Plato
The Symposium
PERSONS OF
THE DIALOGUE:
APOLLODORUS,
who repeats to his companion
the
dialogue
which he had heard from Aristodemus,
and had already once narrated
to Glaucon;
PHAEDRUS; PAUSANIAS; ERYXIMACHUS; ARISTOPHANES; AGATHON;
SOCRATES;
ALCIBIADES; A TROOP OF REVELLERS.
Scene: The
House of Agathon.
Concerning
the things about which you ask to be informed I believe that I am not
ill-prepared with an answer. For the day before yesterday I was coming
from my own home at Phalerum to the city, and one of my acquaintance, who
had caught a sight of me from behind, hind, 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 you, Apollodorus, only just
now, that I might ask you about the speeches in praise of love, which were
delivered by Socrates, Alcibiades, and others, at Agathon’s supper.
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 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 thing, 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.
Companion. I see, Apollodorus, that you are just the same –
always speaking evil of yourself, and of others; 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 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.
Apoll. Well, the tale of love was on this wise – But
perhaps I had better begin at the beginning, and endeavour to give you the
exact words of Aristodemus:
He
said that he met Socrates fresh from the bath and sandalled; and as the
sight of the sandals was unusual, he asked him whither he was going that
he had been converted into such a beau.
“To
a banquet at Agathon’s,” he replied, “whose invitation to his
sacrifice of victory I refused yesterday, fearing a crowd, 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 say 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 himself, who not
only demolishes but literally outrages the proverb. For, after picturing
Agamemnon as the most valiant of men, he makes Menelaus, who is but a
fainthearted warrior, come unbidden to the banquet of Agamemnon, 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 be my
case; and that, like Menelaus in Homer, I shall be the inferior person,
who ‘To the leasts of the wise unbidden goes.’ But I shall say that I
was bidden of you, and then you will have to make an excuse.”
“Two
going together,” he replied, in Homeric fashion, “one or other of them
may invent an excuse by the way.”
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 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 neighbouring house. “There he is fixed,” said he,
“and when I call to him he will not stir.”
“How
strange,” said Agathon. “Then you must call him again, and keep
calling him.”
“Let
him alone,” said my informant; “he has a way of stopping anywhere and
losing himself without any reason. I believe that he will soon appear; do
not therefore disturb him.”
“Well,
if you think so, I will leave him,” said Agathon. And then, turning to
the servants, he added, “Let us have supper 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 art 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 reclining alone at the end
of the table, begged that he would take the place next to him; that “I
may touch you,” he said, “and have the benefit of that wise thought
which came into your mind in the portico, and is now in your possession;
for I am 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 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 presence 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.”
Socrates
took his place on the couch, and supped with the rest; and then libations
were offered, and after a hymn had been sung to the god, and there had
been the usual ceremonies, 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 I suspect that
most of you are in the same predicament, for you were of the party
yesterday. Consider 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 of 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 prescribe 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 compulsion, 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 allow
me, I will tell you what sort of conversation.” This proposal having
been accepted, Eryximachus proceeded as follows:
“I
will begin,” he said, “after the manner of Melanippe in Euripides –
‘Not mine the word’ which I am about to speak, but that of Phaedrus.
For often he says to me in an indignant tone: ‘What a strange thing it
is, Eryximachus, that, whereas other gods have poems and hymns made in
their honour, the great and glorious god, Love, has no encomiast among all
the poets who are so many. There are the worthy sophists too – the
excellent 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 discourse; 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. “How can I
oppose your motion, who profess to understand nothing but matters of love;
nor, I presume, will Agathon and Pausanias; and there can be no doubt of
Aristophanes, 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 some good speeches first. Let Phaedrus begin the
praise of Love, and good luck to him.” All the company expressed their
assent, and desired him to do as Socrates bade him.
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.
|