Obras Completas de Platón

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Symposium

by Plato

Translated by Benjamin Howett

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PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Apollodorus, who repeats to his companion the dialogue which he had heard

from Aristodemus, and had already once narrated to Glaucon.

Phaedrus, Pausanias, Eryximachus, Aristophanes, Agathon, Socrates,

Alcibiades, A Troop of Revellers.

SCENE: The House of Agathon.

Concerning the things about which you ask to be informed I believe that I

am not ill-prepared with an answer. For the day before yesterday I was

coming from my own home at Phalerum to the city, and one of my

acquaintance, who had caught a sight of me from behind, calling out

playfully in the distance, said: Apollodorus, O thou Phalerian (Probably a

play of words on (Greek), 'bald-headed.') man, halt! So I did as I was

bid; and then he said, I was looking for you, Apollodorus, only just now,

that I might ask you about the speeches in praise of love, which were

delivered by Socrates, Alcibiades, and others, at Agathon's supper.

Phoenix, the son of Philip, told another person who told me of them; his

narrative was very indistinct, but he said that you knew, and I wish that

you would give me an account of them. Who, if not you, should be the

reporter of the words of your friend? And first tell me, he said, were you

present at this meeting?

Your informant, Glaucon, I said, must have been very indistinct indeed, if

you imagine that the occasion was recent; or that I could have been of the

party.

Why, yes, he replied, I thought so.

Impossible: I said. Are you ignorant that for many years Agathon has not

resided at Athens; and not three have elapsed since I became acquainted

with Socrates, and have made it my daily business to know all that he says

and does. There was a time when I was running about the world, fancying

myself to be well employed, but I was really a most wretched being, no

better than you are now. I thought that I ought to do anything rather than

be a philosopher.

Well, he said, jesting apart, tell me when the meeting occurred.

In our boyhood, I replied, when Agathon won the prize with his first

tragedy, on the day after that on which he and his chorus offered the

sacrifice of victory.

Then it must have been a long while ago, he said; and who told you--did

Socrates?

No indeed, I replied, but the same person who told Phoenix;--he was a

little fellow, who never wore any shoes, Aristodemus, of the deme of

Cydathenaeum. He had been at Agathon's feast; and I think that in those

days there was no one who was a more devoted admirer of Socrates.

Moreover, I have asked Socrates about the truth of some parts of his

narrative, and he confirmed them. Then, said Glaucon, let us have the tale

over again; is not the road to Athens just made for conversation? And so

we walked, and talked of the discourses on love; and therefore, as I said

at first, I am not ill-prepared to comply with your request, and will have

another rehearsal of them if you like. For to speak or to hear others

speak of philosophy always gives me the greatest pleasure, to say nothing

of the profit. But when I hear another strain, especially that of you rich

men and traders, such conversation displeases me; and I pity you who are my

companions, because you think that you are doing something when in reality

you are doing nothing. And I dare say that you pity me in return, whom you

regard as an unhappy creature, and very probably you are right. But I

certainly know of you what you only think of me--there is the difference.

COMPANION: I see, Apollodorus, that you are just the same--always speaking

evil of yourself, and of others; and I do believe that you pity all

mankind, with the exception of Socrates, yourself first of all, true in

this to your old name, which, however deserved, I know not how you

acquired, of Apollodorus the madman; for you are always raging against

yourself and everybody but Socrates.

APOLLODORUS: Yes, friend, and the reason why I am said to be mad, and out

of my wits, is just because I have these notions of myself and you; no

other evidence is required.

COMPANION: No more of that, Apollodorus; but let me renew my request that

you would repeat the conversation.

APOLLODORUS: Well, the tale of love was on this wise:--But perhaps I had

better begin at the beginning, and endeavour to give you the exact words of

Aristodemus:

He said that he met Socrates fresh from the bath and sandalled; and as the

sight of the sandals was unusual, he asked him whither he was going that he

had been converted into such a beau:--

To a banquet at Agathon's, he replied, whose invitation to his sacrifice of

victory I refused yesterday, fearing a crowd, but promising that I would

come to-day instead; and so I have put on my finery, because he is such a

fine man. What say you to going with me unasked?

I will do as you bid me, I replied.

Follow then, he said, and let us demolish the proverb:--

'To the feasts of inferior men the good unbidden go;'

instead of which our proverb will run:--

'To the feasts of the good the good unbidden go;'

and this alteration may be supported by the authority of Homer himself, who

not only demolishes but literally outrages the proverb. For, after

picturing Agamemnon as the most valiant of men, he makes Menelaus, who is

but a fainthearted warrior, come unbidden (Iliad) to the banquet of

Agamemnon, who is feasting and offering sacrifices, not the better to the

worse, but the worse to the better.

I rather fear, Socrates, said Aristodemus, lest this may still be my case;

and that, like Menelaus in Homer, I shall be the inferior person, who

'To the feasts of the wise unbidden goes.'

But I shall say that I was bidden of you, and then you will have to make an

excuse.

'Two going together,'

he replied, in Homeric fashion, one or other of them may invent an excuse

by the way (Iliad).

This was the style of their conversation as they went along. Socrates

dropped behind in a fit of abstraction, and desired Aristodemus, who was

waiting, to go on before him. When he reached the house of Agathon he

found the doors wide open, and a comical thing happened. A servant coming

out met him, and led him at once into the banqueting-hall in which the

guests were reclining, for the banquet was about to begin. Welcome,

Aristodemus, said Agathon, as soon as he appeared--you are just in time to

sup with us; if you come on any other matter put it off, and make one of

us, as I was looking for you yesterday and meant to have asked you, if I

could have found you. But what have you done with Socrates?

I turned round, but Socrates was nowhere to be seen; and I had to explain

that he had been with me a moment before, and that I came by his invitation

to the supper.

You were quite right in coming, said Agathon; but where is he himself?

He was behind me just now, as I entered, he said, and I cannot think what

has become of him.

Go and look for him, boy, said Agathon, and bring him in; and do you,

Aristodemus, meanwhile take the place by Eryximachus.

The servant then assisted him to wash, and he lay down, and presently

another servant came in and reported that our friend Socrates had retired

into the portico of the neighbouring house. 'There he is fixed,' said he,

'and when I call to him he will not stir.'

How strange, said Agathon; then you must call him again, and keep calling

him.

Let him alone, said my informant; he has a way of stopping anywhere and

losing himself without any reason. I believe that he will soon appear; do

not therefore disturb him.

Well, if you think so, I will leave him, said Agathon. And then, turning

to the servants, he added, 'Let us have supper without waiting for him.

Serve up whatever you please, for there is no one to give you orders;

hitherto I have never left you to yourselves. But on this occasion imagine

that you are our hosts, and that I and the company are your guests; treat

us well, and then we shall commend you.' After this, supper was served,

but still no Socrates; and during the meal Agathon several times expressed

a wish to send for him, but Aristodemus objected; and at last when the

feast was about half over--for the fit, as usual, was not of long duration

--Socrates entered. Agathon, who was reclining alone at the end of the

table, begged that he would take the place next to him; that 'I may touch

you,' he said, 'and have the benefit of that wise thought which came into

your mind in the portico, and is now in your possession; for I am certain

that you would not have come away until you had found what you sought.'

How I wish, said Socrates, taking his place as he was desired, that wisdom

could be infused by touch, out of the fuller into the emptier man, as water

runs through wool out of a fuller cup into an emptier one; if that were so,

how greatly should I value the privilege of reclining at your side! For

you would have filled me full with a stream of wisdom plenteous and fair;

whereas my own is of a very mean and questionable sort, no better than a

dream. But yours is bright and full of promise, and was manifested forth

in all the splendour of youth the day before yesterday, in the presence of

more than thirty thousand Hellenes.

You are mocking, Socrates, said Agathon, and ere long you and I will have

to determine who bears off the palm of wisdom--of this Dionysus shall be

the judge; but at present you are better occupied with supper.

Socrates took his place on the couch, and supped with the rest; and then

libations were offered, and after a hymn had been sung to the god, and

there had been the usual ceremonies, they were about to commence drinking,

when Pausanias said, And now, my friends, how can we drink with least

injury to ourselves? I can assure you that I feel severely the effect of

yesterday's potations, and must have time to recover; and I suspect that

most of you are in the same predicament, for you were of the party

yesterday. Consider then: How can the drinking be made easiest?

I entirely agree, said Aristophanes, that we should, by all means, avoid

hard drinking, for I was myself one of those who were yesterday drowned in

drink.

I think that you are right, said Eryximachus, the son of Acumenus; but I

should still like to hear one other person speak: Is Agathon able to drink

hard?

I am not equal to it, said Agathon.

Then, said Eryximachus, the weak heads like myself, Aristodemus, Phaedrus,

and others who never can drink, are fortunate in finding that the stronger

ones are not in a drinking mood. (I do not include Socrates, who is able

either to drink or to abstain, and will not mind, whichever we do.) Well,

as of none of the company seem disposed to drink much, I may be forgiven

for saying, as a physician, that drinking deep is a bad practice, which I

never follow, if I can help, and certainly do not recommend to another,

least of all to any one who still feels the effects of yesterday's carouse.

I always do what you advise, and especially what you prescribe as a

physician, rejoined Phaedrus the Myrrhinusian, and the rest of the company,

if they are wise, will do the same.

It was agreed that drinking was not to be the order of the day, but that

they were all to drink only so much as they pleased.

Then, said Eryximachus, as you are all agreed that drinking is to be

voluntary, and that there is to be no compulsion, I move, in the next

place, that the flute-girl, who has just made her appearance, be told to go

away and play to herself, or, if she likes, to the women who are within

(compare Prot.). To-day let us have conversation instead; and, if you will

allow me, I will tell you what sort of conversation. This proposal having

been accepted, Eryximachus proceeded as follows:--

I will begin, he said, after the manner of Melanippe in Euripides,

'Not mine the word'

which I am about to speak, but that of Phaedrus. For often he says to me

in an indignant tone:--'What a strange thing it is, Eryximachus, that,

whereas other gods have poems and hymns made in their honour, the great and

glorious god, Love, has no encomiast among all the poets who are so many.

There are the worthy sophists too--the excellent Prodicus for example, who

have descanted in prose on the virtues of Heracles and other heroes; and,

what is still more extraordinary, I have met with a philosophical work in

which the utility of salt has been made the theme of an eloquent discourse;

and many other like things have had a like honour bestowed upon them. And

only to think that there should have been an eager interest created about

them, and yet that to this day no one has ever dared worthily to hymn

Love's praises! So entirely has this great deity been neglected.' Now in

this Phaedrus seems to me to be quite right, and therefore I want to offer

him a contribution; also I think that at the present moment we who are here

assembled cannot do better than honour the god Love. If you agree with me,

there will be no lack of conversation; for I mean to propose that each of

us in turn, going from left to right, shall make a speech in honour of

Love. Let him give us the best which he can; and Phaedrus, because he is

sitting first on the left hand, and because he is the father of the

thought, shall begin.

No one will vote against you, Eryximachus, said Socrates. How can I oppose

your motion, who profess to understand nothing but matters of love; nor, I

presume, will Agathon and Pausanias; and there can be no doubt of

Aristophanes, whose whole concern is with Dionysus and Aphrodite; nor will

any one disagree of those whom I see around me. The proposal, as I am

aware, may seem rather hard upon us whose place is last; but we shall be

contented if we hear some good speeches first. Let Phaedrus begin the

praise of Love, and good luck to him. All the company expressed their

assent, and desired him to do as Socrates bade him.

Aristodemus did not recollect all that was said, nor do I recollect all

that he related to me; but I will tell you what I thought most worthy of

remembrance, and what the chief speakers said.

Phaedrus began by affirming that Love is a mighty god, and wonderful among

gods and men, but especially wonderful in his birth. For he is the eldest

of the gods, which is an honour to him; and a proof of his claim to this

honour is, that of his parents there is no memorial; neither poet nor

prose-writer has ever affirmed that he had any. As Hesiod says:--

'First Chaos came, and then broad-bosomed Earth,

The everlasting seat of all that is,

And Love.'

In other words, after Chaos, the Earth and Love, these two, came into

being. Also Parmenides sings of Generation:

'First in the train of gods, he fashioned Love.'

And Acusilaus agrees with Hesiod. Thus numerous are the witnesses who

acknowledge Love to be the eldest of the gods. And not only is he the

eldest, he is also the source of the greatest benefits to us. For I know

not any greater blessing to a young man who is beginning life than a

virtuous lover, or to the lover than a beloved youth. For the principle

which ought to be the guide of men who would nobly live--that principle, I

say, neither kindred, nor honour, nor wealth, nor any other motive is able

to implant so well as love. Of what am I speaking? Of the sense of honour

and dishonour, without which neither states nor individuals ever do any

good or great work. And I say that a lover who is detected in doing any

dishonourable act, or submitting through cowardice when any dishonour is

done to him by another, will be more pained at being detected by his

beloved than at being seen by his father, or by his companions, or by any

one else. The beloved too, when he is found in any disgraceful situation,

has the same feeling about his lover. And if there were only some way of

contriving that a state or an army should be made up of lovers and their

loves (compare Rep.), they would be the very best governors of their own

city, abstaining from all dishonour, and emulating one another in honour;

and when fighting at each other's side, although a mere handful, they would

overcome the world. For what lover would not choose rather to be seen by

all mankind than by his beloved, either when abandoning his post or

throwing away his arms? He would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather

than endure this. Or who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour

of danger? The veriest coward would become an inspired hero, equal to the

bravest, at such a time; Love would inspire him. That courage which, as

Homer says, the god breathes into the souls of some heroes, Love of his own

nature infuses into the lover.

Love will make men dare to die for their beloved--love alone; and women as

well as men. Of this, Alcestis, the daughter of Pelias, is a monument to

all Hellas; for she was willing to lay down her life on behalf of her

husband, when no one else would, although he had a father and mother; but

the tenderness of her love so far exceeded theirs, that she made them seem

to be strangers in blood to their own son, and in name only related to him;

and so noble did this action of hers appear to the gods, as well as to men,

that among the many who have done virtuously she is one of the very few to

whom, in admiration of her noble action, they have granted the privilege of

returning alive to earth; such exceeding honour is paid by the gods to the

devotion and virtue of love. But Orpheus, the son of Oeagrus, the harper,

they sent empty away, and presented to him an apparition only of her whom

he sought, but herself they would not give up, because he showed no spirit;

he was only a harp-player, and did not dare like Alcestis to die for love,

but was contriving how he might enter Hades alive; moreover, they

afterwards caused him to suffer death at the hands of women, as the

punishment of his cowardliness. Very different was the reward of the true

love of Achilles towards his lover Patroclus--his lover and not his love

(the notion that Patroclus was the beloved one is a foolish error into

which Aeschylus has fallen, for Achilles was surely the fairer of the two,

fairer also than all the other heroes; and, as Homer informs us, he was

still beardless, and younger far). And greatly as the gods honour the

virtue of love, still the return of love on the part of the beloved to the

lover is more admired and valued and rewarded by them, for the lover is

more divine; because he is inspired by God. Now Achilles was quite aware,

for he had been told by his mother, that he might avoid death and return

home, and live to a good old age, if he abstained from slaying Hector.

Nevertheless he gave his life to revenge his friend, and dared to die, not

only in his defence, but after he was dead. Wherefore the gods honoured

him even above Alcestis, and sent him to the Islands of the Blest. These

are my reasons for affirming that Love is the eldest and noblest and

mightiest of the gods; and the chiefest author and giver of virtue in life,

and of happiness after death.

This, or something like this, was the speech of Phaedrus; and some other

speeches followed which Aristodemus did not remember; the next which he

repeated was that of Pausanias. Phaedrus, he said, the argument has not

been set before us, I think, quite in the right form;--we should not be

called upon to praise Love in such an indiscriminate manner. If there were

only one Love, then what you said would be well enough; but since there are

more Loves than one,--should have begun by determining which of them was to

be the theme of our praises. I will amend this defect; and first of all I

will tell you which Love is deserving of praise, and then try to hymn the

praiseworthy one in a manner worthy of him. For we all know that Love is

inseparable from Aphrodite, and if there were only one Aphrodite there

would be only one Love; but as there are two goddesses there must be two

Loves. And am I not right in asserting that there are two goddesses? The

elder one, having no mother, who is called the heavenly Aphrodite--she is

the daughter of Uranus; the younger, who is the daughter of Zeus and Dione

--her we call common; and the Love who is her fellow-worker is rightly

named common, as the other love is called heavenly. All the gods ought to

have praise given to them, but not without distinction of their natures;

and therefore I must try to distinguish the characters of the two Loves.

Now actions vary according to the manner of their performance. Take, for

example, that which we are now doing, drinking, singing and talking--these

actions are not in themselves either good or evil, but they turn out in

this or that way according to the mode of performing them; and when well

done they are good, and when wrongly done they are evil; and in like manner

not every love, but only that which has a noble purpose, is noble and

worthy of praise. The Love who is the offspring of the common Aphrodite is

essentially common, and has no discrimination, being such as the meaner

sort of men feel, and is apt to be of women as well as of youths, and is of

the body rather than of the soul--the most foolish beings are the objects

of this love which desires only to gain an end, but never thinks of

accomplishing the end nobly, and therefore does good and evil quite

indiscriminately. The goddess who is his mother is far younger than the

other, and she was born of the union of the male and female, and partakes

of both. But the offspring of the heavenly Aphrodite is derived from a

mother in whose birth the female has no part,--she is from the male only;

this is that love which is of youths, and the goddess being older, there is

nothing of wantonness in her. Those who are inspired by this love turn to

the male, and delight in him who is the more valiant and intelligent

nature; any one may recognise the pure enthusiasts in the very character of

their attachments. For they love not boys, but intelligent beings whose

reason is beginning to be developed, much about the time at which their

beards begin to grow. And in choosing young men to be their companions,

they mean to be faithful to them, and pass their whole life in company with

them, not to take them in their inexperience, and deceive them, and play

the fool with them, or run away from one to another of them. But the love

of young boys should be forbidden by law, because their future is

uncertain; they may turn out good or bad, either in body or soul, and much

noble enthusiasm may be thrown away upon them; in this matter the good are

a law to themselves, and the coarser sort of lovers ought to be restrained

by force; as we restrain or attempt to restrain them from fixing their

affections on women of free birth. These are the persons who bring a

reproach on love; and some have been led to deny the lawfulness of such

attachments because they see the impropriety and evil of them; for surely

nothing that is decorously and lawfully done can justly be censured. Now

here and in Lacedaemon the rules about love are perplexing, but in most

cities they are simple and easily intelligible; in Elis and Boeotia, and in

countries having no gifts of eloquence, they are very straightforward; the

law is simply in favour of these connexions, and no one, whether young or

old, has anything to say to their discredit; the reason being, as I

suppose, that they are men of few words in those parts, and therefore the

lovers do not like the trouble of pleading their suit. In Ionia and other

places, and generally in countries which are subject to the barbarians, the

custom is held to be dishonourable; loves of youths share the evil repute

in which philosophy and gymnastics are held, because they are inimical to

tyranny; for the interests of rulers require that their subjects should be

poor in spirit (compare Arist. Politics), and that there should be no

strong bond of friendship or society among them, which love, above all

other motives, is likely to inspire, as our Athenian tyrants learned by

experience; for the love of Aristogeiton and the constancy of Harmodius had

a strength which undid their power. And, therefore, the ill-repute into

which these attachments have fallen is to be ascribed to the evil condition

of those who make them to be ill-reputed; that is to say, to the self-

seeking of the governors and the cowardice of the governed; on the other

hand, the indiscriminate honour which is given to them in some countries is

attributable to the laziness of those who hold this opinion of them. In

our own country a far better principle prevails, but, as I was saying, the

explanation of it is rather perplexing. For, observe that open loves are

held to be more honourable than secret ones, and that the love of the

noblest and highest, even if their persons are less beautiful than others,

is especially honourable. Consider, too, how great is the encouragement

which all the world gives to the lover; neither is he supposed to be doing

anything dishonourable; but if he succeeds he is praised, and if he fail he

is blamed. And in the pursuit of his love the custom of mankind allows him

to do many strange things, which philosophy would bitterly censure if they

were done from any motive of interest, or wish for office or power. He may

pray, and entreat, and supplicate, and swear, and lie on a mat at the door,

and endure a slavery worse than that of any slave--in any other case

friends and enemies would be equally ready to prevent him, but now there is

no friend who will be ashamed of him and admonish him, and no enemy will

charge him with meanness or flattery; the actions of a lover have a grace

which ennobles them; and custom has decided that they are highly

commendable and that there no loss of character in them; and, what is

strangest of all, he only may swear and forswear himself (so men say), and

the gods will forgive his transgression, for there is no such thing as a

lover's oath. Such is the entire liberty which gods and men have allowed

the lover, according to the custom which prevails in our part of the world.

From this point of view a man fairly argues that in Athens to love and to

be loved is held to be a very honourable thing. But when parents forbid

their sons to talk with their lovers, and place them under a tutor's care,

who is appointed to see to these things, and their companions and equals

cast in their teeth anything of the sort which they may observe, and their

elders refuse to silence the reprovers and do not rebuke them--any one who

reflects on all this will, on the contrary, think that we hold these

practices to be most disgraceful. But, as I was saying at first, the truth

as I imagine is, that whether such practices are honourable or whether they

are dishonourable is not a simple question; they are honourable to him who

follows them honourably, dishonourable to him who follows them

dishonourably. There is dishonour in yielding to the evil, or in an evil

manner; but there is honour in yielding to the good, or in an honourable

manner. Evil is the vulgar lover who loves the body rather than the soul,

inasmuch as he is not even stable, because he loves a thing which is in

itself unstable, and therefore when the bloom of youth which he was

desiring is over, he takes wing and flies away, in spite of all his words

and promises; whereas the love of the noble disposition is life-long, for

it becomes one with the everlasting. The custom of our country would have

both of them proven well and truly, and would have us yield to the one sort

of lover and avoid the other, and therefore encourages some to pursue, and

others to fly; testing both the lover and beloved in contests and trials,

until they show to which of the two classes they respectively belong. And

this is the reason why, in the first place, a hasty attachment is held to

be dishonourable, because time is the true test of this as of most other

things; and secondly there is a dishonour in being overcome by the love of

money, or of wealth, or of political power, whether a man is frightened

into surrender by the loss of them, or, having experienced the benefits of

money and political corruption, is unable to rise above the seductions of

them. For none of these things are of a permanent or lasting nature; not

to mention that no generous friendship ever sprang from them. There

remains, then, only one way of honourable attachment which custom allows in

the beloved, and this is the way of virtue; for as we admitted that any

service which the lover does to him is not to be accounted flattery or a

dishonour to himself, so the beloved has one way only of voluntary service

which is not dishonourable, and this is virtuous service.

For we have a custom, and according to our custom any one who does service

to another under the idea that he will be improved by him either in wisdom,

or in some other particular of virtue--such a voluntary service, I say, is

not to be regarded as a dishonour, and is not open to the charge of

flattery. And these two customs, one the love of youth, and the other the

practice of philosophy and virtue in general, ought to meet in one, and

then the beloved may honourably indulge the lover. For when the lover and

beloved come together, having each of them a law, and the lover thinks that

he is right in doing any service which he can to his gracious loving one;

and the other that he is right in showing any kindness which he can to him

who is making him wise and good; the one capable of communicating wisdom

and virtue, the other seeking to acquire them with a view to education and

wisdom, when the two laws of love are fulfilled and meet in one--then, and

then only, may the beloved yield with honour to the lover. Nor when love

is of this disinterested sort is there any disgrace in being deceived, but

in every other case there is equal disgrace in being or not being deceived.

For he who is gracious to his lover under the impression that he is rich,

and is disappointed of his gains because he turns out to be poor, is

disgraced all the same: for he has done his best to show that he would

give himself up to any one's 'uses base' for the sake of money; but this is

not honourable. And on the same principle he who gives himself to a lover

because he is a good man, and in the hope that he will be improved by his

company, shows himself to be virtuous, even though the object of his

affection turn out to be a villain, and to have no virtue; and if he is

deceived he has committed a noble error. For he has proved that for his

part he will do anything for anybody with a view to virtue and improvement,

than which there can be nothing nobler. Thus noble in every case is the

acceptance of another for the sake of virtue. This is that love which is

the love of the heavenly godess, and is heavenly, and of great price to

individuals and cities, making the lover and the beloved alike eager in the

work of their own improvement. But all other loves are the offspring of

the other, who is the common goddess. To you, Phaedrus, I offer this my

contribution in praise of love, which is as good as I could make extempore.

Pausanias came to a pause--this is the balanced way in which I have been

taught by the wise to speak; and Aristodemus said that the turn of

Aristophanes was next, but either he had eaten too much, or from some other

cause he had the hiccough, and was obliged to change turns with Eryximachus

the physician, who was reclining on the couch below him. Eryximachus, he

said, you ought either to stop my hiccough, or to speak in my turn until I

have left off.

I will do both, said Eryximachus: I will speak in your turn, and do you

speak in mine; and while I am speaking let me recommend you to hold your

breath, and if after you have done so for some time the hiccough is no

better, then gargle with a little water; and if it still continues, tickle

your nose with something and sneeze; and if you sneeze once or twice, even

the most violent hiccough is sure to go. I will do as you prescribe, said

Aristophanes, and now get on.

Eryximachus spoke as follows: Seeing that Pausanias made a fair beginning,

and but a lame ending, I must endeavour to supply his deficiency. I think

that he has rightly distinguished two kinds of love. But my art further

informs me that the double love is not merely an affection of the soul of

man towards the fair, or towards anything, but is to be found in the bodies

of all animals and in productions of the earth, and I may say in all that

is; such is the conclusion which I seem to have gathered from my own art of

medicine, whence I learn how great and wonderful and universal is the deity

of love, whose empire extends over all things, divine as well as human.

And from medicine I will begin that I may do honour to my art. There are

in the human body these two kinds of love, which are confessedly different

and unlike, and being unlike, they have loves and desires which are unlike;

and the desire of the healthy is one, and the desire of the diseased is

another; and as Pausanias was just now saying that to indulge good men is

honourable, and bad men dishonourable:--so too in the body the good and

healthy elements are to be indulged, and the bad elements and the elements

of disease are not to be indulged, but discouraged. And this is what the

physician has to do, and in this the art of medicine consists: for

medicine may be regarded generally as the knowledge of the loves and

desires of the body, and how to satisfy them or not; and the best physician

is he who is able to separate fair love from foul, or to convert one into

the other; and he who knows how to eradicate and how to implant love,

whichever is required, and can reconcile the most hostile elements in the

constitution and make them loving friends, is a skilful practitioner. Now

the most hostile are the most opposite, such as hot and cold, bitter and

sweet, moist and dry, and the like. And my ancestor, Asclepius, knowing

how to implant friendship and accord in these elements, was the creator of

our art, as our friends the poets here tell us, and I believe them; and not

only medicine in every branch but the arts of gymnastic and husbandry are

under his dominion. Any one who pays the least attention to the subject

will also perceive that in music there is the same reconciliation of

opposites; and I suppose that this must have been the meaning of

Heracleitus, although his words are not accurate; for he says that The One

is united by disunion, like the harmony of the bow and the lyre. Now there

is an absurdity saying that harmony is discord or is composed of elements

which are still in a state of discord. But what he probably meant was,

that harmony is composed of differing notes of higher or lower pitch which

disagreed once, but are now reconciled by the art of music; for if the

higher and lower notes still disagreed, there could be no harmony,--clearly

not. For harmony is a symphony, and symphony is an agreement; but an

agreement of disagreements while they disagree there cannot be; you cannot

harmonize that which disagrees. In like manner rhythm is compounded of

elements short and long, once differing and now in accord; which

accordance, as in the former instance, medicine, so in all these other

cases, music implants, making love and unison to grow up among them; and

thus music, too, is concerned with the principles of love in their

application to harmony and rhythm. Again, in the essential nature of

harmony and rhythm there is no difficulty in discerning love which has not

yet become double. But when you want to use them in actual life, either in

the composition of songs or in the correct performance of airs or metres

composed already, which latter is called education, then the difficulty

begins, and the good artist is needed. Then the old tale has to be

repeated of fair and heavenly love--the love of Urania the fair and

heavenly muse, and of the duty of accepting the temperate, and those who

are as yet intemperate only that they may become temperate, and of

preserving their love; and again, of the vulgar Polyhymnia, who must be

used with circumspection that the pleasure be enjoyed, but may not generate

licentiousness; just as in my own art it is a great matter so to regulate

the desires of the epicure that he may gratify his tastes without the

attendant evil of disease. Whence I infer that in music, in medicine, in

all other things human as well as divine, both loves ought to be noted as

far as may be, for they are both present.

The course of the seasons is also full of both these principles; and when,

as I was saying, the elements of hot and cold, moist and dry, attain the

harmonious love of one another and blend in temperance and harmony, they

bring to men, animals, and plants health and plenty, and do them no harm;

whereas the wanton love, getting the upper hand and affecting the seasons

of the year, is very destructive and injurious, being the source of

pestilence, and bringing many other kinds of diseases on animals and

plants; for hoar-frost and hail and blight spring from the excesses and

disorders of these elements of love, which to know in relation to the

revolutions of the heavenly bodies and the seasons of the year is termed

astronomy. Furthermore all sacrifices and the whole province of

divination, which is the art of communion between gods and men--these, I

say, are concerned only with the preservation of the good and the cure of

the evil love. For all manner of impiety is likely to ensue if, instead of

accepting and honouring and reverencing the harmonious love in all his

actions, a man honours the other love, whether in his feelings towards gods

or parents, towards the living or the dead. Wherefore the business of

divination is to see to these loves and to heal them, and divination is the

peacemaker of gods and men, working by a knowledge of the religious or

irreligious tendencies which exist in human loves. Such is the great and

mighty, or rather omnipotent force of love in general. And the love, more

especially, which is concerned with the good, and which is perfected in

company with temperance and justice, whether among gods or men, has the

greatest power, and is the source of all our happiness and harmony, and

makes us friends with the gods who are above us, and with one another. I

dare say that I too have omitted several things which might be said in

praise of Love, but this was not intentional, and you, Aristophanes, may

now supply the omission or take some other line of commendation; for I

perceive that you are rid of the hiccough.

Yes, said Aristophanes, who followed, the hiccough is gone; not, however,

until I applied the sneezing; and I wonder whether the harmony of the body

has a love of such noises and ticklings, for I no sooner applied the

sneezing than I was cured.

Eryximachus said: Beware, friend Aristophanes, although you are going to

speak, you are making fun of me; and I shall have to watch and see whether

I cannot have a laugh at your expense, when you might speak in peace.

You are right, said Aristophanes, laughing. I will unsay my words; but do

you please not to watch me, as I fear that in the speech which I am about

to make, instead of others laughing with me, which is to the manner born of

our muse and would be all the better, I shall only be laughed at by them.

Do you expect to shoot your bolt and escape, Aristophanes? Well, perhaps

if you are very careful and bear in mind that you will be called to

account, I may be induced to let you off.

Aristophanes professed to open another vein of discourse; he had a mind to

praise Love in another way, unlike that either of Pausanias or Eryximachus.

Mankind, he said, judging by their neglect of him, have never, as I think,

at all understood the power of Love. For if they had understood him they

would surely have built noble temples and altars, and offered solemn

sacrifices in his honour; but this is not done, and most certainly ought to

be done: since of all the gods he is the best friend of men, the helper

and the healer of the ills which are the great impediment to the happiness

of the race. I will try to describe his power to you, and you shall teach

the rest of the world what I am teaching you. In the first place, let me

treat of the nature of man and what has happened to it; for the original

human nature was not like the present, but different. The sexes were not

two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman,

and the union of the two, having a name corresponding to this double

nature, which had once a real existence, but is now lost, and the word

'Androgynous' is only preserved as a term of reproach. In the second

place, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle; and

he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, looking opposite

ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike; also four ears, two privy

members, and the remainder to correspond. He could walk upright as men now

do, backwards or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll over and

over at a great pace, turning on his four hands and four feet, eight in

all, like tumblers going over and over with their legs in the air; this was

when he wanted to run fast. Now the sexes were three, and such as I have

described them; because the sun, moon, and earth are three; and the man was

originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman

of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and

moved round and round like their parents. Terrible was their might and

strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an

attack upon the gods; of them is told the tale of Otys and Ephialtes who,

as Homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the

gods. Doubt reigned in the celestial councils. Should they kill them and

annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had done the giants, then

there would be an end of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to

them; but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer their insolence to

be unrestrained. At last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered

a way. He said: 'Methinks I have a plan which will humble their pride and

improve their manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in

two and then they will be diminished in strength and increased in numbers;

this will have the advantage of making them more profitable to us. They

shall walk upright on two legs, and if they continue insolent and will not

be quiet, I will split them again and they shall hop about on a single

leg.' He spoke and cut men in two, like a sorb-apple which is halved for

pickling, or as you might divide an egg with a hair; and as he cut them one

after another, he bade Apollo give the face and the half of the neck a turn

in order that the man might contemplate the section of himself: he would

thus learn a lesson of humility. Apollo was also bidden to heal their

wounds and compose their forms. So he gave a turn to the face and pulled

the skin from the sides all over that which in our language is called the

belly, like the purses which draw in, and he made one mouth at the centre,

which he fastened in a knot (the same which is called the navel); he also

moulded the breast and took out most of the wrinkles, much as a shoemaker

might smooth leather upon a last; he left a few, however, in the region of

the belly and navel, as a memorial of the primeval state. After the

division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together,

and throwing their arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces,

longing to grow into one, they were on the point of dying from hunger and

self-neglect, because they did not like to do anything apart; and when one

of the halves died and the other survived, the survivor sought another

mate, man or woman as we call them,--being the sections of entire men or

women,--and clung to that. They were being destroyed, when Zeus in pity of

them invented a new plan: he turned the parts of generation round to the

front, for this had not been always their position, and they sowed the seed

no longer as hitherto like grasshoppers in the ground, but in one another;

and after the transposition the male generated in the female in order that

by the mutual embraces of man and woman they might breed, and the race

might continue; or if man came to man they might be satisfied, and rest,

and go their ways to the business of life: so ancient is the desire of one

another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, making one

of two, and healing the state of man. Each of us when separated, having

one side only, like a flat fish, is but the indenture of a man, and he is

always looking for his other half. Men who are a section of that double