
about way  if  there  be  a shorter  and  easier  one.  And  I wish 
that  you  would  try  and  remember  whether  you  have  heard 
from  Lysias  or  any  one  else  anything  which  might  be  of 
service  to  us. 

Pliaedr.  If  trying  would  avail,  then  I might ; but  at  the 
moment  I can  think  of  nothing. 

Soc.  Suppose  I tell  you  something  which  somebody  who 
knows  told  me. 

Pliaedr . Certainly. 

Soc.  May  not  ‘the  wolf,’  as  the  proverb  says,  ‘claim  a 
hearing  ’? 

Pliaedr.  Do  you  say  what  can  be  said  for  him. 

Soc.  He  will  argue  that  there  is  no  use  in  putting  a solemn 
face  on  these  matters,  or  in  going  round  and  round,  until  you 

vol.  1.  1 i 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

Knowledge 
of  indivi- 
dual char- 
acter 
necessary 
to  the 
rhetorician. 


But  ‘ the 
wolf’  says 
that  in 


482 


'Robust  sophistry' 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

courts  of 
law  no  one 
cares  about 
truth. 


According 
to  Tisias, 
either  party 
should  tell 
a lie  of  a 
sort  which 
the  other 
would  be 
unwilling 
or  unable 
to  refute. 


arrive  at  first  principles;  for,  as  I said  at  first,  when  the  ques- 
tion is  of  justice  and  good,  or  is  a question  in  which  men  are 
concerned  who  are  just  and  good,  either  by  nature  or  habit, 
he  who  would  be  a skilful  rhetorician  has  no  need  of  truth — 
for  that  in  courts  of  law  men  literally  care  nothing  about 
truth,  but  only  about  conviction  : and  this  is  based  on  proba- 
bility, to  which  he  who  would  be  a skilful  orator  should  there- 
fore give  his  whole  attention.  And  they  say  also  that  there 
are  cases  in  which  the  actual  facts,  if  they  are  improbable, 
ought  to  be  withheld,  and  only  the  probabilities  should  be 
told  either  in  accusation  or  defence,  and  that  always  in 
speaking,  the  orator  should  keep  probability  in  view,  and  say 
good-bye  to  the  truth.  And  the  observance  of  this  principle  273 
throughout  a speech  furnishes  the  whole  art. 

Phaedr.  That  is  what  the  professors  of  rhetoric  do  actually 
say,  Socrates.  I have  not  forgotten  that  we  have  quite 
briefly  touched  upon  this  matter1  already ; with  them  the 
point  is  all-important. 

Soc.  I dare  say  that  }^ou  are  familiar  with  Tisias.  Does 
he  not  define  probability  to  be  that  which  the  many  think  ? 

Phaedr.  Certainly,  he  does. 

Soc.  I believe  that  he  has  a clever  and  ingenious  case  of 
this  sort:— He  supposes  a feeble  and  valiant  man  to  have 
assaulted  a strong  and  cowardly  one,  and  to  have  robbed 
him  of  his  coat  or  of  something  or  other ; he  is  brought  into 
court,  and  then  Tisias  says  that  both  parties  should  tell  lies : 
the  coward  should  say  that  he  was  assaulted  by  more  men  than 
one  ; the  other  should  prove  that  they  were  alone,  and  should 
argue  thus  : ‘How  could  a weak  man  like  me  have  assaulted 
a strong  man  like  him?’  The  complainant  will  not  like  to 
confess  his  own  cowardice,  and  will  therefore  invent  some 
other  lie  which  his  adversary  will  thus  gain  an  opportunity  of 
refuting.  And  there  are  other  devices  of  the  same  kind  which 
have  a place  in  the  system.  Am  I not  right,  Phaedrus? 

Phaedr.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Bless  me,  what  a wonderfully  n^sterious  art  is  this 
which  Tisias  or  some  other  gentleman,  in  whatever  name  or 
country  he  rejoices,  has  discovered.  Shall  we  say  a word  to 
him  or  not  ? 


' Cp.  259  E. 


4§  3 


‘ Not  as  pleasers  of  wen , but  of  God! 


Phaedr . What  shall  we  say  to  him? 

Soc.  Let  us  tell  him  that,  before  he  appeared,  you  and  I 
were  saying  that  the  probability  of  which  he  speaks  was 
engendered  in  the  minds  of  the  many  by  the  likeness  of  the 
truth,  and  we  had  just  been  affirming  that  he  who  knew  the 
truth  would  always  know  best  how  to  discover  the  resem- 
blances of  the  truth.  If  he  has  anything  else  to  say  about  the 
art  of  speaking  we  should  like  to  hear  him  ; but  if  not,  we 
are  satisfied  with  our  own  view,  that  unless  a man  estimates 
the  various  characters  of  his  hearers  and  is  able  to  divide 
all  things  into  classes  and  to  comprehend  them  under  single 
ideas,  he  will  never  be  a skilful  rhetorician  even  within  the 
limits  of  human  power.  And  this  skill  he  will  not  attain 
without  a great  deal  of  trouble,  which  a good  man  ought  to 
undergo,  not  for  the  sake  of  speaking  and  acting  before  men, 
but  in  order  that  he  may  be  able  to  say  what  is  acceptable  to 
God  and  always  to  act  acceptably  to  Him  as  far  as  in  him 
74  lies;  for  there  is  a saying  of  wiser  men  than  ourselves,  that  a 
man  of  sense  should  not  try  to  please  his  fellow-servants  (at 
least  this  should  not  be  his  first  object)  but  his  good  and 
noble  masters  ; and  therefore  if  the  way  is  long  and  circuitous, 
marvel  not  at  this,  for,  where  the  end  is  great,  there  we  may 
take  the  longer  road,  but  not  for  lesser  ends  such  as  yours. 
Truly,  the  argument  may  say,  Tisias,  that  if  you  do  not  mind 
going  so  far,  rhetoric  has  a fair  beginning  here. 

Phaedr.  I think,  Socrates,  that  this  is  admirable,  if  only 
practicable. 

Soc.  But  even  to  fail  in  an  honourable  object  is  honourable. 

Phaedr.  True. 

Soc.  Enough  appears  to  have  been  said  by  us  of  a true  and 
false  art  of  speaking. 

Phaedr.  Certainly. 

Soc.  But  there  is  something  yet  to  be  said  of  propriety  and 
impropriety  of  writing. 

Phaedr.  Yes. 

Soc.  Do  you  know  how  you  can  speak  or  act  about  rhetoric 
in  a manner  which  will  be  acceptable  to  God  ? 

Phaeclr.  No,  indeed.  Do  you  ? 

Soc.  I have  heard  a tradition  of  the  ancients,  whether  true 
or  not  they  only  know;  although  if  we  had  found  the  truth 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

To  him  we 
reply  that  a 
man  should 
learn  to  say 
what  is  ac- 
ceptable to 
God.  This 
is  the  true 
beginning 
of  rhetoric. 


I I 2 


4«4 


Thamus  and  Theuth. 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


The  inge- 
nuity of 
the  god 
Theuth, 
who  was 
the  inventor 
of  letters, 
rebuked 
bv  King 
Thamus, 
also  called 
Ammon. 


ourselves,  do  you  think  that  we  should  care  much  about  the 
opinions  of  men  ? 

Phaedr.  Your  question  needs  no  answer;  but  I wish  that 
you  would  tell  me  what  you  say  that  you  have  heard. 

Soc.  At  the  Egyptian  city  of  Naucratis,  there  was  a famous 
old  god,  whose  name  was  Theuth  ; the  bird  which  is  called 
the  Ibis  is  sacred  to  him,  and  he  was  the  inventor  of  many 
arts,  such  as  arithmetic  and  calculation  and  geometry  and 
astronomy  and  draughts  and  dice,  but  his  great  discovery 
was  the  use  of  letters.  Now  in  those  days  the  god  Thamus 
was  the  king  of  the  whole  country  of  Egypt ; and  he  dwelt 
in  that  great  city  of  Upper  Egypt  which  the  Hellenes  call 
Egyptian  Thebes,  and  the  god  himself  is  called  by  them 
Ammon.  To  him  came  Theuth  and  showed  his  inventions, 
desiring  that  the  other  Egyptians  might  be  allowed  to  have 
the  benefit  of  them ; he  enumerated  them,  and  Thamus 
enquired  about  their  several  uses,  and  praised  some  of  them 
and  censured  others,  as  he  approved  or  disapproved  of  them. 
It  would  take  a long  time  to  repeat  all  that  Thamus  said  to 
Theuth  in  praise  or  blame  of  the  various  arts.  But  when 
they  came  to  letters,  This,  said  Theuth,  will  make  the  Egyp- 
tians wiser  and  give  them  better  memories ; it  is  a specific 
both  for  the  memory  and  for  the  wit.  Thamus  replied  : O most 
ingenious  Theuth,  the  parent  or  inventor  of  an  art  is  not  always 
the  best  judge  of  the  utility  or  inutility  of  his  own  inventions 
to  the  users  of  them.  And  in  this  instance,  you  who  are  the 
father  of  letters,  from  a paternal  love  of  your  own  children 
have  been  led  to  attribute  to  them  a quality  which  they  cannot 
have ; for  this  discovery  of  yours  will  create  forgetfulness  in 
the  learners’  souls,  because  they  will  not  use  their  memories ; 
they  will  trust  to  the  external  written  characters  and  not 
remember  of  themselves.  The  specific  which  you  have  dis- 
covered is  an  aid  not  to  memory,  but  to  reminiscence,  and  you 
give  your  disciples  not  truth,  but  only  the  semblance  of  truth  ; 
they  will  be  hearers  of  many  things  and  will  have  learned 
nothing  ; they  will  appear  to  be  omniscient  and  will  generally 
know  nothing;  they  will  be  tiresome  company,  having  the 
show  of  wisdom  without  the  reality. 

Phaedr.  Yes,  Socrates,  you  can  easily  invent  tales  of  Egypt, 
or  of  any  other  country. 


4«5 


The  written  word  an  image  only  of  the  spoken. 

Soc.  There  was  a tradition  in  the  temple  of  Dodona  that 
oaks  first  gave  prophetic  utterances.  The  men  of  old,  unlike 
in  their  simplicity  to  young  philosophy,  deemed  that  if  they 
heard  the  truth  even  from  ‘oak  or  rock,’  it  was  enough  for 
them ; whereas  you  seem  to  consider  not  whether  a thing  is 
or  is  not  true,  but  who  the  speaker  is  and  from  what  country 
the  tale  comes. 

Phaedr.  I acknowledge  the  justice  of  your  rebuke;  and  I 
think  that  the  Theban  is  right  in  his  view  about  letters. 

Soc.  He  would  be  a very  simple  person,  and  quite  a 
stranger  to  the  oracles  of  Thamus  or  Ammon,  who  should 
leave  in  writing  or  receive  in  writing  any  art  under  the  idea 
that  the  written  word  would  be  intelligible  or  certain  ; or  who 
deemed  that  writing  was  at  all  better  than  knowledge  and 
recollection  of  the  same  matters  ? 

Phaedr.  That  is  most  true. 

Soc.  I cannot  help  feeling,  Phaedrus,  that  writing  is  unfor- 
tunately like  painting ; for  the  creations  of  the  painter  have 
the  attitude  of  life,  and  yet  if  you  ask  them  a question  they 
preserve  a solemn  silence.  And  the  same  may  be  said  of 
speeches.  You  would  imagine  that  they  had  intelligence,  but 
if  you  want  to  know  anything  and  put  a question  to  one  of 
them,  the  speaker  always  gives  one  unvarying  answer.  And 
when  the}'  have  been  once  written  down  they  are  tumbled 
about  anywhere  among  those  who  may  or  may  not  understand 
them,  and  know  not  to  whom  they  should  reply,  to  whom  not : 
and,  if  they  are  maltreated  or  abused,  they  have  no  parent  to 
protect  them ; and  they  cannot  protect  or  defend  themselves. 

Phaedr.  That  again  is  most  true. 

Soc.  Is  there  not  another  kind  of  word  or  speech  far 
better  than  this,  and  having  far  greater  power — a son  of  the 
276  same  family,  but  lawfully  begotten  ? 

Phaedr.  Whom  do  you  mean,  and  what  is  his  origin  ? 

Soc.  I mean  an  intelligent  word  graven  in  the  soul  of  the 
learner,  which  can  defend  itself,  and  knows  when  to  speak 
and  when  to  be  silent. 

Phaedr.  You  mean  the  living  word  of  knowledge  which 
has  a soul,  and  of  which  the  written  word  is  properly  no 
more  than  an  image  ? 

Soc.  Yes,  of  course  that  is  what  1 mean.  And  now  may 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

The  scep- 
ticism of 
Phaedrus 
reproved  by 
Socrates. 


Writing  far 
inferior  to 
recollec- 
tion. 


Writing  is 
like  paint- 
ing : it  is 
silent  ever, 
and  cannot, 
unlike 
speech,  be 
adapted  to 
individuals. 


But  there 
is  another 
kind  of 
writing 
graven  on 
the  tablets 
of  the  mind. 


486 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

What  man 
of  sense 
would  plant 
seeds  in  an 
artificial 
garden,  to 
bring  forth 
fruit  or 
flowers  in 
eight  days, 
and  not  in 
deeper  and 
more  fitting 
soil  ? 


As  a pas- 
time he 
may  plant 
his  fail- 
thoughts  in 
the  garden 


but  his 
serious  aim 
will  be  to 
implant 
them  in  his 
own  and 
other  noble 
natures. 


Recapitulation  in  a jigure. 

I be  allowed  to  ask  you  a question  : Would  a husbandman, 
who  is  a man  of  sense,  take  the  seeds,  which  he  values  and 
which  he  wishes  to  bear  fruit,  and  in  sober  seriousness  plant 
them  during  the  heat  of  summer,  in  some  garden  of  Adonis, 
that  he  may  rejoice  when  he  sees  them  in  eight  days  appear- 
ing in  beauty  ? at  least  he  would  do  so,  if  at  all,  only  for  the 
sake  of  amusement  and  pastime.  But  when  he  is  in  earnest 
he  sows  in  fitting  soil,  and  practises  husbandry,  and  is 
satisfied  if  in  eight  months  the  seeds  which  he  has  sown 
arrive  at  perfection  ? 

Phacdr.  Yes,  Socrates,  that  will  be  his  way  when  he  is  in 
earnest ; he  will  do  the  other,  as  you  say,  only  in  play. 

Soc.  And  can  we  suppose  that  he  who  knows  the  just  and 
good  and  honourable  has  less  understanding,  than  the 
husbandman,  about  his  own  seeds? 

Phacdr.  Certainly  not. 

Soc.  Then  he  will  not  seriously  incline  to  'write’  his 
thoughts  'in  water’  with  pen  and  ink,  sowing  words  which 
can  neither  speak  for  themselves  nor  teach  the  truth  ade- 
quately to  others  ? 

Phacdr.  No,  that  is  not  likely'-. 

Soc.  No,  that  is  not  likely — in  the  garden  of  letters  he  will 
sow  and  plant,  but  only  for  the  sake  of  recreation  and  amuse- 
ment ; he  will  write  them  down  as  memorials  to  be  treasured 
against  the  forgetfulness  of  old  age,  by  himself,  or  by  any 
other  old  man  who  is  treading  the  same  path.  He  will 
rejoice  in  beholding  their  tender  growth ; and  while  others 
are  refreshing  their  souls  with  banqueting  and  the  like,  this 
will  be  the  pastime  in  which  his  days  are  spent. 

Phacdr.  A pastime,  Socrates,  as  noble  as  the  other  is 
ignoble,  the  pastime  of  a man  who  can  be  amused  by  serious 
talk,  and  can  discourse  merrily  about  justice  and  the  like. 

Soc.  True,  Phaedrus.  But  nobler  far  is  the  serious 
pursuit  of  the  dialectician,  who,  finding  a congenial  soul,  by 
the  help  of  science  sows  and  plants  therein  words  which 
are  able  to  help  themselves  and  him  who  planted  them,  277 
and  are  not  unfruitful,  but  have  in  them  a seed  which 
others  brought  up  in  different  soils  render  immortal,  making 
the  possessors  of  it  happy  to  the  utmost  extent  of  human 
happiness. 


487 


The  judgement  upon  Lysias. 

Phaedr.  Far  nobler,  certainly. 

Soc.  And  now,  Phaedrus,  having  agreed  upon  the  premises 
we  may  decide  about  the  conclusion. 

Phaedr.  About  what  conclusion  ? 

Soc.  About  Lysias,  whom  we  censured,  and  his  art  of 
writing,  and  his  discourses,  and  the  rhetorical  skill  or  want 
of  skill  which  was  shown  in  them — these  are  the  questions 
which  we  sought  to  determine,  and  they  brought  us  to  this 
point.  And  I think  that  we  are  now  pretty  well  informed 
about  the  nature  of  art  and  its  opposite. 

Phaedr.  Yes,  I think  with  you ; but  I wish  that  you  would 
repeat  what  was  said. 

Soc.  Until  a man  knows  the  truth  of  the  several  particulars 
of  which  he  is  writing  or  speaking,  and  is  able  to  define  them 
as  they  are,  and  having  defined  them  again  to  divide  them 
until  they  can  be  no  longer  divided,  and  until  in  like  manner 
he  is  able  to  discern  the  nature  of  the  soul,  and  discover  the 
different  modes  of  discourse  which  are  adapted  to  different 
natures,  and  to  arrange  and  dispose  them  in  such  a way  that 
the  simple  form  of  speech  may  be  addressed  to  the  simpler 
nature,  and  the  complex  and  composite  to  the  more  complex 
nature — until  he  has  accomplished  all  this,  he  will  be  unable 
to  handle  arguments  according  to  rules  of  art,  as  far  as  their 
nature  allows  them  to  be  subjected  to  art,  either  for  the 
purpose  of  teaching  or  persuading ; — such  is  the  view  which 
is  implied  in  the  whole  preceding  argument. 

Phaedr.  Yes,  that  was  our  view,  certainly. 

Soc.  Secondly,  as  to  the  censure  which  was  passed  on  the 
speaking  or  writing  of  discourses,  and  how  they  might  be 
rightly  or  wrongly  censured — did  not  our  previous  argument 
show — ? 

Phaedr.  Show  what  ? 

Soc.  That  whether  Lysias  or  any  other  writer  that  ever 
was  or  will  be,  whether  private  man  or  statesman,  proposes 
laws  and  so  becomes  the  author  of  a political  treatise,  fancy- 
ing that  there  is  any  great  certainty  and  clearness  in  his 
performance,  the  fact  of  his  so  writing  is  only  a disgrace  to 
him,  whatever  men  may  say.  For  not  to  know  the  nature  of 
justice  and  injustice,  and  good  and  evil,  and  not  to  be  able 
to  distinguish  the  dream  from  the  reality,  cannot  in  truth  be 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus, 


The  con- 
clusion : — 
A man  must 
be  able  to 
know  and 
define  and 
denote  the 
subjects  of 
which  he  is 
speaking, 
and  to  dis- 
cern the 
natures  of 
those  whom 
he  is  ad- 
dressing. 


The  legis- 
lator or 
statesman 
must  know 
the  nature 
of  justice 
or  injustice, 
good  and 
evil. 

To  Lysias 
or  to  any 


488 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 

man  ig- 
norance of 
all  these 
things  is  a 
disgrace. 

But  if  there 
is  any  one 
who  has 
faith  in  oral 
instruction 
and  in  the 
reminis- 
cence of 
ideas, — 
with  him  we 
sympathize, 
and  pray 
that  we  may 
become  like 
him. 


Poets, 
orators, 
legislators, 
if  their 
composi- 
tions are 
based  on 
truth,  are 
worthy  to 
be  called 
philoso- 
phers. 


The  message  to  Lysias  and  Isocrates. 

otherwise  than  disgraceful  to  him,  even  though  he  have  the 
applause  of  the  whole  world. 

Phaedr.  Certainly. 

Soc.  But  he  who  thinks  that  in  the  written  word  there  is 
necessarily  much  which  is  not  serious,  and  that  neither 
poetry  nor  prose,  spoken  or  written,  is  of  any  great  value,  if, 
like  the  compositions  of  the  rhapsodes,  they  are  only  recited 
in  order  to  be  believed,  and  not  with  any  view  to  criticism  or  278 
instruction ; and  who  thinks  that  even  the  best  of  writings 
are  but  a reminiscence  of  what  we  know,  and  that  only  in 
principles  of  justice  and  goodness  and  nobility  taught  and 
communicated  orally  for  the  sake  of  instruction  and  graven 
in  the  soul,  which  is  the  true  way  of  writing,  is  there  clear- 
ness and  perfection  and  seriousness,  and  that  such  principles 
are  a man’s  own  and  his  legitimate  offspring being,  in  the 
first  place,  the  word  which  he  finds  in  his  own  bosom ; 
secondly,  the  brethren  and  descendants  and  relations  of  his 
idea  which  have  been  duly  implanted  by  him  in  the  souls  of 
others ; — and  who  cares  for  them  and  no  others— this  is  the 
right  sort  of  man  ; and  you  and  I,  Phaedrus,  would  pray  that 
we  may  become  like  him. 

Phaedr.  That  is  most  assuredly  my  desire  and  prayer. 

Soc.  And  now  the  play  is  played  out ; and  of  rhetoric 
enough.  Go  and  tell  Lysias  that  to  the  fountain  and  school 
of  the  Nymphs  we  went  down,  and  were  bidden  by  them  to 
convey  a message  to  him  and  to  other  composers  of  speeches 
— to  Homer  and  other  writers  of  poems,  whether  set  to 
music  or  not ; and  to  Solon  and  others  who  have  composed 
writings  in  the  form  of  political  discourses  which  they  would 
term  laws — to  all  of  them  we  are  to  say  that  if  their  compo- 
sitions are  based  on  knowledge  of  the  truth,  and  they  can 
defend  or  prove  them,  when  they  are  put  to  the  test,  by 
spoken  arguments,  which  leave  their  writings  poor  in  com- 
parison of  them,  then  they  are  to  be  called,  not  only  poets, 
orators,  legislators,  but  are  worthy  of  a higher  name,  befitting 
the  serious  pursuit  of  their  life. 

Phaedr.  What  name  would  you  assign  to  them  ? 

Soc.  Wise,  I may  not  call  them ; for  that  is  a great  name 
which  belongs  to  God  alone, — lovers  of  wisdom  or  philoso- 
phers is  their  modest  and  befitting  title. 


The  prayer  at  departure 


489 


Phaedr.  Very  suitable. 

Soc.  And  he  who  cannot  rise  above  his  own  compilations 
and  compositions,  which  he  has  been  long  patching  and 
piecing,  adding  some  and  taking  away  some,  may  be  justly 
called  poet  or  speech-maker  or  law-maker. 

Phaedr.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Now  go  and  tell  this  to  your  companion. 

Phaedr.  But  there  is  also  a friend  of  yours  who  ought  not 
to  be  forgotten. 

Soc.  Who  is  he  ? 

79  Phaedr.  Isocrates  the  fair  : — What  message  will  you  send 
to  him,  and  how  shall  we  describe  him  ? 

Soc.  Isocrates  is  still  young,  Phaedrus ; but  I am  willing 
to  hazard  a prophecy  concerning  him. 

Phaedr.  What  would  you  prophesy  ? 

Soc.  I think  that  he  has  a genius  which  soars  above  the 
orations  of  Lysias,  and  that  his  character  is  cast  in  a finer 
mould.  My  impression  of  him  is  that  he  will  marvellously 
improve  as  he  grows  older,  and  that  all  former  rhetoricians 
will  be  as  children  in  comparison  of  him.  And  I believe  that 
he  will  not  be  satisfied  with  rhetoric,  but  that  there  is  in  him 
a divine  inspiration  which  will  lead  him  to  things  higher  still. 
For  he  has  an  element  of  philosophy  in  his  nature.  This  is 
the  message  of  the  gods  dwelling  in  this  place,  and  which  I 
will  myself  deliver  to  Isocrates,  who  is  my  delight ; and  do 
you  give  the  other  to  Lysias,  who  is  yours. 

Phaedr.  I will ; and  now  as  the  heat  is  abated  let  us 
% 

depart. 

Soc.  Should  we  not  offer  up  a prayer  first  of  all  to  the 
local  deities? 

Phaedr.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  Beloved  Pan,  and  all  ye  other  gods  who  haunt  this 
place,  give  me  beauty  in  the  inward  soul ; and  may  the 
outward  and  inward  man  be  at  one.  May  I reckon  the  wise 
to  be  the  wealthy,  and  may  I have  such  a quantity  of  gold  as 
a temperate  man  and  he  only  can  bear  and  carry. — Anything 
more?  The  prayer,  I think,  is  enough  for  me. 

Phaedr.  Ask  the  same  for  me,  for  friends  should  have  all 
things  in  common. 

Soc.  Let  us  go. 


Phaedrus. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus. 


Give  this  as 
our  mes- 
sage to 
Lysias. 


Another 
message  to 
Isocrates, 
which  is  ex- 
pressed in 
terms  of 
the  highest 
praise. 


ION. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  Ion  is  the  shortest,  or  nearly  the  shortest,  of  all  the 
writings  which  bear  the  name  of  Plato,  and  is  not  authenticated 
by  any  early  external  testimony.  The  grace  and  beauty  of  this 
little  work  supply  the  only,  and  perhaps  a sufficient,  proof  of  its 
genuineness.  The  plan  is  simple ; the  dramatic  interest  consists 
entirely  in  the  contrast  between  the  irony  of  Socrates  and  the 
transparent  vanity  and  childlike  enthusiasm  of  the  rhapsode  Ion. 
The  theme  of  the  Dialogue  may  possibly  have  been  suggested 
by  the  passage  of  Xenophon’s  Memorabilia  (iv.  2,  10)  in  which 
the  rhapsodists  are  described  by  Euthydemus  as  ‘very  precise 
about  the  exact  words  of  Homer,  but  very  idiotic  themselves.’ 
(Cp.  Aristotle,  Met.  xiii.  chap.  6.  § 7.) 

steph.  Ion  the  rhapsode  has  just  come  to  Athens ; he  has  been  ex- 
530  hibiting  in  Epidaurus  at  the  festival  of  Asclepius,  and  is  intending 
to  exhibit  at  the  festival  of  the  Panathenaea.  Socrates  admires 
and  envies  the  rhapsode's  art ; for  he  is  always  well  dressed  and 
in  good  company — in  the  company  of  good  poets  and  of  Homer, _ 
who  is  the  prince  of  them.  In  the  course  of  conversation  the 

531  admission  is  elicited  from  Ion  that  his  skill  is  restricted  to  Homer, 
and  that  he  knows  nothing  of  inferior  poets,  such  as  Hesiod  and 
Archilochus; — he  brightens  up  and  is  wide  awake  when  Homer 
is  being  recited,  but  is  apt  to  go  to  sleep  at  the  recitations  of  any 
other  poet.  ‘And  yet,  surely,  he  who  knows  the  superior  ought 

532  to  know  the  inferior  also ; — he  who  can  judge  of  the  good  speaker 
is  able  to  judge  of  the  bad.  And  poetry  is  a whole  ; and  he  who 
judges  of  poetry  by  rules  of  art  ought  to  be  able  to  judge  of 

533  all  poetry.’  This  is  confirmed  by  the  analogy  of  sculpture, 
painting,  flute-playing,  and  the  other  arts.  The  argument  is 
at  last  brought  home  to  the  mind  of  Ion,  who  asks  how  this 


Ion. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Analysis. 


494 


I 0)1. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  533-542. 

contradiction  is  to  be  solved.  The  solution  given  by  Socrates  is 
as  follows  : — 

The  rhapsode  is  not  guided  by  rules  of  art,  but  is  an  inspired 
person  who  derives  a mysterious  power  from  the  poet ; and  the 
poet,  in  like  manner,  is  inspired  by  the  God.  The  poets  and  their  534 
interpreters  may  be  compared  to  a chain  of  magnetic  rings  sus- 
pended from  one  another,  and  from  a magnet.  The  magnet  is 
the  Muse,  and  the  ring  which  immediately  follows  is  the  poet 
himself;  from  him  are  suspended  other  poets;  there  is  also  a 
chain  of  rhapsodes  and  actors,  who  also  hang  from  the  Muses,  but 
are  let  down  at  the  side  ; and  the  last  ring  of  all  is  the  spectator. 
The  poet  is  the  inspired  interpreter  of  the  God,  and  this  is  the 
reason  why  some  poets,  like  Homer,  are  restricted  to  a single 
theme,  or,  like  Tynnichus,  are  famous  for  a single  poem  ; and  the 
rhapsode  is  the  inspired  interpreter  of  the  poet,  and  for  a similar 
reason  some  rhapsodes,  like  Ion,  are  the  interpreters  of  single 
poets. 

Ion  is  delighted  at  the  notion  of  being  inspired,  and  ac- 
knowledges that  he  is  beside  himself  when  he  is  performing ; — 
his  eyes  rain  tears  and  his  hair  stands  on  end.  Socrates  is  of 
opinion  that  a man  must  be  mad  who  behaves  in  this  way  at 
a festival  when  he  is  surrounded  by  his  friends  and  there  is 
nothing  to  trouble  him.  Ion  is  confident  that  Socrates  would 
never  think  him  mad  if  he  could  only  hear  his  embellishments 
of  Homer.  Socrates  asks  whether  he  can  speak  well  about 
everything  in  Homer.  ‘Yes,  indeed  he  can.’  ‘What  about  things  537 
of  which  he  has  no  knowledge  ? ’ Ion  answers  that  he  can 
interpret  anything  in  Homer.  But,  rejoins  Socrates,  when 
Homer  speaks  of  the  arts,  as  for  example,  of  chariot-driving, 
or  of  medicine,  or  of  prophecy,  or  of  navigation — will  he,  or 
will  the  charioteer  or  physician  or  prophet  or  pilot  be  the  better 
judge  ? Ion  is  compelled  to  admit  that  every  man  will  judge 
of  his  own  particular  art  better  than  the  rhapsode.  He  still  54 1 
maintains,  however,  that  he  understands  the  art  of  the  general 
as  well  as  any  one.  ‘ Then  why  in  this  city  of  Athens,  in  which 
men  of  merit  are  always  being  sought  after,  is  he  not  at  once 
appointed  a general  ?’  Ion  replies  that  he  is  a foreigner,  and  the 
Athenians  and  Spartans  will  not  appoint  a foreigner  to  be  their 
general.  ‘No,  that  is  not  the  real  reason;  there  are  man}' 


The  inspiration  of  the  poet. 

examples  to  the  contrary.  But  Ion  has  long  been  playing  tricks 
with  the  argument;  like  Proteus,  he  transforms  himself  into  a 
variety  of  shapes,  and  is  at  last  about  to  run  away  in  the  disguise 
542  of  a general.  Would  he  rather  be  regarded  as  inspired  or  dis- 
honest?’ Ion,  who  has  no  suspicion  of  the  irony  of  Socrates, 
eagerly  embraces  the  alternative  of  inspiration. 

The  Ion,  like  the  other  earlier  Platonic  Dialogues,  is  a mixture 
of  jest  and  earnest,  in  which  no  definite  result  is  obtained,  but 
some  Socratic  or  Platonic  truths  are  allowed  dimly  to  appear. 

The  elements  of  a true  theory  of  poetry  are  contained  in  the 
notion  that  the  poet  is  inspired.  Genius  is  often  said  to  be 
unconscious,  or  spontaneous,  or  a gift  of  nature  : that  ‘ genius 
is  akin  to  madness  ’ is  a popular  aphorism  of  modern  times.  The 
greatest  strength  is  observed  to  have  an  element  of  limitation. 
Sense  or  passion  are  too  much  for  the  ‘ dry  light  ’ of  intelligence 
which  mingles  with  them  and  becomes  discoloured  by  them. 
Imagination  is  often  at  war  with  reason  and  fact.  The  con- 
centration of  the  mind  on  a single  object,  or  on  a single  aspect 
of  human  nature,  overpowers  the  orderly  perception  of  the  whole. 
Yet  the  feelings  too  bring  truths  home  to  the  minds  of  many  who 
in  the  way  of  reason  would  be  incapable  of  understanding  them. 
Reflections  of  this  kind  may  have  been  passing  before  Plato’s 
mind  when  he  describes  the  poet  as  inspired,  or  when,  as  in  the 
Apology  (22  b,  foil.),  he  speaks  of  poets  as  the  worst  critics  of 
their  own  writings — anybody  taken  at  random  from  the  crowd  is 
a better  interpreter  of  them  than  they  are  of  themselves.  They 
are  sacred  persons,  ‘winged  and  holy  things  ’ who  have  a touch 
of  madness  in  their  composition  (Phaedr.  245  a),  and  should  be 
treated  with  every  sort  of  respect  (Rep.  iii.  398  a),  but  not  allowed 
to  live  in  a well-ordered  state.  Like  the  Statesmen  in  the  Meno 
(p.  99),  they  have  a divine  instinct,  but  they  are  narrow  and 
confused ; they  do  not  attain  to  the  clearness  of  ideas,  or  to  the 
knowledge  of  poetry  or  of  any  other  art  as  a whole. 

In  the  Protagoras  (316  d,  foil.)  the  ancient  poets  are  recognized 
by  Protagoras  himself  as  the  original  sophists ; and  this  family 
resemblance  may  be  traced  in  the  Ion.  The  rhapsode  belongs  to 
the  realm  of  imitation  and  of  opinion  : he  professes  to  have  all 
knowledge,  which  is  derived  by  him  from  Homer,  just  as  the 


495 

Ion. 

Analysis. 


Introduc- 

tion. 


496 


Ion. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


The  inspiration  of  the  poet. 

sophist  professes  to  have  all  wisdom,  which  is  contained  in  his  art 
of  rhetoric.  Even  more  than  the  sophist  he  is  incapable  of 
appreciating  the  commonest  logical  distinctions;  he  cannot  ex- 
plain the  nature  of  his  own  art;  his  great  memory  contrasts  with 
his  inability  to  follow  the  steps  of  the  argument.  And  in  his 
highest  moments  of  inspiration  he  has  an  eye  to  his  own  gains 
(535  E). 

The  old  quarrel  between  philosophy  and  poetry,  which  in  the 
Republic  leads  to  their  final  separation,  is  already  working  in  the 
mind  of  Plato,  and  is  embodied  by  him  in  the  contrast  between 
Socrates  and  Ion.  Yet  here,  as  in  the  Republic,  Socrates  shows 
a s}’'mpathy  with  the  poetic  nature.  Also,  the  manner  in  which 
Ion  is  affected  by  his  own  recitations  affords  a lively  illustration 
of  the  power  which,  in  the  Republic  (394  foil.),  Socrates  attributes 
to  dramatic  performances  over  the  mind  of  the  performer.  His 
allusion  to  his  embellishments  of  Homer,  in  which  he  declares 
himself  to  have  surpassed  Metrodorus  of  Lampsacus  and  Stesim- 
brotus  of  Thasos,  seems  to  show  that,  like  them,  he  belonged 
to  the  allegorical  school  of  interpreters.  The  circumstance  that 
nothing  more  is  known  of  him  may  be  adduced  in  confirmation  of 
the  argument  that  this  truly  Platonic  little  work  is  not  a forgery  of 
later  times. 


I O N. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 
Socrates.  Ion. 


steph.  Socrates.  Welcome,  Ion.  Are  you  from  your  native  city 
530  of  Ephesus  ? 

Ion.  No,  Socrates;  but  from  Epidaurus,  where  I attended 
the  festival  of  Asclepius. 

Soc.  And  do  the  Epidaurians  have  contests  of  rhapsodes 
at  the  festival? 

Ion.  O yes  ; and  of  all  sorts  of  musical  performers. 

Soc.  And  were  you  one  of  the  competitors— and  did  you 
succeed  ? 

Ion.  I obtained  the  first  prize  of  all,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Well  done ; and  I hope  that  you  will  do  the  same  for 
us  at  the  Panathenaea. 

Ion.  And  I will,  please  heaven. 

Soc.  I often  envy  the  profession  of  a rhapsode,  Ion ; for 
you  have  always  to  wear  fine  clothes,  and  to  look  as  beautiful 
as  you  can  is  a part  of  your  art.  Then,  again,  you  are  obliged 
to  be  continually  in  the  company  of  many  good  poets ; and 
especially  of  Homer,  who  is  the  best  and  most  divine  of  them; 
and  to  understand  him,  and  not  merely  learn  his  words  by 
rote,  is  a thing  greatly  to  be  envied.  And  no  man  can  be  a 
rhapsode  who  does  not  understand  the  meaning  of  the  poet. 
For  the  rhapsode  ought  to  interpret  the  mind  of  the  poet  to 
his  hearers,  but  how  can  he  interpret  him  well  unless  he 
knows  what  he  means?  All  this  is  greatly  to  be  envied. 

Ion.  Very  true,  Socrates  ; interpretation  has  certainly  been 
the  most  laborious  part  of  my  art;  and  I believe  myself  able 

K k 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 

Socrates 
meets  Ion 
the  Rhap- 
sode. 


How  envi- 
able is  the 
profession 
of  a rhap- 
sode ! He 
is  always 
finely 
dressed 
and  he  lives 
in  good 
company 
among 
poets,  of 
whom  he  is 
the  inter- 
preter to 
men. 


VOL.  I. 


49« 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 

Ion  devotes 
himself  to 
the  exclu- 
sive inter- 
pretation of 
Homer. 


The  profession  of  a rhapsode. 

to  speak  about  Homer  better  than  any  man ; and  that  neither 
Metrodorus  of  Lampsacus,  nor  Stesimbrotus  of  Thasos,  nor 
Glaucon,  nor  any  one  else  who  ever  was,  had  as  good  ideas 
about  Homer  as  I have,  or  as  many. 

Soc.  I am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Ion;  I see  that  you 
will  not  refuse  to  acquaint  me  with  them. 

Ion.  Certainly,  Socrates  ; and  you  really  ought  to  hear 
how  exquisitely  I render  Homer.  I think  that  the  Homer- 
idae  should  give  me  a golden  crown. 

Soc.  I shall  take  an  opportunity  of  hearing  your  embellish- 
ments of  him  at  some  other  time.  But  just  now  I should  53 
like  to  ask  you  a question  : Does  your  art  extend  to  Hesiod 
and  Archilochus,  or  to  Homer  only? 

Ion.  To  Homer  only;  he  is  in  himself  quite  enough. 

Soc.  Are  there  any  things  about  which  Homer  and  Hesiod 
agree  ? 

Ion.  Yes;  in  my  opinion  there  are  a good  many. 

Soc.  And  can  you  interpret  better  what  Homer  says,  or 
what  Hesiod  says,  about  these  matters  in  which  they  agree? 

Ion.  I can  interpret  them  equally  well,  Socrates,  where 
they  agree. 

Soc.  But  what  about  matters  in  which  they  do  not  agree? — 
for  example,  about  divination,  of  which  both  Homer  and 
Hesiod  have  something  to  say, — 

Ion.  Very  true  : 

Soc.  Would  you  or  a good  prophet  be  a better  interpreter 
of  what  these  two  poets  say  about  divination,  not  only  when 
they  agree,  but  when  they  disagree? 

Ion.  A prophet. 

Soc.  And  if  you  were  a prophet,  would  you  not  be  able  to 
interpret  them  when  they  disagree  as  well  as  when  they 
agree  ? 

Ion.  Clearly. 

Soc.  But  how  did  you  come  to  have  this  skill  about  Homer 
only,  and  not  about  Hesiod  or  the  other  poets?  Does  not 
Homer  speak  of  the  same  themes  which  all  other  poets 
handle?  Is  not  war  his  great  argument?  and  does  he  not 
speak  of  human  society  and  of  intercourse  of  men,  good  and 
bad,  skilled  and  unskilled,  and  of  the  gods  conversing  with 
one  another  and  with  mankind,  and  about  what  happens  in 


Homer  and  Hesiod. 


499 


heaven  and  in  the  world  below,  and  the  generations  of  gods 
and  heroes?  Are  not  these  the  themes  of  which  Homer 
sings  ? 

Ion.  V ery  true,  Socrates. 

Soc.  And  do  not  the  other  poets  sing  of  the  same  ? 

Ion.  Yes,  Socrates  ; but  not  in  the  same  way  as  Homer. 

Soc.  What,  in  a worse  way  ? 

Ion.  Yes,  in  a far  worse. 

Soc.  And  Homer  in  a better  way? 

Ion.  He  is  incomparably  better. 

Soc.  And  yet  surely,  my  dear  friend  Ion,  in  a discussion 
about  arithmetic,  where  many  people  are  speaking,  and  one 
speaks  better  than  the  rest,  there  is  somebody  who  can 
judge  which  of  them  is  the  good  speaker? 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  he  who  judges  of  the  good  will  be  the  same  as 
he  who  judges  of  the  bad  speakers? 

Ion.  The  same. 

Soc.  And  he  will  be  the  arithmetician  ? 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  Well,  and  in  discussions  about  the  wholesomeness  of 
food,  when  many  persons  are  speaking,  and  one  speaks 
better  than  the  rest,  will  he  who  recognizes  the  better 
speaker  be  a different  person  from  him  who  recognizes  the 
worse,  or  the  same  ? 

Ion.  Clearly  the  same. 

Soc.  And  who  is  he,  and  what  is  his  name  ? 

Ion.  The  physician. 

Soc.  And  speaking  generally,  in  all  discussions  in  which 
the  subject  is  the  same  and  many  men  are  speaking,  will  not 
532  he  who  knows  the  good  know  the  bad  speaker  also  ? For  if 
he  does  not  know  the  bad,  neither  will  he  know  the  good 
when  the  same  topic  is  being  discussed. 

Ion.  True. 

Soc.  Is  not  the  same  person  skilful  in  both  ? 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  you  say  that  Homer  and  the  other  poets,  such 
as  Hesiod  and  Archilochus,  speak  of  the  same  things, 
although  not  in  the  same  way;  but  the  one  speaks  well  and 
the  other  not  so  well  ? 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 


But 

Socrates 
argues  that 
he  who 
knows 
Homer, 
who  is  the 
better,  will 
know  Ar- 
chilochus 
and  He- 
siod, who 
are  the 
inferiors. 


K k 2 


500 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 


' Why  then 
is  Ion  all 
alive  when 
Homer  is 
spoken  of, 
but  goes 
to  sleep  at 
the  mention 
of  any 
other 
poet  ? ’ — 
Because 
he  has  no 
knowledge 
of  poetry  as 
a whole. 


The  ana- 
logy of  the 
other  arts. 


Ion's  difficulty. 

Ion.  Yes ; and  I am  right  in  saying  so. 

Soc.  And  if  you  knew  the  good  speaker,  you  would  also 
know  the  inferior  speakers  to  be  inferior? 

Ion.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  I hen,  my  dear  friend,  can  I be  mistaken  in  saying 
that  Ion  is  equally  skilled  in  Homer  and  in  other  poets, 
since  he  himself  acknowledges  that  the  same  person  will  be 
a good  judge  of  all  those  who  speak  of  the  same  things  ; and 
that  almost  all  poets  do  speak  of  the  same  things? 

Ion.  Why  then,  Socrates,  do  I lose  attention  and  go  to 
sleep  and  have  absolutely  no  ideas  of  the  least  value,  when 
any  one  speaks  of  any  other  poet;  but  when  Homer  is 
mentioned,  I wake  up  at  once  and  am  all  attention  and  have 
plenty  to  say? 

Soc.  The  reason,  my  friend,  is  obvious.  No  one  can  fail 
to  see  that  you  speak  of  Homer  without  any  art  or  know- 
ledge. If  you  were  able  to  speak  of  him  by  rules  of  art,  you 
would  have  been  able  to  speak  of  all  other  poets ; for  poetry 
is  a whole. 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  when  any  one  acquires  any  other  art  as  a whole, 
the  same  may  be  said  of  them.  Would  you  like  me  to 
explain  my  meaning,  Ion  ? 

Ion.  Yes,  indeed,  Socrates;  I very  much  wish  that  you 
would  : for  I love  to  hear  you  wise  men  talk. 

Soc.  O that  we  were  wise,  Ion,  and  that  you  could  truly 
call  us  so ; but  you  rhapsodes  and  actors,  and  the  poets 
whose  verses  you  sing,  are  wise ; whereas  I am  a common 
man,  who  only  speak  the  truth.  For  consider  what  a very 
commonplace  and  trivial  thing  is  this  which  I have  said — a 
thing  which  any  man  might  say:  that  when  a man  has 
acquired  a knowledge  of  a whole  art,  the  enquiry  into  good 
and  bad  is  one  and  the  same.  Let  us  consider  this  matter  ; 
is  not  the  art  of  painting  a whole? 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  there  are  and  have  been  many  painters  good 
and  bad  ? 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  did  you  ever  know  any  one  who  was  skilful  in 
pointing  out  the  excellences  and  defects  of  Polygnotus  the 


The  explanation  of  it  in  a figure. 


501 


533  son  of  Aglaophon,  but  incapable  of  criticizing  other  painters; 
and  when  the  work  of  any  other  painter  was  produced,  went 
to  sleep  and  was  at  a loss,  and  had  no  ideas ; but  when  he 
had  to  give  his  opinion  about  Polygnotus,  or  whoever  the 
painter  might  be,  and  about  him  only,  woke  up  and  was 
attentive  and  had  plenty  to  say? 

Ion.  No  indeed,  I have  never  known  such  a person. 

Soc.  Or  did  you  ever  know  of  any  one  in  sculpture,  who 
was  skilful  in  expounding  the  merits  of  Daedalus  the  son  of 
Metion,  or  of  Epeius  the  son  of  Panopeus,  or  of  Theodorus 
the  Samian,  or  of  any  individual  sculptor ; but  when  the 
works  of  sculptors  in  general  were  produced,  was  at  a loss 
and  went  to  sleep  and  had  nothing  to  say  ? 

Ion.  No  indeed  ; no  more  than  the  other. 

Soc.  And  if  I am  not  mistaken,  you  never  met  with  any  one 
among  flute-players  or  harp-players  or  singers  to  the  harp  or 
rhapsodes  who  was  able  to  discourse  of  Olympus  or  Thamyras 
or  Orpheus,  or  Phemius  the  rhapsode  of  Ithaca,  but  was  at  a 
loss  when  he  came  to  speak  of  Ion  of  Ephesus,  and  had  no 
notion  of  his  merits  or  defects  ? 

Ion.  I cannot  deny  what_you  say,  Socrates.  Nevertheless 
I am  conscious  in  my  own  self,  and  the  world  agrees  with  me 
in  thinking  that  I do  speak  better  and  have  more  to  say  about 
Homer  than  any  other  man.  But  I do  not  speak  equally  well 
about  others — tell  me  the  reason  of  this. 

Soc.  I perceive,  Ion ; and  I will  proceed  to  explain  to  you 
what  I imagine  to  be  the  reason  of  this.  The  gift  which  you 
possess  of  speaking  excellently  about  Homer  is  not  an  art, 
but,  as  I was  just  saying,  an  inspiration  ; there  is  a divinity 
moving  you,  like  that  contained  in  the  stone  which  Euripides 
calls  a magnet,  but  which  is  commonly  known  as  the  stone  of 
Heraclea.  This  stone  not  only  attracts  iron  rings,  but  also 
imparts  to  them  a similar  power  of  attracting  other  rings ; 
and  sometimes  you  may  see  a number  of  pieces  of  iron  and 
rings  suspended  from  one  another  so  as  to  form  quite  a long 
chain  : and  all  of  them  derive  their  power  of  suspension  from 
the  original  stone.  In  like  manner  the  Muse  first  of  all 
inspires  men  herself ; and  from  these  inspired  persons  a chain 
of  other  persons  is  suspended,  who  take  the  inspiration.  For 
all  good  poets,  epic  as  well  as  lyric,  compose  their  beautiful 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 


The  gift  of 
speaking 
well  about 
Homer  is 
an  inspira- 
tion which 
exercises  a 
magnetic 
power.  All 
good  poets 
are  in- 
spired. 


502 


Inspiration  and  art. 


Ion. 

SOCKATKS, 

Ion. 


They  have 
no  rules  of 
art,  and  are 
therefore 
unable  to 
utter  strains 
of  more 
than  one 
kind. 


Tynnichus 
composed  a 
single  poem 
only. 


poems  not  by  art,  but  because  they  are  inspired  and  possessed. 
And  as  the  Corybantian  revellers  when  they  dance  are  not  in  534 
their  right  mind,  so  the  lyric  poets  are  not  in  their  right  mind 
when  they  are  composing  their  beautiful  strains : but  when 
falling  under  the  power  of  music  and  metre  they  are  inspired 
and  possessed ; like  Bacchic  maidens  who  draw  milk  and 
honey  from  the  rivers  when  they  are  under  the  influence  of 
Dionysus  but  not  when  they  are  in  their  right  mind.  And 
the  soul  of  the  lyric  poet  does  the  same,  as  they  themselves 
say ; for  they  tell  us  that  they  bring  songs  from  honeyed 
fountains,  culling  them  out  of  the  gardens  and  dells  of  the 
Muses  ; they,  like  the  bees,  winging  their  way  from  flower  to 
flower.  And  this  is  true.  For  the  poet  is  a light  and  winged 
and  holy  thing,  and  there  is  no  invention  in  him  until  he  has 
been  inspired  and  is  out  of  his  senses,  and  the  mind  is  no 
longer  in  him : when  he  has  not  attained  to  this  state,  he  is 
powerless  and  is  unable  to  utter  his  oracles.  Many  are  the 
noble  words  in  which  poets  speak  concerning  the  actions  of 
men  ; but  like  yourself  when  speaking  about  Homer,  they  do 
not  speak  of  them  by  any  rules  of  art : they  are  simply  inspired 
to  utter  that  to  which  the  Muse  impels  them,  and  that  only; 
and  when  inspired,  one  of  them  will  make  dithyrambs,  another 
hymns  of  praise,  another  choral  strains,  another  epic  or  iambic 
verses — and  he  who  is  good  at  one  is  not  good  at  any  other 
kind  of  verse  : for  not  by  art  does  the  poet  sing,  but  by  power 
divine.  Had  he  learned  by  rules  of  art,  he  would  have  known 
how  to  speak  not  of  one  theme  only,  but  of  all ; and  therefore 
God  takes  away  the  minds  of  poets,  and  uses  them  as  his 
ministers,  as  he  also  uses  diviners  and  holy  prophets,  in  order 
that  we  who  hear  them  may  know  them  to  be  speaking  not 
of  themselves  who  utter  these  priceless  words  in  a state  of 
unconsciousness,  but  that  God  himself  is  the  speaker,  and  that 
through  them  he  is  conversing  with  us.  And  Tynnichus  the 
Chalcidian  affords  a striking  instance  of  what  I am  saying : 
he  wrote  nothing  that  any  one  would  care  to  remember  but 
the  famous  paean  which  is  in  every  one’s  mouth,  one  of  the 
finest  poems  ever  written,  simply  an  invention  of  the  Muses, 
as  he  himself  says.  For  in  this  way  the  God  would  seem  to 
indicate  to  us  and  not  allow  us  to  doubt  that  these  beautiful 
poems  arc  not  human,  or  the  work  of  man,  but  divine  and  the 


503 


The  performances  oj  Ion. 

work  of  God  ; and  that  the  poets  are  only  the  interpreters  of 
the  Gods  by  whom  they  are  severally  possessed.  Was  not 
this  the  lesson  which  the  God  intended  to  teach  when  by  the 
mouth  of  the  worst  of  poets  he  sang  the  best  of  songs  ? Am 
I not  right,  Ion  ? 

Ion.  Yes,  indeed,  Socrates,  I feel  that  you  are ; for  your 
words  touch  my  soul,  and  I am  persuaded  that  good  poets  by 
a divine  inspiration  interpret  the  things  of  the  Gods  to  us. 

Soc.  And  you  rhapsodists  are  the  interpreters  of  the  poets  ? 

Ion.  There  again  you  are  right. 

Soc.  Then  you  are  the  interpreters  of  interpreters  ? 

Ion.  Precisely. 

Soc.  I wish  you  would  frankly  tell  me,  Ion,  what  I am  going 
to  ask  of  you : When  you  produce  the  greatest  effect  upon 
the  audience  in  the  recitation  of  some  striking  passage,  such 
as  the  apparition  of  Odysseus  leaping  forth  on  the  floor, 
recognized  by  the  suitors  and  casting  his  arrows  at  his  feet, 
or  the  description  of  Achilles  rushing  at  Hector,  or  the 
sorrows  of  Andromache,  Hecuba,  or  Priam, — are  you  in  your 
right  mind  ? Are  you  not  carried  out  of  yourself,  and  does 
not  your  soul  in  an  ecstasy  seem  to  be  among  the  persons  or 
places  of  which  you  are  speaking,  whether  they  are  in  Ithaca 
or  in  Troy  or  whatever  may  be  the  scene  of  the  poem  ? 

Ion.  That  proof  strikes  home  to  me,  Socrates.  For  I must 
frankly  confess  that  at  the  tale  of  pity  my  eyes  are  filled  with 
tears,  and  when  I speak  of  horrors,  my  hair  stands  on  end  and 
my  heart  throbs. 

Soc.  Well,  Ion,  and  what  are  we  to  say  of  a man  who  at 
a sacrifice  or  festival,  when  he  is  dressed  in  holiday  attire, 
and  has  golden  crowns  upon  his  head,  of  which  nobody 
has  robbed  him,  appears  weeping  or  panic-stricken  in  the 
presence  of  more  than  twenty  thousand  friendly  faces,  when 
there  is  no  one  despoiling  or  wronging  him ; — is  he  in  his 
right  mind  or  is  he  not  ? 

Ion.  No  indeed,  Socrates,  I must  say  that,  strictly  speaking, 
he  is  not  in  his  right  mind. 

Soc.  And  are  you  aware  that  you  produce  similar  effects 
on  most  of  the  spectators  ? 

Ion.  Only  too  well ; for  1 look  down  upon  them  from  the 
stage,  and  behold  the  various  emotions  of  pity,  wonder,  stern- 


lon. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 


Ion  himself 
is  not  in  his 
right  mind 
when  he 
produces 
the  greatest 
effect. 


504 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 


The  rings 
which  hang 
from  the 
Muse. 


The  rings  and  the  rhapsode. 

ness,  stamped  upon  their  countenances  when  I am  speaking : 
and  I am  obliged  to  give  my  very  best  attention  to  them  ; for 
ifl  make  them  cry  I myself  shall  laugh,  and  if  I make  them 
laugh  I myself  shall  cry  when  the  time  of  payment  arrives. 

Soc.  Do  you  know  that  the  spectator  is  the  last  of  the  rings 
which,  as  I am  saying,  receive  the  power  of  the  original  mag- 
net from  one  another?  The  rhapsode  like  yourself  and  the 
actor  are  intermediate  links,  and  the  poet  himself  is  the  first  536 
of  them.  Through  all  these  the  God  sways  the  souls  of  men 
in  any  direction  which  he  pleases,  and  makes  one  man  hang 
down  from  another.  Thus  there  is  a vast  chain  of  dancers 
and  masters  and  under-masters  of  choruses,  who  are  sus- 
pended, as  if  from  the  stone,  at  the  side  of  the  rings  which 
hang  down  from  the  Muse.  And  every  poet  has  some  Muse 
from  whom  he  is  suspended,  and  by  whom  he  is  said  to  be 
possessed,  which  is  nearly  the  same  thing;  for  he  is  taken 
hold  of.  And  from  these  first  rings,  which  are  the  poets, 
depend  others,  some  deriving  their  inspiration  from  Orpheus, 
others  from  Musaeus  ; but  the  greater  number  are  possessed 
and  held  by  Homer.  Of  whom,  Ion,  you  are  one,  and  are 
possessed  by  Homer ; and  when  any  one  repeats  the  words 
of  another  poet  you  go  to  sleep,  and  know  not  what  to  say  ; 
but  when  any  one  recites  a strain  of  Homer  you  wake  up  in 
a moment,  and  your  soul  leaps  within  you,  and  you  have 
plenty  to  say;  for  not  by  art  or  knowledge  about  Homer  do 
you  say  what  you  say,  but  by  divine  inspiration  and  by 
possession  ; just  as  the  Corybantian  revellers  too  have  a 
quick  perception  of  that  strain  only  which  is  appropriated  to 
the  God  by  whom  they  are  possessed,  and  have  plenty  of 
dances  and  words  for  that,  but  take  no  heed  of  any  other. 

And  you,  Ion,  when  the  name  of  Homer  is  mentioned  have 
plenty  to  say,  and  have  nothing  to  say  of  others.  You  ask, 
‘Why  is  this?’  The  answer  is  that  you  praise  Homer  not 
by  art  but  by  divine  inspiration. 

Ion.  That  is  good,  Socrates ; and  yet  I doubt  whether  you 
will  ever  have  eloquence  enough  to  persuade  me  that  I praise 
Homer  only  when  I am  mad  and  possessed  ; and  if  you  could 
hear  me  speak  of  him  I am  sure  you  would  never  think  this 
to  be  the  case. 

Soc.  I should  like  very  much  to  hear  you,  but  not  until 


505 


Who  is  the  best  critic  of  Homer? 


you  have  answered  a question  which  I have  to  ask.  On 
what  part  of  Homer  do  you  speak  well  ?— not  surely  about 
every  part. 

Ion.  There  is  no  part,  Socrates,  about  which  I do  not  speak 
well : of  that  I can  assure  you. 

Soc.  Surely  not  about  things  in  Homer  of  which  you  have 
no  knowledge  ? 

Ion.  And  what  is  there  in  Homer  of  which  I have  no 
knowledge  ? 

Soc.  Why,  does  not  Homer  speak  in  many  passages  about 
537  arts?  For  example,  about  driving;  if  I can  only  remember 
the  lines  I will  repeat  them. 

Ion.  I remember,  and  will  repeat  them. 

Soc.  Tell  me  then,  what  Nestor  says  to  Antilochus,  his 
son,  where  he  bids  him  be  careful  of  the  turn  at  the  horse- 
race in  honour  of  Patroclus. 


loti. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 

Ion  knows 
every  part 
of  Homer. 


Ion.  * Bend  gently,’  lie  says,  ‘ in  the  polished  chariot  to  the  left  of  them, 
and  urge  the  horse  on  the  right  hand  with  whip  and  voice ; and  slacken  the 
rein.  And  when  you  are  at  the  goal,  let  the  left  horse  draw  near,  yet  so  that 
the  nave  of  the  well-wrought  wheel  may  not  even  seem  to  touch  the  extremity ; 
and  avoid  catching  the  stone1.’ 


Soc.  Enough.  Now,  Ion,  will  the  charioteer  or  the 
physician  be  the  better  judge  of  the  propriety  of  these 
lines  ? 

Ion.  The  charioteer,  clearly. 

Soc.  And  will  the  reason  be  that  this  is  his  art,  or  will 
there  be  any  other  reason  ? 

Ion.  No,  that  will  be  the  reason. 

Soc.  And  every  art  is  appointed  by  God  to  have  know- 
ledge of  a certain  work ; for  that  which  we  know  by  the  art 
of  the  pilot  we  do  not  know  by  the  art  of  medicine  ? 

Ion.  Certainly  not. 

Soc.  Nor  do  we  know  by  the  art  of  the  carpenter  that 
which  we  know  by  the  art  of  medicine? 

Ion.  Certainly  not. 

Soc.  And  this  is  true  of  all  the  arts ; — that  which  we  know 
with  one  art  we  do  not  know  with  the  other  ? But  let  me 
ask  a prior  question  : You  admit  that  there  are  differences 
of  arts  ? 


1 11.  xxiii.  335. 


506 


The  cross-examination  of  Ion. 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 


Every  art 
has  a dis- 
tinct sub- 
ject ; and 
he  who  has 
no  know- 
ledge of  an 
art  can 
form  no 
judgment 
of  it. 


Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  You  would  argue,  as  I should,  that  when  one  art  is 
ol  one  kind  of  knowledge  and  another  of  another,  they  are 
different  ? 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  \ es,  surely  j for  if  the  subject  of  knowledge  were  the 
same,  there  would  be  no  meaning  in  saying  that  the  arts 
were  different,— if  they  both  gave  the  same  knowledge.  For 
example,  I know  that  here  are  five  fingers,  and  you  know 
the  same.  And  if  I were  to  ask  whether  I and  you  became 
acquainted  with  this  fact  by  the  help  of  the  same  art  of 
arithmetic,  you  would  acknowledge  that  we  did  ? 

Ion.  Y es. 

Soc.  Tell  me,  then,  what  I was  intending  to  ask  you, — 538 
whether  this  holds  universally?  Must  the  same  art  have 
the  same  subject  of  knowledge,  and  different  arts  other 
subjects  of  knowledge? 

Ion.  That  is  my  opinion,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Then  he  who  has  no  knowledge  of  a particular  art 
will  have  no  right  judgment  of  the  sayings  and  doings  of 
that  art  ? 

Ion.  Very  true. 

Soc.  Then  which  will  be  a better  judge  of  the  lines  which 
you  were  reciting  from  Homer,  you  or  the  charioteer? 

Ion.  The  charioteer. 

Soc.  Why,  yes,  because  you  are  a rhapsode  and  not  a 
charioteer. 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  the  art  of  the  rhapsode  is  different  from  that  of 
the  charioteer? 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  if  a different  knowledge,  then  a knowledge  of 
different  matters? 

Ion.  True. 

Soc.  You  know  the  passage  in  which  Hecamede,  the  con- 
cubine of  Nestor,  is  described  as  giving  to  the  wounded 
Machaon  a posset,  as  he  says, 

‘ Made  with  Pramnian  wine ; and  she  grated  cheese  of  goat’s  milk  with  a 
grater  of  bronze,  and  at  his  side  placed  an  onion  which  gives  a relish  to  drink 

1 II.  xi.  638,  630. 


5°7 


The  inconsistencies  of  Ion. 

Now  would  you  say  that  the  art  of  the  rhapsode  or  the  art 
of  medicine  was  better  able  to  judge  of  the  propriety  of 
these  lines? 

Ion.  The  art  of  medicine. 

Soc.  And  when  Homer  says, 

1 And  she  descended  into  the  deep  like  a leaden  plummet,  which,  set  in  the 
horn  of  ox  that  ranges  in  the  fields,  rushes  along  carrying  death  among  the 
ravenous  fishes — 

will  the  art  of  the  fisherman  or  of  the  rhapsode  be  better 
able  to  judge  whether  these  lines  are  rightly  expressed  or 
not  ? 

Ion.  Clearly,  Socrates,  the  art  of  the  fisherman. 

Soc.  Come  now,  suppose  that  you  were  to  say  to  me : 
‘ Since  you,  Socrates,  are  able  to  assign  different  passages  in 
Homer  to  their  corresponding  arts,  I wish  that  you  would 
tell  me  what  are  the  passages  of  which  the  excellence  ought 
to  be  judged  by  the  prophet  and  prophetic  art  and  you  will 
see  how  readily  and  truly  I shall  answer  you.  For  there  are 
many  such  passages,  particularly  in  the  Odyssee ; as,  for 
example,  the  passage  in  which  Theoclymenus  the  prophet  of 
the  house  of  Melampus  says  to  the  suitors  : — 

539  ‘Wretched  men!  what  is  happening  to  you?  Your  heads  and  your  faces 
and  your  limbs  underneath  are  shrouded  in  night ; and  the  voice  of  lamenta- 
tion bursts  forth,  and  your  cheeks  are  wet  with  tears.  And  the  vestibule  is  full, 
and  the  court  is  full,  of  ghosts  descending  into  the  darkness  of  Erebus,  and  the 
sun  has  perished  out  of  heaven,  and  an  evil  mist  is  spread  abroad  V 

And  there  are  many  such  passages  in  the  Iliad  also ; as 
for  example  in  the  description  of  the  battle  near  the  rampart, 
where  he  says  : — 

1 As  they  were  eager  to  pass  the  ditch,  there  came  to  them  an  omen : a 
soaring  eagle,  holding  back  the  people  on  the  left,  bore  a huge  bloody  dragon 
in  his  talons,  still  living  and  panting ; nor  had  he  yet  resigned  the  strife,  for  he 
bent  back  and  smote  the  bird  which  carried  him  on  the  breast  by  the  neck,  and 
he  in  pain  let  him  fall  from  him  to  the  ground  into  the  midst  of  the  multitude. 
And  the  eagle,  with  a cry,  was  borne  afar  on  the  wings  of  the  wind3.’ 

These  are  the  sort  of  things  which  I should  say  that  the 
prophet  ought  to  consider  and  determine. 

Ion.  And  you  are  quite  right,  Socrates,  in  saying  so. 

Soc.  Yes,  Ion,  and  you  are  right  also.  And  as  I have 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 

For  exam- 
ple, the 
rhapsode 
can  form  no 
judgment 
of  the  art  of 
medicine, 
or  of  the 
fisherman’s 
or  of  the 
prophetic 
art. 


11.  xxiv.  8o. 


3 Od.  xx.  351. 


3 II.  xii.  200. 


5°8 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 


Ion  is  still 
of  opinion 
that  the 
rhapsode 
can  form 
a better 
general 
judgment 
of  the  pro- 
prieties of 
character : 


/ s Ion  a general  as  well  as  a rhapsode  ? 

selected  from  the  Iliad  and  Odyssee  for  you  passages  which 
describe  the  office  of  the  prophet  and  the  physician  and  the 
fisherman,  do  you,  who  know  Homer  so  much  better  than  I 
do,  Ion,  select  for  me  passages  which  relate  to  the  rhapsode 
and  the  rhapsode’s  art,  and  which  the  rhapsode  ought  to 
examine  and  judge  of  better  than  other  men. 

Ion.  All  passages,  I should  say,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Not  all,  Ion,  surely.  Have  you  already  forgotten 
what  you  were  saying  ? A rhapsode  ought  to  have  a better 
memory. 

Ion.  Why,  what  am  I forgetting?  540 

Soc.  Do  you  not  remember  that  you  declared  the  art  of 
the  rhapsode  to  be  different  from  the  art  of  the  charioteer  ? 

Ion.  Yes,  I remember. 

Soc.  And  you  admitted  that  being  different  they  would 
have  different  subjects  of  knowledge? 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  Then  upon  your  own  showing  the  rhapsode,  and  the 
art  of  the  rhapsode,  will  not  know  everything? 

Ion.  I should  exclude  certain  things,  Socrates. 

Soc.  You  mean  to  say  that  you  would  exclude  pretty 
much  the  subjects  of  the  other  arts.  As  he  does  not  know 
all  of  them,  which  of  them  will  he  know? 

Ion.  He  will  know  what  a man  and  what  a woman  ought 
to  say,  and  what  a freeman  and  what  a slave  ought  to  say, 
and  what  a ruler  and  what  a subject. 

Soc.  Do  you  mean  that  a rhapsode  will  know  better  than 
the  pilot  what  the  ruler  of  a sea-tossed  vessel  ought  to  say? 

Ion.  No;  the  pilot  will  know  best. 

Soc.  Or  will  the  rhapsode  know  better  than  the  physician 
what  the  ruler  of  a sick  man  ought  to  say? 

Ion.  He  will  not. 

Soc.  But  he  will  know  what  a slave  ought  to  say? 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  Suppose  the  slave  to  be  a cowherd  ; the  rhapsode 
will  know  better  than  the  cowherd  what  he  ought  to  say  in 
order  to  soothe  the  infuriated  cows? 

Ion.  No,  he  will  not. 

Soc.  But  he  will  know  what  a spinning-woman  ought  to 
say  about  the  working  of  wool  ? 


509 


If  so,  why  is  he  not  employed  in  war  ? 

Ion.  No. 

Soc.  At  any  rate  he  will  know  what  a general  ought  to 
say  when  exhorting  his  soldiers? 

Ion.  Yes,  that  is  the  sort  of  thing  which  the  rhapsode  will 
be  sure  to  know. 

Soc.  Well,  but  is  the  art  of  the  rhapsode  the  art  of  the 
general ? 

Ion.  I am  sure  that  I should  know  what  a general  ought 
to  say. 

Soc.  Why,  yes,  Ion,  because  you  may  possibly  have  a 
knowledge  of  the  art  of  the  general  as  well  as  of  the  rhap- 
sode ; and  you  may  also  have  a knowledge  of  horsemanship 
as  well  as  of  the  lyre  : and  then  you  would  know  when 
horses  were  well  or  ill  managed.  But  suppose  I were  to  ask 
you : By  the  help  of  which  art,  Ion,  do  you  know  whether 
horses  are  well  managed,  by  your  skill  as  a horseman  or  as 
a performer  on  the  lyre — what  would  you  answer  ? 

Ion.  I should  reply,  by  my  skill  as  a horseman. 

Soc.  And  if  you  judged  of  performers  on  the  lyre,  you 
would  admit  that  you  judged  of  them  as  a performer  on  the 
lyre,  and  not  as  a horseman  ?■ 

Ion.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  in  judging  of  the  general’s  art,  do  you  judge  of 
it  as  a general  or  a rhapsode  ? 

Ion.  To  me  there  appears  to  be  no  difference  between 
them. 

541  Soc.  What  do  you  mean  ? Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the 
art  of  the  rhapsode  and  of  the  general  is  the  same? 

Ion.  Yes,  one  and  the  same. 

Soc.  Then  he  who  is  a good  rhapsode  is  also  a good 
general ? 

Ion.  Certainly,  Socrates. 

Soc.  And  he  who  is  a good  general  is  also  a good 
rhapsode  ? 

Ion.  No  ; I do  not  say  that. 

Soc.  But  you  do  say  that  he  who  is  a good  rhapsode  is 
also  a good  general. 

Ion.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  you  are  the  best  of  Hellenic  rhapsodes? 

Ion.  Far  the  best,  Socrates. 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 

not  of  what 
a slave  or 
a cowherd 
ought  to 
say,  but  of 
what  a 
general 
ought  to 
say,  and 
accidentally 
of  what  the 
professors 
of  other 
arts  would 
say. 


Ion  is  made 
to  admit 
that  he, 
being  the 
best  of 
rhapsodes, 
is  also  the 
best  of 
generals. 


5io 


Is  Ion  inspired , or  dishonest? 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 

But  why 
then  is  he 
not  em- 
ployed ? 


Ion  is  either 
a rogue,  or 
he  is  an 
inspired 
person. 


Soc.  And  are  you  the  best  general,  Ion  ? 

Ion.  To  be  sure,  Socrates  ; and  Homer  was  my  master. 

Soc.  But  then,  Ion,  what  in  the  name  of  goodness  can  be 
the  reason  why  you,  who  are  the  best  of  generals  as  well  as 
the  best  of  rhapsodes  in  all  Hellas,  go  about  as  a rhapsode 
when  you  might  be  a general?  Do  you  think  that  the 
Hellenes  want  a rhapsode  with  his  golden  crown,  and  do  not 
want  a general  ? 

Ion.  Why,  Socrates,  the  reason  is,  that  my  countrymen, 
the  Ephesians,  are  the  servants  and  soldiers  of  Athens,  and 
do  not  need  a general ; and  you  and  Sparta  are  not  likely  to 
have  me,  for  you  think  that  you  have  enough  generals  of  your 
own. 

Soc.  My  good  Ion,  did  you  never  hear  of  Apollodorus  of 
Cyzicus  ? 

Ion.  Who  may  he  be  ? 

Soc.  One  who,  though  a foreigner,  has  often  been  chosen 
their  general  by  the  Athenians  : and  there  is  Phanosthenes 
of  Andros,  and  Heraclides  of  Clazomenae,  whom  they  have 
also  appointed  to  the  command  of  their  armies  and  to  other 
offices,  although  aliens,  after  they  had  shown  their  merit. 
And  will  they  not  choose  Ion  the  Ephesian  to  be  their 
general,  and  honour  him,  if  he  prove  himself  worthy  ? Were 
not  the  Ephesians  originally  Athenians,  and  Ephesus  is  no 
mean  city  ? But,  indeed,  Ion,  if  you  are  correct  in  saying 
that  by  art  and  knowledge  you  are  able  to  praise  Homer, 
you  do  not  deal  fairly  with  me,  and  after  all  your  professions 
of  knowing  many  glorious  things  about  Homer,  and  promises 
that  you  would  exhibit  them,  you  are  only  a deceiver,  and  so 
far  from  exhibiting  the  art  of  which  you  are  a master,  will  not, 
even  after  my  repeated  entreaties,  explain  to  me  the  nature 
of  it.  You  have  literally  as  many  forms  as  Proteus;  and 
now  you  go  all  manner  of  ways,  twisting  and  turning,  and, 
like  Proteus,  become  all  manner  of  people  at  once,  and  at 
last  slip  away  from  me  in  the  disguise  of  a general,  in  order 
that  you  may  escape  exhibiting  your  Homeric  lore.  And  if  542 
you  have  art,  then,  as  I was  saying,  in  falsifying  your  promise 
that  you  would  exhibit  Homer,  you  are  not  dealing  fairly 
with  me.  But  if,  as  I believe,  you  have  no  art,  but  speak  all 
these  beautiful  words  about  Homer  unconsciously  under  his 


Inspiration  is  the  nobler  alternative . 


5 1 1 


inspiring  influence,  then  I acquit  you  of  dishonesty,  and  shall 
only  say  that  you  are  inspired.  Which  do  you  prefer  to  be 
thought,  dishonest  or  inspired? 

Ion.  There  is  a great  difference,  Socrates,  between  the 
two  alternatives ; and  inspiration  is  by  far  the  nobler. 

Soc.  Then,  Ion,  I shall  assume  the  nobler  alternative  ; and 
attribute  to  you  in  your  praises  of  Homer  inspiration,  and 
not  art. 


Ion. 

Socrates, 

Ion. 

Ion  accepts 
the  latter 
of  the  two 
alterna- 
tives. 


SYMPOSIUM. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Of  all  the  works  of  Plato  the  Symposium  is  the  most  perfect  in 
form,  and  may  be  truly  thought  to  contain  more  than  any  com- 
mentator has  ever  dreamed  of ; or,  as  Goethe  said  of  one  of  his 
own  writings,  more  than  the  author  himself  knew.  For  in 
philosophy  as  in  prophecy  glimpses  of  the  future  may  often  be 
conveyed  in  words  which  could  hardly  have  been  understood  or 
interpreted  at  the  time  when  they  were  uttered  (cp.  Symp.  210 
foil.,  223  D)— which  were  wiser  than  the  writer  of  them  meant, 
and  could  not  have  been  explained  by  him  if  he  had  been  in- 
terrogated about  them.  Yet  Plato  was  not  a mystic,  nor  in  any 
degree  affected  by  the  Eastern  influences  which  afterwards  over- 
spread the  Alexandrian  world.  He  was  not  an  enthusiast  or 
a sentimentalist,  but  one  who  aspired  only  to  see  reasoned 
truth,  and  whose  thoughts  are  clearly  expressed  in  his  language. 
There  is  no  foreign  element  either  of  Egypt  or  of  Asia  to  be 
found  in  his  writings.  And  more  than  any  other  Platonic  work 
the  Symposium  is  Greek  both  in  style  and  subject,  having  a 
beauty  ‘ as  of  a statue,’  while  the  companion  Dialogue  of  the 
Phaedrus  is  marked  by  a sort  of  Gothic  irregularity.  More  too 
than  in  any  other  of  his  Dialogues,  Plato  is  emancipated  from 
former  philosophies.  The  genius  of  Greek  art  seems  to  triumph 
over  the  traditions  of  Pythagorean,  Eleatic,  or  Megarian  systems, 
and  ‘ the  old  quarrel  of  poetry  and  philosophy  ’ has  at  least  a 
superficial  reconcilement.  fRep.  x.  607  B.) 

Steph.  An  unknown  person  who  had  heard  of  the  discourses  in  praise 
172  of  love  spoken  by  Socrates  and  others  at  the  banquet  of  Agathon 
is  desirous  of  having  an  authentic  account  of  them,  which  he 
thinks  that  he  can  obtain  from  Apollodorus,  the  same  excitable. 

L 1 2 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Analysis. 


5«6 


Analysis  i 72-1 79. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Analysis. 


or  rather  mad  friend  of  Socrates,  who  is  afterwards  introduced 
in  the  Phaedo.  He  had  imagined  that  the  discourses  were 
recent.  There  he  is  mistaken:  but  they  are  still  fresh  in  the  173 
memory  of  his  informant,  who  had  just  been  repeating  them  to 
Glaucon,  and  is  quite  prepared  to  have  another  rehearsal  of  them 
in  a walk  from  the  Piraeus  to  Athens.  Although  he  had  not  been 
present  himself,  he  had  heard  them  from  the  best  authority. 
Aristodemus,  who  is  described  as  having  been  in  past  times  a 
humble  but  inseparable  attendant  of  Socrates,  had  reported  them 
to  him  (cp.  Xen.  Mem.  i.  4). 

The  narrative  which  he  had  heard  was  as  follows  : — 

Aristodemus  meeting  Socrates  in  holiday  attire,  is  invited  by  174 
him  to  a banquet  at  the  house  of  Agathon,  who  had  been  sacri- 
ficing in  thanksgiving  for  his  tragic  victory  on  the  day  previous. 

But  no  sooner  has  he  entered  the  house  than  he  finds  that  he 
is  alone;  Socrates  has  stayed  behind  in  a fit  of  abstraction,  175 
and  does  not  appear  until  the  banquet  is  half  over.  On  his 
appearing  he  and  the  host  jest  a little;  the  question  is  then  176 
asked  by  Pausanias,  one  of  the  guests,  1 What  shall  they  do  about 
drinking?  as  they  had  been  all  well  drunk  on  the  day  before,  and 
drinking  on  two  successive  days  is  such  a bad  thing.’  This  is 
confirmed  by  the  authority  of  Eryximachus  the  physician,  who  177 
further  proposes  that  instead  of  listening  to  the  flute-girl  and  her 
‘ noise  ’ they  shall  make  speeches  in  honour  of  love,  one  after 
another,  going  from  left  to  right  in  the  order  in  which  they  are 
reclining  at  the  table.  All  of  them  agree  to  this  proposal,  and 
Phaedrus,  who  is  the  ‘father’  of  the  idea,  which  he  has  previously 
communicated  to  Eryximachus,  begins  as  follows 

He  descants  first  of  all  upon  the  antiquity  of  love,  which  is  178 
proved  by  the  authority  of  the  poets  ; secondly  upon  the  benefits 
which  love  gives  to  man.  The  greatest  of  these  is  the  sense  of 
honour  and  dishonour.  The  lover  is  ashamed  to  be  seen  by  the 
beloved  doing  or  suffering  any  cowardly  or  mean  act.  And  a 179 
state  or  army  which  was  made  up  only  of  lovers  and  their 
loves  would  be  invincible.  For  love  will  convert  the  veriest 
coward  into  an  inspired  hero. 

And  there  have  been  true  loves  not  only  of  men  but  of  women 
also.  Such  was  the  love  of  Alcestis,  who  dared  to  die  for  her 
husband,  and  in  recompense  of  her  virtue  was  allowed  to  come 


517 


A nalysis  179  - 1 84. 

again  from  the  dead.  But  Orpheus,  the  miserable  harper,  who 
went  down  to  Hades  alive,  that  he  might  bring  back  his  wife,  was 
mocked  with  an  apparition  only,  and  the  gods  afterwards  con- 
trived his  death  as  the  punishment  of  his  cowardliness.  The  love 
of  Achilles,  like  that  of  Alcestis,  was  courageous  and  true  ; for  he 
was  willing  to  avenge  his  lover  Patroclus,  although  he  knew  that 

180  his  own  death  would  immediately  follow : and  the  gods,  who 
honour  the  love  of  the  beloved  above  that  of  the  lover,  rewarded 
him,  and  sent  him  to  the  islands  of  the  blest. 

Pausanias,  who  was  sitting  next,  then  takes  up  the  tale  : — He 
says  that  Phaedrus  should  have  distinguished  the  heavenly  love 
from  the  earthly,  before  he  praised  either.  For  there  are  two 
loves,  as  there  are  two  Aphrodites— one  the  daughter  of  Uranus, 
who  has  no  mother  and  is  the  elder  and  wiser  goddess,  and  the 
other,  the  daughter  of  Zeus  and  Dione,  who  is  popular  and  com- 

151  mon.  The  first  of  the  two  loves  has  a noble  purpose,  and  delights 
only  in  the  intelligent  nature  of  man,  and  is  faithful  to  the  end, 
and  has  no  shadow  of  wantonness  or  lust.  The  second  is  the 
coarser  kind  of  love,  which  is  a love  of  the  body  rather  than  of  the 

152  soul,  and  is  of  women  and  boys  as  well  as  of  men.  Now  the 
actions  of  lovers  vary,  like  every  other  sort  of  action,  according  to 
the  manner  of  their  performance.  And  in  different  countries 
there  is  a difference  of  opinion  about  male  loves.  Some,  like  the 
Boeotians,  approve  of  them  ; others,  like  the  Ionians,  and  most  of 
the  barbarians,  disapprove  of  them  ; partly  because  they  are 
aware  of  the  political  dangers  which  ensue  from  them,  as  may 
be  seen  in  the  instance  of  Harmodius  and  Aristogeiton.  At 
Athens  and  Sparta  there  is  an  apparent  contradiction  about  them. 
For  at  times  they  are  encouraged,  and  then  the  lover  is  allowed 

1 83  to  play  all  sorts  of  fantastic  tricks ; he  may  swear  and  forswear 
himself  tand  ‘at  lovers’  perjuries  they  say  Jove  laughs’) ; he  may 
be  a servant,  and  lie  on  a mat  at  the  door  of  his  love,  without  any 
loss  of  character ; but  there  are  also  times  when  elders  look 
grave  and  guard  their  young  relations,  and  personal  remarks  are 
made.  The  truth  is  that  some  of  these  loves  are  disgraceful  and 

184  others  honourable.  The  vulgar  love  of  the  body  which  takes 
wing  and  flies  away  when  the  bloom  of  youth  is  over,  is  dis- 
graceful, and  so  is  the  interested  love  of  power  or  wealth ; but 
the  love  of  the  noble  mind  is  lasting.  The  lover  should  be 


Sym- 

posium. 

Analysis. 


Cm 


18 

Sym- 

posium. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  184-187. 

tested,  and  the  beloved  should  not  be  too  ready  to  yield.  The 
rule  in  our  country  is  that  the  beloved  may  do  the  same 
service  to  the  lover  in  the  way  of  virtue  which  the  lover  may 
do  to  him. 

A voluntary  service  to  be  rendered  for  the  sake  of  virtue  and 
wisdom  is  permitted  among  us ; and  when  these  two  customs- 
one  the  love  of  youth,  the  other  the  practice  of  virtue  and  phi- 
losophy-meet in  one,  then  the  lovers  may  lawfully  unite.  Nor  is  185 
there  any  disgrace  to  a disinterested  lover  in  being  deceived  : but 
the  interested  lover  is  doubly  disgraced,  for  if  he  loses  his  love  he 
loses  his  character ; whereas  the  noble  love  of  the  other  remains 
the  same,  although  the  object  of  his  love  is  unworthy:  for  nothing 
can  be  nobler  than  love  for  the  sake  of  virtue.  This  is  that  love  of 
the  heavenly  goddess  which  is  of  great  price  to  individuals  and 
cities,  making  them  work  together  for  their  improvement. 

The  turn  of  Aristophanes  comes  next ; but  he  has  the  hiccough, 
and  therefore  proposes  that  Eryximachus  the  physician  shall  cure 
him  or  speak  in  his  turn.  Eryximachus  is  ready  to  do  both,  and 
after  prescribing  for  the  hiccough,  speaks  as  follows  : — x86 

He  agrees  with  Pausanias  in  maintaining  that  there  are  two 
kinds  of  love ; but  his  art  has  led  him  to  the  further  conclusion 
that  the  empire  of  this  double  love  extends  over  all  things,  and  is 
to  be  found  in  animals  and  plants  as  well  as  in  man.  In  the 
human  body  also  there  are  two  loves ; and  the  art  of  medicine 
shows  which  is  the  good  and  which  is  the  bad  love,  and  persuades 
the  body  to  accept  the  good  and  reject  the  bad,  and  reconciles  187 
conflicting  elements  and  makes  them  friends.  Every  art,  gym- 
nastic and  husbandry  as  well  as  medicine,  is  the  reconciliation  of 
opposites ; and  this  is  what  Heracleitus  meant,  when  he  spoke  of 
a harmony  of  opposites  : but  in  strictness  he  should  rather  have 
spoken  of  a harmony  which  succeeds  opposites,  for  an  agreement 
of  disagreements  there  cannot  be.  Music  too  is  concerned  with 
the  principles  of  love  in  their  application  to  harmony  and  rhythm. 

In  the  abstract,  all  is  simple,  and  we  are  not  troubled  with  the 
twofold  love ; but  when  they  are  applied  in  education  with  their 
accompaniments  of  song  and  metre,  then  the  discord  begins. 
Then  the  old  tale  has  to  be  repeated  of  fair  Urania  and  the  coarse 
Polyhymnia,  who  must  be  indulged  sparingly,  just  as  in  my  own 
art  of  medicine  care  must  be  taken  that  the  taste  of  the  epicure 


5 *9 


Analysis  187-191. 

be  gratified  without  inflicting  upon  him  the  attendant  penalty  of 
disease. 

158  There  is  a similar  harmony  or  disagreement  in  the  course  of 
the  seasons  and  in  the  relations  of  moist  and  dry,  hot  and  cold, 
hoar  frost  and  blight ; and  diseases  of  all  sorts  spring  from  the 
excesses  or  disorders  of  the  element  of  love.  The  knowledge  of 
these  elements  of  love  and  discord  in  the  heavenly  bodies  is 
termed  astronomy,  in  the  relations  of  men  towards  gods  and 
parents  is  called  divination.  For  divination  is  the  peacemaker 
of  gods  and  men,  and  works  by  a knowledge  of  the  tendencies  of 
merely  human  loves  to  piety  and  impiety.  Such  is  the  power  of 
love;  and  that  love  which  is  just  and  temperate  has  the  greatest 
power,  and  is  the  source  of  all  our  happiness  and  friendship  with 
the  gods  and  with  one  another.  I dare  say  that  I have  omitted  to 

159  mention  many  things  which  you,  Aristophanes,  may  supply,  as  I 
perceive  that  you  are  cured  of  the  hiccough. 

. Aristophanes  is  the  next  speaker  : — 

He  professes  to  open  a new  vein  of  discourse,  in  which  he 
begins  by  treating  of  the  origin  of  human  nature.  The  sexes 
were  originally  three,  men,  women,  and  the  union  of  the  two  ; 
and  they  were  made  round — having  four  hands,  four  feet,  two 

190  faces  on  a round  neck,  and  the  rest  to  correspond.  Terrible 
was  their  strength  and  swiftness ; and  they  were  essaying  to 
scale  heaven  and  attack  the  gods.  Doubt  reigned  in  the  celestial 
councils ; the  gods  were  divided  between  the  desire  of  quelling 
the  pride  of  man  and  the  fear  of  losing  the  sacrifices.  At  last 
Zeus  hit  upon  an  expedient.  Let  us  cut  them  in  two,  he  said  ; 
then  they  will  only  have  half  their  strength,  and  we  shall  have 
twice  as  many  sacrifices.  He  spake,  and  split  them  as  you  might 
split  an  egg  with  an  hair ; and  when  this  was  done,  he  told  Apollo 
to  give  their  faces  a twist  and  re-arrange  their  persons,  taking  out 

191  the  wrinkles  and  tying  the  skin  in  a knot  about  the  navel.  The 
two  halves  went  about  looking  for  one  another,  and  were  ready  to 
die  of  hunger  in  one  another’s  arms.  Then  Zeus  invented  an 
adjustment  of  the  sexes,  which  enabled  them  to  marry  and  go 
their  way  to  the  business  of  life.  Now  the  characters  of  men 
differ  accordingly  as  they  are  derived  from  the  original  man  or 
the  original  woman,  or  the  original  man-woman.  Those  who 
come  from  the  man-woman  are  lascivious  and  adulterous ; those 


Sym- 

posium. 

Analysis. 


520 


Sym- 

posium. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  192-196. 

who  come  from  the  woman  form  female  attachments;  those  who  192 
are  a section  of  the  male  follow  the  male  and  embrace  him,  and  in 
him  all  their  desires  centre.  The  pair  are  inseparable  and  live 
together  in  pure  and  manly  affection  ; yet  they  cannot  tell  what 
they  want  of  one  another.  But  if  Hephaestus  were  to  come  to 
them  with  his  instruments  and  propose  that  they  should  be 
melted  into  one  and  remain  one  here  and  hereafter,  they  would 
acknowledge  that  this  was  the  very  expression  of  their  want. 

For  love  is  the  desire  of  the  whole,  and  the  pursuit  of  the  whole 
is  called  love.  There  was  a time  when  the  two  sexes  were  193 
only  one,  but  now  God  has  halved  them, — much  as  the  Lacedae- 
monians have  cut  up  the  Arcadians,— and  if  they  do  not  behave 
themselves  he  will  divide  them  again,  and  they  will  hop 
about  with  half  a nose  and  face  in  basso  relievo.  Wherefore  let 
us  exhort  all  men  to  piety,  that  we  may  obtain  the  goods  of  which 
love  is  the  author,  and  be  reconciled  to  God,  and  find  our  own 
true  loves,  which  rarely  happens  in  this  world.  And  now  I must 
beg  you  not  to  suppose  that  I am  alluding  to  Pausanias  and 
Agathon  (cp.  Protag.  315  E),  for  my  words  refer  to  all  mankind 
everywhere. 

Some  raillery  ensues  first  between  Aristophanes  and  Eryxi- 
machus,  and  then  between  Agathon,  who  fears  a few  select  194 
friends  more  than  any  number  of  spectators  at  the  theatre,  and 
Socrates,  who  is  disposed  to  begin  an  argument.  This  is  speedily 
repressed  by  Phaedrus,  who  reminds  the  disputants  of  their 
tribute  to  the  god.  Agathon’s  speech  follows : — 

He  will  speak  of  the  god  first  and  then  of  his  gifts  : He  is  195 
the  fairest  and  blessedest  and  best  of  the  gods,  and  also  the 
youngest,  having  had  no  existence  in  the  old  days  of  Iapetus 
and  Cronos  when  the  gods  were  at  war.  The  things  that  were 
done  then  were  done  of  necessity  and  not  of  love.  For  love  is 
young  and  dwells  in  soft  places, — not  like  Ate  in  Homer,  walking 
on  the  skulls  of  men,  but  in  their  hearts  and  souls,  which  are  soft 
enough.  He  is  all  flexibility  and  grace,  and  his  habitation  is  196 
among  the  flowers,  and  he  cannot  do  or  suffer  wrong ; for  all  men 
serve  and  obey  him  of  their  own  free  will,  and  where  there  is 
love  there  is  obedience,  and  where  obedience,  there  is  justice; 
for  none  can  be  wronged  of  his  own  free  will.  And  he  is  tem- 
perate as  well  as  just,  for  he  is  the  ruler  of  the  desires,  and  if  he 


521 


A nalysis  1 96-203. 

rules  them  he  must  be  temperate.  Also  he  is  courageous,  for  he 
is  the  conqueror  of  the  lord  of  war.  And  he  is  wise  too  ; for  he  is 

197  a poet,  and  the  author  of  poesy  in  others.  He  created  the  ani- 
mals ; he  is  the  inventor  of  the  arts ; all  the  gods  are  his  subjects ; 
he  is  the  fairest  and  best  himself,  and  the  cause  of  what  is  fairest 
and  best  in  others ; he  makes  men  to  be  of  one  mind  at  a banquet, 
filling  them  with  affection  and  emptying  them  of  disaffection  ; the 
pilot,  helper,  defender,  saviour  of  men,  in  whose  footsteps  let 
every  man  follow,  chanting  a strain  of  love.  Such  is  the  dis- 

19S  course,  half  playful,  half  serious,  which  I dedicate  to  the  god. 

The  turn  of  Socrates  comes  next.  He  begins  by  remarking 
satirically  that  he  has  not  understood  the  terms  of  the  original 
agreement,  for  he  fancied  that  they  meant  to  speak  the  true 
praises  of  love,  but  now  he  finds  that  they  only  say  what  is  good 

199  of  him,  whether  true  or  false.  He  begs  to  be  absolved  from 
speaking  falsely,  but  he  is  willing  to  speak  the  truth,  and  pro- 
poses to  begin  by  questioning  Agathon.  The  result  of  his  ques- 
tions may  be  summed  up  as  follows  : — 

200  Love  is  of  something,  and  that  which  love  desires  is  not  that 
which  love  is  or  has  ; for  no  man  desires  that  which  he  is  or  has. 

201  And  love  is  of  the  beautiful,  and  therefore  has  not  the  beautiful. 
And  the  beautiful  is  the  good,  and  therefore,  in  wanting  and 
desiring  the  beautiful,  love  also  wants  and  desires  the  good. 
Socrates  professes  to  have  asked  the  same  questions  and  to  have 
obtained  the  same  answers  from  Diotima,  a wise  woman  of  Man- 
tinea,  who,  like  Agathon,  had  spoken  first  of  love  and  then  of  his 

202  works.  Socrates,  like  Agathon,  had  told  her  that  Love  is  a 
mighty  god  and  also  fair,  and  she  had  shown  him  in  return 
that  Love  was  neither,  but  in  a mean  between  fair  and  foul,  good 
and  evil,  and  not  a god  at  all,  but  only  a great  demon  or  inter- 
mediate power  (cp.  the  speech  of  Eryximachus,  186  D)  who 

203  conveys  to  the  gods  the  prayers  of  men,  and  to  men  the  com- 
mands of  the  gods. 

Socrates  asks:  Who  are  his  father  and  mother?  To  this 
Diotima  replies  that  he  is  the  son  of  Plenty  and  Poverty,  and 
partakes  of  the  nature  of  both,  and  is  full  and  starved  by  turns. 
Like  his  mother  he  is  poor  and  squalid,  lying  on  mats  at  doors 
(cp.  the  speech  of  Pausanias,  183  A) ; like  his  father  he  is  bold 
and  strong,  and  full  of  arts  and  resources.  Further,  he  is  in  a 


Sym- 

posium. 

Analysis. 


522 


Sym- 

posium. 

Analysis. 


Analysis  204-210. 

mean  between  ignorance  and  knowledge  in  this  he  resembles  204 
the  philosopher  who  is  also  in  a mean  between  the  wise  and 
the  ignorant.  Such  is  the  nature  of  Love,  who  is  not  to  be 
confused  with  the  beloved. 

But  Love  desires  the  beautiful ; and  then  arises  the  question, 
What  does  he  desire  of  the  beautiful  ? He  desires,  of  course,  the 
possession  of  the  beautiful but  what  is  given  by  that?  For  the 
beautiful  let  us  substitute  the  good,  and  we  have  no  difficulty  in 
seeing  the  possession  of  the  good  to  be  happiness,  and  Love  to  be  205 
the  desire  of  happiness,  although  the  meaning  of  the  word  has 
been  too  often  confined  to  one  kind  of  love.  And  Love  desires 
not  only  the  good,  but  the  everlasting  possession  of  the  good. 
Why  then  is  there  all  this  flutter  and  excitement  about  love  ? 206 
Because  all  men  and  women  at  a certain  age  are  desirous  of 
bringing  to  the  birth.  And  love  is  not  of  beauty  only,  but  of 
birth  in  beauty ; this  is  the  principle  of  immortality  in  a mortal 
creature.  When  beauty  approaches,  then  the  conceiving  power 
is  benign  and  diffuse ; when  foulness,  she  is  averted  and  morose.  207 

But  why  again  does  this  extend  not  only  to  men  but  also  to 
animals  ? Because  they  too  have  an  instinct  of  immortality. 
Even  in  the  same  individual  there  is  a perpetual  succession  as 
well  of  the  parts  of  the  material  body  as  of  the  thoughts  and 
desires  of  the  mind ; nay,  even  knowledge  comes  and  goes. 
There  is  no  sameness  of  existence,  but  the  new  mortality  is  208 
always  taking  the  place  of  the  old.  This  is  the  reason  why 
parents  love  their  children — for  the  sake  of  immortality ; and 
this  is  why  men  love  the  immortality  of  fame.  For  the  creative 
soul  creates  not  children,  but  conceptions  of  wisdom  and  virtue,  209 
such  as  poets  and  other  creators  have  invented.  And  the 
noblest  creations  of  all  are  those  of  legislators,  in  honour  of 
whom  temples  have  been  raised.  Who  would  not  sooner  have 
these  children  of  the  mind  than  the  ordinary  human  ones?1 

I will  now  initiate  you,  she  said,  into  the  greater  mysteries;  210 
for  he  who  would  proceed  in  due  course  should  love  first  one 
fair  form,  and  then  many,  and  learn  the  connexion  of  them ; and 
from  beautiful  bodies  he  should  proceed  to  beautiful  minds,  and 

1 Cp.  Bacon’s  Essays,  8 : — ‘ Certainly  the  best  works  and  of  greatest  merit 
for  the  public  have  proceeded  from  the  unmarried  or  childless  men ; which 
both  in  affection  and  means  have  married  and  endowed  the  public.’ 


A tialysis  2 1 0-2 1 9. 

the  beauty  of  laws  and  institutions,  until  he  perceives  that  all 
beauty  is  of  one  kindred  ; and  from  institutions  he  should  go  on 
to  the  sciences,  until  at  last  the  vision  is  revealed  to  him  of  a 
single  science  of  universal  beauty,  and  then  he  will  behold  the 
everlasting  nature  which  is  the  cause  of  all,  and  will  be  near  the 

21 1 end.  In  the  contemplation  of  that  supreme  being  of  love  he  will 
be  purified  of  earthly  leaven,  and  will  behold  beauty,  not  with  the 
bodily  eye,  but  with  the  eye  of  the  mind,  and  will  bring  forth  true 

212  creations  of  virtue  and  wisdom,  and  be  the  friend  of  God  and  heir 
of  immortality. 

Such,  Phaedrus,  is  the  tale  which  I heard  from  the  stranger  of 
Mantinea,  and  which  jmu  may  call  the  encomium  of  love,  or  what 
you  please. 

The  company  applaud  the  speech  of  Socrates,  and  Aristophanes 
is  about  to  say  something,  when  suddenly  a band  of  revellers 
breaks  into  the  court,  and  the  voice  of  Alcibiades  is  heard  asking 

213  for  Agathon.  He  is  led  in  drunk,  and  welcomed  by  Agathon, 
whom  he  has  come  to  crown  with  a garland.  He  is  placed  on 
a couch  at  his  side,  but  suddenly,  on  recognizing  Socrates,  he 
starts  up,  and  a sort  of  conflict  is  carried  on  between  them, 
which  Agathon  is  requested  to  appease.  Alcibiades  then  insists 

214  that  they  shall  drink,  and  has  a large  wine-cooler  filled,  which  he 
first  empties  himself,  and  then  fills  again  and  passes  on  to 
Socrates.  He  is  informed  of  the  nature  of  the  entertainment ; 
and  is  ready  to  join,  if  only  in  the  character  of  a drunken  and 
disappointed  lover  he  may  be  allowed  to  sing  the  praises  of 
Socrates : — 

215  He  begins  by  comparing  Socrates  first  to  the  busts  of  Silenus, 
which  have  images  of  the  gods  inside  them  ; and,  secondly,  to 
Marsyas  the  flute-player.  For  Socrates  produces  the  same  effect 
with  the  voice  which  Marsyas  did  with  the  flute.  He  is  the  great 

216  speaker  and  enchanter  who  ravishes  the  souls  of  men;  the  con- 
vincer  of  hearts  too,  as  he  has  convinced  Alcibiades,  and  made 

217  him  ashamed  of  his  mean  and  miserable  life.  Socrates  at  one 
time  seemed  about  to  fall  in  love  with  him ; and  he  thought  that 
he  would  thereby  gain  a wonderful  opportunity  of  receiving 

218  lessons  of  wisdom.  He  narrates  the  failure  of  his  design.  He 

219  has  suffered  agonies  from  him,  and  is  at  his  wit’s  end.  He  then 
proceeds  to  mention  some  other  particulars  of  the  life  of  Socrates  ; 


52o 

Sym- 

posium. 

Analysis. 


524 

Sym- 

posium. 

Analysis. 


Introduc- 

tion. 


Analysis  220-223. 

liow  they  were  at  Potidaea  together,  where  Socrates  showed  220 
his  superior  powers  of  enduring  cold  and  fatigue ; how  on  one 
occasion  he  had  stood  for  an  entire  day  and  night  absorbed  in 
icflection  amid  the  wonder  of  the  spectators;  how  on  another 
occasion  he  had  saved  Alcibiades’  life;  how  at  the  battle  of 
Dehum,  after  the  defeat,  he  might  be  seen  stalking  about  like  221 
a pelican,  rolling  his  eyes  as  Aristophanes  had  described  him 
in  the  Clouds.  He  is  the  most  wonderful  of  human  beings,  and 
absolutely  unlike  any  one  but  a satyr.  Like  the  satyr  in  his  222 
language  too ; for  he  uses  the  commonest  words  as  the  outward 
mask  of  the  divinest  truths. 

When  Alcibiades  has  done  speaking,  a dispute  begins  between 
him  and  Agathon  and  Socrates.  Socrates  piques  Alcibiades  by 
a pretended  affection  for  Agathon.  Presently  a band  of  revellers  223 
appears,  who  introduce  disorder  into  the  feast;  the  sober  part 
of  the  company,  Eryximachus,  Phaedrus,  and  others,  withdraw ; 
and  Aristodemus,  the  follower  of  Socrates,  sleeps  during  the 
whole  of  a long  winter’s  night.  When  he  wakes  at  cockcrow 
the  revellers  are  nearly  all  asleep.  Only  Socrates,  Aristophanes, 
and  Agathon  hold  out ; they  are  drinking  from  a large  goblet, 
which  they  pass  round,  and  Socrates  is  explaining  to  the  two 
others,  who  are  half-asleep,  that  the  genius  of  tragedy  is  the  same 
as  that  of  comedy,  and  that  the  writer  of  tragedy  ought  to  be  a 
writer  of  comedy  also.  And  first  Aristophanes  drops,  and  then, 
as  the  day  is  dawning,  Agathon.  Socrates,  having  laid  them  to 
rest,  takes  a bath  and  goes  to  his  daily  avocations  until  the 
evening.  Aristodemus  follows. 


If  it  be  true  that  there  are  more  things  in  the  Symposium  of 
Plato  than  any  commentator  has  dreamed  of,  it  is  also  true  that 
many  things  have  been  imagined  which  are  not  really  to  be  found 
there.  Some  writings  hardly  admit  of  a more  distinct  inter- 
pretation than  a musical  composition ; and  every  reader  may 
form  his  own  accompaniment  of  thought  or  feeling  to  the  strain 
which  he  hears.  The  Symposium  of  Plato  is  a work  of  this 
character,  and  can  with  difficulty  be  rendered  in  any  words  but 
the  writer’s  own.  There  are  so  many  half-lights  and  cross- 
lights,  so  much  of  the  colour  of  mythology,  and  of  the  manner 
of  sophistry  adhering — rhetoric  and  poetry,  the  playful  and  the 


525 


The  mystery  of  love. 

serious,  are  so  subtly  intermingled  in  it,  and  vestiges  of  old 
philosophy  so  curiously  blend  with  germs  of  future  knowledge, 
that  agreement  among  interpreters  is  not  to  be  expected.  The 
expression  ‘poema  magis  putandum  quam  comicorum  poetarum,’ 
which  has  been  applied  to  all  the  writings  of  Plato,  is  especially 
applicable  to  the  Symposium. 

The  power  of  love  is  represented  in  the  Symposium  as  running 
through  all  nature  and  all  being  : at  one  end  descending  to 
animals  and  plants,  and  attaining  to  the  highest  vision  of  truth 
at  the  other.  In  an  age  when  man  was  seeking  for  an  expression 
of  the  world  around  him,  the  conception  of  love  greatly  affected 
him.  One  of  the  first  distinctions  of  language  and  of  mythology 
was  that  of  gender;  and  at  a later  period  the  ancient  physicist, 
anticipating  modern  science,  saw,  or  thought  that  he  saw,  a sex 
in  plants ; there  were  elective  affinities  among  the  elements, 
marriages  of  earth  and  heaven.  (Aesch.  Frag.  Dan.  38.)  Love 
became  a mythic  personage,  whom  philosophy,  borrowing  from 
poetry,  converted  into  an  efficient  cause  of  creation.  The  traces 
of  the  existence  of  love,  as  of  number  and  figure,  were  everywhere 
discerned ; and  in  the  Pythagorean  list  of  opposites  male  and 
female  were  ranged  side  by  side  with  odd  and  even,  finite  and 
infinite. 

But  Plato  seems  also  to  be  aware  that  there  is  a mystery  of 
love  in  man  as  well  as  in  nature,  extending  beyond  the  mere 
immediate  relation  of  the  sexes.  He  is  conscious  that  the  highest 
and  noblest  things  in  the  world  are  not  easily  severed  from  the 
sensual  desires,  or  may  even  be  regarded  as  a spiritualized  form 
of  them.  We  may  observe  that  Socrates  himself  is  not  repre- 
sented as  originally  unimpassioned,  but  as  one  who  has  overcome 
his  passions  ; the  secret  of  his  power  over  others  partly  lies  in  his 
passionate  but  self-controlled  nature.  In  the  Phaedrus  and  Sym- 
posium love  is  not  merely  the  feeling  usually  so  called,  but  the 
mystical  contemplation  of  the  beautiful  and  the  good.  The  same 
passion  which  may  wallow  in  the  mire  is  capable  of  rising  to  the 
loftiest  heights— of  penetrating  the  inmost  secret  of  philosophy. 
The  highest  love  is  the  love  not  of  a person,  but  of  the  highest 
and  purest  abstraction.  This  abstraction  is  the  far-off  heaven 
on  which  the  eye  of  the  mind  is  fixed  in  fond  amazement.  The 
unity  of  truth,  the  consistency  of  the  warring  elements  of  the 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


U\ 


26 

Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


The  speeches  and  the  characters. 

world,  the  enthusiasm  for  knowledge  when  first  beaming  upon 
mankind,  the  relativity  of  ideas  to  the  human  mind,  and  of  the 
human  mind  to  ideas,  the  faith  in  the  invisible,  the  adoration  of 
the  eternal  nature,  are  all  included,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
in  Plato’s  doctrine  of  love. 

The  successive  speeches  in  praise  of  love  are  characteristic 
of  the  speakers,  and  contribute  in  various  degrees  to  the  final 
result;  they  are  all  designed  to  prepare  the  way  for  Socrates, 
who  gathers  up  the  threads  anew,  and  skims  the  highest  points 
of  each  of  them.  But  they  are  not  to  be  regarded  as  the  stages  of 
an  idea,  rising  above  one  another  to  a climax.  They  are  fanciful, 
partly  facetious  performances,  ‘yet  also  having  a certain  measure 
of  seriousness’  (197  E),  which  the  successive  speakers  dedicate  to 
the  god.  All  of  them  are  rhetorical  and  poetical  rather  than 
dialectical,  but  glimpses  of  truth  appear  in  them.  When  Eryxi- 
machus  says  that  the  principles  of  music  are  simple  in  themselves, 
but  confused  in  their  application,  he  touches  lightly  upon  a 
difficulty  which  has  troubled  the  moderns  as  well  as  the  ancients 
in  music,  and  may  be  extended  to  the  other  applied  sciences. 
That  confusion  begins  in  the  concrete,  was  the  natural  feeling 
of  a mind  dwelling  in  the  world  of  ideas.  When  Pausanias 
remarks  that  personal  attachments  are  inimical  to  despots,  the 
experience  of  Greek  history  confirms  the  truth  of  his  remark. 
When  Aristophanes  declares  that  love  is  the  desire  of  the  whole, 
he  expresses  a feeling  not  unlike  that  of  the  German  philosopher, 
who  says  that  ‘philosophy  is  home  sickness.’  When  Agathon 
says  that  no  man  ‘can  be  wronged  of  his  own  free  will,’  he 
is  alluding  playfully  to  a serious  problem  of  Greek  philosophy 
(cp.  Arist.  Nic.  Ethics,  v.  9).  So  naturally  does  Plato  mingle  jest 
and  earnest,  truth  and  opinion  in  the  same  work. 

The  characters— of  Phaedrus,  who  has  been  the  cause  of  more 
philosophical  discussions  than  any  other  man,  with  the  exception 
of  Simmias  the  Theban  (Phaedrus  242  B) ; of  Aristophanes,  who 
disguises  under  comic  imagery  a serious  purpose;  of  Agathon, 
who  in  later  life  is  satirized  by  Aristophanes  in  the  Thesmo- 
phoriazusae,  for  his  effeminate  manners  and  the  feeble  rhythms 
of  his  verse ; of  Alcibiades,  who  is  the  same  strange  contrast 
of  great  powers  and  great  vices,  which  meets  us  in  history— are 
drawn  to  the  life  ; and  we  may  suppose  the  less-known  characters 


527 


The  speeches  and  the  characters. 

of'  Pausanias  and  Eryximachus  to  be  also  true  to  the  traditional 
recollection  of  them  (cp.  Phaedr.  268  A,  Protag.  3T5  C,  D ; and 
compare  Sympos.  214  B with  Phaedr.  227  A).  We  may  also 
remark  that  Aristodemus  is  called  ‘the  little’  in  Xenophon’s 
Memorabilia,  i.  4 (cp.  Sym.  173  B). 

The  speeches  have  been  said  to  follow  each  other  in  pairs  : 
Phaedrus  and  Pausanias  being  the  ethical,  Eryximachus  and 
Aristophanes  the  physical  speakers,  while  in  Agathon  and 
Socrates  poetry  and  philosophy  blend  together.  The  speech 
of  Phaedrus  is  also  described  as  the  mythological,  that  of  Pau- 
sanias as  the  political,  that  of  Eryximachus  as  the  scientific,  that 
of  Aristophanes  as  the  artistic  (!),  that  of  Socrates  as  the  philo- 
sophical. But  these  and  similar  distinctions  are  not  found  in 
Plato ; — they  are  the  points  of  view  of  his  critics,  and  seem  to 
impede  rather  than  to  assist  us  in  understanding  him. 

When  the  turn  of  Socrates  comes  round  he  cannot  be  allowed 
to  disturb  the  arrangement  made  at  first.  With  the  leave  of 
Phaedrus  he  asks  a few  questions,  and  then  he  throws  his  argu- 
ment into  the  form  of  a speech  (cp.  Gorg.  505  E,  Protag.  353  B). 
But  his  speech  is  really  the  narrative  of  a dialogue  between 
himself  and  Diotima.  And  as  at  a banquet  good  manners  would 
not  allow  him  to  win  a victory  either  over  his  host  or  any  of  the 
guests,  the  superiority  which  he  gains  over  Agathon  is  ingeni- 
ously represented  as  having  been  already  gained  over  himself 
b}7  her.  The  artifice  has  the  further  advantage  of  maintaining  his 
accustomed  profession  of  ignorance  (cp.  Menex.  236  fol.).  Even 
his  knowledge  of  the  mysteries  of  love,  to  which  he  lays  claim 
here  and  elsewhere  (Lys.  204  C),  is  given  by  Diotima. 

The  speeches  are  attested  to  us  by  the  very  best  authority. 
The  madman  Apollodorus,  who  for  three  years  past  has  made 
a daily  study  of  the  actions  of  Socrates— to  whom  the  world  is 
summed  up  in  the  words  ‘ Great  is  Socrates  ’ — he  has  heard  them 
from  another  ‘madman,’  Aristodemus,  who  was  the  ‘shadow’ 
of  Socrates  in  days  of  old,  like  him  going  about  barefooted,  and 
who  had  been  present  at  the  time.  ‘Would  you  desire  better 
witness?’  The  extraordinary  narrative  of  Alcibiades  is  ingeni- 
ously represented  as  admitted  by  Socrates,  whose  silence  when 
he  is  invited  to  contradict  gives  consent  to  the  narrator.  We  may 
observe,  by  the  way,  fi)  how  the  very  appearance  of  Aristodemus 


Sym- 

posium. 

I INTRODUC- 
TION. 


528 

Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


7 he  speeches  and  the  characters. 

by  himself  is  a sufficient  indication  to  Agathon  that  Socrates 
has  been  left  behind ; also,  (2)  how  the  courtesy  of  Agathon 
anticipates  the  excuse  which  Socrates  was  to  have  made  on 
Aristodemus’  behalf  for  coming  uninvited ; (3)  how  the  story 
of  the  fit  or  trance  of  Socrates  is  confirmed  by  the  mention  which 
Alcibiades  makes  of  a similar  fit  of  abstraction  occurring  when  he 
was  serving  with  the  army  at  Potidaea  ; like  (4)  the  drinking 
powers  of  Socrates  and  his  love  of  the  fair,  which  receive  a 
similar  attestation  in  the  concluding  scene;  or  the  attachment 
of  Aristodemus,  who  is  not  forgotten  when  Socrates  takes  his 
departure.  (5)  We  may  notice  the  manner  in  which  Socrates 
himself  regards  the  first  five  speeches,  not  as  true,  but  as  fanciful 
and  exaggerated  encomiums  of  the  god  Love ; (6)  the  satirical 
character  of  them,  shown  especially  in  the  appeals  to  mythology, 
in  the  reasons  which  are  given  by  Zeus  for  reconstructing  the 
frame  of  man,  or  by  the  Boeotians  and  Eleans  for  encouraging 
male  loves;  (7)  the  ruling  passion  of  Socrates  for  dialectics,  who 
will  argue  with  Agathon  instead  of  making  a speech,  and  will 
only  speak  at  all  upon  the  condition  that  he  is  allowed  to  speak 
the  truth.  We  may  note  also  the  touch  of  Socratic  irony, 
(8)  which  admits  of  a wide  application  and  reveals  a deep  insight 
into  the  world  that  in  speaking  of  hoty  things  and  persons 
there  is  a general  understanding  that  you  should  praise  them, 
not  that  you  should  speak  the  truth  about  them— this  is  the  sort  of 
praise  which  Socrates  is  unable  to  give.  Lastly,  (9)  we  may 
remark  that  the  banquet  is  a real  banquet  after  all,  at  which  love 
is  the  theme  of  discourse,  and  huge  quantities  of  wine  are  drunk 
(214  A,  223  B). 

The  discourse  of  Phaedrus  is  half-mythical,  half-ethical;  and  he 
himself,  true  to  the  character  which  is  given  him  in  the  Dialogue 
bearing  his  name,  is  half-sophist,  half-enthusiast.  He  is  the  critic 
of  poetry  also,  who  compares  Homer  and  Aeschylus  in  the  insipid 
and  irrational  manner  of  the  schools  of  the  day,  characteristically 
reasoning  about  the  probability  of  matters  which  do  not  admit  of 
reasoning.  He  starts  from  a noble  text : ‘ That  without  the  sense 
of  honour  and  dishonour  neither  states  nor  individuals  ever  do 
any  good  or  great  work.’  But  he  soon  passes  on  to  more 
common-place  topics.  The  antiquity  of  love,  the  blessing  of 
having  a lover,  the  incentive  which  love  offers  to  daring  deeds, 


• 529 


The  speeches  and  the  characters. 

the  examples  of  Alcestis  and  Achilles,  are  the  chief  themes  of 
his  discourse.  The  love  of  women  is  regarded  by  him  as  almost 
on  an  equality  with  that  of  men ; and  he  makes  the  singular 
remark  that  the  gods  favour  the  return  of  love  which  is  made  by 
the  beloved  more  than  the  original  sentiment,  because  the  lover 
is  of  a nobler  and  diviner  nature. 

There  is  something  of  a sophistical  ring  in  the  speech  of 
Phaedrus,  which  recalls  the  first  speech  in  imitation  of  Lysias, 
occurring  in  the  Dialogue  called  the  Phaedrus.  This  is  still  more 
marked  in  the  speech  of  Pausanias  which  follows  ; and  which 
is  at  once  hyperlogical  in  form  and  also  extremely  confused  and 
pedantic.  Plato  is  attacking  the  logical  feebleness  of  the  sophists 
and  rhetoricians,  through  their  pupils,  not  forgetting  by  the  way 
to  satirize  the  monotonous  and  unmeaning  rhythms  which 
Prodicus  and  others  were  introducing  into  Attic  prose  (185  D, 
cp.  Protag.  337).  Of  course,  he  is  ‘ playing  both  sides  of  the 
game,’  as  in  the  Gorgias  and  Phaedrus ; but  it  is  not  necessary  in 
order  to  understand  him  that  we  should  discuss  the  fairness 
of  his  mode  of  proceeding.  The  love  of  Pausanias  for  Agathon 
has  already  been  touched  upon  in  the  Protagoras  (315  D),  and  is 
alluded  to  by  Aristophanes  (193  B).  Hence  he  is  naturally  the 
upholder  of  male  loves,  which,  like  all  the  other  affections  or 
actions  of  men,  he  regards  as  varying  according  to  the  manner 
of  their  performance.  Like  the  sophists  and  like  Plato  himself, 
though  in  a different  sense,  he  begins  his  discussion  by  an 
appeal  to  mythology,  and  distinguishes  between  the  elder  and 
younger  love.  The  value  which  he  attributes  to  such  loves 
as  motives  to  virtue  and  philosophy  is  at  variance  with  modern 
and  Christian  notions,  but  is  in  accordance  with  Hellenic  senti- 
ment. The  opinion  of  Christendom  has  not  altogether  con- 
demned passionate  friendships  between  persons  of  the  same  sex, 
but  has  certainly  not  encouraged  them,  because  though  innocent 
in  themselves  in  a few  temperaments  they  are  liable  to  de- 
generate into  fearful  evil.  Pausanias  is  very  earnest  in  the 
defence  of  such  loves  ; and  he  speaks  of  them  as  generally  ap- 
proved among  Hellenes  and  disapproved  by  barbarians.  His 
speech  is  ‘ more  words  than  matter,’  and  might  have  been  com- 
posed by  a pupil  of  Lysias  or  of  Prodicus,  although  there  is 
no  hint  given  that  Plato  is  specially  referring  to  them.  As 
vo  I..  1. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


m m 


530 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


The  speeches  and  the  characters. 

Eryximachus  says,  ‘ he  makes  a fair  beginning,  but  a lame 
ending.’ 

Plato  transposes  the  two  next  speeches,  as  in  the  Republic  he 
would  transpose  the  virtues  (iv.  430  D)  and  the  mathematical 
sciences  (vii.  528  A).  This  is  done  partly  to  avoid  monotony, 
partly  for  the  sake  of  making  Aristophanes  ‘the  cause  of  wit 
in  others,’  and  also  in  order  to  bring  the  comic  and  tragic  poet 
into  juxtaposition,  as  if  by  accident.  A suitable  ‘expectation’ 
of  Aristophanes  is  raised  by  the  ludicrous  circumstance  of  his 
having  the  hiccough,  which  is  appropriately  cured  by  his  sub- 
stitute, the  physician  Eryximachus.  To  Eryximachus  Love  is  the 
good  physician  ; he  sees  everything  as  an  intelligent  physicist, 
and,  like  many  professors  of  his  art  in  modern  times,  attempts  to 
reduce  the  moral  to  the  physical ; or  recognizes  one  law  of  love 
which  pervades  them  both.  There  are  loves  and  strifes  of  the 
body  as  well  as  of  the  mind.  Like  Hippocrates  the  Asclepiad, 
he  is  a disciple  of  Heracleitus,  whose  conception  of  the  harmony 
of  opposites  he  explains  in  a new  way  as  the  harmony  after 
discord  ; to  his  common  sense,  as  to  that  of  many  moderns  as 
well  as  ancients,  the  identity  of  contradictories  is  an  absurdity. 
His  notion  of  love  may  be  summed  up  as  the  harmony  of  man 
with  himself  in  soul  as  well  as  body,  and  of  all  things  in  heaven 
and  earth  with  one  another. 

Aristophanes  is  ready  to  laugh  and  make  laugh  before  he  opens 
his  mouth,  just  as  Socrates,  true  to  his  character,  is  read}'  to  argue 
before  he  begins  to  speak.  He  expresses  the  very  genius  of  the 
old  comedy,  its  coarse  and  forcible  imagery,  and  the  licence  of 
its  language  in  speaking  about  the  gods.  He  has  no  sophistical 
notions  about  love,  which  is  brought  back  by  him  to  its  common- 
sense  meaning  of  love  between  intelligent  beings.  His  account 
of  the  origin  of  the  sexes  has  the  greatest  (comic)  probability  and 
verisimilitude.  Nothing  in  Aristophanes  is  more  truly  Aristo- 
phanic  than  the  description  of  the  human  monster  whirling  round 
on  four  arms  and  four  legs,  eight  in  all,  with  incredible  rapidity. 
Yet  there  is  a mixture  of  earnestness  in  this  jest;  three  serious 
principles  seem  to  be  insinuated  first,  that  man  cannot  exist 
in  isolation  ; he  must  be  reunited  if  he  is  to  be  perfected  : 
secondly,  that  love  is  the  mediator  and  reconciler  of  poor,  divided 
human  nature : thirdly,  that  the  loves  of  this  world  are  an 


53 1 


The  speech  of  Socrates. 

indistinct  anticipation  of  an  ideal  union  which  is  not  yet 
realized. 

The  speech  of  Agathon  is  conceived  in  a higher  strain,  and 
receives  the  real,  if  half-ironical,  approval  of  Socrates.  It  is  the 
speech  of  the  tragic  poet  and  a sort  of  poem,  like  tragedy,  moving 
among  the  gods  of  Olympus,  and  not  among  the  elder  or  Orphic 
deities.  In  the  idea  of  the  antiquity  of  love  he  cannot  agree; 
love  is  not  of  the  olden  time,  but  present  and  youthful  ever.  The 
speech  may  be  compared  with  that  speech  of  Socrates  in  the 
Phaedrus  (239  A,  B)  in  which  he  describes  himself  as  talking 
dithyrambs.  It  is  at  once  a preparation  for  Socrates  and  a foil 
to  him.  The  rhetoric  of  Agathon  elevates  the  soul  to  ‘ sunlit 
heights,’  but  at  the  same  time  contrasts  with  the  natural  and 
necessary  eloquence  of  Socrates.  Agathon  contributes  the  dis- 
tinction between  love  and  the  works  of  love,  and  also  hints 
incidentally  that  love  is  always  of  beauty,  which  Socrates  after- 
wards raises  into  a principle.  While  the  consciousness  of  discord 
is  stronger  in  the  comic  poet  Aristophanes,  Agathon,  the  tragic 
poet,  has  a deeper  sense  of  harmony  and  reconciliation,  and 
speaks  of  Love  as  the  creator  and  artist. 

All  the  earlier  speeches  embody  common  opinions  coloured 
with  a tinge  of  philosophy.  They  furnish  the  material  out  of 
which  Socrates  proceeds  to  form  his  discourse,  starting,  as  in 
other  places,  from  mythology  and  the  opinions  of  men.  From 
Phaedrus  he  takes  the  thought  that  love  is  stronger  than  death  ; 
from  Pausanias,  that  the  true  love  is  akin  to  intellect  and  political 
activity;  from  Eryximachus,  that  love  is  a universal  phenomenon 
and  the  great  power  of  nature  ; from  Aristophanes,  that  love 
is  the  child  of  want,  and  is  not  merely  the  love  of  the  congenial 
or  of  the  whole,  but  (as  he  adds)  of  the  good  ; from  Agathon, 
that  love  is  of  beauty,  not  however  of  beauty  only,  but  of  birth  in 
beauty.  As  it  would  be  out  of  character  for  Socrates  to  make 
a lengthened  harangue,  the  speech  takes  the  form  of  a dialogue 
between  Socrates  and  a mysterious  woman  of  foreign  extraction. 
She  elicits  the  final  truth  from  one  who  knows  nothing,  and 
who,  speaking  by  the  lips  of  another,  and  himself  a despiser  of 
rhetoric,  is  proved  also  to  be  the  most  consummate  of  rhetoricians 
(cp.  Menexenus  249  D). 

I he  last  of  the  six  discourses  begins  with  a short  argument 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


m m 2 


Ui 


32 

Sym- 

posium. 

I NTRODUC- 
TION. 


7 he  speech  of  Socrates. 

which  overthrows  not  only  Agathon  but  all  the  preceding  speakers 
by  the  help  of  a distinction  which  has  escaped  them.  Extravagant 
praises  have  been  ascribed  to  Love  as  the  author  of  every  good; 
no  sort  of  encomium  was  too  high  for  him,  whether  deserved 
and  true  or  not.  But  Socrates  has  no  talent  for  speaking  anything 
but  the  truth,  and  if  he  is  to  speak  the  truth  of  Love  he  must 
honestly  confess  that  he  is  not  a good  at  all : for  love  is  of 
the  good,  and  no  man  can  desire  that  which  he  has.  This  piece 
of  dialectics  is  ascribed  to  Diotima,  who  has  already  urged  upon 
Socrates  the  argument  which  he  urges  against  Agathon.  That 
the  distinction  is  a fallacy  is  obvious  ; it  is  almost  acknowledged 
to  be  so  by  Socrates  himself.  For  he  who  has  beauty  or  good 
may  desire  more  of  them ; and  he  who  has  beauty  or  good  in 
himself  may  desire  beauty  and  good  in  others.  The  fallacy  seems 
to  arise  out  of  a confusion  between  the  abstract  ideas  of  good  and 
beauty,  which  do  not  admit  of  degrees,  and  their  partial  realization 
in  individuals. 

But  Diotima,  the  prophetess  of  Mantineia,  whose  sacred  and 
superhuman  character  raises  her  above  the  ordinary  proprieties 
of  women,  has  taught  Socrates  far  more  than  this  about  the  art 
and  mystery  of  love.  She  has  taught  him  that  love  is  another 
aspect  of  philosophy.  The  same  want  in  the  human  soul  which 
is  satisfied  in  the  vulgar  by  the  procreation  of  children,  may 
become  the  highest  aspiration  of  intellectual  desire.  As  the 
Christian  might  speak  of  hungering  and  thirsting  after  righteous- 
ness ; or  of  divine  loves  under  the  figure  of  human  (cp.  Eph.  v.  32, 

‘ This  is  a great  mystery,  but  I speak  concerning  Christ  and  the 
church  ’) ; as  the  mediaeval  saint  might  speak  of  the  ‘ fruitio  Dei ; ’ 
as  Dante  saw  all  things  contained  in  his  love  of  Beatrice,  so  Plato 
would  have  us  absorb  all  other  loves  and  desires  in  the  love  of 
knowledge.  Here  is  the  beginning  of  Neoplatonism,  or  rather, 
perhaps,  a proof  (of  which  there  are  many)  that  the  so-called 
mysticism  of  the  East  was  not  strange  to  the  Greek  of  the  fifth 
century  before  Christ.  The  first  tumult  of  the  affections  was  not 
wholly  subdued  ; there  were  longings  of  a creature 

Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realized, 

which  no  art  could  satisfy.  To  most  men  reason  and  passion 
appear  to  be  antagonistic  both  in  idea  and  fact.  The  union  of 


533 


The  mystery  of  love. 

the  greatest  comprehension  of  knowledge  and  the  burning  in- 
tensity of  love  is  a contradiction  in  nature,  which  may  have 
existed  in  a far-off  primeval  age  in  the  mind  of  some  Hebrew 
prophet  or  other  Eastern  sage,  but  has  now  become  an  ima- 
gination only.  Yet  this  ‘ passion  of  the  reason  ’ is  the  theme  of 
the  Symposium  of  Plato.  And  as  there  is  no  impossibility  in 
supposing  that  ‘one  king,  or  son  of  a king,  may  be  a philo- 
sopher,’ so  also  there  is  a probability  that  there  may  be 
some  few — perhaps  one  or  two  in  a whole  generation — in 
whom  the  light  of  truth  may  not  lack  the  warmth  of  desire. 
And  if  there  be  such  natures,  no  one  will  be  disposed  to 
deny  that  ‘from  them  flow  most  of  the  benefits  of  individuals 
and  states ; ’ and  even  from  imperfect  combinations  of  the 
two  elements  in  teachers  or  statesmen  great  good  may  often 
arise. 

Yet  there  is  a higher  region  in  which  love  is  not  only  felt,  but 
satisfied,  in  the  perfect  beauty  of  eternal  knowledge,  beginning 
with  the  beauty  of  earthly  things,  and  at  last  reaching  a beauty  in 
which  all  existence  is  seen  to  be  harmonious  and  one.  The  limited 
affection  is  enlarged,  and  enabled  to  behold  the  ideal  of  all  things. 
And  here  the  highest  summit  which  is  reached  in  the  Symposium 
is  seen  also  to  be  the  highest  summit  which  is  attained  in  the 
Republic,  but  approached  from  another  side  ; and  there  is  ‘ a way 
upwards  and  downwards,’  which  is  the  same  and  not  the  same  in 
both.  The  ideal  beauty  of  the  one  is  the  ideal  good  of  the  other  ; 
regarded  not  with  the  eye  of  knowledge,  but  of  faith  and  desire  ; 
and  they  are  respectively  the  source  of  beauty  and  the  source  of 
good  in  all  other  things.  And  by  the  steps  of  a ‘ladder  reaching 
to  heaven  ’ we  pass  from  images  of  visible  beauty  (elnoves),  and 
from  the  hypotheses  of  the  Mathematical  sciences,  which  are  not  yet 
based  upon  the  idea  of  good,  through  the  concrete  to  the  abstract, 
and,  by  different  paths  arriving,  behold  the  vision  of  the  eternal 
(cp.  Symp.  21 1 cooTJ-ep  eTramfiaOnols  tutlv  Rep.  vi.  511  A,  B olov 
imfiaous ; re  Ka\  op/ias'  also  Phaedrus  247  ff).  Under  one  aspect 
‘ the  idea  is  love  ’ ; under  another,  ‘ truth.’  In  both  the  lover  of 
wisdom  is  the  ‘spectator  of  all  time  and  of  all  existence.’  This 
is  a ‘mystery’  in  which  Plato  also  obscurely  intimates  the  union 
of  the  spiritual  and  fleshly,  the  interpenetration  of  the  moral  and 
intellectual  faculties. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


534 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Socrates  and  Alcibiades. 

I he  divine  image  of  beauty  which  resides  within  Socrates  has 
been  revealed  ; the  Silenus,  or  outward  man,  has  now  to  be  ex- 
hibited. 1 he  description  of  Socrates  follows  immediately  after 
the  speech  of  Socrates;  one  is  the  complement  of  the  other.  At 
the  height  of  divine  inspiration,  when  the  force  of  nature  can  no 
further  go,  by  way  of  contrast  to  this  extreme  idealism,  Alci- 
biades, accompanied  by  a troop  of  revellers  and  a flute-girl, 
staggers  in,  and  being  drunk  is  able  to  tell  of  things  which 
he  would  have  been  ashamed  to  make  known  if  he  had  been 
sober.  The  state  of  his  affections  towards  Socrates,  unintelligible 
to  us  and  perverted  as  they  appear,  affords  an  illustration  of  the 
power  ascribed  to  the  loves  of  man  in  the  speech  of  Pausanias. 
He  does  not  suppose  his  feelings  to  be  peculiar  to  himself:  there 
are  several  other  persons  in  the  company  who  have  been 
equally  in  love  with  Socrates,  and  like  himself  have  been  de- 
ceived by  him.  The  singular  part  of  this  confession  is  the  com- 
bination of  the  most  degrading  passion  with  the  desire  of  virtue 
and  improvement.  Such  an  union  is  not  wholly  untrue  to  human 
nature,  which  is  capable  of  combining  good  and  evil  in  a degree 
beyond  what  we  can  easily  conceive.  In  imaginative  persons, 
especially,  the  God  and  beast  in  man  seem  to  part  asunder 
more  than  is  natural  in  a well-regulated  mind.  The  Platonic 
Socrates  (for  of  the  real  Socrates  this  may  be  doubted  : cp.  his 
public  rebuke  of  Critias  for  his  shameful  love  of  Euthydemus  in 
Xenophon,  Memorabilia  i.  2,  29,  30)  does  not  regard  the  greatest 
evil  of  Greek  life  as  a thing  not  to  be  spoken  of ; but  it  has 
a ridiculous  element  (Plato’s  S3>mp.  214),  and  is  a subject  for 
irony,  no  less  than  for  moral  reprobation  (cp.  Plato’s  Symp. 
218  D,  E).  It  is  also  used  as  a figure  of  speech  which  no 
one  interpreted  literally  (cp.  Xen.  Symp.  4.  57).  Nor  does 
Plato  feel  any  repugnance,  such  as  would  be  felt  in  modern 
times,  at  bringing  his  great  master  and  hero  into  connexion 
with  nameless  crimes.  He  is  contented  with  representing 
him  as  a saint,  who  has  won  ‘the  Olympian  victory’  over 
the  temptations  of  human  nature.  The  fault  of  taste,  which 
to  us  is  so  glaring  and  which  was  recognized  by  the  Greeks 
of  a later  age  (Athcnaeus  xi.  114),  was  not  perceived  by  Plato 
himself.  We  are  still  more  surprised  to  find  that  the  philoso- 
pher is  incited  to  take  the  first  step  in  his  upward  progress 


535 


The  Greek  sentiment  of  love. 

(Symp.  210  A)  by  the  beauty  of  young  men  and  boys,  which 
was  alone  capable  of  inspiring  the  modern  feeling  of  romance  in 
the  Greek  mind.  The  passion  of  love  took  the  spurious  form 
of  an  enthusiasm  for  the  ideal  of  beauty — a worship  as  of  some 
godlike  image  of  an  Apollo  or  Antinous.  But  the  love  of  }'outh 
when  not  depraved  was  a love  of  virtue  and  modesty  as  well  as 
of  beauty,  the  one  being  the  expression  of  the  other ; and  in 
certain  Greek  states,  especially  at  Sparta  and  Thebes,  the  honour- 
able attachment  of  a youth  to  an  elder  man  was  a part  of  his 
education.  The  ‘ army  of  lovers  and  their  beloved  who  would  be 
invincible  if  they  could  be  united  by  such  a tie  ’ (Symp.  178  if.), 
is  not  a mere  fiction  of  Plato’s,  but  seems  actually  to  have  existed 
at  Thebes  in  the  days  of  Epaminondas  and  Pelopidas,  if  we  may 
believe  writers  cited  anonymously  by  Plutarch,  Pelop.  Vit.  18,  19. 
It  is  observable  that  Plato  never  in  the  least  degree  excuses  the 
depraved  love  of  the  body  (cp.  Charm.  155 ; Rep.  v.  468  B,  C ; 
Lawsviii.  841  ft'. ; Symp.  211  D ; and  once  more  Xenophon,  Mem. 
i.  2,  29,  30),  nor  is  there  any  Greek  writer  of  mark  who  condones 
or  approves  such  connexions.  But  owing  partly  to  the  puzzling 
nature  of  the  subject  (182  A,  B)  these  friendships  are  spoken  of 
by  Plato  in  a manner  different  from  that  customary  among  our- 
selves. To  most  of  them  we  should  hesitate  to  ascribe,  any  more 
than  to  the  attachment  of  Achillas  and  Patroclus  in  Homer,  an 
immoral  or  licentious  character.  There  were  many,  doubtless, 
to  whom  the  love  of  the  fair  mind  was  the  noblest  form  of  friend- 
ship (Rep.  iii.  402  D),  and  who  deemed  the  friendship  of  man 
with  man  to  be  higher  than  the  love  of  woman,  because  altogether 
separated  from  the  bodily  appetites.  The  existence  of  such 
attachments  may  be  reasonably  attributed  to  the  inferiority  and 
seclusion  of  woman,  and  the  want  of  a real  family  or  social  life 
and  parental  influence  in  Hellenic  cities ; and  they  were  encou- 
raged by  the  practice  of  gymnastic  exercises,  by  the  meetings  of 
political  clubs,  and  by  the  tie  of  military  companionship.  They 
were  also  an  educational  institution  : a young  person  was  speci- 
ally entrusted  by  his  parents  to  some  elder  friend  who  was  ex- 
pected by  them  to  train  their  son  in  manly  exercises  and  in  virtue. 
It  is  not  likely  that  a Greek  parent  committed  him  to  a lover,  any- 
more than  we  should  to  a schoolmaster,  in  the  expectation  that  he 
would  be  corrupted  by  him,  but  rather  in  the  hope  that  his  morals 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


536 

Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Comparative  purity  of  Greek  Literature . 

would  be  better  cared  for  than  was  possible  in  a great  household 
of  slaves. 

It  is  difficult  to  adduce  the  authority  of  Plato  either  for  or 
against  such  practices  or  customs,  because  it  is  not  always  easy 
to  determine  whether  he  is  speaking  of ‘the  heavenly  and  philo- 
sophical love,  or  of  the  coarse  Polyhymnia:’  and  he  often  refers 
to  this  (e.  g.  in  the  Symposium)  half  in  jest,  yet  ‘ with  a certain 
degree  of  seriousness.’  We  observe  that  they  entered  into  one 
part  of  Greek  literature,  but  not  into  another,  and  that  the  larger 
part  is  free  from  such  associations.  Indecency  was  an  element 
of  the  ludicrous  in  the  old  Greek  Comedy,  as  it  has  been  in  other 
ages  and  countries.  But  effeminate  love  was  always  condemned 
as  well  as  ridiculed  by  the  Comic  poets ; and  in  the  New  Comedy 
the  allusions  to  such  topics  have  disappeared.  They  seem  to 
have  been  no  longer  tolerated  by  the  greater  refinement  of  the 
age.  False  sentiment  is  found  in  the  Lyric  and  Elegiac  poets; 
and  in  mythology  ‘ the  greatest  of  the  Gods  ’ (Rep.  iii.  388  B)  is  not 
exempt  from  evil  imputations.  But  the  morals  of  a nation  are 
not  to  be  judged  of  wholly  by  its  literature.  Hellas  was  not 
necessarily  more  corrupted  in  the  days  of  the  Persian  and  Pelo- 
ponnesian wars,  or  of  Plato  and  the  Orators,  than  England  in 
the  time  of  Fielding  and  Smollett,  or  France  in  the  nineteenth 
century.  No  one  supposes  certain  French  novels  to  be  a repre- 
sentation of  ordinary  French  life.  And  the  greater  part  of  Greek 
literature,  beginning  with  Homer  and  including  the  tragedians, 
philosophers,  and,  with  the  exception  of  the  Comic  poets  (whose 
business  was  to  raise  a laugh  by  whatever  means),  all  the  greater 
writers  of  Hellas  who  have  been  preserved  to  us,  are  free  from 
the  taint  of  indecency. 

Some  general  considerations  occur  to  our  mind  when  we  begin 
to  reflect  on  this  subject.  (1)  That  good  and  evil  are  linked  toge- 
ther in  human  nature,  and  have  often  existed  side  by  side  in 
the  world  and  in  man  to  an  extent  hardly  credible.  We  can- 
not distinguish  them,  and  are  therefore  unable  to  part  them  ; 
as  in  the  parable  ‘ they  grow  together  unto  the  harvest : ’ 
it  is  only  a rule  of  external  decency  by  which  society  can  divide 
them.  Nor  should  we  be  right  in  inferring  from  the  prevalence 
of  any  one  vice  or  corruption  that  a state  or  individual  was  de- 
moralized in  their  whole  character.  Not  only  has  the  corruption 


537 


Different  aspects  of  Greek  Morals. 

of  the  best  been  sometimes  thought  to  be  the  worst,  but  it  may 
be  remarked  that  this  very  excess  of  evil  has  been  the  stimulus 
to  good  (cp.  Plato,  Laws  xii.  951  B,  where  he  says  that  in  the 
most  corrupt  cities  individuals  are  to  be  found  beyond  all  praise). 
(2)  It  may  be  observed  that  evils  which  admit  of  degrees  can 
seldom  be  rightly  estimated,  because  under  the  same  name  actions 
of  the  most  different  degrees  of  culpability  may  be  included.  No 
charge  is  more  easily  set  going  than  the  imputation  of  secret 
wickedness  (which  cannot  be  either  proved  or  disproved  and 
often  cannot  be  defined)  when  directed  against  a person  of  whom 
the  world,  or  a section  of  it,  is  predisposed  to  think  evil.  And 
it  is  quite  possible  that  the  malignity  of  Greek  scandal,  aroused 
by  some  personal  jealousy  or  party  enmity,  may  have  converted 
the  innocent  friendship  of  a great  man  for  a noble  youth  into 
a connexion  of  another  kind.  Such  accusations  were  brought 
against  several  of  the  leading  men  of  Hellas,  e.  g.  Cimon,  Alci- 
biades,  Critias,  Demosthenes,  Epaminondas : several  of  the 

Roman  emperors  were  assailed  by  similar  weapons  which  have 
been  used  even  in  our  own  day  against  statesmen  of  the  highest 
character.  (3)  While  we  know  that  in  this  matter  there  is  a great 
gulf  fixed  between  Greek  and  Christian  Ethics,  yet,  if  we  would 
do  justice  to  the  Greeks,  we  must  also  acknowledge  that  there 
was  a greater  outspokenness  among  them  than  among  ourselves 
about  the  things  which  nature  hides,  and  that  the  more  frequent 
mention  of  such  topics  is  not  to  be  taken  as  the  measure  of  the 
prevalence  of  offences,  or  as  a proof  of  the  general  corruption  of 
society.  It  is  likely  that  every  religion  in  the  world  has  used 
words  or  practised  rites  in  one  age,  which  have  become  distaste- 
ful or  repugnant  to  another.  We  cannot,  though  for  different 
reasons,  trust  the  representations  either  of  Comedy  or  Satire  ; 
and  still  less  of  Christian  Apologists.  (4)  We  observe  that  at 
Thebes  and  Lacedemon  the  attachment  of  an  elder  friend  to  a 
beloved  youth  was  often  deemed  to  be  a part  of  his  education  ; 
and  was  encouraged  by  his  parents — it  was  only  shameful  if  it 
degenerated  into  licentiousness.  Such  we  may  believe  to  have 
been  the  tie  which  united  Asophychus  and  Cephisodorus  with  the 
great  Epaminondas  in  whose  companionship  they  fell  (Plutarch, 
Amat.  1 17  ; Athenaeus  on  the  authority  of  Theopompus,  1.  xiii.  p. 
605).  (51  A small  matter  : there  appears  to  be  a difference  of  custom 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


538 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


Date  of  the  Symposium : 

among  the  Greeks  and  among  ourselves,  as  between  ourselves 
and  continental  nations  at  the  present  time,  in  modes  of  saluta- 
tion. We  must  not  suspect  evil  in  the  hearty  kiss  or  embrace 
of  a male  friend  'returning  from  the  army  at  Potidaea’  any  more 
than  in  a similar  salutation  when  practised  by  members  of  the 
same  family.  But  those  who  make  these  admissions,  and  who  re- 
gard, not  without  pity,  the  victims  of  such  illusions  in  our  own 
day,  whose  life  has  been  blasted  by  them,  may  be  none  the  less 
resolved  that  the  natural  and  healthy  instincts  of  mankind  shall 
alone  be  tolerated  iv  Tjj  f)(ieTtpa  noXei ; and  that  the  lesson  of 
manliness  which  we  have  inherited  from  our  fathers  shall  not 
degenerate  into  sentimentalism  or  effeminacy.  The  possibility 
of  an  honourable  connexion  of  this  kind  seems  to  have  died  out 
with  Greek  civilization.  Among  the  Romans,  and  also  among 
barbarians,  such  as  the  Celts  and  Persians,  there  is  no  trace  of 
such  attachments  existing  in  any  noble  or  virtuous  form. 

{Compare  Hoeck's  Creta , vol.  3.  p.  106  ff,  and  the  admirable  and 
exhaustive  article  of  Meier  in  Ersch  and  Grueber's  Cyclopedia,  vol.  16, 
on  this  subject ; Plutarch,  A ma fores  ; Athenaeus,p.  605  ; Lysias  contra 
Simonem  ; Aesch.  c.  Timarchum.) 

1 he  character  of  Alcibiades  in  the  Symposium  is  hardly  less 
remarkable  than  that  of  Socrates,  and  agrees  with  the  picture 
given  of  him  in  the  first  of  the  two  Dialogues  which  are  called 
by  his  name,  and  also  with  the  slight  sketch  of  him  in  the  Pro- 
tagoras. He  is  the  impersonation  of  lawlessness— ‘ the  lion's 
whelp,  who  ought  not  to  be  reared  in  the  city,’  yet  not  without 
a certain  generosity  which  gained  the  hearts  of  men,— strangely 
fascinated  by  Socrates,  and  possessed  of  a genius  which  might 
have  been  either  the  destruction  or  salvation  of  Athens.  The 
dramatic  interest  of  the  character  is  heightened  by  the  recol- 
lection of  his  after  history.  He  seems  to  have  been  present  to 
the  mind  of  Plato  in  the  description  of  the  democratic  man  of  the 
Republic  (viii.  560;  cp.  also  Alcibiades  1). 

There  is  no  criterion  of  the  date  of  the  Sjunposium,  except  that 
which  is  furnished  by  the  allusion  to  the  division  of  Arcadia  after 
the  destruction  of  Mantinea.  This  took  place  in  the  year  b.  c. 
384,  which  is  the  forty-fourth  year  of  Plato’s  life.  The  Sym- 
posium cannot  therefore  be  regarded  as  a youthful  work.  As 


539 


Relation  to  the  other  Dialogues. 

Mantinea  was  restored  in  the  year  369,  the  composition  of  the 
Dialogue  will  probably  fall  between  384  and  369.  Whether  the 
recollection  of  the  event  is  more  likely  to  have  been  renewed  at 
the  destruction  or  restoration  of  the  city,  rather  than  at  some 
intermediate  period,  is  a consideration  not  worth  raising. 

The  Symposium  is  connected  with  the  Phaedrus  both  in  style 
and  subject ; they  are  the  only  Dialogues  of  Plato  in  which  the 
theme  of  love  is  discussed  at  length.  In  both  of  them  philosophy 
is  regarded  as  a sort  of  enthusiasm  or  madness;  Socrates  is 
himself  ‘a  prophet  new  inspired’  with  Bacchanalian  revelry, 
which,  like  his  philosophy,  he  characteristically  pretends  to  have 
derived  not  from  himself  but  from  others.  The  Phaedo  also 
presents  some  points  of  comparison  with  the  Symposium.  For 
there,  too,  philosophy  might  be  described  as  ‘ dying  for  love ; ’ 
and  there  are  not  wanting  many  touches  of  humour  and  fancy, 
which  remind  us  of  the  Symposium  (64  B,  85  B,  99  A).  But 
while  the  Phaedo  and  Phaedrus  look  backwards  and  forwards  to 
past  and  future  states  of  existence,  in  the  Symposium  there  is 
no  break  between  this  world  and  another ; and  we  rise  from  one 
to  the  other  by  a regular  series  of  steps  or  stages,  proceeding 
from  the  particulars  of  sense  to  the  universal  of  reason,  and  from 
one  universal  to  many,  which  are  finally  reunited  in  a single 
science  (cp.  Rep.  vi.  511  B).  At  first  immortality  means  only 
the  succession  of  existences ; even  knowledge  comes  and  goes. 
Then  follows,  in  the  language  of  the  mysteries,  a higher  and  a 
higher  degree  of  initiation  ; at  last  we  arrive  at  the  perfect  vision 
of  beauty,  not  relative  or  changing,  but  eternal  and  absolute ; not 
bounded  by  this  world,  or  in  or  out  of  this  world,  but  an  aspect 
of  the  divine,  extending  over  all  things,  and  having  no  limit  of 
space  or  time  : this  is  the  highest  knowledge  of  which  the  human 
mind  is  capable.  Plato  does  not  go  on  to  ask  whether  the  in- 
dividual is  absorbed  in  the  sea  of  light  and  beauty  or  retains  his 
personality.  Enough  for  him  to  have  attained  the  true  beauty  or 
good,  without  enquiring  precisely  into  the  relation  in  which 
human  beings  stood  to  it.  That  the  soul  has  such  a reach  of 
thought,  and  is  capable  of  partaking  of  the  eternal  nature,  seems 
to  imply  that  she  too  is  eternal  (cp.  Phaedrus,  245  foil.).  But 
Plato  does  not  distinguish  the  eternal  in  man  from  the  eternal 
in  the  world  or  in  God.  He  is  willing  to  rest  in  the  contemplation 


Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


540 

Sym- 

posium. 

Introduc- 

tion. 


1 he  Symposium  of  Xenophon. 

of  the  idea,  which  to  him  is  the  cause  of  all  things  (Rep.  vi.  508  E), 
and  has  no  strength  to  go  further. 

The  Symposium  of  Xenophon,  in  which  Socrates  describes 
himself  as  a pander,  and  also  discourses  of  the  difference  between 
sensual  and  sentimental  love,  likewise  offers  several  interesting 
points  of  comparison.  But  the  suspicion  which  hangs  over  other 
writings  of  Xenophon,  and  the  numerous  minute  references  to  the 
Phaedrus  and  Symposium,  as  well  as  to  some  of  the  other  writings 
of  Plato,  throw  a doubt  on  the  genuineness  of  the  work.  The 
Symposium  of  Xenophon,  if  written  by  him  at  all,  would  certainly 
show  that  he  wrote  against  Plato,  and  was  acquainted  with  his 
works.  Of  this  hostility  there  is  no  trace  in  the  Memorabilia. 
Such  a rivalry  is  more  characteristic  of  an  imitator  than  of  an 
original  writer.  The  (so-called)  Symposium  of  Xenophon  may 
therefore  have  no  more  title  to  be  regarded  as  genuine  than  the 
confessedly  spurious  Apology. 

There  are  no  means  of  determining  the  relative  order  in  time 
of  the  Phaedrus,  Symposium,  Phaedo.  The  order  wdiich  has 
been  adopted  in  this  translation  rests  on  no  other  principle  than 
the  desire  to  bring  together  in  a series  the  memorials  of  the  life  of 
Socrates. 


SYMPOSIUM. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 


APOLLODORUS,  who  repeats  to 
his  companion  the  dialogue 
which  he  had  heard  from 
Aristodemus,  and  had  al- 
ready once  narrated  to 
Glaucon. 


Phaedrus. 


Pausanias. 

Eryximachus. 

Aristophanes. 

Agathon. 

Socrates. 

Alcibiades. 

A troop  of  Revellers. 


Scene  : — ' The  House  of  Agathon. 


steph.  Concerning  the  things  about  which  you  ask  to  be  informed  Sym- 

'72  I believe  that  I am  not  ill-prepared  with  an  answer.  For  the  0Slu"1- 

day  before  yesterday  I was  coming  from  my  own  home  at 
Phalerum  to  the  city,  and  one  of  my  acquaintance,  who  had  Glaucon- 
caught  a sight  of  me  from  behind,  calling  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  The 
you,  Apollodorus,  only  just  now,  that  I might  ask  you  about  at 

the  speeches  in  praise  of  love,  which  were  delivered  by  the  banquet 
Socrates,  Alcibiades,  and  others,  at  Agathon’s  supper.  °fAgathon, 
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 


Probably  a play  of  words  on  faKapu r,  ‘bald-headed.’ 


542 


Sy/n- 

posium. 


Gi.aucon, 

Apoi.lo- 

DORUS. 


The  ban- 
quet took 
place  many 
years  ago 
when  Aga- 
thon  won 
his  first 
prize. 

The 

speeches 
had  been 
preserved 
by  Aristo- 
demus. 


Apollodoms,  1 the  madman 

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  being,  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. 


543 


The  tale  of  love. 

Companion.  I see,  Apollodorus,  that  you  are  just  the  same  Sym-^ 

always  speaking  evil  of  yourself,  and  of  otheis  , 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  not  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. 

A poll.  Well,  the  tale  of  love  was  on  this  wise  But  per- 

174  haps  I had  better  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  endeavour  to 

give  3’ou  the  exact  words  of  Aristodemus  : 

He  said  that  he  met  Socrates  fresh  from  the  bath  and  san-  Aristode- 

dalled  ; and  as  the  sight  of  the  sandals  was  unusual,  he  asked  J^toer 

him  whither  he  was  going  that  he  had  been  converted  into  had  gone 

to  the  ban- 

SUch  a beau  : _ quet  on  the 

To  a banquet  at  Agathon’s,  he  replied,  whose  invitation  to  invitation 
his  sacrifice  of  victory  I refused  yesterday,  fearing  a crowd,  of  Socrates, 
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 
sa}f  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 
Homer  himself,  who  not  only  demolishes  but  literally  out-  ^at“le'b 
rages  the  proverb.  For,  after  picturing  Agamemnon  as  the 
most  valiant  of  men,  he  makes  Menelaus,  who  is  but  a faint- 
hearted warrior,  come  unbidden1  to  the  banquet  of  Agamem- 
non, 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 

1 Iliad  ii.  408,  and  xvii.  588. 


544 


Sym- 

posium. 

Aristode- 

M US, 

Agathon. 


Aristode- 
mus  is  wel- 
come on  his 
own  ac- 
count, but 
where  is  his 
inseparable 
compa- 
nion ? 


Socrates  and  his  attendant  A nstodemus. 

be  my  case;  and  that,  like  Menelaus  in  Homer,  I shall  be 
the  inferior  person,  who 

‘ To  the  feasts  of  the  wise  unbidden  goes.’ 

But  I shall  say  that  I was  bidden  of  you,  and  then  you  will 
have  to  make  an  excuse. 


1 Two  going  together/ 

lie  replied,  in  Homeric  fashion,  one  or  other  of  them  may 
invent  an  excuse  by  the  way1. 

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 175 
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  neighbour- 
ing house.  ‘There  he  is  fixed,’ said  he,  ‘and  when  I call  to 
him  he  will  not  stir.’ 


1 Iliad  x.  224. 


545 


He  is  left  behind  in  a fit  of  abstraction. 

How  strange,  said  Agathon  ; then  you  must  call  him  again,  Sytn- 
...  . . posium. 

and  keep  calling  him. 

Let  him  alone,  said  my  informant ; he  has  a way  of  stop- 
ping  anywhere  and  losing  himself  without  any  reason.  I mus, 
believe  that  he  will  soon  appear ; do  not  therefore  disturb 
him. 

Well,  if  you  think  so,  I will  leave  him,  said  Agathon.  And  Thecour- 
then,  turning  to  the  servants,  he  added,  ‘ Let  us  have  supper  Agathon. 
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  are  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  re-  At  length 
dining  alone  at  the  end  of  the  table,  begged  that  he  would  take  ^°”tKthe 
the  place  next  to  him  ; that  ' I may  touch  you,’  he  said,  ‘and  compli- 
have  the  benefit  of  that  wise  thought  which  came  into  your  pass 
mind  in  the  portico,  and  is  now  in  your  possession  ; for  I am  between 
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  into  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  pre- 
sence 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. 

176  Socrates  took  his  place  on  the  couch,  and  supped  with  the 


VOL.  1. 


N n 


546 


Eryximachus  the  physician. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Pausanias, 

Aristo- 

phanes, 

Eryxima- 

chus, 

Agathon, 

Phaedrus. 

The  good 
advice  of 
Pausanias. 

Men  who 

drank  hard 

yesterday 

should 

avoid 

drinking 

to-day. 


rest ; and  then  libations  were  offered,  and  after  a hymn  had 
been  sung  to  the  god,  and  there  had  been  the  usual  cere- 
monies, 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  1 suspect  that  most  of  you  are  in  the 
same  predicament,  for  you  were  of  the  party  yesterday.  Con- 
sider 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,  said  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  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  pre- 
scribe 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  com- 
pulsion, 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 

1 Cp.  Prot.  347. 


547 


The  praises  of  love. 


177  allow  me,  1 will  tell  you  what  sort  ol  conveisation.  I his 
proposal  having  been  accepted,  Eryximachus  proceeded  as 
follows : — - 

I will  begin,  he  said,  after  the  manner  of  Melanippe  in 
Euripides, 

* Not  mine  the  word  ’ 


Sym- 

posium. 

Eryxima- 

chls, 

SoCRATF.S. 


which  I am  about  to  speak,  but  that  of  Phaedrus.  For  often  Eryxtma- 
he  says  to  me  in  an  indignant  tone  : — 1 What  a stiange  thing  scants  Up0n 
it  is,  Eryximachus,  that,  whereas  other  gods  have  poems  and  the  negtect^ 
hymns  made  in  their  honour,  the  great  and  glorious  god,  °Q  hyemPn°etS 
Love,  has  no  encomiast  among  all  the  poets  who  are  so  love's 
many.  There  are  the  worthy  sophists  too — the  excellent  praises' 
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  dis- 
course ; 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,  itisagreed 
How  can  I oppose  your  motion,  who  profess  to  understand  successjon 
nothing  but  matters  of  love ; nor,  I presume,  will  Agathon  of  speeches 
and  Pausanias  ; and  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  Aristophanes,  |"0^sur> 
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 


N n 2 


54^ 


The  speech  of  Phaedrus. 


fmhi  'm  S°me  S°°d  sPeeches  first-  Let  Phaedrus  begin  the  praise  of 
Love,  and  good  luck  to  him.  All  the  company  expressed 
Phaedrus.  ^heir  assent,  and  desired  him  to  do  as  Socrates  bade  him.  178 
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  wonder- 
ful 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.’ 


Love  is  the 
eldest  of  the 
gods,  and 
the  source 
of  the 
greatest 
good. 

For  an 
honourable 
love  is  the 
best  incen- 
tive to  vir- 
tue. 


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  prin- 
ciple which  ought  to  be  the  guide  of  men  who  would  nobly 
live— that  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  sub- 
mitting 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  com- 
panions, 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 


The  lover  and  his  beloved. 


549 


that  a state  or  an  army  should  be  made  up  of  lovers  and 
their  loves1,  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?  Fie  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 

1 Cp.  Rep.  v.  468  D. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Phaedrus. 


Love  has 
made  men 
and  women 
dare  to  die 
for  their 
beloved. 
The  exam- 
ples of  Al- 
cestis and 
Achilles. 


550 


Sym- 

posium. 

Phaedrus, 

Pausanias, 


The  spirit- 
ual and  the 
common 
love  derived 
from  the 
heavenly 
and  the 
earthly 
Aphrodite. 


The  speech  of  Pausanias. 

into  which  Aeschylus  has  fallen,  for  Achilles  was  surely  the 
faiier  of  the  two,  fairer  also  than  all  the  other  heroes;  and, 
as  Homer  informs  us,  he  was  still  beardless,  and  younger 
fai).  And  greatly  as  the  gods  honour  the  virtue  of  love,  still  1S0 
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,  you 
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 will  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, 4 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 


551 


The  heavenly  and  the  earthly  love. 

therefore  I must  try  to  distinguish  the  characters  of  the  two  Sym- 
i S i Loves.  Now  actions  vary  according  to  the  manner  of  their  Pos,um- 
performance.  Take,  for  example,  that  which  we  are  now  Pausan,as* 
doing,  drinking,  singing  and  talking — these  actions  are  not  in 
themselves  either  good  or  evil,  but  they  turn  out  in  this  01 
that  way  according  to  the  mode  of  performing  them  ; and  when 
well  done  they  are  good,  and  when  wrongly  done  they  aie 
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  accom- 
plishing 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  off-  The  higher 
spring  of  the  heavenly  Aphrodite  is  derived  from  a mother  in  the  male_ 
whose  birth  the  female  has  no  part,— she  is  from  the  male  which  may 
only;  this  is  that  love  which  is  of  youths,  and  the  goddess 
bein°-  older,  there  is  nothing  of  wantonness  in  her.  Those  and  which 
who 'are  inspired  by  this  love  turn  to  the  male,  and  delight  in  ™a^ss°y 
him  who  is  the  more  valiant  and  intelligent  nature ; any  one  abused, 
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 
182  attempt  to  restrain  them  from  fixing  their  affections  on 


552 


Sym- 

posium. 

Pausanias. 


The  feeling 
about  male 
loves  differs 
in  the  dif- 
ferent states 
of  Hellas. 


The  propriety  or  impropriety  of  male  loves. 

women  of  free  birth.  These  are  the  persons  who  bring  a 
reproach  on  love ; and  some  have  been  led  to  deny  the  law- 
fulness  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  dis- 
honourable ; 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  spirit1,  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  a 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  indis- 
ci  iminate  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  per- 
plexing. 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. 

1 Cp.  Arist.  Politics,  v.  n.  § 15. 


The  virtuous  lover. 


553 


And  in  the  pursuit  of  his  love  the  custom  of  mankind  allows  Sym- 

him  to  do  many  strange  things,  which  philosophy  would  Postu,n- 

183  bitterly  censure  if  they  were  done  from  any  motive  of  Pausan,as- 
interest,  or  wish  for  office  or  power.  He  may  pray,  and  Custom^ 
entreat,  and  supplicate,  and  swear,  and  lie  on  a mat  at  the  ]overtodo 
door,  and  endure  a slavery  worse  than  that  of  any  slave  in  strange 
any  other  case  friends  and  enemies  would  be  equally  ready  things' 
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  the}'  are  highly  commendable  and  that  there  is  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  that  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  The  true 
lover  who  loves  the  body  rather  than  the  soul,  inasmuch  as 
he  is  not  even  stable,  because  he  loves  a thing  which  is  in  Soul,  which 
itself  unstable,  and  therefore  when  the  bloom  of  youth  which  has  no  re_ 

.in-  • gard  to 

he  was  desiring  is  over,  he  takes  wing  and  flies  away,  in  beauty  or 
spite  of  all  his  words  and  promises  ; whereas  the  love  of  the  money  or 
noble  disposition  is  life-long,  for  it  becomes  one  with  the  whTch'when 


554 


Noble  love. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Pausanias. 

tested  by 
time  is 
found  to  be 
enduring. 


Love  is 
fellow-ser- 
vice ; and 
the  love  of 
youth  and 
the  practice 
of  philoso- 
phy should 
meet  in 
one. 


everlasting.  I he  custom  of  our  country  would  have  both  of  184 
them  pi  oven  well  and  truly,  and  would  have  us  yield  to  the 
one  soit  of  lover  and  avoid  the  other,  and  therefore  en- 
courages 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  j 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 per- 
manent 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,  ma}'  the 
beloved  yield  with  honour  to  the  lover.  Nor  when  love  is  of 


555 


The  speech  of  Eryximachus  the  physician. 

this  disinterested  sort  is  there  any  disgrace  in  being  deceived,  Sym- 
but  in  every  other  case  there  is  equal  disgrace  in  being  or  Posuuu- 
85  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  phases, 
the  same : for  he  has  done  his  best  to  show  that  he  would  CHus. 
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  goddess,  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  improve- 
ment. 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. 

Pausanlas  came  to  a pause — this  is  the  balanced  way  in  Aristo- 
which  I have  been  taught  by  the  wise  to  speak  ; and  Aristo-  {Je“-(!_has 
demus  said  that  the  turn  of  Aristophanes  was  next,  but  cough,  and 
either  he  had  eaten  too  much,  or  from  some  other  cause 
he  had  the  hiccough,  and  was  obliged  to  change  turns  in  his  turn, 
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 


556 


Sym- 

posium. 

Eryxima- 

CHUS. 

Medicine  is 
the  know- 
ledge of  the 
loves  and 
desires  of 
the  body, 
which  are 
twofold. 


Harmony  is 
the  recon- 
ciliation, 
not  of  op- 
posite ele- 
ments, but 
of  elements 
which  dis- 
agreed 
once,  and 


A sc  lip  ms  and  Heracleitus. 

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  en-  186 
deavour  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 will  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  a 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  1 87 
the  subject  will  also  perceive  that  in  music  there  is  the  same 


557 


Urania  and  Polyhymnia. 

reconciliation  of  opposites  ; and  I suppose  that  this  must  have  Sym-^ 
been  the  meaning  of  Heracleitus,  although  his  words  are  not 
accurate;  for  he  says  that  The  One  is  united  by  disunion,  CHUS. 
like  the  harmony  of  the  bow  and  the  lyre.  Now  there  is  an  arenow 
absurdity  in  saying  that  harmony  is  discord  or  is  composed  harmon- 
of  elements  which  are  still  in  a state  of  discoid.  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  no  har- 
mony,— clearly  not.  For  harmony  is  a symphony,  and  sym- 
phony 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  tem- 
perate, 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  with- 
out the  attendant  evil  of  disease.  Whence  I infer  that  in 
music,  in  medicine,  in  all  other  things  human  as  well  as 
divine,  both  loves  ought  to  be  noted  as  far  as  may  be,  for  they 
1 88  are  both  present. 

The  course  of  the  seasons  is  also  full  of  both  these  prin- 
ciples ; and  when,  as  I was  saying,  the  elements  of  hot  and 


The  speech  of  Aristophanes. 

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 
tmu  iaise  other  kinds  of  diseases  on  animals  and  plants  ; for  hoar-frost 
love  may  be  ar*d  ha'l  an<J  blight  spring  from  the  excesses  and  disorders  of 
discerned  these  elements  of  love,  which  to  know  in  relation  to  the 

animals,  in  icvolutions  of  the  heavenly  bodies  and  the  seasons  of  the 
the  seasons,  year  is  termed  astronomy.  Furthermore  all  sacrifices  and 
province  of  the  whole  province  of  divination,  which  is  the  art  of  com- 
divination.  munion  between  gods  and  men— these,  I say,  are  concerned 
only  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  har- 
monious 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  con- 
cerned 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  189 
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 


558 

Sym- 

posium. 

Eryxima- 

chus, 

Aristo- 

phanes. 

The  har- 
mony of 
the  true 


Primeval  man. 


559 


I shall  have  to  watch  and  see  whether  I cannot  have  a laugh 
at  your  expense,  when  you  might  speak  in  peace. 

You  are  quite  right,  said  Aristophanes,  laughing.  I will 
unsay  my  words  j 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,  Aristo- 
phanes ? 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  correspond- 
ing to  this  double  nature,  which  had  once  a real  existence, 
but  is  now  lost,  and  the  word  'Androgynous’  is  only  pre- 
served 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 
190  two  faces,  looking  opposite  ways,  set  on  a round  neck  and 
precisely  alike  ; also  four  ears,  two  privy  members,  and  the 
remainder  to  correspond.  Lie  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 


Sym- 

posium. 

Eryxima- 

CHUS, 

Aristo- 

phanes. 


The  origi- 
nal human 
nature  un- 
like the 
present. 

The  three 
sexes ; their 
form  and 
origin. 


560 

Sym- 

posium. 

Aristo- 

phanes. 


Their  re- 
bellious 
spirit. 


Various 
operations 
are  per- 
formed on 
them  by  the 
command 
of  Zeus. 


Odd  A7'istophanic  fancies. 

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 
desciibed  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 
lound  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  ol  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,  191 
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 


The  indent itre  of  a man. 


56i 


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  Andro- 
gynous 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 
192  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  saying.  When  they  reach 
manhood  they  are  lovers  of  youth,  and  are  not  naturally 
inclined  to  marry  or  beget  children, — if  at  all,  they  do  so 


Sym- 

posium. 

Aristo- 

phanes. 

The  two 
halves  wan- 
der about 
longing 
after  one 
another. 


The  charac- 
ters of  men 
and  women 
depend 
upon  the 
nature  from 
which  they 
were  ori- 
ginally 
severed. 


VOL.  I. 


O O 


562 


Sym- 

posium. 

Aristo- 

phanes. 

The  strong 
presenti- 
ment which 
lovers  have 
of  they 
know  not 
what. 


Worse  may 
yet  befall 
men  unless 


The  desire  of  reunion. 

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  one  will  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  then- 
perplexity  he  said  : ‘ Do  you  desire  to  be  wholly  one  ; alwa3rs 
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  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.- 193 
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  Lacedae- 
monians 2.  And  if  we  are  not  obedient  to  the  gods,  there 
is  a danger  that  we  shall  be  split  up  again  and  go  about 

Cp.  Arist.  Pol.  ii.  4,  § 6. 


1 


2 Cp.  Arist.  Pol.  ii.  2,  § 3. 


5^3 


Exhortation  of  Aristophanes  to  piety. 

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  opposes  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  Eryxi- 
machus  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  appli- 
cation—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. 

194  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. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Aristo- 

phanes, 

Eryxi- 

machus, 

Socrates. 

they  wor- 
ship the 
Gods;  they 
may  be  not 
halved 
only,  but 
quartered. 


Aristo- 
phanes de- 
precates 
ridicule. 


0 0 2 


564 


Sytn- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Acathon, 

Phaedrus. 


Socrates  is 
not  allowed 
to  talk. 


Socrates  more  inclined  to  talk  than  to  make  a speech. 

You  want  to  cast  a spell  over  me,  Socrates,  said  Agathon, 
in  the  hope  that  1 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  attri- 
buting 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:  Do  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 


565 


The  youth  and  tenderness  of  love. 

195  on  the  benefits  which  he  confers  upon  them.  But  I would  Sym- 
rather  praise  the  god  first,  and  then  speak  of  his  gifts  ; this  is  P0Slum- 
always  the  right  way  of  praising  everything.  May  I say  Agathon- 
without  impiety  or  offence,  that  of  all  the  blessed  gods  he  The  god 
is  the  most  blessed  because  he  is  the  fairest  and  best  ? And  should  bc 
he  is  the  fairest : for,  in  the  first  place,  he  is  the  youngest,  praised  on 
and  of  his  youth  he  is  himself  the  witness,  fleeing  out  of  the  countj  a^cl 
way  of  age,  who  is  swift  enough,  swifter  truly  than  most  of  us  not  for  the 
like:— Love  hates  him  and  will  not  come  near  him;  but  benefit^ 
youth  and  love  live  and  move  together — like  to  like,  as  the  confers 
proverb  says.  Many  things  were  said  by  Phaedrus  about  "P™ man' 
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  Par- 
menides spoke,  if  the  tradition  of  them  be  true,  were  done  of 
Necessity  and  not  of  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  ^ve^snot 
also  tender  ; he  ought  to  have  a poet  like  Homer  to  describe  °ou’ngand 
his  tenderness,  as  Homer  says  of  Ate,  that  she  is  a goddess  tender; 
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  the  skulls  of  men,  which  are  not 
so  very  soft,  but  in  the  hearts  and  souls  of  both  gods  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  ? 

196  Of  a truth  he  is  the  tenderest  as  well  as  the  youngest,  and  soft; 
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 


566 


Sym- 

posium. 

Agathon. 

fair  ; 


just  ; 


temperate ; 


courage- 
ous ; 


wise  ; 


a poet  too, 
and 


a maker  of 
poets  ; 


an  artist, 
and  creator 
of  order ; 


He  is  full  of  grace  and  of  every  virtue. 

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  an- 
other. The  fairness  of  his  complexion  is  revealed  by  his 
habitation  among  the  flowers  ; for  he  dwells  not  amid  bloom- 
less 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  be- 
fore 1 ; 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  of  his  197 
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 

1 A fragment  of  the  Sthenoboea  of  Euripides. 


5 67 


Love  the  universal  artist  and  creator. 

light  of  fame  ?— he  whom  Love  touches  not  walks  in  darkness. 
The  arts  of  medicine  and  archery  and  divination  were  dis- 
covered 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 
bes^an  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  eveiy 
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  theie 
comes  into  my  mind  a line  of  poetry  in  which  he  is  said  to  be 
the  god  who 

c 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  kind- 
ness 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  piecious  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. 

198  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  ot 


Sym- 

posium. 

Agathon, 

Socrates. 


a peace- 
maker ; 


a saviour  ; 


best  and 
brightest, 


568 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Eryxima- 

CHUS. 


Socrates 
tries  to  ex- 
cuse him- 
self from 
speaking 
on  the 
ground  that 
he  never 
understood 
the  nature 
of  the  com- 
pact. 

They  have 
attributed 
to  love  an 
imaginary 
greatness 
and  good- 
ness ; but 
he  can  only 
praise  truly. 


The  turn  of  Socrates. 

Acumenus,  was  there  not  reason  in  my  fears?  and  was  I not 
a tiuc  prophet  when  I said  that  Agathon  would  make  a won- 
derful 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  says1,  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  or  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  any- 
where; 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  199 
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 

1 Odyssey,  A..  632. 


The  truth  about  Love. 


569 


be  absolved  from  the  promise  which  I made  in  ignorance, 
and  which  (as  Euripides  would  say1)  was  a promise  of  the 
lips  and  not  of  the  mind.  Farewell  then  to  such  a strain  : 
for  1 do  not  praise  in  that  way;  no,  indeed,  I cannot.  But  if 
you  like  to  hear  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. 

1 Eurip.  Hyppolytus,  1.  612. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Phaedrus, 

Agathon. 


Love  is  of 
something 
and  desires 
something 
which  he 
does  not 
possess  in 
himself. 


5/0 


The  truth  about  Love. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Agathon. 


Love, 
therefore, 
is  not  good 
or  great, 
but  desires 
to  be  good 
or  great. 


A seeming 
exception  ; 
of  course 
we  admit 
that  a man 
may  desire 
the  continu- 
ance or  in- 
crease of 
that  which 
he  has. 


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  docs  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  judg- 
ment, 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  con- 
tinuance 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. 


200 


The  truth  about  Love. 


57i 


01 


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  piesent,  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  some- 
thing 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  ? 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Agathon. 


Recapitu- 
lation of  the 
argument. 


The  conclu- 
sion is,  that 
love  is  not 
beautiful 
but  is  of 
the  beauti- 
ful, and 
that  the 
beautiful  is 
the  good. 


572 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Agathon. 

The  argu- 
ment was 
communi- 
cated to 
Socrates  by 
Diotima. 


Love  is  not 
to  be  es- 
teemed foul 
and  evil  be- 
cause he  is 
not  fair  and 
good  : 


Diotima  of  Mantineia. 

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 will  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  2.  As  you,  Agathon,  suggested  3, 

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  like- 
wise 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?  202 
do  3'ou  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 

1 Cp.  I.  Alcibiades.  3 Cp.  Gorgias,  505  E. 

3 Supra,  195  A. 


573 


The  wisdom  of  Diotima. 


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  you  dare  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  (S al^v),  and  like 

all  spirits  he  is  intermediate  between  the  divine  and  the 
mortal.’  ‘ And  what,’  I said,  ‘ is  his  power  ? ’ 'He  inter- 
prets,’ 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 
33  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  01 
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 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates. 


but,  on  the 
other  hand, 
he  is  not  a 
god  who 
does  not 
possess  the 
good  and 
the  fair. 


He  is  a great 
spirit  who 
mediates 
between 
gods  and 
men  ; 


the  son  of 
Plenty  and 
Poverty  ; 


574 


Sym- 

posium. 

SoCRATKS. 


a shoeless, 
houseless, 
ill-favoured 
vagabond, 
who  is 
always  con- 
spiring 
against  the 
fair  and 
good  ; 


not  wise, 
but  a lover 
of  wisdom. 


7 he  wisdom  of  Diotima. 

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  flourish- 
ing 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  204 
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 


575 


Diotimas  conversation  ioit/1  Socrates. 

1 ovp  The  error  in  your  conception  of  him  was  very  natural,  Sym- 
and  as  I imagine  from  what  you  say,  has  arisen  out  of  a con- 
fusion of  love  and  the  beloved,  which  made  you  think  that  love  SocRATES- 
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  desciibed. 

I said  • ‘ O thou  stranger  woman,  thou  sayest  well ; but,  Love  is  of 
assuming  Love  to  be  such  as  you  say,  what  is  the  use  of  him  fub  but  in 
to  men?’  ‘That,  Socrates,’ she  replied,  'I  will  attempt  to  what? 
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  clearly,  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  : Wffiat  is  given  Of  the  pos- 
by  the  possession  of  beauty  ? ’ ‘To  what  you  have  asked,  I the  beautj_ 
replied,  ‘ I have  no  answer  ready.’  ‘ Then,’  she  said,  ‘ let  me  ful,  which  is 
put  the  word  “good  ” in  the  place  of  the  beautiful,  and  repeat 
the  question  once  more:  If  he  who  loves  loves  the  good,  ofthegood, 
what  is  it  then  that  he  loves?’  ‘The  possession  of  the 
good,’  I said.  ‘ And  what  does  he  gain  who  possesses  the 
good?’  ‘Happiness,’  I replied;  ‘there  is  less  difficulty  in 
>5  answering  that  question.’  ‘Yes,’  she  said,  ‘the  happy  are 
made  happy  by  the  acquisition  of  good  things.  Nor  is  there 
any  need  to  ask  why  a man  desires  happiness ; the  answer 
is  already  final.’  ‘You  are  right,’ I said.  ‘And  is  this  wish 
and  this  desire  common  to  all  ? and  do  all  men  always  desire 
their  own  good,  or  only  some  men  ? — what  say  you  ? ‘ All 

men,’  I replied  ; ‘ the  desire  is  common  to  all.’  ‘ Why,  then,’ 
she  rejoined,  ‘are  not  all  men,  Socrates,  said  to  love,  but 
only  some  of  them  ? whereas  you  Say  that  all  men  are  always 
loving  the  same  things.’  ‘I  myself  wonder,’  I said,  'why 
this  is.’  ‘There  is  nothing  to  wonder  at,’  she  replied;  'the  Yet  love  is 
reason  is  that  one  part  of  love  is  separated  off  and  receives  ”°0^°™"ed 
the  name  of  the  whole,  but  the  other  parts  have  other  names.’  in  thisge- 
1 Give  an  illustration,’  I said.  She  answered  me  as  follows  : ncial  SL 
‘ There  is  poetry,  which,  as  you  know,  is  complex  and  mani- 
fold. All  creation  or  passage  of  non-being  into  being  is 
poetry  or  making,  and  the  processes  of  all  art  are  creative  ; 


576 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates. 


Love  is 
birth,  is 
creation  ; 
is  the  divine 
power  of 
conception 
or  parturi- 
tion ; 


The  great  mystery  of  love. 

and  the  masters  of  arts  are  all  poets  or  makers.’  'Very 
tiue.  'Still/  she  said,  'you  know  that  they  are  not  called 
poets,  but  have  other  names;  only  that  portion  of  the  art 
which  is  separated  off  from  the  rest,  and  is  concerned  with 
music  and  metre,  is  termed  poetry,  and  they  who  possess 
poetry  in  this  sense  of  the  word  are  called  poets.’  'Very 
true,’  I said.  'And  the  same  holds  of  love.  For  you 
may  say  generally  that  all  desire  of  good  and  happiness 
is  only  the  great  and  subtle  power  of  love ; but  they  who 
are  drawn  towards  him  by  any  other  path,  whether  the 
path  of  money-making  or  gymnastics  or  philosophy,  are 
not  called  lovers— the  name  of  the  whole  is  appropriated 
to  those  whose  affection  takes  one  form  only — they  alone  are 
said  to  love,  or  to  be  lovers.’  '1  dare  say,’  I replied,  'that 
you  are  right.  'Yes/  she  added,  'and  }rou  hear  people 
say  that  lovers  are  seeking  for  their  other  half;  but  I say 
that  they  are  seeking  neither  for  the  half  of  themselves, 
nor  for  the  whole,  unless  the  half  or  the  whole  be  also  a 
good.  And  they  will  cut  off  their  own  hands  and  feet  and 
cast  them  away,  if  they  are  evil;  for  they  love  not  what 
is  their  own,  unless  perchance  there  be  some  one  who  calls 
what  belongs  to  him  the  good,  and  what  belongs  to  another  206 
the  evil.  For  there  is  nothing  which  men  love  but  the  good. 

Is  there  anything?’  'Certainly,  I should  say,  that  there  is 
nothing.’  ‘Then,’  she  said,  ‘the  simple  truth  is,  that  men 
love  the  good.’  ‘Yes,’  I said.  ‘To  which  must  be  added 
that  they  love  the  possession  of  the  good  ? ’ 'Yes,  that  must 
be  added.’  'And  not  only  the  possession,  but  the  everlasting 
possession  of  the  good  ? ’ ‘ That  must  be  added  too.’  'Then 
love,’  she  said,  ‘may  be  described  generally  as  the  love  of 
the  everlasting  possession  of  the  good  ? ’ ‘ That  is  most 

true.’ 

‘ Then  if  this  be  the  nature  of  love,  can  you  tell  me  further,’ 
she  said,  'what  is  the  manner  of  the  pursuit?  what  are  they 
doing  who  show  all  this  eagerness  and  heat  which  is  called 
love  ? and  what  is  the  object  which  they  have  in  view  ? An- 
swer me.’  ' Nay,  Diotima,’  I replied,  ‘ if  I had  known,  I should 
not  have  wondered  at  your  wisdom,  neither  should  I have 
come  to  learn  from  you  about  this  very  matter.’  ‘Well,’  she 
said,  ' I will  teach  you  : — The  object  which  they  have  in  view 


5 77 


Desire  of  the  immortal. 


is  birth  in  beauty,  whether  of  body  or  soul.’  ' I do  not 
understand  you,’  1 said  ; 'the  oracle  requires  an  explanation.’ 
‘I  will  make  my  meaning  clearer,’  she  replied.  'I  mean 
to  say,  that  all  men  are  bringing  to  the  birth  in  their  bodies 
and  in  their  souls.  There  is  a certain  age  at  which  human 
nature  is  desirous  of  procreation — procreation  which  must  be 
in  beauty  and  not  in  deformity ; and  this  procreation  is  the 
union  of  man  and  woman,  and  is  a divine  thing  ; for  concep- 
tion and  generation  are  an  immortal  principle  in  the  mortal 
creature,  and  in  the  inharmonious  they  can  never  be.  But 
the  deformed  is  always  inharmonious  with  the  divine,  and  the 
beautiful  harmonious.  Beauty,  then,  is  the  destiny  or  goddess 
of  parturition  who  presides  at  birth,  and  therefore,  when 
approaching  beauty,  the  conceiving  power  is  propitious,  and 
diffusive,  and  benign,  and  begets  and  bears  fruit : at  the  sight 
of  ugliness  she  frowns  and  contracts  and  has  a sense  of  pain, 
and  turns  away,  and  shrivels  up,  and  not  without  a pang  re- 
frains from  conception.  And  this  is  the  reason  why,  when  the 
hour  of  conception  arrives,  and  the  teeming  nature  is  full, 
there  is  such  a flutter  and  ecstacy  about  beauty  whose  ap- 
proach is  the  alleviation  of  the  pain  of  travail.  For  love, 
Socrates,  is  not,  as  you  imagine,  the  love  of  the  beautiful  only.’ 

1 What  then  ? ’ ‘ The  love  of  generation  and  of  birth  in 

beaut}'.’  ‘Yes,’  I said.  ‘ Yes,  indeed,’ she  replied.  ‘But  why 
of  generation?’  'Because  to  the  mortal  creature,  generation 
is  a sort  of  eternity  and  immortality,’  she  replied  ; ‘and  if,  as 
has  been  already  admitted,  love  is  of  the  everlasting  posses- 
207  sion  of  the  good,  all  men  will  necessarily  desire  immortality 
together  with  good  : Wherefore  love  is  of  immortality.’ 

All  this  she  taught  me  at  various  times  when  she  spoke  of 
love.  And  I remember  her  once  saying  to  me,  ' What  is  the 
cause,  Socrates,  of  love,  and  the  attendant  desire  ? See  you 
not  how  all  animals,  birds,  as  well  as  beasts,  in  their  desire  of 
procreation,  are  in  agony  when  they  take  the  infection  of  love, 
which  begins  with  the  desire  of  union  ; whereto  is  added  the 
care  of  offspring,  on  whose  behalf  the  weakest  are  ready  to 
battle  against  the  strongest  even  to  the  uttermost,  and  to  die 
for  them,  and  will  let  themselves  be  tormented  with  hunger  or 
suffer  anything  in  order  to  maintain  their  young.  Man  may 
be  supposed  to  act  thus  from  reason  ; but  why  should  animals 

p p 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates. 


is  not  the 
love  of  the 
beautiful 
only,  but 
of  birth  in 
beauty. 


Whence 
arises  the 
great  power 
of  love  in 
men  and 
animals? 


VOL.  I. 


Sym- 

posium. 

SoCRATKS. 


The  mortal 
nature  is 
always 
changing 
and  gener- 
ating, body 
and  soul 
alike  ; 

the  sciences 
come  and 
go,  and  are 
preserved 
by  recollec- 
tion ; and 
all  human 
things,  un- 
like the 
divine,  are 
made  im- 
mortal by 
a law  of 
succession. 


Desire  of  the  immortal. 

have  these  passionate  feelings  ? Can  you  tell  me  why  ? ’ 
Again  1 replied  that  I did  not  know.  She  said  to  me:  'And 
do  you  expect  ever  to  become  a master  in  the  art  of  love,  if 
you  do  not  know  this?’  ' But  I have  told  you  already,  Dio- 
tima,  that  my  ignorance  is  the  reason  why  I come  to  you;  for 
I am  conscious  that  I want  a teacher;  tell  me  then  the  cause  of 
this  and  of  the  other  mysteries  of  love.’  ' Marvel  not,’  she 
said,  ' if  you  believe  that  love  is  of  the  immortal,  as  we  have 
several  times  acknowledged ; for  here  again,  and  on  the  same 
principle  too,  the  mortal  nature  is  seeking  as  far  as  is  possible 
to  be  everlasting  and  immortal  : and  this  is  only  to  be  attained 
by  generation,  because  generation  always  leaves  behind  a new 
existence  in  the  place  of  the  old.  Nay  even  in  the  life  of  the 
same  individual  there  is  succession  and  not  absolute  unity  : 
a man  is  called  the  same,  and  yet  in  the  short  interval  which 
elapses  between  youth  and  age,  and  in  which  every  animal  is 
said  to  have  life  and  identity,  he  is  undergoing  a perpetual 
process  of  loss  and  reparation — hair,  flesh,  bones,  blood,  and 
the  whole  body  are  always  changing.  Which  is  true  not  only 
of  the  body,  but  also  of  the  soul,  whose  habits,  tempers, 
opinions,  desires,  pleasures,  pains,  fears,  never  remain  the 
same  in  any  one  of  us,  but  are  always  coming  and  going  ; and 
equally  true  of  knowledge,  and  what  is  still  more  surprising 
to  us  mortals,  not  only  do  the  sciences  in  general  spring  208 
up  and  decay,  so  that  in  respect  of  them  we  are  never  the 
same ; but  each  of  them  individually  experiences  a like 
change.  For  what  is  implied  in  the  word  “recollection,” 
but  the  departure  of  knowledge,  which  is  ever  being  forgotten, 
and  is  renewed  and  preserved  by  recollection,  and  appears  to 
be  the  same  although  in  reality  new,  according  to  that  law  of 
succession  by  which  all  mortal  things  are  preserved,  not 
absolutely  the  same,  but  by  substitution,  the  old  worn-out 
mortality  leaving  another  new  and  similar  existence  behind— 
unlike  the  divine,  which  is  always  the  same  and  not  another  ? 
And  in  this  way,  Socrates,  the  mortal  body,  or  mortal  any- 
thing, partakes  of  immortality ; but  the  immortal  in  another 
way.  Marvel  not  then  at  the  love  which  all  men  have  of  their 
offspring  ; for  that  universal  love  and  interest  is  for  the  sake 
of  immortality.’ 

I was  astonished  at  her  words,  and  said  : ‘ Is  this  reallv 


579 


The  children  of  the  soul. 

true,  O thou  wise  Diotima?’  And  she  answered  with  all  the  Sym- 
authority  of  an  accomplished  sophist : ‘ Of  that,  Socrates,  you  P0Sl“"u 
may  be  assured  think  only  of  the  ambition  of  men,  and  you  SocRATES- 
will  wonder  at  the  senselessness  of  their  ways,  unless  you  The  strug- 
consider  how  they  are  stirred  by  the  love  of  an  immortality  of  sufferings 
fame.  They  are  ready  to  run  all  risks  greater  lar  than  they  of  human^ 
would  have  run  for  their  children,  and  to  spend  money  and  ofthem 
undergo  any  sort  of  toil,  and  even  to  die,  for  the  sake  of  animated 
leaving  behind  them  a name  which  shall  be  eternal.  Do  you  ^eofim- 
imagine  that  Alcestis  would  have  died  to  save  Admetus,  or  mortality. 
Achilles  to  avenge  Patroclus,  or  your  own  Codrus  in  order 
to  preserve  the  kingdom  lor  his  sons,  if  they  had  not  im- 
agined that  the  memory  of  their  virtues,  which  still  survives 
among  us,  would  be  immortal  ? Nay,’  she  said,  ' I am  per- 
suaded that  all  men  do  all  things,  and  the  better  they  are  the 
more  they  do  them,  in  hope  of  the  glorious  fame  of  immortal 
virtue  ; for  they  desire  the  immortal. 

' Those  who  are  pregnant  in  the  body  only,  betake  them-  The  crea- 
selves  to  women  and  beget  children — this  is  the  character  of 
their  love ; their  offspring,  as  the}^  hope,  will  preserve  their  ceptions  of 
memory  and  give  them  the  blessedness  and  immortality  which  ^rst^°mt^d 
209  they  desire  in  the  future.  But  souls  which  are  pregnant — works  of 
for  there  certainly  are  men  who  are  more  creative  in  their  f^a“d 
souls  than  in  their  bodies — conceive  that  which  is  proper  for  _are  fairer 
the  soul  to  conceive  or  contain.  And  what  are  these  concep-  far  than 

• • . , any  mortal 

tions? — wisdom  and  virtue  in  general.  And  such  creators  children, 
are  poets  and  all  artists  who  are  deserving  of  the  name 
inventor.  But  the  greatest  and  fairest  sort  of  wisdom  by  far 
is  that  which  is  concerned  with  the  ordering  of  states  and 
families,  and  which  is  called  temperance  and  justice.  And  he 
who  in  youth  has  the  seed  of  these  implanted  in  him  and 
is  himself  inspired,  when  he  comes  to  maturity  desires  to 
beget  and  generate.  He  wanders  about  seeking  beauty  that 
he  may  beget  offspring — for  in  deformity  he  will  beget 
nothing — and  naturally  embraces  the  beautiful  rather  than 
the  deformed  body ; above  all  when  he  finds  a fair  and 
noble  and  well-nurtured  soul,  he  embraces  the  two  in  one 
person,  and  to  such  an  one  he  is  full  of  speech  about  virtue 
and  the  nature  and  pursuits  of  a good  man  ; and  he  tries  to 
educate  him  ; and  at  the  touch  of  the  beautiful  which  is  ever 

p p 2 


580 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates. 


He  who 
would  be 
truly  ini- 
tiated 

should  pass 
from  the 
concrete  to 
the  ab- 
stract, from 
the  indi- 
vidual to 
the  univer- 
sal, from 
the  univer- 
sal to  the 
universe  of 
truth  and 
beauty. 


] he  gre  a ter  mysteries  of  love. 

present  to  his  memory,  even  when  absent,  he  brings  fortli 
that  which  he  had  conceived  long  before,  and  in  company 
with  him  tends  that  which  he  brings  forth  ; and  they  are  mar- 
ried by  a far  nearer  tie  and  have  a closer  friendship  than 
those  who  beget  mortal  children,  for  the  children  who  are 
their  common  offspring  are  fairer  and  more  immortal.  Who, 
when  he  thinks  of  Homer  and  Hesiod  and  other  great  poets, 
would  not  rather  have  their  children  than  ordinary  human 
ones?  Who  would  not  emulate  them  in  the  creation  of 
children  such  as  theirs,  which  have  preserved  their  memory 
and  given  them  everlasting  glory?  Or  who  would  not  have 
such  children  as  Lycurgus  left  behind  him  to  be  the  saviours, 
not  only  of  Lacedaemon,  but  of  Hellas,  as  one  may  say? 
There  is  Solon,  too,  who  is  the  revered  father  of  Athenian 
laws ; and  many  others  there  are  in  many  other  places,  both 
among  Hellenes  and  barbarians,  who  have  given  to  the  world 
many  noble  works,  and  have  been  the  parents  of  virtue  of 
every  kind ; and  many  temples  have  been  raised  in  their 
honour  for  the  sake  of  children  such  as  theirs  ; which  were 
never  raised  in  honour  of  any  one,  for  the  sake  of  his  mortal 
children. 

‘These  are  the  lesser  mysteries  of  love,  into  which  even 
you,  Socrates,  may  enter;  to  the  greater  and  more  hidden  210 
ones  which  are  the  crown  of  these,  and  to  which,  if  you  pur- 
sue them  in  a right  spirit,  they  will  lead,  I know  not  whether 
3r°u  will  be  able  to  attain.  But  I will  do  my  utmost  to  inform 
you,  and  do  you  follow  if  you  can.  For  he  who  would  pro- 
ceed aright  in  this  matter  should  begin  in  youth  to  visit  beau- 
tiful forms ; and  first,  il  he  be  guided  by  his  instructor  aright, 
to  love  one  such  form  only — out  of  that  he  should  create  fair 
thoughts  ; and  soon  he  will  of  himself  perceive  that  the  beauty 
of  one  form  is  akin  to  the  beauty  of  another;  and  then  if 
beauty  of  form  in  general  is  his  pursuit,  how  foolish  would  he 
be  not  to  recognize  that  the  beauty  in  every  form  is  one  and 
the  same  ! And  when  he  perceives  this  he  will  abate  his 
violent  love  of  the  one,  which  he  will  despise  and  deem  a 
small  thing,  and  will  become  a lover  of  all  beautiful  forms ; 
in  the  next  stage  he  will  consider  that  the  beauty  of  the  mind 
is  more  honourable  than  the  beauty  of  the  outward  form.  So 
that  if  a virtuous  soul  have  but  a little  comeliness,  he  will  be 


The  last  words  of  Diotima.  1 

content  to  love  and  tend  him,  and  will  search  out  and  bring  Sym- 
to  the  birth  thoughts  which  may  improve  the  young,  until  he  P0Slum- 
is  compelled  to  contemplate  and  see  the  beauty  of  institutions  Socrates. 
and  laws,  and  to  understand  that  the  beauty  of  them  all  is  of 
one  family,  and  that  personal  beauty  is  a trifle  ; arid  after  laws 
and  institutions  he  will  go  on  to  the  sciences,  that  he  may  see 
their  beauty,  being  not  like  a servant  in  love  with  the  beauty 
of  one  youth  or  man  or  institution,  himself  a slave  mean  and 
narrow-minded,  but  drawing  towards  and  contemplating  the 
vast  sea  of  beauty,  he  will  create  many  fair  and  noble  thoughts 
and  notions  in  boundless  love  of  wisdom  ; until  on  that  shore 
he  grows  and  waxes  strong,  and  at  last  the  vision  is  revealed 
to  him  of  a single  science,  which  is  the  science  of  beauty 
everywhere.  To  this  I will  proceed ; please  to  give  me  your 
very  best  attention  : 

‘ He  who  has  been  instructed  thus  far  in  the  things  of  love, 

and  who  has  learned  to  see  the  beautiful  in  due  order  and 

succession,  when  he  comes  toward  the  end  will  suddenly 

perceive  a nature  of  wondrous  beauty  (and  this,  Socrates,  is 

i the  final  cause  of  all  our  former  toils) — a nature  which  in  the 

first  place  is  everlasting,  not  growing  and  decaying,  or  waxing 

and  waning ; secondly,  not  fair  in  one  point  of  view  and  foul  He  should 

in  another,  or  at  one  time  or  in  one  relation  or  at  one  place  not 

fair,  at  another  time  or  in  another  relation  or  at  another  place  relatively. 

foul,  as  if  fair  to  some  and  foul  to  others,  or  in  the  likeness  of  but  abso- 

lutely;  and 

a face  or  hands  or  any  other  part  of  the  bodily  frame,  or  in  he  should 

any  form  of  speech  or  knowledge,  or  existing  in  any  other  pass  by 

i . . ...  . , stepping- 

being,  as  for  example,  in  an  animal,  or  in  heaven,  or  in  earth,  st0nes  from 
or  in  any  other  place ; but  beauty  absolute,  separate,  simple,  earth  t0 
and  everlasting,  which  without  diminution  and  without  in- 
crease, or  any  change,  is  imparted  to  the  ever-growing  and 
perishing  beauties  of  all  other  things.  He  who  from  these 
ascending  under  the  influence  of  true  love,  begins  to  perceive 
that  beauty,  is  not  far  from  the  end.  And  the  true  order  of 
going,  or  being  led  by  another,  to  the  things  of  love,  is  to 
begin  from  the  beauties  of  earth  and  mount  upwards  for  the 
sake  of  that  other  beauty,  using  these  as  steps  only,  and  from 
one  going  on  to  two,  and  from  two  to  all  fair  forms,  and  from 
fair  forms  to  fair  practices,  and  from  fair  practices  to  fair 
notions,  until  from  fair  notions  he  arrives  at  the  notion  of 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Aristo- 

phanes, 

Agathon. 


The  irruption  of  Alcibiades  and  his  drunken  troop. 

absolute  beauty,  and  at  last  knows  what  the  essence  of  beauty 
is.  I his,  my  dear  Socrates,’  said  the  stranger  of  Mantineia, 

is  that  life  above  all  others  which  man  should  live,  in  the 
contemplation  of  beauty  absolute;  a beauty  which  if  you 
once  beheld,  you  would  see  not  to  be  after  the  measure  of 
gold,  and  garments,  and  fair  boys  and  youths,  whose  presence 
now  entrances  you  ; and  you  and  many  a one  would  be  con- 
tent to  live  seeing  them  only  and  conversing  with  them 
without  meat  or  drink,  if  that  were  possible — you  only  want 
to  look  at  them  and  to  be  with  them.  But  what  if  man  had 
eyes  to  see  the  true  beauty-the  divine  beauty,  I mean,  pure 
and  clear  and  unalloyed,  not  clogged  with  the  pollutions  of 

mortality  and  all  the  colours  and  vanities  of  human  life 

thither  looking,  and  holding  converse  with  the  true  beauty 
simple  and  divine  ? Remember  how  in  that  communion  onlv,  212 
beholding  beauty  with  the  eye  of  the  mind,  he  will  be  enabled 
to  bring  forth,  not  images  of  beauty,  but  realities  (for  he  has 
hold  not  of  an  image  but  of  a reality),  and  bringing  forth  and 
nourishing  true  virtue  to  become  the  friend  of  God  and  be 
immortal,  if  mortal  man  may.  Would  that  be  an  ignoble 
life?’ 

Such,  Phaedrus — and  I speak  not  only  to  you,  but  to  all  of 
y°u  were  the  words  of  Diotima;  and  I am  persuaded  of 
their  truth.  And  being  persuaded  of  them,  I try  to  persuade 
others,  that  in  the  attainment  of  this  end  human  nature  will 
not  easily  find  a helper  better  than  love.  And  therefore, 
also,  I say  that  every  man  ought  to  honour  him  as  I myself 
honour  him,  and  walk  in  his  ways,  and  exhort  others  to 
do  the  same,  and  praise  the  power  and  spirit  of  love  accord- 
ing to  the  measure  of  my  ability  now  and  ever. 

I he  words  which  I have  spoken,  you,  Phaedrus,  may 
call  an  encomium  of  love,  or  anything  else  which  you 
please. 

When  Socrates  had  done  speaking,  the  company  ap- 
plauded, and  Aristophanes  was  beginning  to  say  something 
in  answer  to  the  allusion  which  Socrates  had  made  to  his 
own  speech  ’,  when  suddenly  there  was  a great  knocking 
at  the  door  of  the  house,  as  of  revellers,  and  the  sound  of 
a flute-girl  was  heard.  Agathon  told  the  attendants  to  go 

1 p.  205  E. 


583 


A lei  blades  in  his  cups. 


and  see  who  were  the  intruders.  'If  they  are  friends  of 
ours,’  he  said,  ‘invite  them  in,  but  it  not,  say  that  the 
drinking  is  over.’  A little  while  afterwards  they  heard  the 
voice  of  Alcibiades  resounding  in  the  couit;  he  was  in  a 
great  state  of  intoxication,  and  kept  roaring  and  shouting 
‘ Where  is  Agathon  ? Lead  me  to  Agathon,  and  at  length, 
supported  by  the  flute-girl  and  some  of  his  attendants,  he 
found  his  way  to  them.  ‘ Hail,  friends,  he  said,  appearing 
at  the  door  crowned  with  a massive  garland  of  ivy  and 
violets,  his  head  flowing  with  ribands.  ‘Will  you  have 
a very  drunken  man  as  a companion  of  youi  revels  ? Or 
shall  I crown  Agathon,  which  was  my  intention  in  coming, 
and  go  away?  For  I was  unable  to  come  yesterday,  and 
therefore  I am  here  to-day,  carrying  on  my  head  these 
ribands,  that  taking  them  from  my  own  head,  I may  crown 
the  head  of  this  fairest  and  wisest  of  men,  as  I may  be 
allowed  to  call  him.  Will  you  laugh  at  me  because  I am 
13  drunk?  Yet  I know  very  well  that  I am  speaking  the  truth, 
although  you  may  laugh.  But  first  tell  me ; if  I come  in 
shall  we  have  the  understanding  of  which  I spoke  1 ? Will 
you  drink  with  me  or  not  ? ’ 

The  company  were  vociferous  in  begging  that  he  would 
take  his  place  among  them,  and  Agathon  specially  invited 
him.  Thereupon  he  was  led  in  by  the  people  who  were 
with  him  ; and  as  he  was  being  led,  intending  to  crown 
Agathon,  he  took  the  ribands  from  his  own  head  and  held 
them  in  front  of  his  eyes  ; he  was  thus  prevented  from  seeing 
Socrates,  who  made  way  for  him,  and  Alcibiades  took  the 
vacant  place  between  Agathon  and  Socrates,  and  in  taking 
the  place  he  embraced  Agathon  and  crowned  him.  Take  off 
his  sandals,  said  Agathon,  and  let  him  make  a third  on 
the  same  couch. 

By  all  means;  but  who  makes  the  third  partner  in  our 
revels?  said  Alcibiades,  turning  round  and  starting  up  as 
he  caught  sight  of  Socrates.  By  Heracles,  he  said,  what 
is  this?  here  is  Socrates  always  lying  in  wait  for  me,  and 
always,  as  his  way  is,  coming  out  at  all  sorts  of  unsuspected 
places : and  now,  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself,  and 
why  are  you  lying  here,  where  I perceive  that  you  have 

1 Supra  212  D.  Will  you  have  a very  drunken  man?  etc. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Agathon, 

Alcibiadks. 

Alcibiades 
is  led  in 
drunk  and 
bearing  a 
crown, 
which  he 
places  on 
the  head  of 
Agathon. 


Alcibiades 
takes  the 
vacant 
place  be- 
tween Aga- 
thon and 
Socrates. 


He  insinu- 
ates that 
Agathon  is 
the  beloved 
of  Socrates. 


584 

Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Alcibiades, 

Eryxima- 

chus. 

He  begins 
to  be  vio- 
lent, and 
Socrates 
claims  the 
protection 
of  Agathon. 


He  crowns 
Socrates 
as  well  as 
Agathon. 


A new 
spirit 

passes  over 
the  dream. 


Socrates' 
powers  of 
drinking. 


1 Amantium  irae'. 

contrived  to  find  a place,  not  by  a joker  or  lover  of  jokes, 
like  Aristophanes,  but  by  the  fairest  of  the  company  ? 

Sociates  turned  to  Agathon  and  said:  I must  ask  you  to 
piotect  me,  Agathon  ; for  the  passion  of  this  man  has  grown 
quite  a serious  matter  to  me.  Since  I became  his  admirer 
I have  never  been  allowed  to  speak  to  any  other  fair  one 
or  so  much  as  to  look  at  them.  If  I do,  he  goes  wild  with 
envy  and  jealousy,  and  not  only  abuses  me  but  can  hardly 
keep  his  hands  oft  me,  and  at  this  moment  he  may  do  me 
some  harm.  Please  to  see  to  this,  and  either  reconcile 
me  to  him,  or,  if  he  attempts  violence,  protect  me,  as  I am  in 
bodily  fear  of  his  mad  and  passionate  attempts. 

7 llere  can  never  be  reconciliation  between  you  and  me, 
said  Alcibiades;  but  for  the  present  I will  defer  your 
chastisement.  And  I must  beg  you,  Agathon,  to  give  me 
back  some  of  the  ribands  that  I may  crown  the  marvellous 
head  of  this  universal  despot — I would  not  have  him  complain 
of  me  for  crowning  you,  and  neglecting  him,  who  in  con- 
versation is  the  conqueror  of  all  mankind  ; and  this  not  only 
once,  as  you  were  the  day  before  yesterday,  but  always. 
Whereupon,  taking  some  of  the  ribands,  he  crowned  Socrates, 
and  again  reclined. 

Then  he  said  : You  seem,  my  friends,  to  be  sober,  which  is 
a thing  not  to  be  endured ; you  must  drink — for  that  was 
the  agreement  under  which  I was  admitted— and  I elect 
myself  master  of  the  feast  until  you  are  well  drunk.  Let 
us  have  a large  goblet,  Agathon,  or  rather,  he  said,  addressing 
the  attendant,  bring  me  that  wine-cooler.  The  wine-cooler 
which  had  caught  his  eye  was  a vessel  holding  more  than 
two  quarts— this  he  filled  and  emptied,  and  bade  the  attendant  21 
fill  it  again  for  Socrates.  Observe,  my  friends,  said  Alcibi- 
ades, that  this  ingenious  trick  of  mine  will  have  no  effect 
on  Socrates,  for  he  can  drink  any  quantity  of  wine  and  not 
be  at  all  nearer  being  drunk.  Socrates  drank  the  cup  which 
the  attendant  filled  for  him. 

Eryximachus  said  : What  is  this,  Alcibiades  ? Are  we  to 
have  neither  conversation  nor  singing  over  our  cups ; but 
simply  to  drink  as  if  we  were  thirsty? 

Alcibiades  replied  : Hail,  worthy  son  of  a most  wise  and 
worthy  sire  ! 


He  insists  on  praising  Socrates. 


The  same  to  you,  said  Eryximachus ; but  what  shall  Sym- 


shall  prescribe  and  we  will  obey.  What  do  you  want  ? 

Well,  said  Eryximachus,  before  you  appeared  we  had 
passed  a resolution  that  each  one  of  us  in  turn  should  make 
a speech  in  praise  of  love,  and  as  good  a one  as  he  could  : 
the  turn  was  passed  round  from  left  to  right ; and  as  all  of  us 
have  spoken,  and  you  have  not  spoken  but  have  well  drunken, 
you  ought  to  speak,  and  then  impose  upon  Socrates  any  task 
which  you  please,  and  he  on  his  right  hand  neighbour,  and 
so  on. 

That  is  good,  Eryximachus,  said  Alcibiades  ; and  yet 
the  comparison  of  a drunken  man’s  speech  with  those  of 
sober  men  is  hardly  fair;  and  I should  like  to  know, 
sweet  friend,  whether  you  really  believe  what  Socrates  was 
just  now  saying;  for  I can  assure  you  that  the  very  reverse 
is  the  fact,  and  that  if  I praise  any  one  but  himself  in  his 
presence,  whether  God  or  man,  he  will  hardly  keep  his 
hands  off  me. 

For  shame,  said  Socrates. 

Hold  your  tongue,  said  Alcibiades,  for  by  Poseidon,  there 
is  no  one  else  whom  I will  praise  when  you  are  of  the 
company. 

Well  then,  said  Eryximachus,  if  you  like  praise  Socrates. 

What  do  you  think,  Eryximachus  ? said  Alcibiades  : shall 
I attack  him  and  inflict  the  punishment  before  you  all  ? 

What  are  you  about  ? said  Socrates  ; are  you  going  to 
raise  a laugh  at  my  expense  ? Is  that  the  meaning  of  your 
praise  ? 

I am  going  to  speak  the  truth,  if  you  will  permit  me. 

I not  only  permit,  but  exhort  you  to  speak  the  truth. 

Then  I will  begin  at  once,  said  Alcibiades,  and  if  I say 
anything  which  is  not  true,  you  may  interrupt  me  if  you  will, 
and  say  ‘ that  is  a lie,’  though  my  intention  is  to  speak  the 
truth.  But  you  must  not  wonder  if  I speak  any  how  as 
things  come  into  my  mind ; for  the  fluent  and  orderly 


we  do  ? 

That  I leave  to  you,  said  Alcibiades. 

‘ The  wise  physician  skilled  our  wounds  to  heal 1 ’ 


posium. 


Socrates, 

Alcibiades, 

Eryxima- 

chus. 


1 From  Pope’s  Homer,  II.  xi.  514. 


5^6 


Sym- 

posium. 

Alcibiades. 


Socrates  is 
like  the 
busts  of 
Silenus, 
which  con- 
ceal within 
them 
images  of 
gods;  like 
Marsyas 
too,  for  his 
face  is  that 
of  a Satyr, 
and  his 
words,  even 
when  half- 
uttered  or 
imperfectly 
repeated, 
exercise  a 
greater 
charm  over 
men  than 
the  melo- 
dies which 
Marsyas 
taught  to 
Olympus. 


Greater 
than  Peri- 
cles, and 
the  true  and 
only  ora- 
tor. 


Son  ales  like  Silenus  ciiul  J\Iai'syas  the  Sixty r. 

enumeration  of  all  your  singularities  is  not  a task  which  is 
easy  to  a man  in  ni}'  condition. 

And  now,  my  boys,  I shall  praise  Socrates  in  a figure  21 
which  will  appear  to  him  to  be  a caricature,  and  yet  I speak, 
not  to  make  fun  of  him,  but  only  for  the  truth’s  sake.  I 
say,  that  he  is  exactly  like  the  busts  of  Silenus,  which  are 
set  up  in  the  statuaries’  shops,  holding  pipes  and  flutes  in 
their  mouths  ; and  they  are  made  to  open  in  the  middle, 
and  have  images  of  gods  inside  them.  I say  also  that  he 
is  like  Marsyas  the  satyr.  You  yourself  will  not  deny, 
Socrates,  that  your  face  is  like  that  of  a satyr.  Aye,  and 
there  is  a resemblance  in  other  points  too.  For  example, 
you  are  a bully,  as  I can  prove  by  witnesses,  if  you  will  not 
confess.  And  are  you  not  a flute-player?  That  you  are, 
and  a performer  far  more  wonderful  than  Marsyas.  He 
indeed  with  instruments  used  to  charm  the  souls  of  men 
by  the  power  of  his  breath,  and  the  players  of  his  music 
do  so  still : for  the  melodies  of  Olympus  1 are  derived  from 
Ma^as  who  taught  them,  and  these,  whether  they  are 
played  by  a great  master  or  by  a miserable  flute-girl,  have 
a power  which  no  others  have ; they  alone  possess  the  soul 
and  reveal  the  wants  of  those  who  have  need  of  gods  and 
mysteries,  because  they  are  divine.  But  you  produce  the 
same  effect  with  your  words  only,  and  do  not  require  the 
flute : that  is  the  difference  between  you  and  him.  When 
we  hear  any  other  speaker,  even  a very  good  one,  he  pro- 
duces absolutely  no  effect  upon  us,  or  not  much,  whereas 
the  mere  fragments  of  you  and  your  words,  even  at  second- 
hand, and  however  imperfect^  repeated,  amaze  and  possess 
the  souls  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  who  comes  within 
hearing  of  them.  And  if  I were  not  afraid  that  you  would 
think  me  hopelessly  drunk,  I would  have  sworn  as  well 
as  spoken  to  the  influence  which  they  have  always  had 
and  still  have  over  me.  For  my  heart  leaps  within  me  more 
than  that  of  any  Corybantian  reveller,  and  my  eyes  rain 
tears  when  I hear  them.  And  I observe  that  many  others 
are  affected  in  the  same  manner.  I have  heard  Pericles 
and  other  great  orators,  and  I thought  that  they  spoke  well, 
but  I never  had  any  similar  feeling;  my  soul  was  not  stirred 
1 Cp.  Arist.  Pol.  viii.  5.  16. 


587 


Socrates  the  great  preacher  of  the  age. 

by  them,  nor  was  I angry  at  the  thought  of  my  own  slavish 
state.  But  this  Marsyas  has  often  brought  me  to  such  a 

216  pass,  that  I have  felt  as  if  I could  hardly  endure  the  life 
which  I am  leading  (this,  Socrates,  you  will  admit);  and 
I am  conscious  that  if  I did  not  shut  my  ears  against  him, 
and  fly  as  from  the  voice  of  the  siren,  my  fate  would  be  like 
that  of  others, — he  would  transfix  me,  and  I should  grow 
old  sitting  at  his  feet.  For  he  makes  me  confess  that  I ought 
not  to  live  as  I do,  neglecting  the  wants  of  my  own  soul, 
and  busying  myself  with  the  concerns  of  the  Athenians; 
therefore  I hold  my  ears  and  tear  myself  away  from  him. 
And  he  is  the  only  person  who  ever  made  me  ashamed, 
which  you. might  think  not  to  be  in  my  nature,  and  there 
is  no  one  else  who  does  the  same.  For  I know  that  I cannot 
answer  him  or  say  that  I ought  not  to  do  as  he  bids,  but 
when  I leave  his  presence  the  love  of  popularity  gets  the 
better  of  me.  And  therefore  I run  away  and  fly  from  him, 
and  when  I see  him  I am  ashamed  of  what  I have  con- 
fessed to  him.  Many  a time  have  I wished  that  he  were 
dead,  and  yet  I know  that  I should  be  much  more  sorry 
than  glad,  if  he  were  to  die  : so  that  I am  at  my  wit’s  end. 

And  this  is  what  I and  many  others  have  suffered  from  the 
flute-playing  of  this  satyr.  Yet  hear  me  once  more  while 
I show  you  how  exact  the  image  is,  and  how  marvellous  his 
power.  For  let  me  tell  you  ; none  of  you  know  him  ; but  I 
will  reveal  him  to  you  ; having  begun,  I must  go  on.  See 
you  how  fond  he  is  of  the  fair?  He  is  always  with  them  and 
is  always  being  smitten  by  them,  and  then  again  he  knows 
nothing  and  is  ignorant  of  all  things — such  is  the  appearance 
which  he  puts  on.  Is  he  not  like  a Silenus  in  this?  To  be 
sure  he  is  : his  outer  mask  is  the  carved  head  of  the  Silenus  ; 
but,  O my  companions  in  drink,  when  he  is  opened,  what 
temperance  there  is  residing  within  ! Know  }rou  that  beauty 
and  wealth  and  honour,  at  which  the  many  wonder,  are  of  no 
account  with  him,  and  are  utterly  despised  by  him  : he 
regards  not  at  all  the  persons  who  are  gifted  with  them  ; 
mankind  are  nothing  to  him ; all  his  life  is  spent  in  mocking 
and  flouting  at  them.  But  when  I opened  him,  and  looked 
within  at  his  serious  purpose,  I saw  in  him  divine  and  golden 

217  images  of  such  fascinating  beauty  that  1 was  ready  to  do 


Sym- 

posium. 

Alcibiadbs. 


He  would 
have  re- 
formed 
Alcibiades 
himself 
if  the  love 
of  popu- 
larity in 
him  had 
not  been 
too  strong. 


His  love  of 
the  fair. 


His  outer 
form  only 
is  like  the 
outward 


Sym- 

posium. 

Alcibiades. 

form  of 
Silenus  ; 
within  are 
images  of 
fascinating 
beauty. 


1 he  imperturbability  oj  Socrates. 

in  a moment  whatever  Socrates  commanded  : they  may  have 
escaped  the  observation  of  others,  but  I saw  them.  Now 
I fancied  that  he  was  seriously  enamoured  of  my  beauty,  and 
I thought  that  I should  therefore  have  a grand  opportunity 
of  hearing  him  tell  what  he  knew,  for  I had  a wonderful 
opinion  of  the  attractions  of  my  youth.  In  the  prosecution 
of  this  design,  when  I next  went  to  him,  I sent  away  the 
attendant  who  usually  accompanied  me  (I  will  confess  the 
whole  truth,  and  beg  you  to  listen  ; and  if  I speak  falsely,  do 
you,  Socrates,  expose  the  falsehood).  Well,  he  and  I were 
alone  together,  and  I thought  that  when  there  was  nobody 
with  us,  I should  hear  him  speak  the  language  which  lovers 
use  to  their  loves  when  they  are  by  themselves,  and  I 
was  delighted.  Nothing  of  the  sort ; he  conversed  as  usual, 
and  spent  the  day  with  me  and  then  went  away.  Afterwards 
I challenged  him  to  the  palaestra;  and  he  wrestled  and 
closed  with  me  several  times  when  there  was  no  one  present ; 
I fancied  that  I might  succeed  in  this  manner.  Not  a bit;  I 
made  no  way  with  him.  Lastly,  as  I had  failed  hitherto, 
I thought  that  I must  take  stronger  measures  and  attack  him 
boldly,  and,  as  I had  begun,  not  give  him  up,  but  see  how 
matters  stood  between  him  and  me.  So  I invited  him  to 
sup  with  me,  just  as  if  he  were  a fair  youth,  and  I a 
designing  lover.  He  was  not  easily  persuaded  to  come  ; 
he  did,  however,  after  a while  accept  the  invitation,  and  when 
he  came  the  first  time,  he  wanted  to  go  away  at  once  as 
soon  as  supper  was  over,  and  I had  not  the  face  to  detain 
him.  The  second  time,  still  in  pursuance  of  my  design, 
after  we  had  supped,  I went  on  conversing  far  into  the  night, 
and  when  he  wanted  to  go  awayy  I pretended  that  the  hour 
was  late  and  that  he  had  much  better  remain.  So  he  lay 
down  on  the  couch  next  to  me,  the  same  on  which  he  had 
supped,  and  there  was  no  one  but  ourselves  sleeping  in 
the  apartment.  All  this  may  be  told  without  shame  to  any 
one.  But  what  follows  I could  hardly  tell  you  if  I were 
sober.  Yet  as  the  proverb  says,  'In  vino  veritas,’ whether 
with  boys,  or  without  them  1 ; and  therefore  I must  speak. 
Nor,  again,  should  I be  justified  in  concealing  the  lofty 

1 In  allusion  to  the  two  proverbs,  olvos  ical  waiSes  aAijOeis,  and  olvos  Kal 
aAfideia- 


The  disconsolate  lover. 


589 


actions  of  Socrates  when  I come  to  praise  him.  Moreover 
1 have  felt  the  serpent’s  sting;  and  he  who  has  suffered, 
as  they  say,  is  willing  to  tell  his  fellow-sufferers  only,  as  they 
iS  alone  will  be  likely  to  understand  him,  and  will  not  be  ex- 
treme in  judging  of  the  sayings  or  doings  which  ha\  e been 
wrung  from  his  agony.  For  I have  been  bitten  by  a more 
than  viper’s  tooth ; I have  known  in  my  soul,  or  in  my 
heart,  or  in  some  other  part,  that  worst  of  pangs,  moie 
violent  in  ingenuous  youth  than  any  serpent  s tooth,  the 
pang  of  philosophy,  which  will  make  a man  say  01  do  any- 
thing. And  you  whom  I see  around  me,  Phaedrus  and 
Agathon  and  Eryximachus  and  Pausanias  and  Aristodemus 
and  Aristophanes,  all  of  you,  and  I need  not  say  Soci  ates 
himself,  have  had  experience  of  the  same  madness  and 
passion  in  your  longing  after  wisdom.  Therefore  listen  and 
excuse  my  doings  then  and  my  sayings  now.  But  let  the 
attendants  and  other  profane  and  unmannered  persons  close 
up  the  doors  of  their  ears. 

When  the  lamp  was  put  out  and  the  servants  had  gone 
away,  I thought  that  I must  be  plain  with  him  and  have 
no  more  ambiguity.  So  I gave  him  a shake,  and  I said  : 

‘ Socrates,  are  you  asleep  ? ’ ‘ No,’  he  said.  ' Do  you  know 

what  I am  meditating  ? ’ ‘ What  are  you  meditating  ? he 

said.  ‘ I think,’  I replied,  'that  of  all  the  lovers  whom  I have 
ever  had  you  are  the  only  one  who  is  worthy  of  me,  and  you 
appear  to  be  too  modest  to  speak.  Now  I feel  that  I should 
be  a fool  to  refuse  you  this  or  any  other  favour,  and  therefore 
I come  to  lay  at  your  feet  all  that  I have  and  all  that  my 
friends  have,  in  the  hope  that  you  will  assist  me  in  the  way  of 
virtue,  which  I desire  above  all  things,  and  in  which  I believe 
that  you  can  help  me  better  than  any  one  else.  And  I 
should  certainly  have  more  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  what 
wise  men  would  say  if  I were  to  refuse  a favour  to  such 
as  you,  than  of  what  the  world,  who  are  mostly  fools,  would 
say  of  me  if  I granted  it.’  To  these  words  he  replied  in  the 
ironical  manner  which  is  so  characteristic  of  him  : 'Alcibi- 

ades,  my  friend,  you  have  indeed  an  elevated  aim  if  what  you 
say  is  true,  and  if  there  really  is  in  me  any  power  by  which 
you  may  become  better ; truly  you  must  see  in  me  some  rare 
beauty  of  a kind  infinitely  higher  than  any  which  I see  in  you. 


Sym- 

posium. 

Ai.cihiades. 


The  be- 
haviour of 
Socrates, 
and  his  re- 
jection of 
the  ad- 
vances of 
Alcibiades. 


590 


Sym- 

posium. 

Alcibiades. 


The  won- 
derful en- 
durance of 
Socrates 
when  he 
and  Alcibi- 
ades  served 
together  at 
Potidaea. 


The  despair  of  A Icibiades. 

And  therefore,  if  you  mean  to  share  with  me  and  to  exchange 
beauty  for  beauty,  you  will  have  greatly  the  advantage  of  me ; 
you  will  gain  true  beauty  in  return  for  appearance— like  Dio-  219 
niede,  gold  in  exchange  for  brass.  But  look  again,  sweet 
friend,  and  see  whether  you  are  not  deceived  in  me.  The 
mind  begins  to  grow  critical  when  the  bodily  eye  fails,  and 
it  will  be  a long  time  before  you  get  old.’  Hearing  this,  I 
said  . I have  told  you  my  purpose,  which  is  quite  serious, 
and  do  you  consider  what  you  think  best  for  you  and  me.’ 

' That  is  good,’  he  said  ; ‘at  some  other  time  then  wre  will 
consider  and  act  as  seems  best  about  this  and  about  other 
matters.’  Whereupon,  I fancied  that  he  was  smitten,  and 
that  the  words  which  I had  uttered  like  arrows  had  wounded 
him,  and  so  without  waiting  to  hear  more  I got  up,  and  throw- 
ing my  coat  about  him  crept  under  his  threadbare  cloak,  as  the 
time  of  year  was  winter,  and  there  I lay  during  the  whole 
night  having  this  wonderful  monster  in  my  arms.  This  again, 
Socrates,  will  not  be  denied  by  you.  And  yet,  notwithstand- 
ing all,  he  was  so  superior  to  my  solicitations,  so  contemp- 
tuous and  derisive  and  disdainful  of  my  beauty — which  really, 
as  I fancied,  had  some  attractions — hear,  O judges  ; for  judges 
you  shall  be  of  the  haughty  virtue  of  Socrates — nothing  more 
happened,  but  in  the  morning  when  I awoke  (let  all  the  gods 
and  goddesses  be  my  witnesses)  I arose  as  from  the  couch  of 
a father  or  an  elder  brother. 

What  do  you  suppose  must  have  been  my  feelings,  after 
this  rejection,  at  the  thought  of  m3'  own  dishonour?  And 
yet  I could  not  help  wondering  at  his  natural  temperance  and 
self-restraint  and  manliness.  I never  imagined  that  I could 
have  met  with  a man  such  as  he  is  in  wisdom  and  endurance. 

And  therefore  I could  not  be  angry  with  him  or  renounce 
his  company,  any  more  than  I could  hope  to  win  him.  For 
1 well  knew  that  if  Ajax  could  not  be  wounded  by  steel,  much 
less  he  by  money;  and  my  only  chance  of  captivating  him  by 
my  personal  attractions  had  failed.  So  I was  at  my  wit’s 
end  ; no  one  was  ever  more  hopelessly  enslaved  by  another. 

All  this  happened  before  he  and  I went  on  the  expedition 
to  Potidaea  ; there  we  messed  together,  and  I had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  observing  his  extraordinary  power  of  sustaining 
fatigue.  His  endurance  was  simply  marvellous  when,  being  220 


59i 


Socrates  at  Potidaea  and  at  Delium.  . 

cut  oft'  from  our  supplies,  we  were  compelled  to  go  without 
food— on  such  occasions,  which  often  happen  in  time  of  war, 
he  was  superior  not  only  to  me  but  to  everybody ; there  was 
no  one  to  be  compared  to  him.  Yet  at  a festival  he  was 
the  only  person  who  had  any  real  powers  of  enjoyment ; 
though  not  willing  to  drink,  he  could  il  compelled  beat  us  all 
at  that,— wonderful  to  relate  ! no  human  being  had  ever  seen 
Socrates  drunk  ; and  his  powers,  it  I am  not  mistaken,  will 
be  tested  before  long.  His  fortitude  in  enduring  cold  was 
also  surprising.  There  was  a severe  frost,  for  the  winter 
in  that  region  is  really  tremendous,  and  everybody  else  either 
remained  indoors,  or  if  they  went  out  had  on  an  amazing 
quantity  of  clothes,  and  were  well  shod,  and  had  their  feet 
swathed  in  felt  and  fleeces : in  the  midst  of  this,  Socrates 
with  his  bare  feet  on  the  ice  and  in  his  ordinary  dress 
marched  better  than  the  other  soldiers  who  had  shoes,  and  they 
looked  daggers  at  him  because  he  seemed  to  despise  them. 

I have  told  you  one  tale,  and  now  I must  tell  you  another, 
which  is  worth  hearing, 

‘ Of  the  doings  and  sufferings  of  the  enduring  man  ’ 

while  he  was  on  the  expedition.  One  morning  he  was 
thinking  about  something  which  he  could  not  resolve ; he 
would  not  give  it  up,  but  continued  thinking  from  early  dawn 
until  noon — there  he  stood  fixed  in  thought;  and  at  noon 
attention  was  drawn  to  him,  and  the  rumour  ran  through 
the  wondering  crowd  that  Socrates  had  been  standing  and 
thinking  about  something  ever  since  the  break  of  day.  At 
last,  in  the  evening  after  supper,  some  Ionians  out  of 
curiosity  (I  should  explain  that  this  was  not  in  winter  but  in 
summer),  brought  out  their  mats  and  slept  in  the  open  air 
that  they  might  watch  him  and  see  whether  he  would  stand 
all  night.  There  he  stood  until  the  following  morning ; and 
with  the  return  of  light  he  offered  up  a prayer  to  the  sun, 
and  went  his  way1.  I will  also  tell,  if  you  please — and 
indeed  I am  bound  to  tell — of  his  courage  in  battle ; for  who 
but  he  saved  my  life?  Now  this  was  the  engagement  in 
which  I received  the  prize  of  valour:  for  I was  wounded  and 
he  would  not  leave  me,  but  he  rescued  me  and  my  arms ; and 


Sym- 

posium. 

Alcihiades. 


The  long 
fits  of  ab- 
straction to 
which  he 
was  sub- 
ject. 


How  he 
saved  the 
life  of  Alci- 
biades,  and 
ought  to 
have  re- 
ceived the 
prize  of 


' Cp.  supra,  175  I>. 


592 


Sym- 

posium. 

Alcibiadf.s. 

valour 
which  was 
conferred 
on  Alci- 
biades  on 
account  of 
his  rank. 


His  cool- 
ness in 
battle ; his 
absolute 
unlikeness 
to  any  other 
man. 


The  superiority  of  Socrates 

he  ought  to  have  received  the  prize  of  valour  which  the 
generals  wanted  to  confer  on  me  partly  on  account  of  my 
rank,  and  I told  them  so  (this,  again,  Socrates  will  not  im- 
peach or  deny),  but  he  was  more  eager  than  the  generals 
that  I and  not  he  should  have  the  prize.  There  was  another 
occasion  on  which  his  behaviour  was  very  remarkable— in  221 
the  flight  of  the  army  after  the  battle  of  Delium,  where  he 
served  among  the  heavy-armed,— I had  a better  opportunity 
of  seeing  him  than  at  Potidaea,  for  I was  myself  on  horse- 
back, and  therefore  comparatively  out  of  danger.  He  and 
Laches  were  retreating,  for  the  troops  were  in  flight,  and 
I met  them  and  told  them  not  to  be  discouraged,  and 
promised  to  remain  with  them  ; and  there  you  might  see  him, 
Aristophanes,  as  you  describe  ’,  just  as  he  is  in  the  streets  of 
Athens,  stalking  like  a pelican,  and  rolling  his  eyes,  calmly 
contemplating  enemies  as  well  as  friends,  and  making  very 
intelligible  to  anybody,  even  from  a distance,  that  whoever 
attacked  him  would  be  likely  to  meet  with  a stout  resistance ; 
and  in  this  way  he  and  his  companion  escaped — for  this  is 
the  sort  of  man  who  is  never  touched  in  war ; those  only  are 
pursued  who  are  running  away  headlong.  I particularly 
observed  how  superior  he  was  to  Laches  in  presence  of 
mind.  Many  are  the  marvels  which  I might  narrate  in 
praise  of  Socrates ; most  of  his  ways  might  perhaps  be 
paralleled  in  another  man,  but  his  absolute  unlikeness  to  any 
human  being  that  is  or  ever  has  been  is  perfectly  astonishing. 
You  may  imagine  Brasidas  and  others  to  have  been  like 
Achilles;  or  you  may  imagine  Nestor  and  Antenor  to  have 
been  like  Pericles ; and  the  same  may  be  said  of  other 
famous  men,  but  of  this  strange  being  you  will  never  be  able 
to  find  any  likeness,  however  remote,  either  among  men  who 
now  are  or  who  ever  have  been — other  than  that  which  I have 
already  suggested  of  Silenus  and  the  satyrs  ; and  they  repre- 
sent in  a figure  not  only  himself,  but  his  words.  For, 
although  I forgot  to  mention  this  to  you  before,  his  words 
are  like  the  images  of  Silenus  which  open  ; they  are  ridicu- 
lous when  you  first  hear  them ; he  clothes  himself  in 
language  that  is  like  the  skin  of  the  wanton  satyr — for  his 
talk  is  of  pack-asses  and  smiths  and  cobblers  and  curriers, 

1 Aristoph.  Clouds,  362. 


593 


to  all  men  everywhere. 

and  he  is  always  repeating  the  same  things  in  the  same 
words1,  so  that  any  ignorant  or  inexperienced  person  might 
222  feel  disposed  to  laugh  at  him ; but  he  who  opens  the  bust 
and  sees  what  is  within  will  find  that  they  are  the  only  words 
which  have  a meaning  in  them,  and  also  the  most  divine, 
abounding  in  fair  images  of  virtue,  and  of  the  widest  com- 
prehension, or  rather  extending  to  the  whole  duty  of  a good 
and  honourable  man. 

This,  friends,  is  my  praise  of  Socrates.  I have  added  my 
blame  of  him  for  his  ill-treatment  of  me ; and  he  has  ill- 
treated  not  only  me,  but  Charmides  the  son  of  Glaucon,  and 
Euthydemus  the  son  of  Diodes,  and  many  others  in  the 
same  way — beginning  as  their  lover  he  has  ended  by  making 
them  pay  their  addresses  to  him.  Wherefore  I say  to  you, 
Agathon,  ‘ Be  not  deceived  by  him ; learn  from  me  and  take 
warning,  and  do  not  be  a fool  and  learn  by  experience,  as 
the  proverb  says.’ 

When  Alcibiades  had  finished,  there  was  a laugh  at  his 
outspokenness ; for  he  seemed  to  be  still  in  love  with 
Socrates.  You  are  sober,  Alcibiades,  said  Socrates,  or  you 
would  never  have  gone  so  far  about  to  hide  the  purpose  of 
your  satyr’s  praises,  for  all  this  long  story  is  only  an  in- 
genious circumlocution,  of  which  the  point  comes  in  by  the 
way  at  the  end ; you  want  to  get  up  a quarrel  between  me 
and  Agathon,  and  your  notion  is  that  I ought  to  love  you  and 
nobody  else,  and  that  you  and  you  only  ought  to  love 
Agathon.  But  the  plot  of  this  Satyric  or  Silenic  drama  has 
been  detected,  and  you  must  not  allow  him,  Agathon,  to  set 
us  at  variance. 

I believe  you  are  right,  said  Agathon,  and  I am  disposed 
to  think  that  his  intention  in  placing  himself  between  you  and 
me  was  only  to  divide  us ; but  he  shall  gain  nothing  by  that 
move  ; for  I will  go  and  lie  on  the  couch  next  to  you. 

Yes,  yes,  replied  Socrates,  by  all  means  come  here  and  lie 
on  the  couch  below  me. 

Alas,  said  Alcibiades,  how  I am  fooled  by  this  man ; he  is 
determined  to  get  the  better  of  me  at  every  turn.  I do 
beseech  you,  allow  Agathon  to  lie  between  us. 

Certainly  not,  said  Socrates ; as  you  praised  me,  and  1 in 
1 Cp.  Gorg.  490,  491,  51 7. 

Q q 


Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Alcibiades, 

Agathon. 

He  is  the 
Satyr  with- 
out and  the 
God  within. 


The  pur- 
port of 
Alcibiades' 
speech,  ac- 
cording to 
Socrates, 
was  only  to 
get  up  a 
quarrel  be- 
tween him 
and  Aga- 
thon. 


Agathon 
changes  his 
place  that 
he  may  be 
nearer  So- 
crates and 
not  so  near 
Alcibiades. 


VOL.  I. 


594 

Sym- 

posium. 

Socrates, 

Alcibiades, 

Agatiion. 


Another 
band  of 
revellers 
enters,  and 
the  com- 
pany drink 
largely,  the 
wiser  part 
withdraw- 
ing. 


On  the 
following 
morning 
Socrates  is 
still  awake, 
and  is 
maintain- 
ing the 
thesis  that 
the  genius 
of  comedy 
is  the  same 
as  that  of 
tragedy. 


The  breaking  up  of  the  banquet. 

turn  ought  to  praise  my  neighbour  on  the  right,  he  will  be  out 
of  older  in  praising  me  again  when  he  ought  rather  to  be 
praised  by  me,  and  1 must  entreat  you  to  consent  to  this,  and 
not  be  jealous,  for  I have  a great  desire  to  praise  the  youth. 

Hurrah  ! cried  Agathon,  I will  rise  instantly,  that  1 may 
be  praised  by  Socrates. 

The  usual  way,  said  Alcibiades  ; where  Socrates  is,  no  one 
else  has  any  chance  with  the  fair ; and  now  how  readily  has 
he  invented  a specious  reason  for’  attracting  Agathon  to 
himself. 

Agathon  arose  in  order  that  he  might  take  his  place  on 
the  couch  b}r  Socrates,  when  suddenly  a band  of  revellers 
entered,  and  spoiled  the  order  of  the  banquet.  Some  one 
who  was  going  out  having  left  the  door  open,  they  had 
found  their  way  in,  and  made  themselves  at  home ; great  con- 
fusion ensued,  and  every  one  was  compelled  to  drink  large 
quantities  of  wine.  Aristodemus  said  that  Eryximachus, 
Phaedrus,  and  others  went  away— he  himself  fell  asleep,  and 
as  the  nights  were  long  took  a good  rest : he  was  awakened 
towards  daybreak  by  a crowing  of  cocks,  and  when  he  awoke, 
the  others  were  either  asleep,  or  had  gone  away;  there 
remained  only  Socrates,  Aristophanes,  and  Agathon,  who 
were  drinking  out  of  a large  goblet  which  they  passed 
round,  and  Socrates  was  discoursing  to  them.  Aristodemus 
was  only  half  awake,  and  he  did  not  hear  the  beginning  of 
the  discourse ; the  chief  thing  which  he  remembered  was 
Socrates  compelling  the  other  two  to  acknowledge  that  the 
genius  of  comedy  was  the  same  with  that  of  tragedy,  and  that 
the  true  artist  in  tragedy  was  an  artist  in  comedy  also.  To 
this  they  were  constrained  to  assent,  being  drowsy,  and  not 
quite  following  the  argument.  And  first  of  all  Aristophanes 
dropped  off,  then,  when  the  day  was  already  dawning,  Aga- 
thon. Socrates,  having  laid  them  to  sleep,  rose  to  depart ; 
Aristodemus,  as  his  manner  was,  following  him.  At  the  Ly- 
ceum he  took  a bath,  and  passed  the  day  as  usual.  In  the 
evening  he  retired  to  rest  at  his  own  home. 


V 


'■i.y-'ji' 


■SS'XV 

-4t 

O'i'-r. 


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