The Phædrus — Plato
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ΦΑΙΔΡΟΣ
Translation/edition: Thomas Taylor (1804)
Language: English
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## The Phædrus

[227a] Socrates: Whither are you going, my dear Phædrus, and from whence came you?
[227b] Phædrus: From Lysias, the son of Cephalus, Socrates; but I am going, for the sake of walking, beyond the walls of the city. For I have been sitting with him a long time, indeed from very early in the morning till now. But being persuaded by Acumenus¹, who is your associate as well as mine, to take some exercise, I determined upon that of walking. For he said that this kind of exercise was not so laborious, and at the same time was more healthful, than that of the course.
[227b] Socrates: He speaks well, my friend, on this subject: and so Lysias then, as it seems, was in the city.
[227b] Phædrus: He was. For he dwells with Epicrates in this house of Morychus, which is next to that of Olympius.
[227b] Socrates: But what was his employment there? Or did not Lysias treat you with a banquet of orations?
[227b] Phædrus: You shall hear, if you have but leisure to walk along with me, and attend.
[227b] Socrates: But what, do you not think that I, according to Pindar, would consider as a thing superior to business, the relation of your conversation with Lysias?
[227b] Phædrus: Go on then.
[227c] Socrates: Begin the relation then.
[227c] Phædrus: And indeed, Socrates, the hearing of this is proper for you². For I do not know how it happened so, but our discourse was amatory. For Lysias, through the persuasion of some beautiful person, though not one of his lovers, had composed an oration on love, and this in a very elegant manner: in the course of which he asserts that one who does not love ought to be gratified rather than a lover.
[227d] Socrates: Generous man! I wish he had likewise asserted that this should be the case with the poor rather than the rich, the old than the young, and so in all the rest, that thus I myself, and many more of us, might be gratified³: for then his discourse would have been both polite and publicly useful. [227e] I am therefore so desirous⁴ of hearing his oration, that if you should even walk as far as to Megara, and, like Herodicus⁵, when you had reached the walls, immediately turn back again, I should not leave you.
[228a] Phædrus: What do you say, most excellent Socrates? Do you think me so much of an idiot as to suppose myself capable of relating, in such a manner as it deserves, a discourse which Lysias, the most skilful writer of the present age, was a long time in composing at his leisure? I am certainly very far from entertaining such a supposition: though I would rather be able to do this than be the possesser of a great quantity of gold.
[228a] Socrates: O Phædrus, if I do not know Phædrus, I am likewise forgetful of myself; [228b] but neither of these happens to be the case. For I well know that he has not only heard the discourse of Lysias once⁶, but that he has desired him to repeat it often: and that Lysias willingly complied with his request. But neither was this sufficient for Phædrus; but having at length obtained the book, he considered that which he mostly desired to see. And sitting down to peruse it very early in the morning, he continued his employment, till being fatigued, he went out for a walk; and, by the dog, as it appears to me committed it to memory, unless perhaps it was too long for this purpose. But he directed his course beyond the walls, that he might meditate on this oration. Meeting, however, with one who was madly fond of discourse, he rejoiced on beholding him, because he should have a partner in his corybantic fury; and desired him to walk on. But when that lover of discourse requested him to repeat the oration, he feigned as if he was unwilling to comply; but though he was unwilling that any one should hear him voluntarily, he was at length compelled to the relation. I therefore entreat, Phædrus, that you will quickly accomplish all I desire.
[228c] Phædrus: Well then, I will endeavour to satisfy you in the best manner I am able; for I see you will not dismiss me till I have exerted my utmost abilities to please you.
[228d] Socrates: You perfectly apprehend the truth respecting me.
[228d] Phædrus: I will therefore gratify you; but, in reality, Socrates, I have not learned by heart the words of this oration, though I nearly retain the sense of all the arguments by which he shows the difference between a lover and one who does not love; and these I will summarily relate to you in order, beginning from the first.
[228e] Socrates: But show me first, my friend, what you have got there in your left⁷ hand, under your cloak: for I suspect that you have got the oration itself. And if this be the case, think thus with yourself respecting me, that I perfectly esteem you; but that, when Lysias is present, it is by no means my intention to listen to you. And therefore show it me.
[228e] Phædrus: You ought to desist: for you have destroyed those hopes, Socrates, which I entertained respecting you; the hopes I mean of contesting with you. But where are you willing we should sit, while we read?
[229a] Socrates: Let us, turning hither, direct our steps towards the river Ilissus: and afterwards, when you shall think proper to rest, we will sit down.
[229a] Phædrus: And this will be very seasonable, as it appears, for I am at present without shoes⁸; but this is always the case with you. It will be easy, therefore, for us to walk by the side of the brook, moistening our feet; nor will it be unpleasant, especially at this season of the year, and this time of the day.
[229a] Socrates: Go on then, and at the same time look out for a place where we may sit down.
[229a] Phædrus: Do you see that most lofty plane tree?
[229a] Socrates: Why, what then?
[229a] Phædrus: For there, there is a cool shade, moderate breezes of wind, and soft grass, upon which we may either sit, or, if you are so disposed, lie down.
[229b] Socrates: Let us go then.
[229b] Phædrus: But inform me, Socrates, whether this is not the place in which Boreas is reported to have ravished Orithya from Ilissus.
[229b] Socrates: It is reported so indeed.
[229b] Phædrus: Was it not just here then? for the brooks hereabouts appear to be grateful to the view, pure and transparent, and very well adapted to the sports of virgins.
[229c] Socrates: It was not, but two or three stadia lower down, where we meet with the temple of Diana⁹, and in that very place there is a certain altar sacred to Boreas¹⁰. phædr. I did not perfectly know this. But tell me, by Jupiter, Socrates, are you persuaded that this fabulous narration¹³ is true?
[229d] Socrates: If I should not believe in it, as is the case with the wise, I should not be absurd: and afterwards, speaking sophistically, I should say that the wind Boreas hurled from the neighbouring rocks Orithya, sporting with Pharmacia; and that she dying in consequence of this, was said to have been ravished by Boreas, or from the hill of Mars. There is also another report that she was not ravished from this place, but from that. But for my own part, Phædrus, I consider interpretations of this kind as pleasant enough, but at the same time, as the province of a man vehemently curious and laborious, and not entirely happy; and this for no other reason, than because after such an explanation, it is necessary for him to correct the shape of the Centaurs and Chimæra. And, besides this, a crowd of Gorgons and Pegasuses will pour upon him for an exposition of this kind, and of certain other prodigious natures, immense both in multitude and novelty. All which, if any one, not believing in their literal meaning, should draw to a probable sense, employing for this purpose a certain rustic wisdom, he will stand in need of most abundant leisure. [229e] With respect to myself indeed, I have not leisure for such an undertaking; and this because I am not yet able, according to the Delphic precept, to know¹⁴ myself. But it appears to me to be ridiculous, while I am yet ignorant of this, to speculate things foreign from the knowledge of myself. [230a] Hence, bidding farewell to these, and being persuaded in the opinion which I have just now mentioned respecting them, I do not contemplate these, but myself, considering whether I am not a wild beast¹⁵, possessing more folds than Typhon, and far more raging and fierce; or whether I am a more mild and simple animal, naturally participating of a certain divine and modest condition. But are we not, my friend, in the midst of our discourse arrived at our destined seat? and is not yonder the oak to which you was to lead us?
[230b] Phædrus: That indeed is it.
[230c] Socrates: By Juno¹⁶, a beautiful retreat. For the plane-tree very widely spreads its shady branches, and is remarkably tall; and the height and opacity of the willow, are perfectly beautiful, being now in the vigour of its vegetation, and, on this account, filling all the place with the most agreeable odour. Add too, that a most pleasant fountain of extreme cool water flows under the plane-tree, as may be inferred from its effect on our feet, and which appears to be sacred to certain nymphs, and to Achelous, from the virgins and statues with which it is adorned. Then again, if you are so disposed, take notice how lovely and very agreeable the air of the place is, and what a summer-like and sonorous singing resounds from the choir of grasshoppers. But the most elegant prospect of all is that of the grass, which in a manner so extremely beautiful, naturally adapts itself to receive on the gradual steep the reclining head. So that, my dear Phædrus, you have led me hither as a guest in the most excellent manner.
[230d] Phædrus: But you, O wonderful man, appear to act most absurdly; for by your discourse one might judge you to be some stranger and not a native of the place. And, indeed, one might conclude that you had never passed beyond the bounds of the city, nor ever deserted its walls.
[230d] Socrates: Pardon me, most excellent Phædrus, for I am a lover of learning: [230e] and, hence I consider that fields¹⁷ and trees are not willing to teach me any thing; but that this can be effected by men residing in the city. You indeed appear to me to have discovered an enchantment capable of causing my departure from hence. For as they lead famished animals whither they please, by extending to them leaves or certain fruits; so you, by extending to me the discourses contained in books, may lead me about through all Attica, and indeed wherever you please. But now, for the present, since we are arrived hither, I for my part am disposed to lie down; but do you, assuming whatever position you think most convenient, begin to read.
[230e] Phædrus: Hear then.
[231a] —“You are well acquainted with the state of my affairs, and you have heard, I think, that it is most conducive to my advantage for them to subsist in this manner. But it appears to me that I am not unworthy to be deprived of what I wish to obtain, because I am not one of your lovers: for lovers, when their desires cease, repent themselves of the benefits which they have bestowed; but there is no time in which it is proper for those void of love to repent their beneficence; since they do not consult from necessity, but voluntarily, and in the best manner about their own affairs, and do good as far as their circumstances will admit. Besides, lovers sometimes reflect how negligently they have attended, through love, to their own concerns, what benefits they have bestowed, to their own loss, and what labours they have undergone; and therefore think they have conferred favours worthy the objects of their love. But those void of love, neither blame themselves for neglecting their affairs, nor complain of past labours, or disagreement with their familiars, as produced by some beloved object. So that such mighty evils being removed, nothing else remains for them than to perform with willingness and alacrity whatever they think will be acceptable to the objects of their beneficent exertions. [231b] Besides, if it is said that lovers make much of the party beloved, because they love in the most eminent degree, and are always prepared, both in words and actions, to comply with the desires of their beloved, though they should offend others by so doing; it is easy to know that this is not the truth, because lovers far more esteem the posterior than the prior objects of their love; [231c] and if the more recently beloved party thinks fit, they are even willing to treat injuriously the former subjects of their regard. But to what else is it proper to ascribe such a conduct, except that calamity, love; a conduct which he who had never experienced this passion would never suppose possible to exist. [231d] And besides this, lovers themselves confess that they are rather diseased than prudent, and that they know their ill condition with respect to prudence, but are unable to subdue it. But how can such as are properly prudent approve the desires of such as are thus diseased? Besides, if you should wish to choose among lovers the best associate, your choice must be confined to a few; but if you desire to find among others one most accommodated to yourself, you may choose out of many, And there are much more hopes of finding one worthy of your friendship among a many than a few. If, therefore, you reverence the established law, and are afraid lest the infamy of offenders should be your portion, it is proper to remember that lovers, who consider themselves as loved with a mutual regard, are accustomed to boast that they have not bestowed their labour in vain; but that such as are not infected with love, being better than these, content themselves with enjoying that which is best rather than the opinion of men.
[231e] But still further, when the multitude perceive lovers following the objects of their affection, and bestowing all possible assiduity in this employment, they are necessarily persuaded that when they perceive them discoursing with each other, the desire of coition has either then taken place, or is about to do so: but they do not attempt to reproach the familiarity of such as are without love, as they know it is necessary that they must either discourse through friendship, or some other pleasure unconnected with coition. And, indeed, if in consequence of this doctrine you are afraid that it will be difficult for friendship to remain, and that disagreements, by some means or other arising, will become a common destruction to both; [232a] at the same time premising that you shall thus suffer a great injury in most of your transactions; if this is the case, you ought with much greater reason to be afraid of lovers. [232b] For there are many things afflictive to these, and they consider every thing as happening to their disadvantage. [232c] Hence, they prohibit the objects of their regard from associating with other lovers, dreading lest the wealthy should surpass them in wealth, and the learned in knowledge; and, as far as they are able, preserve them from the company of those who possess any thing good. And thus, by persuading them to abstain from such as these, they cause them to abandon their friends. [232d] If, therefore, you consider your own advantage, you will be wiser than these, and will entirely disagree with them in opinion. But such as are not your lovers, but who act in a becoming manner through virtue, will not envy your association with others, but will rather hate those who are unwilling to be your familiars; thinking that you are despised by such as these, but that you are benefited by your associates. So that there is much more reason to hope that friendship will be produced by this means, than that enmity will arise from such a connection. [232e] Add to this, that the most part of lovers desire the possession of the body before they know the manners, or have made trial of any thing else belonging to the beloved object: so that it is uncertain whether they will still wish to be friends to them, when the desire produced by love is no more. But it is probable that such as are without love, since from the commencement of their friendship they acted without regarding venereal delight,—it is probable that they will act with less ardour, but that they will leave their actions as monuments of their conduct in futurity. [233a] Besides, it will be more advantageous to you to be persuaded by me than by a lover. For lovers will praise both your sayings and actions beyond all measure; some through fear, lest they should offend you; but others, in consequence of being depraved in their judgment, through desire. For love will point you out to be such. It likewise compels the unfortunate to consider as calamitous things which cause no molestation to others, and obliges the fortunate to celebrate as pleasant, things which are not deserving of delight: so that it is much more proper to commiserate than emulate lovers.
[233a] But if you will [233b] be persuaded by me, in the first place I will associate with you, without caring for present pleasure, but for the sake of future advantage; not vanquished by love, but subduing myself; nor for mere trifles exciting severe enmity, but indulging a very little anger, and this but slowly even for great offences: pardoning, indeed, involuntary faults, and endeavouring to turn you from the commission of such as are voluntary. For these are the marks of a friendship likely to endure for a very extended period of time. [233c] However, if it should appear to you that friendship cannot be firm unless it is united with the lover, you should consider that, according to this, we ought not to be very fond of our children or parents, nor reckon those friends faithful, who became such, not from desire, but from studies of a different kind. [233d] But further still, if it is requisite to gratify in the most eminent degree those who are in want, it is proper to benefit, not the best of men, but the most needy: for, being liberated from the greatest evils, they will render them the most abundant thanks. And besides this, in the exertions of your own private benevolence, it is not proper to call your friends, but mendicants and those who stand in need of alimentary supplies. For these will delight in you, and follow you; will stand before your doors, and testify the most abundant satisfaction; render you the greatest thanks, and pray for your prosperity. [233e] But, perhaps, it is proper not to be pleased with those who are vehemently needy, but rather with those who are able to repay you with thanks, nor with lovers only but with those deserving your attention. Nor again, with those who enjoy the beauty of your youth, but with such as may participate your kindness when you are old. Nor with those who, when their desire is accomplished, are ambitious of obtaining others, but with those who through modesty are silent towards all men. [234a] Nor with those who officiously attend upon you for a short time, but with those who are similarly your friends through the whole of life. Nor, lastly, with those who, when desire is extinguished, seek after occasions of enmity; but with those who, when the flower of your beauty is decayed, will then exhibit their virtue and regard. [234b] Do you, therefore, remember what I have said, and consider that friends admonish lovers, that they are engaged in a base pursuit; but that those void of love are never blamed by any of their familiars, as improperly consulting about themselves, through a privation of love. Perhaps you will ask me whether I persuade you to gratify all who are not lovers. But I think that even a lover would not exhort you to be equally affected towards all your lovers: for neither would this deserve equal thanks from the receiver; nor would you, who are desirous to conceal yourself from others, be able to accomplish this with equal facility towards all. It is, however, necessary that you should receive no injury from your lover; but that some advantage should accrue to both. To me it appears, therefore, that I have said sufficient; but if you think any thing should be added, inform me what it is.”
[234c] How does this discourse appear to you, Socrates? Is not the oration composed in a transcendent manner, both as to the sentiments and the structure of the words?
[234d] Socrates: Divinely indeed, my friend, so as that I am astonished. And in the same transcendent manner am I affected towards you, Phædrus, while I behold you, because you appeared to me in the course of reading the oration to be transported with delight. As I considered, therefore, that you was more skilful in such affairs than myself, I followed you; and, in following, was agitated together with you, O divine head! with bacchic fury.
[234d] Phædrus: Are you disposed to jest in this manner?
[234d] Socrates: Do I appear then to you to jest, and not to speak seriously?
[234d] Phædrus: You by no means appear to be serious, Socrates. But, by Jupiter, who presides over friendship, tell me whether you think that any one of the Greeks could say any thing greater and more copiously on this subject?
[234e] Socrates: But what, do you [235a] think that a discourse ought to be praised by you and me, because its composer has said what is sufficient? and not for this alone, that he has artificially fashioned every word clear, and round, and accurate? For, if it is necessary, this must be granted for your sake: for it is concealed from me, through my nothingness. Hence, I only attended to the eloquence of the composer; for, as to the other particular, I do not believe that even Lysias will think himself sufficient. And indeed to me, Phædrus, it appears (unless you say otherwise) that he has twice and thrice repeated the same things, as if he did not possess a great copiousness of discourse upon the same subject: or, perhaps, he took no great care about a thing of this kind. And besides this, he seems to me to act in a juvenile manner, by showing that he can express the same thing in different ways, and yet at the same time, according to each mode, in the best manner possible.
[235b] Phædrus: You speak nothing to the purpose, Socrates: for this oration possesses a copiousness of sentiment in the most eminent degree. For he has omitted nothing belonging to his subject, which he could with propriety introduce: so that, besides what has been said by him, no one could ever be able to discourse, either more abundantly or more to the purpose, on the same subject, than he has done.
[235b] Socrates: I cannot grant you this: for the wise of old, both men and women, who have discoursed and written on this subject, would confute me, if I should admit this for the sake of gratifying you.
[235c] Phædrus: Who are those antients? and where have you heard better things than these?
[235c] Socrates: I do not sufficiently remember at present; [235d] but it is manifest that I have somewhere heard of some of these, such as the beautiful Sappho, or the wise Anacreon, or certain other writers. But from whence do I derive this conjecture? Because, O divine man! finding my breast full of conceptions, I perceive that I have something to say in addition to what has been already delivered, and this not of an inferior nature. I well know, indeed, that I understand nothing about such things from myself, as I am conscious of my own ignorance. It remains therefore, I think, that I myself, like a vessel, should be filled with knowledge, through hearing, from the fountains of others; but that, through my dulness of apprehension, I should again forget how, and from whom, I received the information.
[235e] Phædrus: You speak, most generous man, in the most excellent manner. For you cannot inform me, though I should command you to do so, how, and from whom, you derived your knowledge; but this which you speak of you are able to accomplish, since you possess more abundant and more excellent conceptions than those contained in the oration of Lysias. And if you are but able to accomplish this, I promise you, after the manner of the nine Archons, to place a golden statue of an equal measure at Delphi, not of myself only, but likewise of you.
[235e] Socrates: You are of [236a] a most friendly disposition, Phædrus, and truly golden, if you suppose me to have asserted that Lysias was perfectly faulty, and that something better might have been said than the whole of this: for I do not think that this can ever happen, even to the worst of writers. But to the point in hand, about this oration: Do you think that any one who asserts that it is more proper to gratify one who does not love than a lover can have any thing to say besides his assertion, if he omits to prove that he who is void of love is prudent, but the lover is not so; and praises the one, but blames the other? But I think that omissions of this kind are to be suffered, and even pardoned, in a writer; and that it is not the invention of these discourses, but the elegance of the composition, which ought to be praised. But in things which are not necessary, and which are difficult to discover, I think that not only the composition, but likewise the invention, should be praised.
[236b] Phædrus: I assent to what you say: for you appear to me to speak modestly. I will therefore allow you to suppose that a lover is more diseased than one who is void of love; but, if in what remains you speak more copiously and more to the purpose than Lysias, you shall stand in Olympia, artificially fabricated, near the Cypselidæ¹⁸.
[236b] Socrates: You are serious, Phædrus, because I have found fault with a man who is exceedingly beloved by you; and you think that I have in reality attempted to speak something more copious than what his wisdom has produced.
[236c] Phædrus: In this affair, my friend, you have afforded me a similar handle to that which I some time since afforded you, and it is necessary for you to speak upon this subject in the best manner you are able. And that we may not be compelled to adopt that troublesome method of comedians, by answering one another, take care of yourself; and do not oblige me to retort upon you “If I, O Socrates! am ignorant of Socrates, I am also forgetful of myself.” And, “that he desires to speak, indeed, but feigns to be unwilling.” In short, assure yourself that we shall not depart from hence before you have disclosed to me that which you keep concealed in your breast. For there is none but us two; we are in a solitary place; and I am both stronger and younger than you. From all this, then, understand what I say; and by no means dispose yourself to be forced to speak, rather than to discourse of your own accord.
[236d] Socrates: But, O blessed Phædrus! it would certainly be ridiculous in me, who am but an idiot, to contend with that excellent writer, and this too extemporary.
[236d] Phædrus: Do you know how the case stands? Cease your boasting before me: for I have nearly got a secret in my possession, which, when told, will force you to speak.
[236d] Socrates: Do not tell it, therefore, I beseech you.
[236e] Phædrus: Not tell it? But indeed I shall. For my secret is an oath. And therefore I swear to you, by some one of the Gods, or, if you will, be this plane-tree, that unless you deliver to me a discourse the very contrary to that of Lysias, I will never at any time either show or read to you another oration.
[236e] Socrates: O you wicked man! how well have you found out a method of compelling a lover of literature to act as you please!
[236e] Phædrus: Why then, since it is so, do you hesitate about complying?
[236e] Socrates: I shall not indeed any longer, since you have sworn in this manner. For how is it possible for any one to abstain from such feasts as you are capable of supplying?
[237a] Phædrus: Begin then.
[237a] Socrates: Do you know what I mean to do?
[237a] Phædrus: About what?
[237a] Socrates: Why, I mean to speak covered with my garment¹⁹, that I may rapidly run through my discourse, and that, by not looking at you, I may not be hindered through shame.
[237a] Phædrus: Do but speak; and as to the rest, you may act as you please.
[237b] Socrates: Inspire me then, O ye Muses²⁰? whether you are so called from the melody of singing, or from the musical tribe of shrill sounds; and so assist me in the discourse which this best of men compels me to deliver, that his associate, who formerly appeared to him to be wise, may now appear to him to be still more so.
[237b] There was a certain youth, or rather a delicate young man, extremely beautiful, and who possessed a multitude of lovers. Among these there was one of a fraudulent disposition; who, though he did not love less than the rest, yet persuaded the youth that he was not one of his lovers. And asking him on a certain time to satisfy his desire, he endeavoured to convince him that one who was not a lover ought to be gratified before one who was. But he spoke to this effect: [237c] In every thing, young man, one principle, to those who are about to consult in a becoming manner, is, to know that about which they consult, or else it is necessary that they should perfectly wander from the truth. But the multitude are ignorant that they do not know the essence of every particular. Hence in the beginning of their disquisitions, they do not trouble themselves to declare what the essence of a thing is, as if they were very knowing in matters of this kind; but in the course of their inquiry they exhibit nothing more than probable reasons; and thus they are neither consistent with themselves, nor with others. With respect to you and me, therefore, lest we should suffer that which we condemn in others, in our inquiry, whether the engagement of [237d] friendship ought to be entered upon with one who does not love, rather than with one who does, we ought to know what love is, and what power it possesses, mutually agreeing in our definition respecting it; and looking towards, and referring our discourse to this, we should consider whether it is the cause of advantage or detriment. That love, therefore, is a certain desire, is manifest to every one; and we are not ignorant that those who are void of love, are desirous of beautiful things. That we may be able, therefore, to distinguish a lover from one who is not so, it is requisite to know that there are two certain ideas in each of us, endued with a ruling and leading power, and which we follow wherever they conduct us. One of these is the innate desire of pleasures; but the other an acquired opinion, desirous of that which is best. But these sometimes subsist in us in a state of amity, and sometimes in a state of opposition and discord. And sometimes the one conquers, and sometimes the other. [237e] When opinion, therefore, is led by reason to that which is best, and vanquishes, it is denominated, from its vanquishing, temperance. But when desire irrationally allures to pleasure, and rules within us, it is called from its dominion, injury. But injury possesses a multitude of appellations: for it is multiform, and consists of many species. And of these ideas that which subsists in the most remarkable degree, causes that in which it resides to receive its appellation, and does not suffer it to be denominated any thing graceful or worthy. For when, with respect to food, desire of eating vanquishes the reason of that which is best, and rules over the other desires, then this desire is called gluttony; [238a] which likewise subjects its possessor to the same appellation. But that which tyrannizes about intoxication, and which through this leads its possessor wherever it pleases, evidently confers on him its own appellation. And it is sufficiently manifest how the sisters of these, and the names of the sister-desires when they rule with absolute sway, ought to be called. [238b] But that for the sake of which all this has been said is now nearly evident: though it will certainly be in every respect more clear, if enunciated, than if not. For the desire which without reason rules over opinion tending to that which is right, which draws it down towards the pleasure of beauty, and being vehemently invigorated by its kindred desires about the beauty of body, leads and subdues it: this desire, receiving an appellation from its strength, is called love. But, my dear Phædrus, do I appear to you, as I do to myself, to suffer a certain divine passion?
[238c] Phædrus: Indeed, Socrates, you possess a certain fluency of expression, beyond what is usual to you.
[238d] Socrates: Hear me then in silence. For in reality the place appears to be divine. If, therefore, during my discourse, I should be often hurried away by the inspiring influence of the Nymphs, you must not be surprised. For the words which burst from me at present are not very remote from dithyrambic verse.
[238d] Phædrus: You speak most truly.
[238e] Socrates: But of this you are the cause. However, hear the rest; for perhaps that which now possesses me may depart. But this will be taken care of by divinity. Let us, therefore, again direct our discourse to the young man. What that is then, which was the object of consultation, has been declared and defined. But looking towards this, let us consider with respect to what remains, what assistance or detriment will very properly happen to him who is gratified by a lover, and to him who is gratified by one who is not so.
[238e] It is necessary then that a man who is enslaved by desire, or who is in subjection to pleasure, should render the object of his love as agreeable to himself as possible. But to one diseased every thing is pleasant which does not oppose his disease; but that which is better and equal is troublesome. [239a] Hence the lover is never willing that the object of his love should possess any thing more excellent than himself, or any thing approaching to an equality with himself; but that, as much as possible, he should be inferior to, and more indigent than himself. Thus, he is desirous that through ignorance he may become inferior to the wise, through timidity inferior to the bold, through inability to speak, to rhetoricians, and through dullness, to the acute. And when these, and far more numerous ills than these, according to the conceptions of the lover, are naturally inherent, or are produced in the beloved object, the lover rejoices, and even endeavours to introduce others, that he may not be deprived of his desired pleasure. Hence it is necessary that the lover should be envious of his beloved, and should endeavour by all possible means to exclude him from an association with others, through whom he may become a most excellent man; and thus in reality he is the cause of a mighty injury to his beloved. But the greatest injury, which he is the cause of, is that of depriving his beloved of the means of becoming eminently prudent. But he becomes most prudent through divine philosophy, from which the lover is necessarily compelled to withdraw his beloved, through the fear of being despised. And besides this, he is obliged to a variety of other artifices, that his beloved, by becoming ignorant of every thing, may place all his admiration upon him; and may thus become most acceptable to his lover, but most pernicious to himself. And thus with respect to things relating to the rational part, an association with a lover is by no means advantageous, but prejudicial to the party beloved.
[239b] But after this it is necessary to consider [239c] how he, who is compelled to prefer the pleasant to the good, would take care of the body of his beloved, if it was committed to his charge. Indeed he would endeavour that it should not become firm and vigorous, but effeminate and soft; and that it should not be nourished in the pure light of the sun, but under the mingled shade; [239d] and that he should be educated without having any experience of manly labours and dry sweats; but on the contrary should be continually accustomed to a delicate and effeminate mode of living, and be adorned with foreign colours and ornaments, through the want of his own proper decorations: and that he should be studious of every thing else, which is consequent to cares of this kind. All which, as they are unworthy of a longer narration, having summarily defined, we shall proceed to what remains of our discourse. Enemies, therefore, in battle, and other mighty necessities, will confidently assault such a body, but friends and lovers will be in fear for its safety. But this, as sufficiently evident, we shall dismiss. [239e] Let us then, in the next place, declare what advantage or detriment, with respect to possessions, arises to us from the familiarity and guardianship of a lover. But this indeed is manifest to every one, but especially to a lover, that he desires above all things that his beloved may be deprived of the most friendly, most dear, and divine possessions: for he wishes to receive him destitute of parents, kindred and friends, thinking that these will impede and reprehend his most pleasant association with his beloved. Besides, he considers that the object of his love, if rich in gold, or any other possession, cannot be easily taken, and, if taken, will not be tractable to his desires. [240a] From all which it is necessary that a lover should envy his beloved the possession of abundance, and should rejoice in his adversity. Further yet, he will wish the youth to live for a long time without a wife, without children, and without a proper home, desiring for a very extended period to enjoy those pleasures which he is capable of affording. [240b] There are, indeed, other evils besides these, but a certain dæmon²¹ immediately mingles pleasure with most of them: as in that dreadful beast, and mighty detriment, a flatterer, nature at the same time mingles a pleasure by no means inelegant and rude. And, indeed, some one may revile a harlot, and other cattle, and studies of this kind, which we are daily accustomed to delight in, as noxious; but he who is a lover of young men, besides his being detrimental, is in his familiar converse the most unpleasant of all men. For equal, according to the proverb, rejoices in equal. For, as it appears to me, since equality of time leads to equal pleasures, it produces also friendship, through similitude. But at the same time, the association of these is connected with satiety; and necessity is said to be grievous to every one in every concern.
[240b] But this is most eminently the case in the dissimilitude of a lover towards his beloved. For an old man adhering to a young one, does not willingly leave him, either by night or by day, but is agitated by necessity and fury, which always affording him pleasure, lead him about, through seeing, hearing, touching, and in any manner apprehending his beloved; so that he assiduously follows him with unceasing delight. [240c] But what solace or pleasures can he afford his beloved, so as to prevent him, during the period of mutual converse, from suffering the most extreme molestation? And this when he beholds his countenance aged and deformed, together with other particulars consequent to this, which are not only unpleasant to be engaged with, but even to hear; necessity always proposing to him such a survey. [240d] For in order to oblige him to this, he is always watched by suspicious guards in all his actions; and is under a necessity of hearing the unseasonable and immoderate praises and reproaches of his lover; which when he is sober, are indeed intolerable, but when he is intoxicated, are not only intolerable, but base, through his employing confidence, satiety, and repetition in his discourse. Besides, while he loves, he is pernicious and importunate. [240e] But when he ceases to love, he is afterwards unfaithful to the former object of his love, whom he had persuaded to comply with his request, by employing many oaths, prayers, and promises; and whom, after all, he had scarcely been able to induce, by the hope of advantage, to bear with his troublesome familiarity. [241a] And, lastly, when he ought to repay him for his kindness, then receiving another ruler and patron in himself, viz. intellect and temperance, instead of love and fury, and thus becoming entirely changed, he deceives his once beloved object. And then the beloved calling to mind the former actions and discourses of his lover, desires to be thanked for his kindness, as if he was discoursing with the same person as before. But the other, through shame, dares not say that he is changed, nor does he know how to free himself from the oaths and promises which his former stupid dominion over him produced, now he has acquired the possession of intellect and temperance; [241b] fearing lest, if he should act as formerly, he should again become such as he was before. Hence it necessarily comes to pass that he flies from the former object of his love, the shell being turned; but the other is compelled to pursue him, grievously enduring his change, and loading him with imprecations, as being ignorant from the beginning that a lover, and one who is necessarily insane, ought not to be gratified, but much rather one who does not love, and who is endued with intellect. [241c] For otherwise it would be necessary that he should give himself up to a man unfaithful, morose, envious, and unpleasant; detrimental with respect to the possession of things, and the habit of the body, but much more pernicious with respect to the discipline of the soul, than which nothing really is, or ever will be more venerable, both among Gods and men. It is necessary, therefore, my young friend, to consider all this, and to know that the friendship of a lover does not subsist with benevolence, but, like one who is hungry, is exerted only for the sake of being full. For,
[241c] The eager lover to the boy aspires,
Just as the wolf the tender lamb desires.
[241d] This is that which I predicted to you, O Phædrus, nor will you hear me speak any further; for my discourse to you has now arrived at its conclusion.
[241d] Phædrus: But to me it appears that you have accomplished no more than the half, and that you should speak equally as much concerning one who is not a lover; that he of the two ought rather to be gratified; and that, for this purpose, the advantages which he possesses should be enumerated. Why, therefore, Socrates, do you now desist from speaking?
[241d] Socrates: Have you not taken notice, blessed man, that I now speak in verse, but that it is no longer dithyrambic; [241e] and that I have done this, though my discourse has been full of reproach? But what do you think I should be able to accomplish, if I should begin to praise the other? Do you not perceive that, being then urged by you, and assisted by Providence, I should be most evidently agitated by the fury of the Nymphs? I say then, in one word, that as many goods are inherent in the one as we have numbered evils in the other. But what occasion is there of a long discourse? for enough has been said concerning both. And every thing proper to the oration has been introduced. I will; therefore, cross over the river and depart, before I am compelled by you to accomplish something greater than this.
[242a] Phædrus: Not yet, Socrates, till the heat is over. Do you not see that mid-day, as it is called, stably remains almost, even now? Let us, therefore, stay here, and discourse together about what has been said, and immediately as it begins to grow cool, we will depart.
[242b] Socrates: You are divine, Phædrus, with respect to discourse, and sincerely admirable. For I think that no one has been the occasion of more of the orations which exist at present, than yourself; whether by speaking of your own accord, or in some way or other by compelling others. I except only Simmias the Theban. For you far surpass all the rest. And now you appear to be the cause of my commencing another discourse, though you did not announce war, as the consequence of my refusal,
[242b] Phædrus: But how have I been the cause? and what new discourse is this?
[242c] Socrates: When I was about to pass over the river, excellent man, a dæmoniacal²² and usual signal was given me; and whenever this takes place, it always prohibits me from accomplishing what I was about to do. And in the present instance I seemed to hear a certain voice, which would not suffer me to depart till I had made an expiation, as if I had offended in some particular a divine nature. I am therefore a prophet, indeed, but not such a one as is perfectly worthy; but just as those who know their letters in a very indifferent manner, alone sufficient for what concerns myself. I clearly, therefore, now understand my offence: for even yet, my friend, there is something prophetic in my soul, which disturbed me during my former discourse. And this caused me to fear lest, perhaps, according to Ibycus, I should offend the Gods, but acquire glory among men. But now I perceive in what I have offended.
[242d] Phædrus: Will you not inform me what it is?
[242d] Socrates: You, O Phædrus, have repeated a dire, dire discourse, and have compelled me to utter the same.
[242d] Phædrus: But how?
[242d] Socrates: The discourse has been foolish, and in a certain respect impious. And can any thing be more dire²³ than this?
[242d] Phædrus: Nothing, if you speak the truth.
[242d] Socrates: What then? Do you not think that Love²⁴ is the son of Venus and a certain God?
[242e] Phædrus: So it is said.
[242e] Socrates: Yet this was neither acknowledged by Lysias, nor in your discourse, which was deduced by you, as by a certain charm, through my mouth. [243a] But if Love, as is really the case, is a God, or a certain something divine, he cannot be in any respect evil: and yet in our discourse about him he has been spoken of as evil. In this, therefore, we have offended against Love. But, besides this, our disputations, though polite, appear to have been very foolish: for though they asserted nothing sound or true, yet they boasted as if they did, and as if they should accomplish something considerable, by gaining the approbation of some trifling deluded men. It is necessary, therefore, my friend, that I should purify myself. But there is an antient purification for those who offend in matters respecting mythology, which Homer did not perceive, but which was known to Stesichorus. For, being deprived of his eyes through his accusation of Helen, he was not like Homer, ignorant of the cause of his blindness, but knew it, as being a musician. So that he immediately composed the following lines:
[243a] False was my tale; thou ne’er across the main
In beauteous ships didst fly, Troy’s lofty tow’rs to gain.
[243a] And thus having composed a poem directly contrary to what he had before published, and which is called a recantation, he immediately recovered his lost sight²⁵. I am, therefore, in the present instance wiser than both these: for before I suffer any damage through my accusation of love, I will en- deavour to present him with my recantation, and this with my head uncovered, and not as before veiled through shame.
[243b] Phædrus: You cannot, Socrates, say any thing which will be more pleasing to me than this.
[243c] Socrates: For, my good friend, you must be sensible how imprudent the oration was which you repeated, and how shamefully I myself also spoke concerning a lover. For, if any one of a generous disposition and elegant manners, who either loves, or had formerly loved, such a one as himself, had heard us, when we said that lovers often excited the greatest enmities for the most trifling occasions, and that they were envious of, and injurious to, their beloved, would he not have thought that he was hearing men educated in ships, and who were perfectly unacquainted with liberal love? or do you think that he would by any means have assented to our accusation of love?
[243d] Phædrus: By Jupiter, Socrates, perhaps he would not.
[243d] Socrates: Reverencing, therefore, such a man as this, and fearing Love himself, I desire, as it were with a potable oration, to wash away that salt and bitter discourse which we have lately heard. And I would advise Lysias himself, for similar reasons, to write as soon as possible that a lover ought rather to be gratified than one who is without love.
[243d] Phædrus: You may be well assured that he will do so; for, after you have spoken in praise of a lover, it will be necessary that Lysias should be compelled by me to do the same.
[243e] Socrates: This indeed I believe, while you remain affected as you are at present.
[243e] Phædrus: Speak then confidently.
[243e] Socrates: But will you not permit me to suppose that the same young man is present, to whom I addressed my former discourse, lest, in consequence of not hearing my recantation, he should rashly gratify one who is not a lover?
[243e] Phædrus: He will always be very nearly present with you, when you are willing he should be so.
[244a] Socrates: In this manner then, O beautiful young man, understand that the former discourse was that of Phædrus the Myrrhinusian, the offspring of Pythocles; but that this which I am now about to deliver is the discourse of Stesichorus the Imeræan, and the son of Euphemus. But he began his oration as follows:
[244a] “The discourse is not true which asserts that, though a lover should be present, one who is not a lover ought to be gratified before him, because the one is agitated with fury, but the other is prudent in his conduct. For if it was simply true that mania is evil, this would be beautifully asserted. But now the greatest goods²⁶ are produced for us through mania, and are assigned to us by a divine gift. For the predicting prophetess at Delphi, and the priestesses in Dodona²⁹, have, when insane procured many advantages, both privately and publicly, to the Greeks; but when they have been in a prudent state, they have been the cause of very trifling benefits, or indeed of none at all. And if we should speak of the Sibyl³⁰, and others who have employed deific prophecy, rightly predicting many things to many respecting futurity, we should be too prolix, and at the same time only speak of that which is manifest to every one. [244b] This indeed is worthy of being testified, that such of the antients as gave names to things, did not consider mania as either base or disgraceful. For they did not connect the appellation of mania with that most beautiful art, by which we are enabled to judge of the future, as if it was something noxious; but they gave it a name of this kind, as something beneficial, when it subsists through a divine allotment. But men of the present day, being ignorant of what is becoming, by the insertion of the letter τ, call it μαντικη, or the art of divining. [244c] Indeed the investigations of futurity, by prudent men, which take place through birds, and a variety of other tokens, as proceeding from the dianoëtic part through human intelligence, they denominated intellect and intellective opinion; which the moderns, through a reverence of the ω, denominate augurial, or pertaining to augury. By how much more perfect and honourable, therefore, prophecy is than augury, and the name and operation of the one than the name and operation of the other, by so much did the antients testify that mania proceeding from divinity is more beautiful than prudence which proceeds from men. [244d] But indeed, in the greatest diseases and labours to which certain persons are sometimes subject through the indignation of the Gods in consequence of guilt, mania when it takes place, predicting what they stand in need of, discovers a liberation from such evils, by flying to prayer and the worship of the Gods. [244e] Hence, obtaining by this means purifications and the advantages of initiation, it renders him who possesses it free from disasters, both for the present and future time, by discovering to him who is properly insane and possessed by divinity a solution of his present evils. [245a] But the third species is a possession and mania descending from the Muses, which receiving a soul tender and solitary, rouses and agitates it with Bacchic fury, according to odes and other species of poetry; in consequence of which, by adorning the infinite actions of antiquity, it becomes the means of instructing posterity. But he who approaches to the poetic gates without the mania of the Muses³¹, persuading himself that he can become a poet, in a manner perfectly sufficient from art alone, will, both as to himself and his poetry, be imperfect; since the poetry which is produced by prudence vanishes before that which is the progeny of mania. [245b] So many then are the beautiful works arising from divine mania, and still more than these, which, if it was requisite, I should relate. So that we ought not to be afraid of mania; nor should any reason disturb us, which endeavours to evince that we ought to prefer a prudent friend to one who is divinely agitated: for he who asserts this, ought likewise to show, in order to gain the victory, that love was not sent from the Gods for the utility of the lover and his beloved. But, on the contrary, it must now be shown by us that a mania of this kind was sent by the Gods, for the purpose of producing the greatest felicity. The demonstration, indeed, will be to the unworthy incredible, but to the wise, an object of belief. It is necessary, therefore, in the first place, that, beholding the passions and operations of the divine and human soul, we should understand the truth concerning the nature of each. Let this then be the beginning of the demonstration:
[245c] Every soul is immortal³²: for that which is perpetually moved is eternal. But that which moves another and is moved by another, when it has a cessation of motion, has also a cessation of life. Hence that alone which moves itself, because it does not desert itself, never ceases to be moved; but this also is the fountain and principle of motion to other things which are moved. But a principle is unbegotten: for every thing which is generated, is necessarily generated from a principle, while the principle itself is incapable of being generated. For neither could it any longer be a principle, if it was generated from an external cause. [245d] Since then it is unbegotten, it is also necessary that it should be incorruptible: for, should the principle become extinct, it could neither renew its being from another, nor generate another from itself, since it is necessary that all things should be generated from that which is the principle. And thus the beginning of motion is derived from that which moves itself: and this can neither be destroyed nor generated. For, if this were admitted, all heaven and earth falling together must stop; nor could any force be found, whence being moved, they would be again generated. Since then it appears that a self-motive nature is immortal, he who asserts that this is the very essence and definition of soul, will have no occasion to blush. [245e] For every body to which motion externally accedes, is inanimate. But that to which motion is inherent from itself, is animated; as if this was the very nature of soul. And if there is nothing else which moves itself except soul, soul is necessarily without generation, and immortal. And thus much may suffice, concerning the immortality of the soul³³.
[246a] But respecting its idea³⁴ we must speak after the following manner: To give a perfect description of its nature, would indeed be the employment of a narration every way prolix and divine; but to describe a certain similitude of this idea is the business of a human and shorter discourse. Let it then be similar to the kindred power of a winged chariot and charioteer. All the horses and chariots of the Gods are indeed good, and composed from things good; but those of other natures are mixed. And, in the first place, our principal part governs the reins of its two-yoked car. In the next place, one of the horses is good and beautiful, and is composed from things of this kind; but the other is of a contrary nature, and is composed of contrary qualities: and on this account our course is necessarily difficult and hard. [246b] But we must endeavour to explain why it is called in a certain respect a mortal and immortal animal. Every soul takes care of every thing which is inanimate, and revolves about the whole of heaven, becoming situated at different times in different forms. While it is perfect, indeed, and winged, its course is sublime, and it governs the universe. But the soul whose wings suffer a defluxion verges downward, till something solid terminates its descent; whence it receives a terrene body, as its destined receptacle, which appears to move itself through the power of the soul: [246c] and the whole is called an animal composed from soul and body, and is surnamed a mortal animal. But that which is immortal is perceived by no rational deduction, except that which is hypothetical and feigned: since we neither see, nor sufficiently understand, that a God is a certain immortal animal endued with a soul, and possessing a body naturally conjoined with soul, through the whole of time. These things however are asserted, and may exist, as it pleases divinity. But let us now declare the cause through which the wings were cast aside, and fell from the soul. And this is of the following kind: [246d] There is a natural power in the wings of the soul, to raise that which is weighty on high, where the genus of the Gods resides. But of every thing subsisting about body, the soul most participates of that which is divine. But that which is divine is beautiful, wise, and good, and whatever can be asserted of a similar kind. And with these indeed the winged nature of the soul is especially nourished and increased: but it departs from its integrity, and perishes, through that which is evil and base, and from contraries of a similar kind. [246e] Likewise Jupiter, the mighty leader in the heavens, driving his winged chariot, begins the divine procession, adorning and disposing all things with providential care. The army of Gods and dæmons, distributed into eleven parts, follows his course: but Vesta alone remains in the habitation of the Gods. But each of the other Gods belonging to the twelve, presides over the office committed to his charge. [247a] There are many, therefore, and blessed spectacles and processions within the heavens; to which the genus of the blessed Gods is converted as each accomplishes the proper employment of his nature. But will and power are the perpetual attendants of their processions: for envy is far distant from the divine choir of Gods. But when they proceed to the banquet, and the enjoyment of delicious food, they sublimely ascend in their progression to the sub-celestial arch. And, indeed, the vehicles of the Gods being properly adapted to the guiding reins, and equally balanced, proceed with an easy motion: [247b] but the vehicles of other natures are attended in their progressions with difficulty and labour. For the horse, participating of depravity, becomes heavy; and when he has not been properly disciplined by the charioteers, verges and gravitates to the earth. And in this case labour, and an extreme contest, are proposed to the soul. But those who are denominated immortals, when they arrive at the summit, proceeding beyond the extremity of heaven, stand on its back: and while they are established in this eminence, the circumference carries them round, and they behold what the region beyond the heavens contains. [247c] But the supercelestial place has not yet been celebrated by any of our poets, nor will it ever be praised according to its dignity and worth. It subsists, however, in the following manner; for we should dare to affirm the truth, especially when speaking concerning the truth: without colour, without figure, and without contact, subsisting as true essence, it alone uses contemplative³⁵ intellect, the governor of the soul; about which essence, the genus of true science, resides. [247d] As the dianoëtic power, therefore, of divinity revolves with intellect and immaculate science, so likewise the dianoëtic power of every soul, when it receives a condition accommodated to its nature, perceiving being through time, it becomes enamoured with it, and contemplating truth, is nourished and filled with joy, till the circumference by a circular revolution brings it back again to its pristine situation. But in this circuit it beholds justice herself, it beholds temperance, and science herself: not that with which generation is present, nor in which one thing has a particular local residence in another, and to which we give the appellation of beings; but that which is science in true being. [247e] And, besides this, contemplating and banqueting on other true beings in the same manner, again entering within the heavens, it returns to its proper home. But, when it returns, the charioteer, stopping his horses at the manger, presents them with ambrosia, and together with it, nectar for drink. And this is the life of the Gods.
[248a] But, with respect to other souls, such as follow divinity in the best manner, and become similar to its nature, raise the head of the charioteer³⁶ into the supercelestial place; where he is borne along with the circumference; but is disturbed by the course of the horses, and scarcely obtains the vision of perfect realities. But other souls at one time raise, and at another time depress, the head of the charioteer: and, through the violence of the horses, they partly see indeed, and are partly destitute of vision. And again, other souls follow, all of them affecting the vision of this superior place: [248b] but from being unable to accomplish this design, they are carried round in a merged condition, spurning against and rushing on each other, through a contention of precedency in their course. Hence the tumult, contest, and perspiration, are extreme. And here, indeed, many become lame through the fault of the charioteers, many break many of their wings, and all of them, involved in mighty labour, depart destitute of the perception of reality; but after their departure they use an aliment composed from opin- ion; [248c] through which there is a great endeavour to behold where the plain of truth is situated. For, from a meadow of this kind, that which is best in the soul receives convenient nutriment; and from this the nature of the wing is nourished, by which the soul is enabled to ascend. And this is the law of Adrastia, that whatever soul attending on divinity has beheld any thing of reality shall be free from damage, till another period takes place: and that if she is always able to accomplish this, she shall be perpetually free from the incursions of evil. But if, through an impotency of accomplishing this end, she has not perceived reality, and from some misfortune, and being filled with oblivion and depravity, she becomes heavy and drowsy, breaks her wings, and falls again on the earth³⁷, then this law prevents her in her first [248d] generation from being implanted in some brutal nature, but commands the soul which has seen the most, to inform the body of a philosopher, or of one desirous of beauty; of a musician, or of one devoted to love³⁸. But it orders the soul, whose perceptions rank in the second class, to descend into a legitimate king, or a man studious of empire and war. But it distributes a soul of the third order into the governor of a republic, or the ruler of a family, or the master of a trade. And again, it distributes a soul of the fourth rank into one engaged in gymnastic exercise, or in procuring remedies, and taking care of the body: but souls of the fifth order it distributes into prophets and mystics. In the sixth, it makes a distribution into a poetic life. In the seventh, into a geometrician or artificer. In the eighth, into a sophist or popular character. And in the ninth, into a tyrant. But in all these, he who passes his life justly will afterwards obtain a better condition of being: but he who acts unjustly will pass into a worse state of existence.
[248e] For no soul will return to its pristine condition till the expiration of ten thousand years³⁹: since it will not recover the use of its wings before this period; except it is the soul of one who has philosophized sincerely, or together with philosophy has loved beautiful forms. These, indeed, in the third period of a thousand years, if they have thrice chosen this mode of life in succession, and have thus restored their wings to their natural vigour, shall in the three thousandth year, fly away to their pristine abode. [249a] But other souls, having arrived at the end of their first life, shall be judged. And of those who are judged, some proceeding to a subterranean place of judgment, shall there sustain the punishments they have deserved. But others, in consequence of a favourable judgment, being elevated into a certain celestial place, shall pass their time in a manner becoming the life they have lived in a human shape. And in the thousandth year, both the kinds of those who have been judged, returning to the lot and election of a second life, shall each of them receive a life agreeable to his desire. [249b] Here also the human soul shall pass into the life of a beast⁴⁰, and from that of a beast again into a man, if it has first been the soul of a man. For the soul which has never perceived the truth, cannot pass into the human form. Indeed it is necessary to understand man, denominated according to species, as a being proceeding from the information of many senses to a perception contracted into one by the reasoning power. But this is a recollection of what our soul formerly saw with divinity, when in a perfect condition of being; and when she despised what we now consider as realities, and was supernally elevated to the contemplation of that which is true. [249c] On this account, the dianoëtic power alone of the philosopher is justly winged. For the philosophic memory perpetually adheres as much as possible to those concerns, by an application to which even a God becomes divine. But he who properly uses meditations of this kind, being always initiated in perfect mysteries, alone acquires true perfection. And such a one being separated from human studies and pursuits, and adhering to that which is divine, is accused by the multitude as insane, while in the mean time, from being filled with divine enthusiasm, he is concealed from the multitude. [249d] This whole discourse, therefore, which respects the fourth kind of fury⁴¹, tends to the means by which any one, on perceiving a portion of terrene beauty, from a reminiscence of that which is true, may recover his wings, and, when he has recovered them, may struggle to fly away. But since he cannot accomplish this according to his wish, like a bird looking on high and despising inferior concerns, he is accused as one insanely affected. This enthusiasm⁴², therefore, is of all enthusiasms the best, and is composed from the best, both to the possessor and the participant: and he who is under the influence of this mania when he loves beautiful objects, is denominated a lover. [249e] For, as we have before observed, the soul of every man has from its nature perceived realities, or it could not have entered into the human form. But to recollect superior natures from objects of sense, is not easy to all men; neither to those who then were engaged but a short time in the contemplation of those divine objects; nor to those who descending hither have been unfortunate; nor to such as, turning to injustice from certain associations, have become oblivious of the sacred mysteries which they once beheld. [250a] And hence but a few remain whose memory is sufficient for this exalted purpose. But these, when they behold any similitude of supernal forms, they are astonished, and as it were rapt above themselves: and at the same time they are ignorant what this passion may be, because they are not endued with a sufficient perception. Indeed, we behold no splendour in similitudes which are here, of justice, temperance, and whatever else is precious in the soul; but very few are able, and even to these it is difficult, through certain dark instruments, to perceive from these images the genus of that which is represented. [250b] But we then saw splendid⁴³ beauty, when we obtained together with that happy choir, this blessed vision and contemplation. And we indeed beheld it together with Jupiter⁴⁴, but others in conjunction with some other God; at the same time being initiated⁴⁵ in those mysteries which it is lawful to call the most blessed of all mysteries⁴⁶. And these divine orgies were celebrated by us while we were perfect, and free from those evils which awaited us in a succeeding period of time. We likewise were initiated in, and became spectators of, entire⁴⁷, simple, quietly stable⁴⁸, and blessed visions, resident in a pure⁴⁹ light; being ourselves pure, and liberated from this surrounding vestment, which we denominate body, and to which we are now bound, like an oyster to its shell.
[250c] With these speculations, therefore, we should gratify our memory; for the sake of which, and through a desire of those realities which we once beheld, I have given such an extent to my discourse. But beauty, as we have said, shone upon us during our progressions with the Gods; but on our arrival hither we possessed the power of perceiving it, shining most perspicuously, through the clearest of our senses. [250d] For sight⁵⁰ is the most acute of all our corporeal senses; though even through this wisdom cannot be perceived. If indeed it could, what vehement love would it excite, by presenting to the eye some perspicuous image of itself! And the same may be said of every thing else which is the object of love. But now beauty alone is allotted the privilege of being the most apparent and lovely of all things. [250e] He, therefore, who has not recently descended hither, or whose manners are depraved, will not very swiftly be excited from hence thither to a survey of the beautiful itself, by beholding that among sensible objects which receives the same appellation. Hence, he will not reverence it while he beholds it; but, giving himself up to pleasure, he will endeavour to walk about and generate after the manner of a quadruped: and, injuriously conversing with others, he will neither be afraid nor ashamed of pursuing pleasure contrary to nature. But he who has been recently initiated, and who formerly was a spectator of many blessed visions, when he beholds some deiform countenance, elegantly imitative of beauty, or some incorporeal idea, at first indeed he is struck with horror⁵¹, and feels something of that terror which formerly invaded him; but, from an after survey, he venerates it as a God: and if it was not for the dread of being thought vehemently insane, he would sacrifice to his beloved⁵², as to a statue and a God. But, in consequence of surveying this beautiful object, he experiences a mutation in his feelings, a perspiration and unaccustomed heat⁵³, such as horror produces. For, receiving the influx of beauty through his eyes, he becomes hot, and this irrigates the nature of his wings; but when heated, whatever belongs to the germinating of his pinions liquefies, and which formerly being compressed through hardness restrained the vigour of their shoots. But an influx of nutriment taking place, the quill of the wing swells, and endeavours to burst forth, through the whole form of the soul: for the whole was formerly winged. The whole, therefore, in this case, becomes fervid, and leaps upward. And as infants, during the growth of their teeth, are tormented with the friction and pain of their gums, in the same manner is the soul affected with respect to the shooting forth of its wings: for it becomes subject to an immoderate heat, titillation, and torment. When, therefore, it beholds the beauty of some human form, then imbibing the parts which flow from thence, and which is on this account called desire, it becomes irrigated and heated, ceases to be in pain, and rejoices. But when it is separated from this vision of beauty, and becomes dry through heat, then the orifices of the passages through which the feathers endeavoured to shoot forth, being closed, impede the offspring of the wing. But these being shut in together with desire, and leaping about like things subject to palpitation, strike against the avenues of their progression. Hence, the whole soul, becoming pierced on all sides in a circle, is agitated with fury, and tormented; but, through the memory of the beautiful, again exults with delight. But, from the mixture of both these, it is grievously tormented, through the novelty of the passion, and becomes dubious and raging; and, while it is thus furious, can neither sleep by night, nor abide any where by day; but runs about agitated by desire, wherever there is any probability of obtaining the vision of beauty. But beholding the beloved beautiful object, and deducing desire, as through a channel, it now frees from confinement what was before inclosed; and, by this means enjoying the benefit of respiration, is liberated from its incitements and parturitions. For the present, therefore, it reaps the advantage of this most delicious pleasure; [252a] by which it is so charmed, that it would never voluntarily depart from its allurements, nor does it esteem any thing so much as this beloved beauty, but delivers over to oblivion its parents, brethren, and friends; and, besides this, considers the dissipation of its possessions through negligence as a thing of no consequence, and perfectly despises those legal institutions and decencies in which it formerly gloried; and is always prepared for every kind of servitude and subjection, so that it may be near to the object of its desire. For, besides reverencing that which possesses beauty, it finds that this alone is the physician of its greatest diseases.
[252a] This passion therefore, O beautiful youth, which is the subject of my present discourse, is called by men Love⁵⁴: but if you should hear how it is denominated by the Gods, you would probably laugh, on account of your youth. But I think that certain Homerics assert, from some recondite verses, that there are two poems upon Love, one of which calls him perfectly injurious, and not very elegant; but they celebrate him as follows:
[252b] By men Love’s flying called; but, forced to fly,
He’s named the winged, by the powers on high.
[252c] In these it is partly lawful to believe, and partly not. This however is the cause, and the passion of lovers. When any one, therefore, of the attendants upon Jupiter⁵⁵ is taken captive, such a one is able to bear with greater firmness the burthen of this winged God: but such as are subservient to Mars⁵⁶, and revolve in conjunction with that deity, when they are ensnared by love, and think that they are in any respect treated unjustly by their beloved, they are easily incited to slaughter, and are ready to destroy both themselves and the objects of their regard. And thus every one honours the God, round whom he harmoniously revolves, and imitates his life as much as possible, and as long as he remains free from corruption: and after this manner he lives here his first generation, and associates with, and conducts himself towards, his beloved and others. [252d] Every one, therefore, chooses the love of beauty after his own fashion, and, as if he considered it with respect to himself a God, he fabricates and adorns it like a statue, and as that which is the object of his adoration and sacrifice. Such, therefore, as are the followers of Jupiter seek after a soul belonging to this God for the object of their affection. Hence, they consider whether he is naturally philosophic, and adapted to command; and when they find their beloved with such dispositions, they endeavour by all possible means to render him completely such. [252e] If, therefore, they have not already endeavoured to obtain what they desire, then, through the incitements of love, they anxiously strive for its possession; learning by what means it may be acquired; and investigating by themselves how to discover the nature of their proper deity, they at length find it, through being compelled to look with vehemence towards their presiding God. But when they become connected with him through memory, and are agitated by a divine influence, they receive from him manners and pursuits, as far it is possible for man to participate of divinity. [253a] And as they consider the object of their love as the cause of all this, their love becomes still more vehement. If, too, they draw their afflatus from Jupiter, then, like the female priestesses of Bacchus, they pour their enthusiasm into the soul of their beloved, and by this means become as much as possible most similar to their ruling God. [253b] But such as follow Juno⁵⁷ seek after a royal soul; which when they have discovered, they act in every respect towards it in a manner similar to the attendant on Jupiter. But the followers of Apollo, and of each of the other Gods, imitating their several deities, seek after a beloved object who is naturally affected like themselves. This when they have obtained, both by imitation, persuasion, and elegant manners, they endeavour by all means to lead their beloved to the pursuits and idea of their peculiar God; not, indeed, by employing envy and illiberal malevolence towards the objects of their affection, but by endeavouring to conduct them to a perfect similitude to the God whom they particularly adore. The willing desire, therefore, and end of true lovers, if they obtain the object of their pursuit, is such as I have described: and thus they become illustrious and blessed, through the fury of love towards the beloved, when the beloved object is once obtained.
[253b] But every one who is allured is captivated in the following manner. In the beginning of this fable⁵⁸, we assigned a triple division to every soul; [253c] and we established two certain species as belonging to the form of the horses, and considered the charioteer as the third species. Let this division, therefore, remain the same for us at present. But one of the horses, we said, was good, and the other not. But we have not yet declared what the virtue is of the good horse, or the vice of the bad one; it is therefore proper that we should now declare it. The good horse⁵⁹, therefore, subsists in a more beautiful condition, is erect, well-articulated, has its neck lofty, its nose somewhat aquiline, its colour white, and its eyes black. [253d] It is likewise a lover of honour⁶⁰, together with temperance and modesty; is the companion of true opinion, is not whipped, and is only to be governed by exhortation and reason. But the bad one is crooked⁶¹, various, rash in its motions, stiff and short-necked, flat-nosed, of a black colour, having its eyes gray, and being full of blood; is the companion of injury and arrogance, has its ears hairy and deaf, and is scarcely obedient to the whip and the spur. [253e] When, therefore, the charioteer beholds the amatory eye inflaming all the soul, through sensible perception, and filling it with the incentives of titillation and desire, then, as always, the horse which is obedient to the charioteer, violently checking its motions, through shame restrains itself from leaping on the beloved object. But the other cannot be held back, either by the spur or whip of the charioteer; but hurries along violently, leaping and exulting, and, fully employing the charioteer and its associate, compels both of them to rush along with it to venereal delight. [254a] Both these, however, resist its violence from the beginning, and indignantly endure to be thus compelled to such dire and lawless conduct. But at length, when there is no end of the malady, in consequence of being borne along by compulsion, they now give way, consent to do what they are ordered, and deliver themselves up to the survey of the splendid aspect of the beloved. But the charioteer, from a vision of this kind, recovers the memory of the nature of beauty, and again perceives it firmly established, together with temperance, in a pure and holy⁶² seat. [254b] In consequence, however, of such a perception he is terrified, and through reverence falls supine, and at the same time is compelled to draw back the reins with such vehemence, that both the horses fall upon their hips; the one indeed willingly, through his not making any resistance; but the other with arrogant opposition, through his extreme unwillingness to comply. But when they have departed to a greater distance in their course, the one, through shame and astonishment, moistens all the soul with sweat; but the other, being liberated from the pain which he had suffered through the bridle and the fall, [254c] is scarcely able to breathe, and, full of anger, reviles the charioteer and his partner in the course, as deserting order and the compact through effeminacy and fear; and again compelling them to proceed, though perfectly unwilling, he scarcely complies with them, requesting some delay. But when the appointed time for which the delay was granted arrives, and which they feign themselves to have forgotten, then the vicious horse, violently urging, neighing, and hurrying them away, compels them to address the beloved again in the same language as before. [254d] When, therefore, they approach near, then bending and extending his tail, and champing the bridle, he draws them along with importunate impudence. But the charioteer, being still more affected in this manner, and falling down as it were from the goal, pulls back the reins with still greater violence from the teeth of the injurious horse, represses his reviling tongue and bloody jaws, fixes his legs and hips on the ground, and thus torments him for his behaviour. [254e] But when the vicious horse has often endured a punishment of this kind, he is at length rendered humble and submissive, and follows the providential directions of the charioteer; so that he is lost as it were on seeing a beautiful object. Hence it sometimes happens, that the soul of a lover follows its beloved with reverence and fear, and that the lover pays it every kind of observance and attention as if it was equal to a God; and this not with any dissimulation, but in consequence of being really thus affected: so that, when the beloved happens to be naturally a friend, then his friendship conspires into one with that of his obsequious lover.
[255a] If, therefore, in some former period of time, he has been deceived by his associates, or by some other persons, asserting that it was base to be familiar with a lover, and has on this account rejected his lover; yet advancing age, and the wants of nature, lead him to the converse of love. For it was never decreed by fate, either that the evil should be a friend to the evil, or that the good should not be a friend to the good. When, therefore, the youth admits his lover to an intimate familiarity with him, then the benevolence of the lover astonishes the beloved, in consequence of perceiving that all other friends and associates exhibit no portion of friendship which can be compared with that of a friend divinely inspired. [255b] But when the lover continues to act in this manner for a long space of time, living with his beloved in high familiarity, frequently touching him in gymnastics and other associations, then the fountain of that effluxion which Jupiter, when enamoured with Ganymedes, denominated desire, streaming abundantly towards the lover, is partly infused into him, and partly through its exuberance flows forth externally. And as air, or a certain echo, when received by smooth and solid bodies, is again impelled to the place from whence it proceeded; [255c] so this effluxion of beauty, flowing back again to the beautiful through the eyes, as it is naturally adapted to penetrate into the soul, and stimulate the avenues of the wings, now irrigates, and excites them to shoot forth their feathers, and fills the soul of the beloved with love. Hence he loves, but is doubtful concerning what he loves; and neither knows what he suffers, nor is able to relate it: but just like an eye infected with the vision of another eye which is diseased, he is unable to assign the cause of his malady, and is ignorant that he beholds himself in his lover, as in a mirror. [255d] Hence, when his lover is present, he, like him, ceases to be in pain; but, when he is absent, he desires in the same manner as he is desired, possessing, instead of love, nothing more than an image of love; and he denominates it, and thinks that it is not love, but friendship. He desires, therefore, in a manner similar to his lover, though more feebly, to see, to touch, to love, to sit together; and, as it is reasonable to suppose, he performs all this afterwards with the greatest celerity. [255e] Hence, in their most intimate associations, the intemperate horse of the lover calls on the charioteer, and tells him that he ought to be gratified with a small degree of pleasure, as the reward of such mighty labours: but the same horse of the beloved has, indeed, nothing to say; but, distended and dubious, it embraces the lover, full of vehement benevolence towards him, and is prepared to comply in every respect with the desires of the beloved. But the conjoined horse, together with the charioteer, resists this familiarity through reason and shame. [256a] If, therefore, the better parts of the dianoëtic power obtaining the victory lead the lovers to an orderly and philosophic mode of conduct, then they pass [256b] through the present life with felicity and concord, subduing themselves, and adorned with modest manners; the vicious part of the soul being in subjection, and the virtuous, free. But, arriving at the end of the present life, they become winged and light, in consequence of being victors in one of the truly Olympic contests⁶³; a greater good than which, neither human temperance, nor divine fury, can extend to man. [256c] But if they lead a more arrogant and unphilosophic life, but at the same time united with ambition, their intemperate horse will perhaps lead their unguarded souls into intoxication, or some other indolent habits; cause them to embrace those delights which the multitude consider as the most blessed of all pleasures; and will fix them in continual endeavours to gain the object of their desire. They will, therefore, exercise themselves in these delights, but this, however, rarely; because the whole of the dianoëtic nature does not consent to such enjoyments. These too will live in friendship with each other, as well as the former, through the external effluxion of love, but in a less fervent degree; [256d] thinking that they ought both to give and receive from each other the greatest confidence, which it is unlawful to dissolve, and by this means become enemies instead of friends. But, in their exit from the present body, they will not be winged indeed, but will be excited to emit their pinions; so that they will carry with them no small reward of amatory fury. For the law forbids those who are now beginning the celestial progression, to enter into darkness, and the subterranean journey; but orders them, in consequence of leading a splendid life, to be happy with each other during their progressions; and that, when they are similarly winged, this shall take place for the sake of love. [256e] Such then, O young man, so numerous, and so divine are the benefits which the friendship of a lover will confer on you. But the familiarity of one who is void of love, being mingled with mortal temperance, and dispensing mortal and niggardly concerns, will generate in the soul of its friendly associate that illiberality which is considered as virtue by the vulgar, and will cause it to wander for nine thousand years with a rolling motion upon and under the earth.
[257a] And thus, O beloved Love, through the impulse of Phædrus, we have rendered and extended to thee a recantation, clothed in poetic figures and expressions, in the most beautiful and best manner we are able to accomplish. Wherefore, pardoning what we before asserted, and gratefully⁶⁴ receiving our present discourse, continue benignantly and propitiously the amatory art⁶⁵ which you have conferred on me, neither taking away nor diminishing its possession through avenging anger. [257b] But grant, that among such as are beautiful I may yet be more honoured than at present. And if Phædrus and I have formerly said any thing severe against thy divinity, grant that, accusing Lysias as the author of such a discourse, we may desist from all such assertions in future; and besides this, graciously convert him to the study of philosophy, like his brother Polemarchus, so that this lover of his may no longer tend hither and thither, without any stability, as is the case at present, but may ingenuously pass his life in future, in conjunction with love and philosophic discourses.
[257c] Phædrus: I unite with you in prayer, Socrates, if it is better that all this should happen to us. But I have some time since wondered at your discourse; as it so far surpasses that which was formerly delivered, that I am afraid, lest Lysias himself should appear but mean, if he is desirous to enter the lists against another. And, indeed, but lately a very principal person in the commonwealth branded him with this very epithet; calling him, through the whole of his accusation, nothing more than a composer of orations. Perhaps, therefore, he will desist through ambition from writing any more.
[257d] Socrates: You assert, O young man, a ridiculous opinion; and you very much wander from the intention of your associate, if you think him so extremely timid: but perhaps you think that his reviler has spoken the truth in what he has said against him.
[257d] Phædrus: To me it appears so indeed, Socrates: and you yourself know, that the most powerful and venerable in a city are ashamed to compose orations, and to leave their writings behind them, dreading the opinion of posterity, lest they should be called sophists.
[257e] Socrates: You are ignorant, Phædrus, that the proverb, A couch is pleasant, is derived from that long curvature which is about the Nile⁶⁶: and, besides this, you are ignorant that the most prudent of politicians particularly love to compose orations, and to leave their writings behind them; and are so fond of those who extol their works, as to give the first place in their writings to such as celebrate their productions every where.
[258a] Phædrus: How do you mean? For I do not understand you.
[258a] Socrates: What, do not you know that, in the beginning of a politician’s book, the very first thing that makes its appearance is the person by whom the book is praised?
[258b] Phædrus: How?
[258b] Socrates: Why, it says, that it is approved by the council, or the people, or by both. And he who says this, says it, at the same time extremely reverencing and celebrating himself as the author. But after this he speaks in such a manner as to show his wisdom to his admirers, and sometimes accomplishes this in a very long discourse. Does this, therefore, appear to you to be any thing else than a written oration?
[258b] Phædrus: It does not.
[258b] Socrates: If, therefore, this happens to be approved, he departs rejoicing from the theatre, like a poet. But if it should be rejected, and he should be excluded from composing orations, and should be considered as unworthy to be an author, both he and his friends are afflicted on the account.
[258b] Phædrus: And, indeed, very much so.
[258c] Socrates: In this, therefore, it is sufficiently evident, that they do not despise a study of this kind, but hold it in the highest estimation.
[258c] Phædrus: Entirely so.
[258c] Socrates: But what, when a rhetorician, or a king, acquires an ability like that of Lycurgus, or Solon, or Darius, so as to be reckoned an immortal writer by the city, will he not think himself equal to a God, while he is yet alive? and will not posterity entertain the same opinion respecting him, upon surveying his writings?
[258d] Phædrus: Very much so.
[258d] Socrates: Do you think then that any such person, however malevolent he may be, would revile Lysias, merely because he is a writer?
[258d] Phædrus: It does not seem probable from what you have said: for he would revile, as it appears, his own pursuit.
[258d] Socrates: From hence, therefore, it must be evident to every one, that no one is scandalous merely from composing orations.
[258d] Phædrus: For how should he?
[258d] Socrates: But this I think is in reality shameful, not to write and speak in a becoming manner, but shamefully and viciously.
[258d] Phædrus: Evidently so. What then is the mode of writing well and ill?
[258d] Socrates: Have we not occasion, Phædrus, to inquire this of Lysias or of some other, who has either at any time written any thing, or is about to write; whether his composition is political, or on private subjects; whether it is in measure like the works of a poet, or without measure like those of a private person?
[258e] Phædrus: Do you ask, if we have not occasion? For what purpose, as I may say, is our very life, but for the sake of pleasures of this kind? For, certainly, it is not for the sake of those pleasures which pain must necessarily antecede, or else no pleasure would subsist; which is nearly the case with all pleasures respecting the body. And, on this account, they are very justly denominated servile.
[259a] Socrates: But we have leisure, as it appears: and the grashoppers seem to me singing over our heads, as in the heat, and, discoursing with one another, to look also upon us. If, therefore, they should behold us, like the multitude, not discoursing in mid-day, but sleeping and allured by their singing, through the indolence of our dianoëtic power, they might very justly deride us; thinking that certain slaves had taken up their abode with them, in order to sleep like cattle by the side of the fountain during the fervour of the meridian sun. But if they perceive us engaged in discourse, and not captivated by their allurements as if they were Syrens, but sailing by them to our destined port, perhaps they will rejoice to bestow upon us that gift which, by the consent of the Gods, they are able to deliver to men.
[259b] Phædrus: But what gift is this which they possess? For I do not recollect that I ever heard what it is⁶⁷.
[259b] Socrates: And yet it is not proper that a man studious of the Muses should be ignorant of things of this kind. [259c] But it is said that these insects were formerly men⁶⁸, before the Muses had a being; that when the Muses made their appearance, and had given birth to the song, some of these were so ensnared by the pleasure which it produced, that through singing they neglected the proper sustenance of the body, and, thus wasting away, at length perished: but that from these the race of grashoppers was produced, who received this gift⁷⁰ from the Muses, that they should never want nutriment, but should continue singing without meat or drink till they died; and that after death they should depart to the Muses, and inform them what Muse was honoured by some particular person among us. Hence that, by acquainting Terpsichore with those who reverence her in the dance⁷¹, they render her propitious to such. By informing Erato of her votaries, they render her favourable in amatory concerns; and the rest in a similar manner, according to the species of veneration belonging to each. But that they announce to the most antient Calliope, and after her to Urania, those who have lived in the exercise of philosophy, and have cultivated the music over which they preside; these Muses more than all the rest being conversant with the heavens, and with both divine and human discourse; and sending forth the most beautiful voice. On many accounts, therefore, it is necessary to say something, and not to sleep in mid-day.
[259d] Phædrus: It is necessary, indeed.
[259e] Socrates: Let us, therefore, consider what we lately spoke of, viz. after what manner any one may both speak and write properly, or improperly.
[259e] Phædrus: By all means.
[259e] Socrates: Is it not, therefore, necessary, that he who is about to speak with propriety should possess a true⁷³ dianoëtic perception of that which is the subject of his discourse?
[260a] Phædrus: I have heard, my dear Socrates, that it is not necessary that he who engages in the profession of an orator should learn what is truly just⁷⁴, but only that which appears so to the multitude, who undertake to judge; nor, again, what is truly good or beautiful, but only what appears to be so: for that persuasion is derived from these, and not from truth.
[260a] Socrates: The sayings of the wise, Phædrus, are by no means to be despised, but we should rather consider the meaning of their assertions; and, consequently, we must not pass by what you have now said.
[260a] Phædrus: You speak properly.
[260a] Socrates: Let us then consider this matter as follows.
[260b] Phædrus: How?
[260b] Socrates: Suppose I should persuade you to fight your enemies on horseback, but at the same time both of us should be ignorant what a horse is; and that I only should know respecting you, that Phædrus thinks a horse is an animal which has the greatest ears of all domestic animals.
[260b] Phædrus: This would be ridiculous indeed, Socrates.
[260c] Socrates: Not yet; but when I should earnestly persuade you to do this by a discourse composed in praise of an ass, calling him a horse, and asserting that he is a most excellent animal, useful for domestic and military purposes, able to carry burthens, and adapted for a variety of other employments.
[260c] Phædrus: This, indeed, would be perfectly ridiculous.
[260c] Socrates: Is it not, therefore, better that a friend should be ridiculous, than that he should be wicked, and an enemy?
[260c] Phædrus: It appears so.
[260d] Socrates: When an orator, therefore, who is ignorant of good and evil, endeavours to persuade a city in a like condition, not indeed by praising the shadow of an ass, as if it was that of a horse, but by praising evil, as if it was good, being anxiously solicitous about the opinion of the multitude, and thus persuades them to do evil instead of good; what crop do you think the orator can reap after such a semination?
[260d] Phædrus: Not a very good one.
[260d] Socrates: Have we not therefore, my friend, reviled the art of speaking in a more rustic manner than is becoming? For the art itself will, perhaps, thus address us: “What delirium, O wonderful men, has invaded you? For I compel no one who is ignorant of truth to learn how to speak: but if any one will take my advice, he will then only employ me, when he has acquired the possession of truth. This, then, I assert as a thing of great consequence, that without me even he who knows realities will not, for all this, be able to procure persuasion.” Will not the art, therefore, speak justly, by making such a declaration?
[260e] Phædrus: I confess it, if our subsequent reasons evince that rhetoric is an art. For I think I have heard some arguments, which assert that it deceives, and that it is not an art, but an unartificial exercise. But the true art of speaking, says Laco, never was, nor ever will be unaccompanied by truth. This then is what they say⁷⁵, Socrates. But, bringing them hither, let us inquire of them what they assert, and in what manner.
[261a] Socrates: Be present then, ye generous animals, and persuade the beautiful youth, Phædrus, that unless he philosophizes sufficiently, he will never sufficiently speak about any thing. But let Phædrus answer to the interrogations. Is not the whole rhetorical art that which leads the soul by discourses, not in judicial matters only, and other public concerns, but also in private affairs, and these whether trifling or important? And is there any thing more honourable than to act according to the true rules of this art, both in important and inconsiderable affairs? Or have you not heard that this is the case?
[261b] Phædrus: I am not, by Jupiter, perfectly acquainted with all this. But it is spoken of, and written about, as an art for the most part conversant with judicial matters and speeches; but I have not heard that it extends any further.
[261b] Socrates: What, have you heard of the rhetorical art which Nestor and Ulysses exercised at Troy, but have never heard about that of Palamedes?
[261c] Phædrus: I have indeed, by Jupiter, heard about the orations of Nestor: unless you will prove that Gorgias is a certain Nestor, or Thrasymachus and Theodorus a certain Ulysses.
[261c] Socrates: Perhaps they may be so; but let us drop any further discourse about these. And do you inform me what litigators do in judicial matters: do they not contradict? Or shall we say they do any thing else?
[261c] Phædrus: Nothing else.
[261c] Socrates: But are not their contradictions about just and unjust?
[261d] Phædrus: Certainly.
[261d] Socrates: But does not he who accomplishes this by art, cause the same thing to appear to the same persons, whenever he pleases, at one time just, and at another time unjust?
[261d] Phædrus: But what then?
[261d] Socrates: And in his oration does he not cause the same things to appear to the city at one time good, and at another time just the contrary?
[261d] Phædrus: Certainly.
[261d] Socrates: And do we not know that the Eleatic Palamedes is reported to have been able by his art to cause the same things to appear to his hearers, both similar and dissimilar, one and many, abiding and borne along?
[261d] Phædrus: Certainly.
[261e] Socrates: The contradictory art, therefore, takes place, not only in judicial matters and orations, but, as it appears, about every thing which is the subject of discourse; since it is one art, enabling us to assimilate every thing to every thing, both such things as are capable of assimilation, and those to which they are able to be assimilated; and, besides this, to lead them into light, nothwithstanding their being assimilated and concealed by something else.
[261e] Phædrus: How do you mean?
[261e] Socrates: My meaning will appear in the following inquiries: Does deception subsist in things which differ much, or but a little, from each other?
[261e] Phædrus: In things which differ but a little.
[262a] Socrates: But, by making a transition according to small advances, you will effect a greater concealment, while passing on to that which is contrary, than you will by a transition according to great advances.
[262a] Phædrus: How should it not be so?
[262a] Socrates: It is necessary, therefore, that he who is about to deceive another should accurately know the similitude and dissimilitude of things.
[262a] Phædrus: It is necessary.
[262a] Socrates: Is it possible, therefore, that he who is ignorant of the truth of every thing can judge concerning the similitude, whether great or small, which subsists in other things?
[262b] Phædrus: It is impossible.
[262b] Socrates: It is evident, therefore, that such as conceive opinions contrary to the truth of things, and who are deceived, are thus affected through certain similitudes.
[262b] Phædrus: The case is so.
[262b] Socrates: Can, therefore, he who is ignorant about the nature of each particular, artificially deliver any thing, by passing according to small advances into its contrary, through similitudes? Or can such a one avoid falling into error?
[262b] Phædrus: He cannot.
[262b] Socrates: Hence then, my friend, he who is ignorant of truth, and is led by opinion, will, as it appears, exhibit a ridiculous and inartificial rhetoric.
[262c] Phædrus: It appears so.
[262c] Socrates: Are you willing, therefore, both in the oration of Lysias, which you now carry about you, and in that which we delivered, to see what we have asserted without art, and what is agreeable to art?
[262c] Phædrus: I am above all things willing. For we speak at present in a trifling manner, as we are without sufficient examples.
[262d] Socrates: But, indeed, as it appears, some reasons have been given, through the assistance of a certain fortune, which have all the force of examples, evincing that he who knows the truth will, even while he jests in his discourse, attract his auditors. And I consider, O Phædrus, the local Gods as the cause of this. Perhaps, also, the interpreters of the Muses, singing over our heads, have inspired us with this ability: for I myself participate of no art⁷⁶ belonging to discourse.
[262d] Phædrus: Let it be as you say; only render what you assert evident.
[262d] Socrates: Come then, read over the beginning of Lysias’s oration.
[262e] Phædrus: “You are well acquainted with the state of my affairs; and you have heard, I think, that it is most conducive to my advantage for them to subsist in this manner. But it appears to me, that I am not unworthy to be deprived of what I wish to obtain, because I am not one of your lovers: for lovers, when their desires cease, repent themselves of the benefits which they have bestowed.”
[263a] Socrates: Stop there: are we not then to show, in what he is faulty, and in what respect he has acted without art?
[263a] Phædrus: Certainly.
[263a] Socrates: Is it not, therefore, manifest to every one, that when we speak upon certain subjects we are unanimous in our conceptions; but when upon others, that we are discordant in our opinions?
[263a] Phædrus: I seem to understand what you say; but, notwithstanding this, speak more plainly.
[263a] Socrates: When any one pronounces the name of iron or silver, do we not all understand the same thing?
[263a] Phædrus: Entirely so.
[263a] Socrates: But when we pronounce that of the just, or the good, are we not of different opinions? and do we not doubt both with others and ourselves?
[263a] Phædrus: Very much so.
[263b] Socrates: In some things, therefore, we agree in sentiments, and in others not.
[263b] Phædrus: We do so.
[263b] Socrates: Where, then, are we more easily deceived? And in which of these is rhetoric able to accomplish the most?
[263b] Phædrus: Evidently in those about which we are dubious.
[263c] Socrates: He, therefore, who is about to pursue the rhetorical art, ought first of all to distinguish these in order; to consider the character of each species; and to perceive in what the multitude must necessarily be dubious, and in what not.
[263c] Phædrus: He who is able to accomplish this, Socrates, will understand a beautiful species.
[263c] Socrates: Afterwards, I think, he ought not to be ignorant when he comes to particulars, but to perceive acutely to what genus the subject of his future discourse belongs.
[263c] Phædrus: What then?
[263c] Socrates: With respect to Love, shall we say that it belongs to things dubious, or to such as are not so?
[263d] Phædrus: To things dubious, certainly.
[263d] Socrates: Do you think he would permit you to assert that respecting him which you have now asserted, that he is pernicious both to the beloved and the lover; and again, that he is the greatest of all goods?
[263d] Phædrus: You speak in the best manner possible.
[263d] Socrates: But inform me also of this (for, through the enthusiastic energy, I do not perfectly remember), whether I defined love in the beginning of my discourse.
[263d] Phædrus: By Jupiter you did, and that in a most wonderful manner.
[263e] Socrates: O how much more sagacious do you declare the Nymphs of Acheloüs, and Pan the son of Mercury, to be, than Lysias the son of Cephalus, with respect to orations! Or do I say nothing to the purpose? But did not Lysias, in the beginning of his discourse, compel us to conceive of love, as a certain something such as he wished it to be, and, referring what followed to this, complete in this manner the whole of his oration? Are you willing that we should again read over the beginning of his oration?
[263e] Phædrus: If you are so disposed; though you will not find what you seek for there.
[263e] Socrates: Read, however, that I may again hear it.
[263e] Phædrus: “You are well acquainted with the state of my affairs, and you have heard, I think, that it is most conducive to my advantage for them to subsist in this manner. But it appears to me, that I am not unworthy to be deprived of what I wish to obtain, because I am not one of your lovers: for lovers, when their desires cease, repent themselves of the benefits which they have bestowed.”
[264a] Socrates: He seems here to have been very far from accomplishing what we are now seeking after; since he endeavours to pass through his discourse, not commencing from the beginning, but from the end, after a certain contrary and resupine mode of proceeding; and begins from what the lover, now ceasing to be such, says to his once beloved. Or perhaps, my dear Phædrus, I say nothing to the purpose.
[264a] Phædrus: But it is the end, Socrates, which is the subject of his discourse.
[264a] Socrates: But what, do not all the other parts of the discourse appear to be promiscuously scattered? Or does it appear to you, that what is asserted in the second place ought to rank as second from a certain necessity; or any thing else which he says? For to me, as a person ignorant of every thing, it appears, that nothing ought to be carelessly asserted by a writer. But do you not possess a certain necessary method of composing orations, according to which he thus disposed the parts of his oration in succession to each other?
[264b] Phædrus: You are pleasant, Socrates, in supposing that I am sufficient to judge concerning compositions so accurate as his.
[264c] Socrates: But I think this is evident to you, that every discourse ought in its structure to resemble an animal, and should have something which can be called its body; so that it may be neither without a head, nor be destitute of feet, but may possess a middle and extremes, adapted to each other, and to the whole.
[264c] Phædrus: How should it not be so?
[264d] Socrates: Consider, therefore, the discourse of your associate, whether it subsists with these conditions, or otherwise; and you will find, that it is in no respect different from that epigram which certain persons report was composed on the Phrygian Midas.
[264d] Phædrus: What was the epigram, and what are its peculiarities?
[264d] Socrates: It was as follows;
[264e] A brazen virgin traveller am I,
Whom fate decrees in Midas’ tomb to lie:
And while streams flow, and trees luxuriant bloom,
I here shall stay within the mournful tomb;
And this to every passenger attest,
That here the ashes of king Midas rest.
[264e] But that it is of no consequence as to the connection, which part of it is read first or last, you yourself, I doubt not, perceive.
[264e] Phædrus: You deride our oration, Socrates.
[265a] Socrates: Lest you should be angry, therefore, let us drop it; though it appears that many examples might be found in it, from an inspection of which we might derive the advantage of not attempting to imitate them. But let us proceed to the discussion of other orations: for they contain something, as it appears to me, which it is proper for those to perceive who are willing to speculate about orations.
[265a] Phædrus: But what is this something?
[265a] Socrates: That they are in a certain respect contrary to each other. For one kind asserts that the lover, and the other that he who is void of love, ought to be gratified.
[265a] Phædrus: And it asserts this, indeed, most strenuously.
[265a] Socrates: I should have thought that you would have answered more truly, “and indeed furiously so.” But what I inquire after is this—Do we say that love is a certain mania, or not?
[265a] Phædrus: A mania, certainly.
[265a] Socrates: But there are two species of mania; the one arising from human diseases; but the other from a divine mutation, taking place in a manner different from established customs.
[265c] Phædrus: Entirely so.
[265c] Socrates: But there are four parts of the divine mania, distributed according to the four divinities which preside over these parts. For we assign prophetic inspiration to Apollo, telestic or mystic to Bacchus, poetic to the Muses; and the fourth or amatory mania, which we assert to be the best of all, to Venus and Love. And I know not how, while we are representing by images the amatory passion, we perhaps touch upon a certain truth; and perhaps we are at the same time hurried away elsewhere. Hence, mingling together an oration not perfectly improbable, we have produced a certain fabulous hymn, and have with moderate abilities celebrated your lord and mine, Phædrus, viz. Love, who is the inspective guardian of beautiful youths.
[265c] Phædrus: And this, indeed, so as to have rendered it far from unpleasant to me your auditor.
[265c] Socrates: Let us, therefore, from this endeavour to understand how our discourse has passed from censure to praise.
[265c] Phædrus: What do you mean by this?
[265d] Socrates: To me we seem to have really been at play with respect to the other parts of our discourse: but I think that if any one is able to comprehend, according to art, these two species which we have spoken of, through a certain fortune, he will not be an ungraceful person.
[265d] Phædrus: How do you mean?
[265d] Socrates: By looking to one idea, to bring together things every way dispersed; that, by thus defining each, he may always render manifest that which he is desirous to teach: just as we acted at present with respect to our definition of Love, whether good or bad. For certainly our discourse by this means became more clear, and more consistent with itself.
[265d] Phædrus: But what do you say respecting the other species, Socrates?
[265e] Socrates: That this again should be cut into species according to members, naturally; not by breaking any member, like an unskilful cook, but, as in the above discourse, receiving the foam of the dianoëtic energy, as one common species. But as, in one body, members which are double and synonymous are called right or left, so our discourse considered the species of delirium within us as naturally one. [266a] And dividing the one part into that which is on the left hand, and giving this another distribution, it did not cease till it there found a certain sinister Love, and, when found, reviled it, as it deserves. But the other part conducted us to the right hand of mania, where we found a certain divine Love synonymous to the former; and, extending our praise, we celebrated him as the cause of the greatest good to us.
[266b] Phædrus: You speak most true.
[266b] Socrates: But I, O [266c] Phædrus, am a lover of such divisions and compositions as may enable me both to speak and understand. And if I think that any other is able to behold the one and the many, according to the nature of things, this man I follow, pursuing his footsteps as if he were a God. But whether or not I properly denominate those who are able to accomplish this, Divinity knows. But I have hitherto called them men conversant with dialectic. Tell me, therefore, by what name it is proper to call them, according to your opinion and that of Lysias. Or is this that art of speaking, which Thrasymachus and others employing, became themselves wise in oratory, and rendered others such, who were willing to bestow gifts on them, as if they had been kings?
[266c] Phædrus: Those were indeed royal men, but yet not skilled in the particulars about which you inquire. But you appear to me to have properly denominated this species in calling it dialectic; but the rhetorical art appears as yet to have escaped us.
[266d] Socrates: How do you say? Can there be any thing beautiful which is destitute of these particulars, and yet be comprehended by art? If this be the case, it is by no means to be despised by me and you; but we must relate what remains of the rhetorical art.
[266d] Phædrus: And there are many things, Socrates, which are delivered in books about the art of speaking.
[266d] Socrates: You have very opportunely reminded me. For I think you would say that the proœmium ought to be called the first part of the oration; and that things of this kind are the ornaments of the art.
[266d] Phædrus: Certainly.
[266d] Socrates: And, in the second place, a certain narration; and this accompanied with testimonies. In the third place, the reasoning. In the fourth, probable arguments: and besides this, I think that a certain Byzantine, the best artificer of orations, introduces confirmation and approbation.
[266e] Phædrus: Do you not mean the illustrious Theodorus?
[267a] Socrates: I do. For he discovered how confutation, both in accusation and defence, might not only take place, but also be increased. But why should we not introduce the most excellent Evenus, the Parian? For he first discovered sub-declarations, and the art of praising: and, according to the reports of some persons, he delivered his reprehensions in verse for the sake of assisting the memory. For he is a wise man. But shall we suffer Tisias⁷⁷ and Gorgias to sleep, who placed probabilities before realities; and, through the strength of their discourse, caused small things to appear large, and the large small; likewise old things new, and the new old; and who besides this discovered a concise method of speaking, and, again, an infinite prolixity of words? All which when Prodicus once heard me relate, he laughed, and asserted that he alone had discovered what words this art required; and that it required neither few nor many, but a moderate quantity.
[267a] Phædrus: You was, therefore, most wise, O Prodicus.
[267b] Socrates: But shall we not speak of Hippias? for I think that he will be of the same opinion with the Elean guest.
[267b] Phædrus: Why should we not?
[267c] Socrates: But what shall we say of the musical composition of Polus⁷⁸, who employed the doubling of words, a collection of sentences, similitudes, and elegance of appellations, in order to give splendour to his orations, according to the instruction which he had received from Lycimnion?
[267c] Phædrus: But were not the orations of Protagoras, Socrates, of this kind?
[267d] Socrates: His diction was indeed proper, and contained besides this many other beautiful properties: but the Chalcedonian orator excelled in exciting commiseration from the distresses of poverty, and the infirmities of old age. He was besides most skilful in rousing the multitude to anger, and when enraged appeasing them, as he said, by inchantment; and highly excelled in framing and dissolving calumnies, from whence the greatest advantage might be derived. But all seem to agree in opinion with respect to the conclusion of the oration, which some call the repetition, but others give it a different denomination.
[267d] Phædrus: Do you say that the conclusion summarily recalls into the memory of the auditors all that had been said before?
[267d] Socrates: I do, and any thing else besides, which you may have to say about this art.
[267e] Phædrus: What I have to say is but trifling, and not worth mentioning.
[268a] Socrates: Let us, therefore, dismiss trifling observations, and rather behold in the clear light, in what particulars the power of this art prevails, and when it does so.
[268a] Phædrus: Its power, Socrates, is most prevalent in the association of the multitude.
[268a] Socrates: It is so. But, O dæmoniacal man, do you also see, whether their web appears to you, as it does to me, to have its parts separated from each other?
[268a] Phædrus: Show me how you mean.
[268b] Socrates: Tell me then: If any one addressing your associate Eryximachus, or his father Acumenus, should say, I know how to introduce certain things to the body, by which I can heat and cool it when I please; and besides this, when I think proper I can produce vomiting, and downward ejection, and a variety of other things of this kind, through the knowledge of which I profess myself a physician, and able to make any one else so, to whom I deliver the knowledge of these particulars;—what do you think he who heard him ought to reply?
[268c] Phædrus: What else, than inquiring whether he knows to whom, when, and how far, each of these ought to be applied?
[268c] Socrates: If, therefore, he should say that he by no means understands all this, but that he who is instructed by him ought to do so and so; what then would be his answer?
[268c] Phædrus: He would answer, I think, that the man was mad; and that, having heard from some book about things of this kind, or met with some remedies, he thought he might become a physician without knowing any thing about the art.
[268c] Socrates: But what if any one, addressing Sophocles and Euripides, should say that he knew how to compose a prolix discourse on a very trifling subject, and a very short one on a great occasion; and that when he pleased he could excite pity, and its contrary, horror and threats, and other things of this kind; and that by teaching these he thought that he delivered the art of tragic poetry?
[268d] Phædrus: And these also, I think, Socrates, would deride him, who should fancy that a tragedy was any thing else than the composition of all these, so disposed as to be adapted to each other, and to the whole.
[268d] Socrates: And I think they would not rustically accuse him; [268e] but, just as if a musician should meet with a man who believes himself skilled in harmony, because he knows how to make a chord sound sharp and flat, he would not fiercely say to him, O miserable creature, you are mad; but, as being a musician, he would thus address him more mildly: O excellent man! it is necessary that he who is to be a musician should indeed know such things as these; but at the same time nothing hinders us from concluding, that a man affected as you are may not understand the least of harmony: for you may know what is necessary to be learned prior to harmony, without understanding harmony itself.
[269a] Phædrus: Most right.
[269a] Socrates: In like manner, Sophocles would reply to the person who addressed him, that he possessed things previous to tragedy, rather than tragedy itself: and Acumenus, that the medical pretender understood things previous to medicine, and not medicine itself.
[269a] Phædrus: Entirely so.
[269a] Socrates: But what if [269b] the mellifluous Adrastus, or Pericles, should hear those all-beautiful artificial inventions, concise discourses, similitudes, and other things which we said should be discussed in the light, do you think that they would be angry, as we were through our rusticity, with those who wrote about and taught such things as if they were the same with rhetoric? Or rather, as being wiser than us, would they not thus reprove us? It is not proper, Phædrus and Socrates, to be angry with such characters; but you ought rather to pardon those who, being ignorant of oratory, are unable to define what rhetoric is, and who in consequence of this passion, from possessing a knowledge of things previous to the art, think that they have discovered rhetoric itself; and, by teaching these to others, imagine that they teach rhetoric in perfection: but who at the same time leave to the proper industry of their disciples the art of disposing each of these, so as to produce persuasion, and of composing the whole oration, as if nothing of this kind was necessary for them to accomplish.
[269c] Phædrus: Such indeed, Socrates, does that art appear to be which these men teach and write about as rhetoric; and you seem to me to have spoken the truth: but how and from whence shall we be able to acquire the art of true rhetoric and persuasion?
[269d] Socrates: It is probable, Phædrus, and perhaps also necessary, that the perfect may be obtained in this as in other contests. For, if you naturally possess rhetorical abilities, you will become a celebrated orator, by the assistance of science and exercise: but if you are destitute of any one of these, you will be imperfect through this deficiency. But the method employed by Lysias and Thrasymachus does not appear to me to evince the magnitude of this art.
[269e] Phædrus: But what method then does?
[269e] Socrates: Pericles, most excellent man, appears with great propriety to have been the most perfect of all in the rhetorical art.
[270a] Phædrus: Why?
[270a] Socrates: All the great arts require continual meditation, and a discourse about the sublime parts of nature. For an elevation of intellect, and a perfectly efficacious power, appear in a certain respect to proceed from hence; which Pericles possessed in conjunction with his naturally good disposition. For meeting, I think, with Anaxagoras, who had these requisites, he was filled with elevated discourse, and comprehended the nature of intellect and folly, which Anaxagoras diffusely discussed: and from hence he transferred to the art of discourse whatever could contribute to its advantage.
[270a] Phædrus: How is this?
[270a] Socrates: In a certain respect the method of the rhetorical and medicinal art is the same.
[270b] Phædrus: But how?
[270b] Socrates: In both it is requisite that a distribution should be made, in one of the nature of body, in the other of the soul, if you are desirous in the first instance of giving health and strength by introducing medicine and nutriment according to art, and not by exercise and experience alone; and in the second instance, if you wish to introduce persuasion and virtue into the soul, by reason and legitimate institutions.
[270c] Phædrus: It is probable it should be so, Socrates.
[270c] Socrates: But do you think that the nature of the soul can be sufficiently known without the nature of the universe?
[270c] Phædrus: If it is proper to be persuaded by Hippocrates, the successor of Æsculapius, even the nature of body cannot be known without this method.
[270c] Socrates: He speaks in a becoming manner, my friend. But it is necessary, besides the authority of Hippocrates, to examine our discourse, and consider whether it is consistent.
[270c] Phædrus: I agree with you.
[270d] Socrates: Consider, then, what Hippocrates and true reason assert concerning nature. Is it not, therefore, necessary to think respecting the nature of every thing, in the first place, whether that is simple or multiform about which we are desirous, both that we ourselves should be artists, and that we should be able to render others so? And, in the next place, if it is simple, ought we not to investigate its power, with respect to producing any thing naturally, or being naturally passive? And if it possesses many species, having numbered these, ought we not to speculate in each, as in one, its natural power of becoming active and passive?
[270d] Phædrus: It appears we should, Socrates.
[270d] Socrates: The method, therefore, which proceeds without these, is similar to the progression of one blind. But he who operates according to art, ought not to be assimilated either to the blind or the deaf; but it is evident that whoever accommodates his discourses to any art, ought accurately to exhibit the essence of that nature to which he introduces discourses; and this is doubtless the soul.
[270e] Phædrus: Without doubt.
[270e] Socrates: Will not, therefore, all the attention of such a one be directed to this end, that he may produce persuasion in the soul?
[271a] Phædrus: Certainly.
[271a] Socrates: It is evident, therefore, that Thrasymachus, and any other person who applies himself to the study of the rhetorical art, ought first, with all possible accuracy, to describe, and cause the soul to perceive whether she is naturally one and similar, or multiform according to the form of body: for this is what we call evincing its nature.
[271a] Phædrus: Entirely so.
[271b] Socrates: But, in the second place, he ought to show what it is naturally capable of either acting or suffering.
[271b] Phædrus: Certainly.
[271b] Socrates: In the third place, having orderly distinguished the genera of discourses and of the soul, and the passions of these, he should pass through all the causes, harmonizing each to each, and teaching what kind of soul will be necessarily persuaded by such particular discourses, and through what cause; and again, what kind of soul such discourses will be unable to persuade.
[271c] Phædrus: Such a method of proceeding will, as it appears, be most beautiful.
[271c] Socrates: He, therefore, who acts in a different manner will neither artificially write nor discourse upon this or any other subject. But writers on the art of rhetoric of the present day (whom you yourself have heard) are crafty, and conceal from us that their knowledge of the soul is most beautiful. However, till they both speak and write according to this method, we shall never be persuaded that they write according to art.
[271c] Phædrus: What method do you mean?
[271c] Socrates: It will not be easy to mention the very words themselves which ought to be employed on this occasion; but as far as I am able I am willing to tell you how it is proper to write, if we desire to write according to art.
[271c] Phædrus: Tell me then.
[271d] Socrates: Since the power of discourse is attractive of the soul, it is necessary that the future orator should know how many species soul contains: but these are various, and souls possess their variety from these. Souls, therefore, of such a particular nature, in consequence of certain discourses, and through a certain cause, are easily persuaded to such and such particulars. But such as are differently affected are with difficulty persuaded through these means. It is necessary, therefore, that he who sufficiently understands all this, when he afterwards perceives these particulars taking place in actions, should be able to follow them with great celerity through sensible inspection; or otherwise he will retain nothing more than the words which he once heard from his preceptor. [271e] But when he is sufficiently able to say, who will be persuaded by such and such discourses, and sagaciously perceives that the person present is such by nature as was spoken of before, and that he may be incited by certain discourses to certain actions; then, at length, such a one will be a perfect master of this art, when to his former attainments he adds the knowledge of opportunely speaking, or being silent, the use or abuse of concise discourse, of language plaintive and vehement, and of the other parts of rhetoric delivered by his masters; but never till this is accomplished. But he who fails in any of these particulars, either in speaking, teaching, or writing, and yet asserts that he speaks according to art, is vanquished by the person he is unable to persuade. But what then (perhaps a writer of orations will say to us); does it appear to you, Phædrus and Socrates, that the art of speaking is to be obtained by this method, or otherwise?
[272a] Phædrus: It is impossible, Socrates, that it should be obtained otherwise, though the acquisition seems to be attended with no small labour.
[272b] Socrates: You speak the truth. And, for the sake of this, it is necessary, by tossing upwards and downwards all discourses, to consider whether any easier and shorter way will present itself to our view for this purpose; lest we should in vain wander through a long and rough road, when we might have walked through one short and smooth. If, therefore, you can afford any assistance, in consequence of what you have heard from Lysias, or any other, endeavour to tell it me, by recalling it into your mind.
[272c] Phædrus: I might indeed do this for the sake of experiment, but I cannot at present.
[272c] Socrates: Are you willing, therefore, that I should relate to you the discourse which I once heard concerning things of this kind?
[272c] Phædrus: How should I not?
[272c] Socrates: It is said therefore, Phædrus, to be just, to tell what is reported of the wolf.
[272c] Phædrus: Do you therefore [272d] act in the same manner.
[272e] Socrates: They say, then, that there is no occasion to extol and magnify these particulars in such a manner, nor to deduce our discourse from on high, and afar of. For, as we said in the beginning of this discourse, he who intends to be sufficiently skilful in rhetoric ought not to participate the truth respecting things just and good, or men who are such, either from nature or education. For, in judicial matters, no attention whatever is paid to the truth of these, but to persuasion alone; and that this is the probable, which ought to be studied by him who is to speak according to art. For he ought never to speak of transactions, unless they are probable; but both in accusation and defence probabilities should always be introduced: and, in short, he who speaks should pursue the probable, and, if he speaks much, should bid farewell to truth. For, when this method is observed through the whole of a discourse, it causes all the perfection of the art.
[273a] Phædrus: You have related those particulars, Socrates, which are asserted by the skilful in rhetoric; for I remember that we briefly touched upon this in the former part of our discourse. But to such as are conversant with these matters, this appears to be a thing of great consequence: but you have indeed severely reviled Tisias himself.
[273b] Socrates: Let then Tisias himself tell us, whether he calls the probable any thing else than that which is apparent to the multitude.
[273b] Phædrus: What else can he call it?
[273b] Socrates: He also appears to have discovered and written about the following crafty and artificial method: [273c] that if some imbecil but bold man should knock down one who is robust but timid, taking from him at the same time a garment, or something else, and should be tried for the assault, then neither of these ought to speak the truth; but that the coward should say, the bold man was not alone when he gave the assault; and that the bold man should deny this, by asserting that he was alone when the pretended assault was given, and should at the same time artfully ask, How is it possible that a man so weak as I am could attack one so robust as he is? That then the other should not acknowledge his cowardice, but should endeavour, by devising some false allegation, to accuse his opponent. And in other instances, things of this kind must be said according to art. Is not this the case, Phædrus?
[273d] Phædrus: Entirely so.
[273d] Socrates: O how craftily does Tisias appear to have discovered an abstruse art, or whoever else was the inventor, and in whatever other name he delights! But shall we, my friend, say this or not?
[273d] Phædrus: What?
[273d] Socrates: This: O Tisias, [273e] some time since, before your arrival, we affirmed that the probable, with which the multitude are conversant, subsisted through its similitude to truth: and we just now determined that similitudes might every where be found in the most beautiful manner, by him who was acquainted with truth. So that, if you assert any thing else about the art of discourse, we shall readily listen to you; but if not, we shall be persuaded by our present determinations, that unless a person enumerates the different dispositions of his auditors, and distributes things themselves into their species, and again is able to comprehend the several particulars in one idea, he will never be skilled in the art of speaking to that degree which it is possible for man to attain. But this degree of excellence can never be obtained without much labour and study; and a prudent man will not toil for its acquisition, that he may speak and act so as to be pleasing to men; but rather that, to the utmost of his ability, he may speak and act in such a manner as may be acceptable to the Gods. For men wiser than us, O Tisias, say that he who is endued with intellect ought not to make it the principal object of his study how he may gratify his fellow servants, but how he may please good masters, and this from good means. So that, if the circuit is long, you ought not to wonder: for it is not to be undertaken in the manner which seems proper to you, but for the sake of mighty concerns. And these, if any one is so disposed, will be most beautifully effected by this mean, as reason herself evinces.
[274a] Phædrus: This appears to me, Socrates, to be most beautifully said, if there is but a possibility that any one can accomplish the arduous undertaking.
[274b] Socrates: But to endeavour after beautiful attainments is beautiful, as likewise to endure whatever may happen to be the result of our endeavours.
[274b] Phædrus: Very much so.
[274b] Socrates: And thus much may suffice concerning a knowledge and ignorance of the art of rhetoric.
[274b] Phædrus: Certainly.
[274b] Socrates: Does it not therefore remain, that we should speak concerning the elegance and inelegance of writing?
[274b] Phædrus: Certainly.
[274b] Socrates: Do you know how you may in the highest degree please the divinity of discourse both in speaking and acting?
[274b] Phædrus: Not at all. Do you?
[274c] Socrates: I have heard certain particulars delivered by the antients, who were truly knowing. But if we ourselves should discover this, do you think we should afterwards be at all solicitous about human opinions?
[274c] Phædrus: Your question is ridiculous; but relate what you say you have heard.
[274c] Socrates: I have heard [274d] then, that about Naucratis, in Egypt, there was one of their antient Gods, to whom a bird was sacred, which they call Ibis; but the name of the dæmon himself was Theuth⁷⁹. According to tradition, this God first discovered number and the art of reckoning, geometry and astronomy, the games of chess and hazard, and likewise letters. But Thamus was at that time king of all Egypt, and resided in that great city of the Upper Egypt which the Greeks call Egyptian Thebes; but the God himself they denominate Ammon. Theuth, therefore, departing to Thamus, showed him his arts, and told him that he ought to distribute them amongst the other Egyptians. But Thamus asked him concerning the utility of each; and upon his informing him, he approved what appeared to him to be well said, but blamed that which had a contrary aspect. But Theuth is reported to have fully unfolded to Thamus many particulars respecting each art, which it would be too prolix to mention. But when they came to discourse upon letters, This discipline, O king, says Theuth, will render the Egyptians wiser, and increase their powers of memory. For this invention is the medicine of memory and wisdom. [274e] To this Thamus replied, O most artificial Theuth, one person is more adapted to artificial operations, but another to judging what detriment or advantage will arise from the use of these productions of art: and now you who are the father of letters, through the benevolence of your disposition, have affirmed just the contrary of what letters are able to effect. For these, through the negligence of recollection, will produce oblivion in the soul of the learner; [275a] because, through trusting to the external and foreign marks of writing, they will not exercise the internal powers of recollection. So that you have not discovered the medicine of memory, but of admonition. You will likewise deliver to your disciples an opinion of wisdom, and not truth. For, in consequence of having many readers without the instruction of a master, the multitude will appear to be knowing in many things of which they are at the same time ignorant; and will become troublesome associates, in consequence of possessing an opinion of wisdom, instead of wisdom itself.
[275b] Phædrus: You with great facility, Socrates, compose Egyptian discourses, and those of any other nation, when you are so disposed.
[275c] Socrates: But, my friend, those who reside in the temple of Dodonean Jupiter assert that the first prophetic discourses issued from the oak. It was sufficient, therefore, for those antients, as they were not so wise as you moderns, to listen to oaks and rocks, through their simplicity, if these inanimate things did but utter the truth. But you perhaps think it makes a difference who speaks, and to what country he belongs. For you do not alone consider, whether what is asserted is true or false.
[275c] Phædrus: You have very properly reproved me; and I think the case with respect to letters is just as the Theban Thamus has stated it.
[275c] Socrates: Hence, he who thinks to commit an art to writing, or to receive it, when delivered by this mean, so that something clear and firm may result from the letters, is endued with great simplicity, and is truly ignorant of the prophecy of Ammon; since he is of opinion, that something more is contained in the writing than what the things themselves contained in the letters admonish the scientific reader.
[275d] Phædrus: Most right.
[275d] Socrates: For that which is committed to writing contains something very weighty, and truly similar to a picture. [275e] For the offspring of a picture project as if they were alive; but, if you ask them any question, they are silent in a perfectly venerable manner. Just so with respect to written discourses, you would think that they spoke as if they possessed some portion of wisdom. But if, desirous to be instructed, you interrogate them about any thing which they assert, they signify one thing only, and this always the same. And every discourse, when it is once written, is every where similarly rolled among its auditors, and even among those by whom it ought not to be heard; and is perfectly ignorant, to whom it is proper to address itself, and to whom not. But when it is faulty or unjustly reviled, it always requires the assistance of its father. For, as to itself, it can neither resist its adversary, nor defend itself.
[275e] Phædrus: And this, also, you appear to have most rightly asserted.
[275e] Socrates: But what, shall we not consider another discourse, which is the genuine brother of this, how legimate it is, and how much better and more powerful it is born than this?
[276a] Phædrus: What is this? and how do you say it is produced?
[276a] Socrates: That which, in conjunction with science, is written in the soul of the learner, which is able to defend itself, and which knows to whom it ought to speak, and before whom it ought to be silent.
[276a] Phædrus: You speak of the living and animated discourse of one endued with knowledge; of which written discourse may be justly called a certain image.
[276b] Socrates: Entirely so. But answer me with respect to this also: Will the husbandman, who is endued with intellect, scatter such seeds as are most dear to him, and from which he wishes fruit should arise? Will he scatter them in summer in the gardens of Adonis, with the greatest diligence and attention, rejoicing to behold them in beautiful perfection within the space of eight days? Or rather, when he acts in this manner, will he not do so for the sake of some festive day, or sport? But, when seriously applying himself to the business of agriculture, will he not sow where it is proper, and be sufficiently pleased, if his sowing receives its consummation within the space of eight months?
[276c] Phædrus: He would doubtless act in this manner, Socrates, at one time sowing seriously, and at another time for diversion.
[276c] Socrates: But shall we say that the man who possesses the science of things just, beautiful and good, is endued with less intellect than a husbandman, with respect to the seeds which he sows?
[276c] Phædrus: By no means.
[276c] Socrates: He will not, therefore, with anxious and hasty diligence write them in black water, sowing them by this mean with his pen in conjunction with discourses; since it is thus impossible to assist them through speech, and impossible sufficiently to exhibit the truth.
[276c] Phædrus: This, therefore, is not proper.
[276d] Socrates: Certainly not. He will, therefore, sow and write in the gardens which letters contain for the sake of sport, as it appears; and when he has written, having raised monuments as treasures to himself, with a view to the oblivion of old age, if he should arrive to it, and for the like benefit of others who tread in the same steps, he is delighted on beholding his delicate progeny of fruits; and while other men pursue other diversions, irrigating themselves with banquets, and other entertainments which are the sisters of these, he on the contrary passes his time in the delights which conversation produces.
[276e] Phædrus: You speak, Socrates, of a most beautiful diversion, and not of a vile amusement, as the portion of him who is able to sport with discourse, and who can mythologize about justice, and other particulars which you speak of.
[276e] Socrates: For it is indeed so, my dear Phædrus. But, in my opinion, a much more beautiful study will result from discourses, when some one employing the dialectic art, and receiving a soul properly adapted for his purpose, plants and sows in it discourses, in conjunction with science; discourses which are sufficiently able to assist both themselves and their planter, and which are not barren, but abound with seed; from whence others springing up in different manners, are always sufficient to extend this immortal benefit, and to render their possessor blessed in as high a degree as is possible to man.
[277a] Phædrus: This which you speak of is still far more beautiful.
[277a] Socrates: But now, Phædrus, this being granted, are we able to distinguish and judge about what follows?
[277a] Phædrus: What is that?
[277b] Socrates: Those particulars for the sake of knowing which we came hither; that we might inquire into the disgrace of Lysias in the art of writing; and that we might investigate those discourses which are either written with or without art. To me, therefore, it appears that we have moderately evinced that which is artificial, and that which is not so.
[277b] Phædrus: It appears so.
[277b] Socrates: But again we ought to remember that no one can acquire perfection in the art of speaking, either with respect to teaching or persuading, till he is well acquainted with the truth of the particulars about which he either speaks or writes: till he is able to define the whole of a thing; and when defined, again knows how to divide it according to species, as far as to an indivisible: and, according to this method, contemplating the soul, and discovering a species adapted to the nature of each, he thus disposes and adorns his discourse; accommodating various and all-harmonious discourses to a soul characterized by variety; but such as are simple, to one of a simple disposition.
[277c] Phædrus: It appears to be so in every respect.
[277c] Socrates: But what shall we say to the question, whether it is beautiful or base to speak and write orations; and in what respect this employment may be blameable or not? unless what we have said a little before is sufficient for this purpose.
[277d] Phædrus: What was that?
[277d] Socrates: That whether Lysias, or any other, has at any [277e] time written, or now writes, so as to establish laws, either privately or publicly, composing a political work, and thinking that it contains great stability and clearness; this is base in a writer, whether any one says so or not. For to be ignorant of the difference between true visions and the delusions of sleep, between just and unjust, evil and good, cannot fail of being really base, though the whole rout of the vulgar should unite in its praise.
[278a] Phædrus: It cannot be otherwise.
[278a] Socrates: But he who in a written oration thinks that there is a great necessity for amusement, and who considers no discourse, whether in prose or verse, deserving of much study in its composition or recital, like those rhapsodists who without judgment and learning recite verses for the sake of persuasion, while in reality the best of those discourses were written for the sake of admonishing the skilful; but who thinks, that the clear, the perfect, and the serious, ought only to take place in discourses which teach and are delivered for the sake of learning, and which are truly written in the soul, about the just, the beautiful and the good; and who judges that discourses of this kind ought to be called his legitimate offspring; that, in the first place, which is inherent in himself, if he should find it there, and afterwards whatever offspring, or brethren, spring in a becoming manner from this progeny of his own soul in the souls of others, bidding at the same time farewell to all others;—a man of this kind, Phædrus, appears to be such a one as you and I should pray that we may be.
[278b] Phædrus: I perfectly desire and pray for the possession of what you speak of.
[278b] Socrates: We have, therefore, moderately spoken thus much about discourses, as it were in play: [278c] it only remains that you tell Lysias, that, descending with intellect to the stream of the Nymphs and Muses, we heard certain discourses, which they ordered us to acquaint Lysias with, and every other writer of orations, likewise Homer, and any other who may compose either naked poetry, or that which is adorned with the song; and in the third place Solon, and all who may commit political institutions to writing;—that if their compositions result from knowing the truth, and if they are able to defend their writings against the objections of adversaries who declare that they can evince the improbity of their discourses,—then, they ought not to be denominated from works of this kind, but from what they have seriously written.
[278c] Phædrus: What appellations, then, will you assign them?
[278d] Socrates: To call them wise, Phædrus, appears to me to be a mighty appellation, and adapted to a God alone; but to denominate them philosophers, or something of this kind, seems to be more convenient and proper.
[278d] Phædrus: There is nothing indeed unbecoming in such an epithet.
[278e] Socrates: He, therefore, who cannot exhibit any thing more honourable than what he has written, and who turns upwards and downwards his composition, for a considerable space of time, adding and taking away,—may not such a one be justly called a poet, or a writer of orations or laws?
[278e] Phædrus: Certainly.
[278e] Socrates: Relate these particulars, therefore, to your associate.
[278e] Phædrus: But what will you do? For it is not proper that your companion should be neglected.
[278e] Socrates: Who is he?
[278e] Phædrus: The worthy Isocrates. What will you tell him, Socrates? and what character shall we assign him?
[279a] Socrates: Isocrates as yet, Phædrus, is but a young man; but I am willing to tell you what I prophesy concerning him.
[279a] Phædrus: What?
[279a] Socrates: He appears to me to possess [279b] such excellent natural endowments, that his productions ought not to be compared with the orations of Lysias. Besides this, his manners are more generous; so that it will be by no means wonderful, if, when he is more advanced in age, he should far surpass, in those orations which are now the objects of his study, all the other boys who ever meddled with orations; or, if he should not be content with a pursuit of this kind, I think that a more divine impulse will lead him to greater attainments: for there is naturally, my friend, a certain philosophy in the dianoëtic part of this man. Tell, therefore, my beloved Isocrates this, as a piece of information which I have received from the Gods of this place; and do you likewise acquaint Lysias with the particulars which respect his character and pursuits, as a person who is the object of your warmest attachment.
[279b] Phædrus: Be it so; but let us depart, since the heat has now abated its fervour.
[279b] Socrates: But it is proper we should pray before we depart.
[279b] Phædrus: Undoubtedly.
[279b] Socrates: O beloved Pan, and all ye other Gods, who are residents of this place⁸⁰, grant that I may become beautiful within, and that whatever I possess externally may be friendly to my inward attainments! Grant, also, that I may consider the wise man as one who abounds in wealth; and that I may enjoy that portion of gold, which no other than a prudent man is able either to bear, or properly manage! Do we require any thing else, Phædrus? for to me it appears that I have prayed tolerably well.
[279c] Phædrus: Pray also in the same manner for me: for the possessions of friends are common.
[279c] Socrates: Let us then depart.

## Notes

[1] This Acumenus the physician is also mentioned by Plato in the Protagoras, and by Xenophon in the third book of the Sayings and Deeds of Socrates.
[2] Socrates acknowledges that he knew the three following things, viz. the amatory art, as in the Banquet he says concerning Diotima, “she taught me amatory affairs;” the maieu- tic art, as in the Theætetus he says, “divinity has ordered me to exercise obstetrication;” and the dialectic art, as in the Cratylus, “for I know nothing, says he, except to give and take words.”
[3] It is scarcely necessary to observe that Socrates says this ironically.
[4] Socrates desires to hear, because he vehemently wishes, from his amatory disposition, to energize divinely, and to save the youth.
[5] This Herodicus, as we are informed by Hermeas, was a physician, who made gymnastic exercises beyond the walls, beginning from a certain commensurate interval at no great distance, as far as to the wall, and turning back again; and doing this often, he performed his exercises.
[6] Not to hear once, but often, says Hermeas, manifests the unwearied labour of men about apparent beauty. The book here signifies that sensible beauties are images of images, as the letters in it are primarily indicative of the soul, but secondarily of the reasons proceeding from the soul. A dog is dedicated to Hermes, and is the last vestige of the Mercurial series. As the present hypothesis, therefore, is about the oration of Lysias, and Hermes is the inspective guardian of discourse, Socrates very properly swears by the dog. It may also be said that he thus swears as reverencing the extremity of this order, and through it calling the inspective Hermes himself as a witness.
[7] The left hand here manifests that a rhetoric of this kind is extended to the worse, or in other words, the passive part of the soul; and that it does not pertain to the pure power and summit of the rational soul, viz. to intellect, but rather to the doxastic and phantastic part. But the book being concealed under the garment of Phædrus, signifies that such rhetoric is involved in darkness, and is fallen from the light of science: for it is conversant with doxastic and material concerns, and with human trifles.
[8] The being without shoes here signifies promptitude, the unsuperfluous, and an aptitude to the anagogic, which indeed were always present with Socrates, but with Phædrus at that time, because he was about to be perfected by Socrates. The summer also, and mid-day, are adapted to re-elevation, conformably to that saying of Heraclitus, that the soul that has a dry splendour is the wisest. The dipping the feet in the brook signifies the touching on generation with the last and most abject powers of the soul; for these are indicated by the feet: the rational soul at the same time supernally contemplating generation. The breezes of wind also manifest the providential inspiration of the Gods: but the shade signifies an intelligible, unapparent, and elevating power; remote from that which is sensible and which agitates; for this latter is indicated by the light.
[9] The Athenians, says Hermeas, established a temple of Rural Diana, because this Goddess is the inspective guardian of every thing rural, and represses every thing rustic and uncultivated. But the altars and temples of the Gods, signify their allotments; as you may also call the altar and temple of the sun, and of the soul of the sun, this mundane body, or apparent solar orb. So that in this place the allotments and illuminations of the Gods themselves in temples will be the intelligible theory, and which investigates universal through particulars, and being through that which appears to subsist. But the temple of this theory will be intellect.
[10] A twofold solution, says Hermeas, may be given of this fable; one from history, more ethical, but the other transferring us to wholes. And the former of these is as follows: Orithya was the daughter of Erectheus, and the priestess of Boreas; for each of the winds has a presiding deity, which the telestic art, or the art pertaining to sacred mysteries, religiously cultivates. To this Orithya then, the God was so very propitious, that he sent the north wind for the safety of the country; and besides this, he is said to have assisted the Athenians in their naval battles. Orithya, therefore, becoming enthusiastic, being possessed by her proper God Boreas, and no longer energizing as man (for animals cease to energize according to their own idioms when possessed by superior causes), died under the inspiring influence, and thus was said to have been ravished by Boreas. And this is the more ethical explanation of the fable. But the second which transfers the narration to wholes is as follows, and does not entirely subvert the former: for divine fables often employ transactions and histories in subserviency to the discipline of wholes. They say then, that Erectheus is the God that rules over the three elements, air, water, and earth. Sometimes, however, he is considered as alone the ruler of the earth, and sometimes as the presiding deity of Attica alone. Of this deity Orithya is the daughter; and she is the prolific power of the earth, which is, indeed, coextended with the word Erectheus, as the unfolding of the name signifies: for it is the prolific power of the earth flourishing and restored according to the seasons. But Boreas is the providence of the Gods supernally illuminating secondary natures: for they signify the providence of the Gods in the world by Boreas; because this Divinity blows from lofty places. But the anagogic power of the Gods is signified by the south wind, because this wind blows from low to lofty places; and besides this, things situated towards the south are more divine. The providence of the Gods, therefore, causes the prolific power of the earth, or of the Attic land, to ascend, and proceed into the apparent. Orithya also, says Hermeas, may be said to be a soul¹¹ aspiring after things above, from ορουω and θειω, according to the Attic custom of adding a letter at the end of a word, which letter is here an ω. Such a soul, therefore, is ravished by Boreas supernally blowing. But if Orithya was hurled from a precipice, this also is appropriate: for such a soul dies a philosophic, not receiving a physical death, and abandons a proairetic¹², at the same time that she lives a physical life. And philosophy, according to Socrates in the Phædo, is nothing else than a meditation of death. Let then Orithya be the soul of Phædrus, but Boreas Socrates ravishing and leading it to a proairetic death.
[11] This is according to the psychical mode of interpreting fables. See the General Introduction, vol. 1, of this work.
[12] That is a life pertaining to her own will; for the soul in this case gives herself up to the will of divinity.
[13] According to some, Socrates in what he now says, does not admit the explanations of fables. It is evident, however, that he frequently does admit and employ fables. But he now blames those explanations which make fables to be nothing more than certain histories, and unfold them into material causes, airs, and earth, and winds, which do not revert to true beings, nor harmonize with divine concerns. Hence Socrates now says, If unfolding this fable I should recur to physical causes, and should assert that the wind Boreas, blowing vehemently, hurled Orithya as as she was playing from the rock, and thus dying she was said to have been ravished by Boreas,—should I not speak absurdly? For this explanation which is adopted by the wise, viz. by those who are employed in physical speculations, is meagre and conjectural; since it does not recur to true beings, but to natures, and winds, and airs, and vortices, as he also says in the Phædo. He rejects, therefore, these naturalists, and those who thus explain the fable, as falling into the indefinite and infinite, and not recurring to soul, intellect, and the Gods. But when Socrates says that he considers such interpretations as the province of a man very curious and laborious, and not entirely happy, these words indicate the being conversant with things sensible and material. And the Centaurs, Chimæras, Gorgons, and Pegasuses are powers which preside over a material nature, and the region about the earth. But for an account of divine fables, and specimens of the mode in which they ought to be explained, see the Introduction to the second book of the Republic.
[14] If any man ever knew himself, this was certainly the case with Socrates. In what he now says, therefore, his meaning may be, either that he does not yet know himself as pure soul itself, but that as being in body he knows himself; or that he does not yet know himself, as he is known by divinity.
[15] For it is evident that he who knows himself knows all things: for, in consequence of the soul being παμμορφον αγαλμα an omniform image, he beholds all things in himself. By Typhon here we must understand that power which presides over the confused and disordered in the universe, or in other words the last procession of things. The term manifold, therefore, in this place must not be applied to the God Typhon, but to that over which he presides, as being in its own nature moved in a confused, disordered, and manifold manner. For it is usual with fables to refer the properties of the objects of providential care to the providing powers themselves.
[16] Socrates mentions Juno, says Hermeas, as generating and adorning the beauty of the mundane fabrication; and hence she is said to have received the Cestus from Venus. Employing, therefore, true praise, he first celebrates the place from the three elements air, water, and earth; and afterwards he triply divides the vegetable productions of the earth into first, middle, and last. For this is evident from what he says of the plane tree, the willow, and the grass. He shows, too, that all the senses were delighted except the taste. But Achelous is the deity who presides over the much-honoured power of water: for, by this mighty river, the God who is the inspective guardian of potable water is manifested. Nymphs are goddesses who preside over regeneration, and are ministrant to Bacchus the offspring of Semele. Hence they dwell near water, that is, they ascend into generation. But this Bacchus supplies the regeneration of the whole sensible world. Αχελωος δε εστι ὁ εφορος θεος της πολυτιμου δυναμεως ὑδατος· δια γαρ του μεγιστου τουτου ποταμου τον εφορον θεον δηλουσι του ποτιμου ὑδατος· νυμφαι δε εισιν εφοροι θεαι της παλιγγενεσιας ὑπουργοι του εκ Σεμελης Διονυσου. Διο και παρα τῳ ὑδατι εισι, τουτεστι τῃ γενεσει επιβεβηκασιν· οὑτος δε ὁ Διονυσος της παλιγγενεσιας ὑπαρχει παντος του αισθητου.
[17] This manifests, as it is beautifully observed by Hermeas, that Socrates always adhered to his proper principles and causes, and his own intelligible and proper divinities. For the true country of souls is the intelligible world. His discipline, therefore, was not derived from things sensible and resisting, but from rational and intellectual souls, and from intellect itself. The country is indeed so far pleasant only to an intellectual man, as it is favourable to solitude, and this because solitude is favourable to contemplation; but to be delighted with trees, and meadows, and streams, merely for their own sakes, is the province of such as are capable of no other energies than those of sense and imagination. Socrates, in following Phædrus, likewise manifests his providential energy about youth, and his wish to save them. But his hearing in a reclined position, signifies his energizing about things of a more abject nature, such as were the opinions of Lysias about beauty. For it is necessary, as Hermeas well observes, to accommodate the figures also to the hypotheses. Hence, in his recantation, Socrates very properly uncovers his head, because he there discourses on divine love. As, therefore, now intending to energize about more abject beauty, he hears reclining; assimilating the apparent figure to the discourse. Thus also in the Phædo, he sat in an upright posture on the bed when he was about to speak concerning the philosopher.
[18] The Cypselidæ were three princes who descended from Cypselus, a king of Corinth. This Cypselus reigned 73 years, and was succeeded by his son Periander, who left his kingdom, after a reign of 40 years, to Cypselus II.
[19] The modesty of Socrates in this place must sufficiently convince the most careless reader of Plato, that this divine philosopher was very far from being a friend to that unnatural connection of the male species, which is so frequently alluded to in this dialogue, and which was so common among the Greeks. He indeed who has in the least experienced that extreme purity of sentiment and conduct which is produced by a cultivation of the Platonic philosophy, will require no further conviction of the chastity of Socratic love; but as this can never be the case with the vulgar, they can alone be convinced by external and popular proofs.
[20] For an account of the Muses, see the notes on the Cratylus.
[21] We have already in the notes on the first Alcibiades, given an ample account of dæmons from Proclus. I shall, therefore, only observe at present, that, according to the Platonic theology, there are three species of dæmons; the first of which is rational only, and the last irrational only; but the middle species is partly rational and partly irrational. And again, of these the first is perfectly beneficent, but many among the other two species are malevolent and noxious to mankind; not indeed essentially malevolent (for there is nothing in the universe, the ample abode of all-bountiful Jove, essentially evil), but only so from the office which they are destined to perform: for nothing which operates naturally, operates as to itself evilly. But the Platonic Hermeas, in his MS. Commentary on this dialogue, admirably observes on this passage as follows: “The distribution of good and evil originates from the dæmoniacal genus: for every genus, transcending that of dæmons, uniformly possesses good. There are, therefore, certain genera of dæmons, some of which adorn and administer certain parts of the world; but others certain species of animals. The dæmon, therefore, who is the inspective guardian of life, hastens souls into that condition, which he himself is allotted; as for instance, into injustice or intemperance, and continually mingles pleasure in them as a snare. But there are other dæmons transcending these, who are the punishers of souls, converting them to a more perfect and elevated life. And the first of these it is necessary to avoid; but the second sort we should render propitious. But there are other dæmons more excellent than these, who distribute good, in an uniform manner.”—Απο του δαιμονιου γενους πρωτως αρχεται ἡ των αγαθων και κακων διαιρεσις· παν γαρ το ὑπερδαιμονιον γενος, μονοειδως εχει το αγαθον. Εστιν ουν τινα γενη δαιμοιων, τα μεν μεριδας τινας του κοσμου κατακοσμουντα και επιτροπευοντα· τα δε ειδε τινα ζωων· κατεχειν ουν σπουδαζειν τας ψυχας εις τον ἑαυτου κληρον, ὁιον εις αδικιαν ἡ ακολασιαν· δελεαρ την ἡδονην την εν τω παραυτικα αναμιγνυσιν εν αυταις, ὁ εφορος της δε της ζωης δαιμων· αλλοι δε τινες εισι τουτων επαναβεβηκοτες δαιμονες, οἱ κολασεις επιπεμπουσι ταις ψυχαις, επιστρεφοντες αυτας εις τελειωτεραν και ὑπερτεραν ζωην· και τους μεν πρωτους αποτρεπεσθαι δει· τους δε δευτερους εξευμενιζεσθαι· εισι δε και αλλοι κρειττονες δαιμονες, τά αγαθα μονοειδως επιπεμποντες.
[22] For a full and every way satisfactory account of the dæmon of Socrates, see the note at the beginning of the First Alcibiades on dæmons, from Proclus.
[23] This is the language of true philosophy and true religion, that nothing can be more dire than impiety.
[24] For an account of Love considered as a Deity, see the notes on The Banquet.
[25] From hence it is evident that the narration of the rape of Helen, and of the Trojan war, is entirely mythological, concealing certain divine truths under the symbols of fable. But as this account of Stesichorus, and the fable of the Iliad, is beautifully explained by Proclus on Plato’s Republic, p. 393, I shall present the reader with the following epitomized translation of his comment. “Stesichorus, who considered the whole fable of Helen as a true narration, who approved the consequent transactions, and established his poetry accordingly, with great propriety suffered the punishment of his folly, that is, ignorance: but at length, through the assistance of music, he is said to have acknowledged his error; and thus, through understanding the mysteries concerning Helen and the Trojan war, to have recovered his sight. But Homer is said to have been blind, not on account of his ignorance of these mysteries, as Stesichorus, but through a more perfect habit of the soul, i. e. by separating himself from sensible beauty, establishing his intelligence above all apparent harmony, and extending the intellect of his soul to unapparent and true harmony. Hence, he is said to have been blind, because divine beauty cannot be usurped by corporeal eyes. On this account, fables bordering upon tragedy represent Homer as deprived of sight, on account of his accusation of Helen. But fables, in my opinion, intend to signify by Helen all the beauty subsisting about generation, for which there is a perpetual battle of souls, till the more intellectual having vanquished the more irrational forms of life, return to that place from which they originally came. But, according to some, the period of their circulation about sensible forms consists of ten thousand years, since a thousand years produce one ambit as of one year. For nine years therefore, i. e. for nine thousand years, souls revolve about generation; but in the tenth having vanquished all the barbaric tumult, they are said to return to their paternal habitations.”
[26] This is a most weighty testimony indeed in favour of the antient oracles, and prediction in general. I shall therefore observe, in answer to the followers of Van Dale, Fontenelle, and others who have endeavoured to prove that the oracles of the antients were nothing more than the tricks of fraudulent priests, that to suppose mankind should have been the dupes of such impositions for the space of three thousand years, would exceed the most extravagant fiction in romance. For how is it possible, even if these priests had been a thousand times more cunning and deceitful than they are supposed to have been, that they could have kept such a secret so impenetrable in every city and province where there were any oracles, as never to have given themselves the lie in any particular? Is it possible that there should never have been one man among them of so much worth as to abhor such impostures? that there should never have been any so inconsiderate as unluckily to discover all the mystery for want of some precautions? that no man should ever have explored the sanctuaries, subterraneous passages, and caverns, where it is pretended they kept their machines? that they should never have had occasion for workmen to repair them? that only they should have had the secret of composing drugs proper to create extraordinary dreams? and, lastly, that they should have perpetually succeeded one another, and conveyed their machines and their juggling tricks to all those that were to follow them in the same employments from age to age, and from generation to generation, and yet no man have been ever able to detect the imposition? Besides, who were these priests, that, as it is pretended, were monsters of cruelty, fraud, and malice? They were the most honourable men among the heathens²⁷, and such as were most esteemed for their piety and probity. They were sometimes magistrates and philosophers. Thus Plutarch²⁸ informs us in one of his treatises, that he was himself, to a very old age, the priest of Apollo of Delphi, and that he presided in this character over the oracle, the sacrifices, and all the other ceremonies of this deity for many years. Depraved as the age is, will any one be hardy enough to assert that a man of such probity, of such gravity of manners, of so much penetration, learning, and judgment as Plutarch, was a cheat and an impostor by profession? That he was capable of speaking through a hollow image to counterfeit the voice of Apollo? Or of suborning a female to act the part of one possessed, when she was seated on the Tripos? There is not surely any one so lost to shame, so devoid of common sense, as to make such an assertion. Again, how could those clear and precise oracles have been produced by fraud, in which what was done in one place was foretold in another, as in that famous oracle which was delivered to the ambassadors of Crœsus. This most stupid of kings, and most unfortunate of cooks, as he is justly called by Maximus Tyrius, in order to try the veracity of the oracles, had determined, it seems, in a secret part of his palace to do something to which no one should be privy but himself, and sent to the oracle of Apollo to tell him what he was doing. His messengers returned with the following answer:

Οιδα δ’ εγω ψαμμου τ’ αριθμον και μετρα θαλασσης,
Και κωφου συνιημι, και ου λαλεοντος ακουω.
Οδμη δ’ ες φρενας ηλθε κραταιρινοιο χελωνης
Εψομενης εν χαλκῳ αμ’ αρνειοισι κρεεσσιν
Ἡ χαλκος μεν ὑπεστρωται, χαλκον δ’ επιεσται.
i. e. The sand’s amount, the measures of the sea,
Tho’ vast the number, are well known to me:
I know the thoughts within the dumb concealed,
And words I hear by language unrevealed.
Even now, the odours to my sense that rise
A tortoise boiling, with a lamb, supplies,
Where brass below, and brass above it lies.

Crœsus it seems was, at the very time when this oracle was delivered, boiling a lamb and tortoise together in a brazen vessel. This story is first related by Herodotus, Hist. lib. i. c. 8. and after him by various other writers, both heathen and christian, and among the rest by Basil, who, with the rest of the fathers, says that the devil was the author of it. Now the fact is as certain as any in antiquity. Besides, it is not the only one of this nature: Cicero, Valerius Maximus, Dionysius Halicarnasseus, Strabo, Florus, &c. relate several instances of predictions having been verified in one place of what was doing in another. Plutarch, in the life of Paulus Æmilius, and in that of Sylla, adds others also; but one especially that happened in the reign of Domitian, and of the truth of which he says no man doubted in his time. The circumstance, as related also by Augustine, lib. ii. de Civit. Dei, cap. 24. was, that a servant of one Lucius Pontius prophetically exclaimed, I come a messenger from Bellona, the victory Sylla is thine. He afterwards added, that the capitol would be in flames. Having said this, he immediately left the camp, and the next day returned more rapidly, and exclaimed that the capitol had been burnt. And the capitol it seems had in reality been on fire. Augustine adds that it was easy for the devil to foresee this, and most rapidly to tell it. Indeed, such predictions must have been the effect of inspiration, either from divinity, or from some of the genera between divinity and man; and hence Augustine, very consistently with his religion, ascribed them to an evil dæmon. The Platonic reader, however, will easily account for most of them more rationally, as he scientifically knows that divination has deity for its origin; and that, when the persons inspired are worthy characters, and the predictions beneficial, such inspiration cannot be the offspring of fraudulent spirits. It is very justly indeed observed by Plutarch, in his treatise concerning the Pythian oracles, that with respect to cursory predictions, some one might foretel that a certain person should be victorious in battle, and he accordingly conquered; that such a city should be subverted, and it was accordingly destroyed; but, says he, when not only the event is foretold, but how, and when, after what, and by whom, it shall be effected, this is no conjecture of things which may perhaps take place, but a premanifestation of things which will absolutely happen. Τοιαυτα του Βοηθου διελθοντος ὁ Σεραπιων, δικαιον (εφη) το αξιωμα περι των ουτως λεγει Βοηθος αοριστως και ανυποθετως λεγομενων· ει νικη στρατηγῳ προειρηται, νενικηκεν· ει πολεως αναιρεσις, απολωλεν. Οπου δε ου μονον λεγεται το γενησομενον, αλλα και πως, και ποτε, και μετα τι, και μετα τινος, ουκ εστι εικασμος των ταχα γενησομενων, αλλα των παντως εσομενων προδηλωσις. Should it be asked why such inspiration, if it once existed, no longer exists at present, I reply by repeating what I have said in my Notes on Pausanias (Vol. 3. p. 261), that when those circulations take place, mentioned in a note on the eighth book of the Republic, during which the parts of the earth subsist according to nature, and this is accompanied with a concurrence of proper instruments, times, and places, then divine illumination is abundantly and properly received. But when parts of the earth subsist contrary to nature as at present, and which has been the case ever since the oracles ceased, then as there is no longer an aptitude of places, instruments, and times, divine influence can no longer be received, though the illuminations of divine natures continue immutably the same; just, says Proclus, as if a face standing in the same position, a mirror should at one time receive a clear image of it, and at another, one obscure and debile, or indeed, no image at all. For, as the same incomparable man further observes, it is no more proper to refer the defect of divine inspiration to the Gods, than to accuse the sun as the cause of the moon being eclipsed, instead of the conical shadow of the earth into which the moon falls. The reader will find in the above-mentioned place, the theory of oracles scientifically unfolded.
[27] The pontiffs and other priests among the Greeks, as well as among the Romans, held the first rank of honour. They were usually taken from noble or patrician families. Plutarch asserts that in some parts of Greece their dignity was equal to that of kings. In the first ages, indeed, kings themselves were often priests; diviners, and augurs. This we may learn from Aristotle in the third book of his Politics, c. 10; from Cicero, de Divin. lib. i. and de leg. l. 2. where he speaks of Romulus and Numa; from Homer, Iliad vi. l. 76. and Virgil, Æn. l. 3. when they speak of Helenus, and from the latter also when he speaks of king Anius, Æn. iii. l. 80.

Rex Anius, rex idem hominum, Phœbique sacerdos.

Who can believe that kings, princes, and persons of the first quality were capable of carrying on the trade of jugglers, and amusing the people by delusions and tricks of legerdemain?
[28] Plutarch. lib. an seni gerenda sit Respublica.
[29] Hermeas the philosopher, in his MS. Scholia on this dialogue, gives us the following very satisfactory information respecting the oracle in Dodona: Περι δε του Δωδωναιου μαντειου διαφορα εισι τα ἱστορουμενα· εστι μεν γαρ παλαιοτατον των Ελληνικων μαντειων· λεγουσι δε ὁι μεν οτι δρυς ην εκει ἡ μαντευουσα, ὁι δε οτι περιστεραι· το δε αληθες, οτι γυναικες ησαν ἱερειαι ἁι μαντευουσαι, δρυϊ τῃ κεφαλῃ στεφομεναι, ἁι τινες εκαλουντο πελειαδες. ισως ουν απο του ονοματος τινες πλανηθεντες, ὑποπτευουσαν ειναι περιστερας τας μαντευουσας· επειδη δε και την κεφαλην δρυϊ κατεστρεφοντο, ισως δια τουτο ειρηκασι και την δρυν μαντευειν. εστι δε Διος το μαντειον· το δε εν Δελφοις, Απολλωνος. εικοτως ουν παρελαβον ὡς συγγενη τα μαντεια· και γαρ ὁ Απολλων ὑπουργος λεγεται της του Διος δημιουργιας, και πολλακις, ει εδοξεν αυτοις ασαφης ειναι ὁ του Δωδωναιου χρησμος, απῃεσαν εις τον εν Δελφοις, χρησομενοι τι βουλεται ὁ του Διος χρησμος· και πολλους αυτων εξηγησατο πολλακις ὁ Απολλων. ενθουσιωται μεν ουν και μαντευομεναι ἁι ἱερειαι, πολλα ευηργετουν τους ανθρωπους προλεγουσαι τα μελλοντα και προδιορθουμεναι· σωφρονουσι δε ὁμοιαι ησαν ταις αλλαις γυναιξιν i. e. “Different accounts are given of the Dodonæan oracle: for it is the most antient of the Grecian oracles. According to some an oak prophesied in Dodona; but according to others, doves. The truth however is, that priestesses whose heads were crowned with oak prophesied; and these women were called by some peleiades, or doves. Perhaps, therefore, certain persons being deceived by the name, suspected that doves prophesied in Dodona; and as the heads of these women were crowned with oak, perhaps from this circumstance they said that an oak prophesied. But this oracle belongs to Jupiter, and that at Delphi, to Apollo. Very properly, therefore, are these oracles considered as allied to each other. For Apollo is said to be ministrant to Jupiter in the administration of things: and often when the Dodonæan oracle appeared to be obscure, the oracle at Delphi has been consulted, in order to know the meaning of that of Jupiter. Often too, Apollo has interpreted many of the Dodonæan oracles. These priestesses, therefore, when in an enthusiastic and prophetic condition, have greatly benefited mankind by predicting and previously correcting future events; but, when in a prudent state, they were similar to other women.”
[30] Hermeas, in his MS. Commentary on this dialogue, has the following remarkable passage on the Sibyl here mentioned: Περι δε της Σιβυλλης, ὁυτος εστι θαυμαστα τα λεγομενα, ὡστε δοξαι μυθους ειναι· πολλαι μεντοι Σιβυλλαι γεγονασι, πασαι τουτον ελομεναι βιον· πασαι μεν δια τινα ισως λογικην αιτιαν ελοντο.Σιβυλλαι προσαγορευεσθαι: ὡσπερ δη ὁ Τρισμηγιστος Ἑρμης λεγεται πολλακις επιδημησας τῃ Αιγυπτῳ, ἑαυτου αναμνεσθαι, και τριτον κεκλησθαι Ἑρμην· και τρεις δε Ορφεις παρα Θραξι γενεσθαι· ισως ουν και αυται κατα τινα κοινωνιαν, και αναμνησιν ειλοντο ταυτας τας προσηγοριας· επει αυτη γε ἡ Σιβυλλα ἡ Ερυθραια περι ἡς νυν λεγει Εριφυλη εκαλειτο εξ αρχης· λεγουσι δε αυτην ευθυς προελθουσαν προσειπειν εξ ονοματος εκαστον, και εμμετρα.φθεγγεσθαι, και εις βραχυν χρονον τελειον ειδος ανθρωπου λαβειν. i. e. “The particulars which are reported about this Sibyl, are so wonderful, that they have the appearance of fables. But, indeed, there were many Sibyls, all of whom adopted the same life, and all of them, perhaps through a certain rational cause, were called Sibyls: just as Hermes Trismegistus, who often resided in Egypt, is said to have made mention of himself, and to have called himself the third Hermes. Three Orpheuses also are said to have existed among the Thracians. Perhaps, therefore, these Sibyls chose these appellations from a certain communication and recollection; since this very Erythræan Sibyl, of whom Plato now speaks, was from the first called Erophile. But they report that she called every one by his proper name, as soon as she was born, that she likewise spoke in verse, and that in a short time she arrived at the perfection of the human species.”
[31] See the Note on the tenth book of the Republic, concerning the different kinds of poetry.
[32] The discourse of Plato here, is as it were, analytical. Thus, for instance, the end of man is nothing else than felicity, and this is a union with the Gods; for Plato does not place felicity in externals. But the soul is conjoined with the Gods even in the present life, when, surveying the whole of sensible and celestial beauty, she acquires a reminiscence of intelligible beauty. But her reminiscence must be of that which she once beheld: for reminiscence is of things which some one has either heard of or seen. But the soul formerly beheld this beauty, when she revolved in conjunction with her proper God. She must, therefore, be immortal: for if not, she would neither have revolved nor have recovered her memory. Hence he first speaks concerning the immortality of the soul, her idea, and what follows; and afterwards he discourses concerning that to which Love conducts us, viz. an intelligible essence, and divine beauty, simple, and unmoved.
[33] This part contains one of the strongest demonstrations possible of the immortality of the soul, as will be evident to every one whose intellectual eye is not blinded by modern pursuits. But when Plato says every soul, the reader must not suppose that the souls of brutes are meant to be included, for these, as is evident from the Timæus, are mortal; but every rational soul, as well human as divine. But this reasoning consists of two syllogisms, the parts of which Socrates, as being agitated with divine fury, does not altogether dispose into order; and these are as follows: Soul is self-motive. That which is self-motive is always moved, because it never forsakes itself, nor is ever deserted by motive power. But if it is always moved with an inward motion, it always lives. Soul, therefore, is immortal. This is the first syllogism. But the second: soul is self-motive, and is therefore the principle of motion. But the principle of motion is unbegotten. That which is unbegotten is immortal. Soul therefore is immortal.
[34] By the idea of the soul we are not to understand its supernal exemplar, but its intimate form, and the disposition, and as it were figure of its power. But by the chariots of the Gods, that is, of the mundane Gods and beneficent dæmons, are to be understood all the inward discursive powers of their souls, which pursue the intelligence of all things, and which can at the same time equally contemplate and provide for inferior concerns. And the horses signify the efficacy and motive vigour of these powers. But the horses and chariots of partial souls, such as ours when separated from the body, are mixed from good and evil. Our principal part is intellect. The better horse is anger, and the worse desire. The wings are anagogic or reductory powers, and particularly belong to the charioteer or intellect. An immortal animal is composed from soul and a celestial body; but a mortal animal from soul and an elementary body. For partial souls, such as ours, have three vehicles; one ethereal, derived from the heavens; the second aërial; and the third this gross terrestrial body. Jupiter here signifies the head of that order of Gods which subsists immediately above the mundane Gods, and is called απολυτος, liberated: for the term mighty, as is well observed by Proclus, is a symbol of exempt supremacy. The twelve Gods, therefore, which are divided into four triads, are Jupiter, Neptune, Vulcan, Vesta, Minerva, Mars, Ceres, Juno, Diana, Mercury, Venus, Apollo. The first triad of these is fabricative; the second defensive; the third vivific; and the fourth re- ductory. And the chariots of these Gods are supermundane souls, in which they are proximately carried. By the heavens, to the contemplation of which the liberated and mundane Gods proceed, cannot be meant the sensible heavens: for what blessed spectacles do these contain, or how can Gods be converted to things posterior to themselves? It is evidently, therefore, the heaven which Plato in the Cratylus defines to be οψις ες το ανω, or sight directed to that which is above; and forms that order of Gods which is called by the Chaldæan oracles νοητος και νοερος, intelligible and intellectual. There is a remakable error here in the Greek text, for instead of ουρανια αψιδα, celestial arch, it should be read ὑπουρανια αψιδα, subcelestial arch, as is evident from Proclus in Plat. Theol. p. 217, who lays a particular stress upon the word ὑπουρανια, as a reading universally acknowledged. Our course is said to be difficult and hard, because the motion of the better horse verges to intelligibles, but of the worse to sensibles and generation; and because our soul is unable in the present life equally to contemplate, and providentially energize. By ambrosia is signified that power which renders the Gods separate from generation; but by nectar the immutable nature of their providential energies, which extend even to the last of things.
[35] See the Additional Notes to the Timæus.
[36] The head of the charioteer is that unity of the soul, which she participates from a divine unity, and which is, as it were, the very summit and flower of her essence.
[37] The general cause of the soul’s descent, is her neglecting, as it were, the universal form of the world, diligently contemplating a certain portion of it only, and ardently desiring a partial mode of subsistence; imagination and her vegetable power strongly alluring her to such a condition of being.
[38] As there are principally nine celestial souls, viz. the soul of the world, and the souls of the eight celestial spheres, to which our souls are at different times accommodated; hence, souls in their descent receive nine differences of character. But the philosophic genius has the first rank, because it is naturally adapted to the investigation of every thing human and divine. And as such a genius is studious of wisdom and truth, and the first beauty subsists in these; hence, with great propriety, it brings with it the pursuit of beauty. But we receive the image of beauty through the sight and hearing; and hence Plato connects with this character a musician and a lover: the former on account of audible, and the latter of visible beauty. But the next character is that of a king, who indeed extends a universal providence towards mankind, but whose contemplations are not so ample as those of the philosopher. The providential energies of those which follow, are still more contracted. But when he distributes prophets and mystics into the fifth order, we must not suppose that he means such as are divine, but mercenary and vulgar prophets, who do not operate from science and art, but from custom and chance.
[39] The numbers three and ten are called perfect; because the former is the first complete number, and the latter in a certain respect the whole of number; the consequent series of numbers being only a repetition of the numbers which this contains. Hence, as 10 multiplied into itself produces 100, a plain number, and this again multiplied by 10 produces 1000, a solid number; and as 1000 multiplied by 3 forms 3000, and 1000 by 10, 10,000; on this account Plato employs these numbers as symbols of the purgation of the soul, and her restitution to her proper perfection and felicity. I say, as symbols; for we must not suppose that this is accomplished in just so many years, but that the soul’s restitution takes place in a perfect manner.
[40] We not must understand by this, that the soul of a man becomes the soul of a brute; but that by way of punishment it is bound to the soul of a brute, or carried in it, just as dæmons reside in our souls. Hence all the energies of the rational soul are perfectly impeded, and its intellectual eye beholds nothing but the dark and tumultuous phantasms of a brutal life.
[41] The four kinds of fury are the prophetic, mystic, poetic, and amatory.
[42] He who is agitated with this enthusiasm possesses that purification which is called by the Platonic philosophers telestic, because it is obtained by the exercise of mystic rites, and gives perfection to the soul.
[43] Plato every where speaks of the sun as analogous to the highest God. For as here the sun is the lord of the whole sensible world, so the first cause of the intelligible world. And as light is deduced from the lord the sun, which conjoins, connects, and unites that which is visive with that which is visible, after the same manner the light proceeding from the highest God, which light is truth, conjoins intellect with the intelligible. We may see, therefore, that beauty imitates this light: for it is as it were a light emitted from the fountain of intelligibles, to this world, which it calls upwards to itself, and becomes the source of union to lovers and the beloved.
[44] Plato, in the Timæus, says that the demiurgus, when he made the world, disseminated souls equal in number to the stars, viz. as we have observed in the Introduction to that dialogue, equal according to analogy, and not as monadically considered. Now, therefore, in conformity to what is there asserted, he says, “we together with Jupiter,” as knowing his proper God. For this is the felicity of the human soul, to revolve in conjunction with its proper deities; since it is not possible to pass beyond the Gods.
[45] The word τελετη or initiation, says Hermeas, was so denominated from rendering the soul perfect, παρα το τελεαν ψυχην αποτελειν. The soul, therefore, was once perfect. But here it is divided, and is not able to energize wholly by itself. But it is necessary to know, says Hermeas, that telete, muesis, and epopteia, τελετη, μυησις and εποπτεια differ from each other. Telete, therefore, is analogous to that which is preparatory to purifications. But muesis, which is so called from closing the eyes, is more divine. For to close the eyes in initiation is no longer to receive by sense those divine mysteries, but with the pure soul itself. And epopteia is to be established in, and become a spectator of the mysteries. See more on this interesting subject in my Dissertation on the Eleusinian and Bacchic Mysteries.
[46] There is nothing belonging to antiquity more celebrated than the mysteries, and especially the Eleusinian, though the leading particulars of this august institution are perfectly unknown to the moderns, as I have shown in my Dissertation on the Eleusinian and Bacchic mysteries. One circumstance in particular of the last importance, has been grossly misrepresented by that most consummate sophist Dr. Warburton, in his Divine Legation of Moses. The circumstance I allude to belongs to that part of the mysteries which is called εποπτεια, or inspection. For here the Gods themselves became actually apparent in splendid images to the eyes of the epoptæ, or initiated inspectors. And this, in the first place, is evident from the following passage of Proclus, in MS. Comment. on the first Alcibiades: Εν ταις ἁγιωταταις των τελετων, προ της θεου παρουσιας δαιμονων χθονιων τινων εκβολαι προφαινονται, και απο των αχραντων αγαθων εις την ὑλην προκαλουμεναι. i. e. “In the most holy of the mysteries, before the God appears, the impulsions of certain terrestrial dæmons become visible, alluring (the initiated) from undefiled goods to matter.” And that by the most holy of mysteries he means the Eleusinian, is evident from his sixth book de Plat. Theol. p. 371. where he expressly calls them by this name. And still more expressly in his Commentary on Plato’s Republic, p. 380. Εν απασι ταις τελεταις και τοις μυστηριοις, ὁι θεοι πολλας μεν ἑαυτων προτεινουσι μορφας πολλα δε σχηματα εξαλλαττοντες φαινονται· και τοτε μεν ατυπωτον αυτων προβεβληται φως, τοτε δε εις ανθρωπειον μορφην εσχηματισμενον, τοτε δε εις αλλοιον τυπον προεληλυθως. i. e. “In all initiations and mysteries, the Gods exhibit many forms of themselves, and appear in a variety of shapes. And sometimes indeed an unfigured light of themselves is held forth to the view; sometimes this light is figured according to a human form, and sometimes it proceeds into a different shape.” And we are informed by Psellus in a MS. on Dæmons that this evocation of divine natures formed one part of the sacerdotal office; though, says he, those who now preside over the mysteries, are ignorant of the incantation necessary to evocation. Αλλ’ ὁι γε νυν της τελετης προεξαρχον, την μεν της κλησεως ουκ ισασιν επωδην. This doctrine, too, of divine appearances in the mysteries is clearly confirmed by Plotinus, ennead. 1. lib. 6. p. 55. and ennead. lib. 9. p. 770. From all this we may collect how egregiously Dr. Warburton was mistaken when, in page 231 of his Divine Legation, he asserts that the light beheld in the mysteries was nothing more than an illuminated image which the priest had purified. “This,” says he, “which was all over illuminated, and which the priest had thoroughly purified, was αγαλμα, an image.” But, indeed, his whole account of this divine institution is absurd, false, and ridiculous in the extreme. I only add, that the preceding observations plainly show to what Plato alludes in this part of the dialogue, by his simple and blessed visions resident in a pure light, and that we can no longer wonder why the initiated are reported to have been called happy.
[47] Viz. perfect.
[48] By this Plato indicates the firm and permanent nature of intelligibles.
[49] He says this because the light here is not pure, being mingled with the air.
[50] Plato now wishes to speak concerning the amatory character, and to show how it is led back from sensible to intelligible beauty. What he says, therefore, is this,—that intelligible beauty shines forth in an intelligible essence, together with the spectacles which are there, and that from this beauty, sensible beauty is unfolded into light. For, as the light proceeding from the sun illuminates the whole sensible world, so beauty, originating from intelligibles, pervades through the regions of sense. But he calls the sight the clearest of all the senses, because it is more acute than the rest. Hence, it is considered as analogous to fire by those who compare the senses to the elements. But its superior acuteness is evident from this, that when sound, and that which is visible, are produced together, as in the instance of thunder and lightning, we first see the lightning, and some time after the sound reaches our hearing. The reason of this is evident: for sight sees without time, or in an instant; but the other senses require time. Sight also is analogous to intellect: for as intellect sees all things indivisibly, so likewise sight. For it directly sees the interval which reaches from hence as far as to the heavens.
[51] It is well observed by Hermeas, that it is necessary to consider what is here said vitally and intellectually. For, as we are seized with astonishment on beholding certain sensible particulars, so likewise in the vision of the Gods; not that it is such a terror as that which arises from the view of enemies approaching, but a terror better than a fear of this kind, through the transcendent fulness of the Gods. It is necessary, therefore, that the human soul should submit itself to the Gods, and to incorporeal forms which surpass our power, and should be seized with a terror better than human fear at the view of them, not as if they were dire, and dreadful, and resisting; for these are the indications of matter and earth-born natures. Plato, therefore, signifies by horror, an excitation from sensibles to intelligibles.
[52] That is, he would sacrifice to intelligible beauty, of which sensible beauty is the representation, similitude and image. For here, says Hermeas, those who sacrifice to statues do not sacrifice to the matter itself, and the images, but to the Gods. Και γαρ ενταυθα ὁι τοις αγαλμασιν θυοντες ουκ αυτῃ ὑλῃ θυουσι και ταις εικοσιν, αλλα τοις θεοις.
[53] Heat here signifies the anagogic power of the soul, or that power which elevates her to intelligibles.
[54] Plato, says Hermeas, wishes to etymologize the name of Love, viz. the passion which is ingenerated in us from the beautiful. This passion is called by men Love, from flowing inward, but by the Gods winged, from its giving wings to the soul. But Plato, says Hermeas, calls Homerics those that sing the verses of Homer. He also denominates the above verses recondite, wishing to indicate the concealed, divine, and arcane nature of the assertion.
[55] For all the gifts of Jupiter, says Hermeas, are firm, stable, and always subsist after the same manner.
[56] For Mars is the source of division and motion. But it is necessary to know this universally, says Hermeas, that whatever is imparted by any divinity is received according to the peculiar aptitude of the recipient. Thus, for instance, says he, Venus bestows friendship and union; but since the illumination imparted by the Goddess is mingled with matter, the recipient often perverts her gift, and friendship becomes adultery, from being viciously received. For things are imparted in one way by the Gods, and are received in another by their participants. Thus also, when different substances become the recipients of the solar heat, one of these is liquefied as wax, and another is hardened as clay: for each receives what is given according to its proper essence, though the solar light has a uniform subsistence. Hermeas adds, it may also be said, speaking more theoretically, that the slaughter which is here ascribed to Mars, signifies a divulsion from matter, through rapidly turning from it, and no longer energizing physically, but intellectually. For slaughter, when applied to the Gods, may be said to be an apostacy from secondary natures, just as slaughter here signifies a privation of the present life.
[57] Of the two divinities, Juno and Apollo, that are here mentioned, says Hermeas, the former converts all things through empire, and the latter leads all things to symphony and union.
[58] Socrates having spoken concerning that love which subsists according to rectitude, and also concerning that which subsists according to a deviation from rectitude, and having, therefore, discussed the extremes, he now wishes to speak about the media, viz. temperate and intemperate love. As, therefore, he speaks of the soul considered as associating with the body, he very properly gives to it other horses: for, in proportion as the soul descends into generation, and approaches to these tempestuous realms, she receives a greater number of vestments. Hence, he discourses concerning other horses, viz. such as possess a habitude to this body, and participate of its vital passions. For the soul while she lives in the intelligible world has other horses, which are characterized by sameness and difference. This indeed is evident, for antient theology gives horses even to the Gods themselves. Now, therefore, he considers other horses, viz. anger and desire, and calls his discourse concerning them a fable, which he did not before, when speaking of the horses of divine natures, and of the human soul herself when liberated from this terrene body. The reason of this, as Hermeas beautifully observes, is, because the soul is in this body as in a fiction. For the whole apparent body with which we are surrounded, and all the visible order of things, is similar to a fable. Very properly, therefore, does Socrates, wishing to speak concerning the habitude, proximity, or alliance of the soul to this body, call his discourse a fable. But he did not call what he said prior to this a fable, because the soul while living on high with the Gods had other horses. He also here calls the rational soul ηνιοχικος, of the nature of a charioteer, and not ηνιοχους, a chario- teer, as in what he said prior to this; signifying that the rational soul in the present body only imitates a charioteer. In speaking of the horses, too, he uses the word ἱππομορφω, or having the form of horses, and not ἱπποι, horses, as before. For the energies of the soul in conjunction with body are not such as when she is united with intelligibles.
[59] The divine Plato, says Hermeas, distributes the parts of the soul into different parts of the body. Hence, considering intellect and the reasoning power as analogous to the ruler of a city, he establishes them in the brain: for the brain is spherical, and man is a microcosm. He makes the brain, therefore, analogous to the heavens. In the next place, since anger is naturally more noble than desire, and is analogous to those in a city that fight for its defence, and repress whatever is disorderly and tumultuous in it, and whom he calls auxiliaries; since anger also reproves and opposes desire,—hence he fixes it in the heart, that it may be in the vestibules of reason, being only separated from the brain by that interval the neck. But the desiderative part, as being irrational and similar to the mercenary tribe and the multitude in a city, he places in the liver, as an ass at a manger. Anger, therefore, is more noble than desire, as being nearer to reason; and hence it has a better station, for it is arranged in a better region. He says, therefore, in the first place concerning anger, that it is more beautiful, and is impressed with forms, at one time from the body, and at another from the manners and the soul. He calls it straight, because it receives the measures of reason; well-articulated, i. e. of a distinct, and not of a mixed nature; and having its neck lofty, i. e. always extending itself, and despising things of a worse condition. He also says that it has an aquiline nose, indicating by this its royal nature: for the hooked or aquiline, says Hermeas, is always given by Plato to that which is royal and noble; and the aquiline is of a more elegant form than the flat nose. He adds, that it is white to the view; indicating that it is most splendid and shining with beauty; also, that its eyes are black, viz. investigating things profound, and wishing to survey unapparent and intelligible natures: for he calls the unapparent black.
[60] Plato having related the prerogatives which the better of the two horses possesses from the body, now enumerates those which it possesses from the soul. Honour, then, is the greatest of goods, as he says in the Laws; but nothing evil is honourable. On which account also we honour Divinity. The good horse, therefore, is a lover of honour; that is, it aspires after form and the good: But it also loves honour in conjunction with temperance, i. e. it possesses these prerogatives of the soul, performs things pertaining to itself, and is not willing to be filled with the contrary. It is likewise only to be governed by reason and exhortation, as being near to reason, and directing by its measures all the measures of its own life.
[61] Plato here speaks concerning the worse of the two horses, and imitates its mingled nature. For he no longer speaks first concerning the prerogatives of the body, and afterwards concerning those of the soul, but he confuses the order. In opposition, therefore, to what he had asserted of the more noble horse, he says of this, that it is crooked, as being characteristic of desire; for desire is similar to a wild beast: various, for this epithet also is accommodated to desire, which is multiform, and the friend of multitude; and rash in its motions, as being hurried along by casual impulse. He also adds, that it is stiff; indicating by this its resisting nature: that it is short- necked, as being abject, living according to desire, and not aspiring after honour: flat-nosed, as being vile, grovelling, and not royal: of a black colour, as being dark, and not clear and shining like the other: having its eyes gray, as being only superficially splendid, and possessing intellections only as far as to the phantasy: being full of blood, i. e. being most allied to generation: the companion of injury and arrogance, as possessing properties directly contrary to the other horse; for that was the associate of temperance and modesty: has its ears hairy and deaf, as being unobedient, and often hearing a thing without attending to it: and, lastly, is scarcely obedient to the whip and the spur, as not capable of being benefited by exhortation.
[62] i. e. In the intelligible; for such is the intelligible region, since the beauties which are here are not genuinely beautiful.
[63] These contests are denominated Olympic, not from the mountain Olympus, but from Olympus, heaven. But he who philosophizes truly becomes the victor in three contests. In the first place, he subjects all the inferior powers of his soul to intellect; in the second place, he obtains wisdom, in conjunction with divine fury; and, in the third place, recovering his wings, he flies away to his kindred star. But if any one, through the generosity of his nature, happens to be more propense to love, and yet has not been from the beginning philosophically and morally educated, and hence, after he has been ensnared by love, gives way perhaps to venereal delights; such a one, in consequence of a lapse of this kind, cannot recover his wings entire, yet, on account of the wonderful anagogic power of love, he will be prepared for their recovery. Hence, when in a course of time he has amputated his lust, and, retaining the sublimity of love, has formed a virtuous friendship, he will not after the present life be precipitated into the lowest region of punishment, but will be purified in the air, till he has philosophized in the highest degree.
[64] It is well observed here by Hermeas, that Socrates uses the word gratefully, not as if the Gods received any favour from us, but because we gratify ourselves through worshipping the divinities, in consequence of becoming allied to and familiar with them.
[65] Should it be asked why Socrates now calls that an art which he had before denominated enthusiastic, we reply with Hermeas, that he says this because it is necessary to excite the artificial theorems which we possess, and thus afterwards receive the illuminations from the Gods.
[66] This is said according to that figure in Rhetoric which is called αντιφρασις, or opposition: for this long curvature about the Nile, according to Hermeas, was a place where there was much molestation.
[67] According to Jamblichus and Hermeas, dæmons are signified by the grashoppers in this fable; and this is by no means wonderful, since in the preceding part of this dialogue, which is full of allegory, something more divine than dæmons is implied by the horses of the Gods. Besides, the office which is here assigned to grashoppers perfectly corresponds with the employment which Plato in the Banquet attributes to benevolent dæmons: for they stand as it were over our heads, discourse with each other, and in the mean time speculate our affairs, disapprove our evil deeds, and commend such as are good; all which is likewise confirmed by Hesiod in his Works and Days. Besides, they receive divine gifts, and deliver them to us, approach to the Muses, and relate our actions to the Gods. In consequence of this correspondence, Jamblichus and Hermeas conclude with great probability that aërial dæmons are signified in this place by grashoppers. For, as these animals live perpetually singing, and imbibe the air through a sound of this kind; so beneficent aërial dæmons live in the air, through perpetually celebrating divine natures.
[68] According to Hermeas, the interpretation of this place by the divine Jamblichus is as follows: Socrates calls men souls dwelling in the intelligible world: for souls before they live a mortal life abide on high in the intelligible, contemplating forms themselves together with the supermundane Gods. Thus then men were before the Muses had a being, that is, before the spheres and the sensible world; not that the term before, signifies here temporal precedency, but a subsistence⁶⁹ prior to this apparent progression of the spheres. For this is the generation of the Muses, an apparent subsistence, proceeding from the demiurgus into the sensible world. The Muses, therefore, and the spheres, the sensible world, and the whole soul of the universe, and the partial souls of men, had a consubsistent progression. These souls, too, as being recently born, and remembering what they had seen in the intelligible region, were averse to generation, and were unwilling to eat and drink, i. e. were not willing to partake of sensible opinion; for they possessed intelligible nutriment. Hence, wasting away, they at length perished, i. e. they reascended to the intelligible.
[69] Viz. an unapparent subsistence: for this is prior to an apparent subsistence; in the same way as every cause, so far as it is a cause, is prior to its effect, though it may be temporally consubsistent with it.
[70] He who lives according to intellect, says Hermeas, who is a lover of the Muses, and a philosopher, in consequence of wishing to reascend to the Gods, does not require the care of the body and of a corporeal life; but considers these as nothing, being desirous to be separated from them. For he meditates death, i. e. a departure from the present life, as he knows that the body molests and impedes the energies of intellect. But the gift which is here mentioned signifies the soul becoming the attendant of its proper God. Hermeas adds: It is however necessary to know that a divine nature is present to all things without a medium, but that we are incapable of being conjoined with divinity, without the medium of a dæmoniacal nature; just as we behold the light of the sun through the ministrant intervention of the air.
[71] Dancing here must not be understood literally, as if Terpsichore was propitious to those who engage in that kind of dancing which is the object of sense; for this would be ridiculous. We must say, therefore, as Hermeas beautifully observes, that there are divine dances: in the first place, that of the Gods; in the second place, that of divine souls: in the third place, the revolution of the celestial divinities, viz. of the seven planets, and the inerratic sphere, is called a dance: in the fourth place, those who are initiated in the mysteries⁷² perform a certain dance: and, in the last place, the whole life of a philosopher is a dance. Terpsichore, therefore, is the inspective guardian of all dancing. Who then are those that honour the goddess in the dance? Not those who dance well, but those who live well through the whole of the present existence, elegantly arranging their life, and dancing in symphony with the universe. Erato, says Hermeas, is denominated from Love, and from making the works of Love, lovely: for she cooperates with Love. Calliope is denominated from the eye (παρα την οπα); and Urania presides over astronomy. Through these two goddesses we preserve our rational part from being in subjection to the irrational nature. For, through sight surveying the order of the celestial Gods, we properly arrange our irrational part. And further still, through rhythms, philosophy, and hearing, we elegantly dispose that which we contain of the disorderly and void of rhythm.
[72] Επειτα και ενταυθα ὁι τελουμενοι τοις θεοις χορειαν τινα αποτελουσιν εν τοις μυστηριοις.
[73] Plato here teaches how to write, and what the mode is of writing and speaking well or ill, making the problem more universal and scientific, after having referred the whole beginning of the discourse to the Muses and the Gods. But as that which is distorted is judged of by a rule, and that which is not straight by the straight, so that which is false can only be accurately known by truth. Hence, he says, in speaking or writing well, it is necessary that truth, and a knowledge of the subject, should precede as the leaders. For he who does not know the truth of a thing speaks conjecturally about it. Three things, therefore, are said to be present with those who speak or write. First, a knowledge of the truth. In the second place, an ability of making one thing many, which is the business of the divisive method: for by this we know the various significations of the thing proposed, if it should happen to be many, whether it is homonymous or synonymous, whether genus or species, and the like. There must necessarily, therefore, be the divisive method. In the third place, the many must be collected into one, which is the business of the analytic and definitive methods: for to be able to collect many things into one sentence, is to give the definition of a thing. Afterwards, the composition and ornament of the discourse must succeed. These, then, as the instruments of speaking and writing, ought to be known before every thing, viz. the nature and the essence, or, in other words, the truth of a thing. For thus we shall know how we ought to proceed, whether through such things as are true, or through such as are assimilated to the truth. For he who does not know the truth, but only has an opinion concerning it, like those who possess popular rhetoric, will often persuade his hearers to the contrary of what he wishes. Afterwards, the philosopher relates how many goods are derived from true rhetoric, and how many evils happen from that which is falsely denominated.
[74] There are three parts of rhetoric, that which counsels, (το συμβουλευτικον), the forensic, (το δικανικον), and the panegyric, (το πανηγυρικον). And with respect to the ends of these three, the just is the end of the forensic; good, of that which counsels; and beauty, of the panegyric. According to opposition, likewise, the just and the unjust are the ends of the forensic; good and evil of that which consults; and the beautiful and the base, of the panegyric. A certain duplicity also appears about each of these: about the forensic, accusation and defence; about that which consults, exhortation and dehortation; and, about the panegyric, praise and blame.
[75] Hermeas here asks whether rhetoricians are philosophic; and he says in reply, that good rhetoricians cannot be formed without philosophy. For the more celebrated among the antient rhetoricians were philosophic. Thus, Pericles was the associate of Anaxagoras, and Demosthenes of Plato.
[76] It was usual with Socrates to deny that he possessed any invention of his own, and to refer all things to the Gods. But there is, says Hermeas, a communion between us and the Gods, our soul being thence illuminated both without a medium, and through the middle genera of beings. Providence, therefore, says he, is twofold; for it is either that of the superior Gods themselves, or it takes place through the more excellent genera, such as angels, dæmons, and heroes, and the local Gods. Socrates, therefore, ascribes such an order and management of words to the local Gods. But he signifies by the singing over his head the more excellent genera, the attendants of the Gods. For it is always requisite to call that which transcends, a dæmon; as, for instance, the rational is the dæmon of the irrational part, and a God is the dæmon of intellect.
[77] This Tisias is said by Cicero to have been the inventor of rhetoric.
[78] Polus was a disciple of Gorgias the Leontine. See the Gorgias.
[79] The genus of disciplines belonging to Mercury contains gymnastics, music, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and the art of speaking and writing. This God, as he is the source of invention, is called the son of Maia; because investigation, which is implied by Maia, produces invention: and as unfolding the will of Jupiter, who is an intellectual God, he is the cause of mathesis, or discipline. He first subsists in Jupiter, the artificer of the world; next, among the supermundane Gods; in the third place, among the liberated Gods; fourthly, in the planet Mercury; fifthly, in the Mercurial order of dæmons; sixthly, in human souls who are the attendants of this God; and in the seventh degree his properties subsist in certain animals, such as the ibis, the ape, and sagacious dogs. The narration of Socrates in this place is both allegorical and anagogic, or reductory. Naucratis is a region of Egypt eminently subject to the influence of Mercury, though the whole of Egypt is allotted to this divinity. Likewise in this city a certain man once flourished, full of the Mercurial power, because his soul formerly existed in the heavens of the Mercurial order. But he was first called Theuth, that is, Mercury, and a God, because his soul subsisted according to the perfect similitude of this divinity. But afterwards a dæmon, because from the God Mercury, through a Mercurial dæmon, gifts of this kind are transmitted to a Mercurial soul. This Mercurial soul, and at the same time dæmon, relate their inventions to king Thamus. And though a man named Thamus once reigned in Egypt, yet anagogically Thamus is a Mercurial divinity either celestial or supercelestial. But Ammon is that superior Jupiter who comprehends the Mercurial gifts. Lastly, invention belongs to natural instinct and conception, but judgment and discrimination to reason and perfect intelligence, which are far more excellent. But each at the same time belongs to Jupiter Ammon; though, when taken separately, invention, and as it were the material form of art, must be referred to a dæmoniacal or human Mercury; but judgment and use, and that which leads to the end, to Thamus, who is superior both to a human and dæmoniacal Mercury. Though the narration seems to comprehend Thamus and Ammon under the same person, yet accurate reasoning is able to distinguish them. They relate that the Egyptian ibis was similar to a stork, that it had the figure of a heart, that it walked in a very unequal manner, and that it brought forth its eggs through its throat, just as Mercury delivers his progeny into light. And these and the other Mercurial symbols signify wisdom, geometry, eloquence, and interpretation.
[80] By Pan, and the other Gods, understand local deities under the moon. But Pan is denominated as it were all, because he possesses the most ample sway in the order of local Gods. For, as the supermundane Gods are referred to Jupiter, and the celestial to Bacchus, so all the sublunary local Gods and dæmons are referred to Pan.