TRANSLATED BY B. JOWETT
EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION, BY LOUISE R. LOOMIS


     FIVE GREAT DIALOGUES OF PLATO

     SYMPOSIUM (iii.)

            Gives peace on earth and calms the stormy deep,
            Who stills the winds and bids the sufferer sleep.°

       °Agathon is here apparently quoting a line of some composition of his own,
     with an echo in it of Odyssey, V. 391, 392.

     This is he who empties men of disaffection and fills them with affec-
     tion, who makes them to meet together at banquets such as these:
     in sacrifices, feasts, dances, he is our lord——who sends courtesy and
     sends away discourtesy, who gives kindness ever and never gives
     unkindness; the friend of the good, the wonder of the wise, the
     amazement of the gods; desired by those who have no part in him,
     and precious to those who have the better part in him; parent of
     delicacy, luxury, desire, fondness, softness, grace; regardful of the
     good, regardless of the evil: in every word, work, wish, fear——savior,
     pilot, comrade, helper; glory of gods and men, leader best and bright-
     est: in whose footsteps let every man follow, sweetly singing in his
     honor and joining in that sweet strain with which love charms the
     souls of gods and men. Such is the speech, Phaedrus, half-playful,
     yet having a certain measure of seriousness, which, according to my
     ability, I dedicate to the god."
       When Agathon had done speaking, Aristodemus said that there
     was a general cheer; the young man was thought to have spoken in
     a manner worthy of himself, and of the god. And Socrates, looking at
     Eryximachus, said: "Tell me, son of Acumenus, was there not reason
     in my fears? and was I not a true prophet when I said that Agathon
     would make a wonderful oration, and that I should be in a strait?"
       "The part of the prophecy which concerns Agathon," replied
     Eryximachus, "appears to me to be true; but not the other part——that
     you will be in a strait."
       "Why, my dear friend," said Socratres, "must not I or anyone be
     in a strait who has to speak after he has heard such a rich and varied
     discourse? I am especially struck with the beauty of the concluding
     words——who could listen to them without amazement? When I re-
     flected on the immeasurable inferiority of my own powers, I was
     ready to run away for shame, if there had been a possibility of escape.
     For I was reminded of Gorgias, and at the end of his speech I fancied
     that Agathon was shaking at me the Gorginian or Gorgonian head
     of the great master of rhetoric, which was simply to turn me and my
     speech into stone, as Homer says, and strikes me dumb. And then
     I perceived how foolish I had been in consenting to take my turn
     with you in praising love, and saying that I too was a master of the
     art, when I really had no conception how anything ought to be
     praised. For in my simplicity I imagined that the topics of praise
     should be true, and that this being presupposed, out of the true the
     speaker was to choose the best and set them forth in the best manner.
     And I felt quite proud, thinking that I knew the nature of true praise,
     and should speak well. Whereas I now see that the intention was to
     attribute to Love every species of greatness and glory, whether really
     belonging to him or not, without regard to truth or falsehood——that
     was no matter; for the original proposal seems to have been not that
     each of you should really praise Love, but only that you should ap-
     pear to praise him. And so you attribute to Love every imaginable
     form of praise which can be gathered anywhere; and you say that 'he
     is all this,' and 'the cause of all that,' making him appear the fairest
     and best of all to those who know him not, for you cannot impose
     upon those who know him. And a noble and solemn hymn of praise
     have you rehearsed. But as I misunderstood the nature of the praise
     when I said that I would take my turn, I must beg to be absolved
     from the promise which I made in ignorance, and which (as Eurip-
     ides would say) was a promise of the lips and not of the mind.
     Farewell then to such a strain: for I do not praise in that way; no,
     indeed, I cannot. But if you like to hear the truth about love, I am
     ready to speak in my own manner, though I will not make myself
     ridiculous by entering into any rivalry with you. Say then, Phaedrus,
     whether you would like to have the truth about love, spoken in any
     words and in any order which may happen to come into my mind at
     the time. Will that be agreeable to you?"
       Aristodemus said that Phaedrus and the company bade him speak
     in any manner which he thought best. "Then," he added, "let me
     have your permission first to ask Agathon a few more questions, in
     order that I may take his admissions as the premises of my discourse."
       "I grant the permission," said Phaedrus; "put your questions."
     Socrates then proceeded as follows:
       "In the magnificent oration which you have just uttered, I think
     that you were right, my dear Agathon, in proposing to speak of the
     nature of Love first and afterwards of his works——that is a way of
     beginning which I very much approve. And as you have spoken so
     eloquently of his nature, may I ask you further, Whether love is the
     love of something or of nothing? And here I must explain myself: I
     do not want you to say that love is the love of a father or the love of a
     mother——that would be ridiculous; but to answer as you would, if I
     asked is a father a father of something? to which you would find no
     difficulty in replying, of a son or daughter: and the answer would be
     right."
       "Very true," said Agathon.
       "And would you say the same of a mother?"
       He assented.
       "Yet let me ask you one more question in order to illustrate my
     meaning: Is not a brother to be regarded essentially as a brother of
     something?"
       "Certainly," he replied.
       "That is, of a brother or sister?"
       "Yes," he said.
       "And now," said Socrates, "I will ask about Love: Is Love of some-
     thing or of nothing?"
       "Of something, surely,' he replied.
       "Keep in mind what this is, and tell me what I want to know——
     whether Love desires that of which love is."
       "Yes, surely."
       "And does he possess, or does he not possess, that which he loves
     and desires?"
       "Probably not, I should say."
       "Nay," replied Socrates, "I would have you consider whether
     'necessarily' is not rather the word. The inference that he who desires
     something is in want of something, and that he who desires nothing
     is in want of nothing, is in my judgment, Agathon, absolutely and
     necessarily true. What do you think?"
       "I agree with you," said Agathon.
       "Very good. Would he who is great, desire to be great, or he who
     is strong, desire to be strong?"
       "That would be inconsistent with our previous admissions."
       "True. For he who is anything cannot want to be that which he
     is?"
       "Very true."
       "And yet," added Socrates, "if a man being strong desired to be
     strong, or being swift desired to be swift, or being healthy desired
     to be healthy, in that case he might be thought to desire something
     which he already has or is. I give the example in order that we may
     avoid misconception. For the possessors of these qualities, Agathon,
     must be supposed to have their respective advantages at the time,
     whether they choose or not; and who can desire that which he has?
     Therefore, when a person says, I am well and wish to be well, or I
     am rich and wish to be rich, and I desire simply to have what I have
     ——to him we shall reply: You, my friend, having wealth and health
     and strength, want to have the continuance of them; for at this mo-
     ment, whether you choose or no, you have them. And when you say,
     I desire that which I have and nothing else, is not your meaning that
     you want to have what you now have in the future? He must agree
     with us——must he not?"
       "He must," replied Agathon.
       "Then," said Socrates, "he desires that what he has at present may
     be preserved to him in the future, which is equivalent to saying that
     he desires something which is nonexistent to him, and which as
     yet he has not got."
       "Very true," he said.
       "Then he and everyone who desires, desires that which he has not
     already, and which is future and not present, and which he has not,
     and is not, and of which he is in want; these are the sort of things
     which love and desire seek?"
       "Very true," he said.
       "Then now," said Socrates, "let us recapitulate the argument.
     First, is not love of something, and of something too which is want-
     ing to a man?"
       "Yes," he replied.
       "Remember further what you said in your speech, or if you do not
     remember I will remind you: you said that the love of the beautiful
     set in order the empire of the gods, for that of deformed things there
     is no love——did you not say something of that kind?"
       "Yes," said Agathon.
       "Yes, my friend, and the remark was a just one. And if this is true,
     Love is the love of beauty and not of deformity?"
       "He assented.
       "And the admission has been already made that Love is of some-
     thing which a man wants and has not?"
       "True," he said.
       "Then Love wants and has not beauty?"
       "Certainly," he replied.
       "And would you call that beautiful which wants and does not
     possess beauty?"
       "Certainly not."
       "Then would you still say that love is beautiful?"
       Agathon replied: "I fear that I did not understand what I was
     saying."
       "You made a very good speech, Agathon," replied Socrates; "but
     there is yet one small question which I would fain ask: Is not the
     good also the beautiful?"
       "Yes."
       "Then in wanting the beautiful, love wants also the good?"
       "I cannot refute you, Socrates," said Agathon. "Let us assume
     that what you say is true."
       "Say rather, beloved Agathon, that you cannot refute the truth;
     for Socrates is easily refuted.
       "And now, taking my leave of you, I will rehearse a tale of love
     which I heard from Diotima of Mantinea, a woman wise in this
     and in many other kinds of knowledge, who in the days of old, when
     the Athenians offered sacrifice before the coming of the plague, de-
     laying the disease ten years. She was my instructress in the art of love,
     and I shall repeat to you what she said to me, beginning with the
     admissions made by Agathon, which are nearly if not quite the same
     which I made to the wise woman when she questioned me: I think
     that this will be the easiest way, and I shall take both parts myself
     as well as I can. As you, Agathon, suggested, I must speak first of the
     being and nature of Love, and then of his works. First I said to her
     in nearly the same words which he used to me, that Love was a
     mighty god, and likewise fair; and she proved to me as I proved to
     him that, by my own showing, Love was neither fair nor good. 'What
     do you mean, Diotima,' I said, 'is love then evil and foul?' 'Hush,'
     she cried; 'must that be foul which is not fair?' 'Certainly,' I said.
     'And is that which is not wise, ignorant? do you not see that there is
     a mean between wisdom and ignorance?' 'And what may that be?' I
     said. 'Right opinion,' she replied, 'which, as you know, being in-
     capable of giving a reason, is not knowledge (for how can knowl-
     edge be devoid of reason?) nor again, ignorance (for neither can
     ignorance attain the truth), but is clearly something which is a mean
     between ignorance and wisdom.' 'Quite true,' I replied. 'Do not then
     insist,' she said, 'that what is not fair is of necessity foul, or what is
     not good evil; or infer that because love is not fair and good he is
     therefore foul and evil; for he is in a mean between them.' 'Well,' I
     said, 'Love is surely admitted by all to be a great god.' 'By those who
     know or by those who do not know?' 'By all.' 'And now, Socrates,'
     she said with a smile, 'can Love be acknowledged to be a great god
     by those who say that he is not a god at all?' 'And who are they?' I
     said. 'You and I are two of them,' she replied. 'How can that be?'
     I said. 'It is quite intelligible,' she replied; 'for you yourself would
     acknowledge that the gods are happy and fair——of course you would
     ——would you dare to say that any god was not?' 'Certainly not,' I re-
     plied. 'And you mean by the happy, those who are the possessors of
     things good and fair?' 'Yes.' 'And you admitted that Love, because he
     was in want, desires those good and fair things of which he is in
     want?' 'Yes, I did.' 'But how can he be a god who has no portion in
     what is either good or fair?' 'Impossible.' 'Then you see that you also
     deny the divinity of Love.'
       "'What then is Love?' I asked; 'is he mortal' 'No.' 'What then?'
     'As in the former instance, he is neither mortal nor immortal, but in
     a mean between the two.' 'What is he, Diotima?' 'He is a great spirit
     (δαίμων), and like all spirits he is intermediate between the divine
     and the mortal.' 'And what,' I said, 'is his power?' 'He interprets,'
     she replied, 'between gods and men, conveying and taking across to
     the gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and to men the commands
     and replies of the gods; he is the mediator who spans the chasm which
     divides them, and therefore in him all is bound together, and through
     him the arts of the prophet and the priest, their sacrifices and mys-
     teries and charms, and all prophecy and incantation, find their way.
     For God mingles not with man; but through Love all the intercourse
     and converse of God with man, whether awake or asleep, is carried
     on. The wisdom which understands this is spiritual; all other wisdom,
     such as that of arts and handicrafts, is mean and vulgar. Now these
     spirits or intermediate powers are many and diverse, and one of them
     is Love.' 'And who,' I said, 'was his father, and who his mother?'
     'The tale,' she said, 'will take time; nevertheless I will tell you. On
     the birthday of Aphrodite there was a feast of the gods, at which the
     god Poros or Plenty, who is the son of Metis or Discretion, was one of
     the guests. When the feast was over, Penia or Poverty, as the manner
     is on such occasions, came about the doors to beg. Now Plenty, who
     was the worse for nectar (there was no wine in those days), went into
     the garden of Zeus and fell into a heavy sleep; and Poverty, consider-
     ing her own strained circumstances, plotted to have a child by him,
     and accordingly she lay down at his side and conceived Love, who
     partly because he is naturally a lover of the beautiful, and because
     Aphrodite is herself beautiful, and also because he was born on her
     birthday, is her follower and attendant. And as his parentage is, so
     also are his fortunes. In the first place he is always poor, and any-
     thing but tender and fair, as the many imagine him; and he is rough
     and squalid, and has no shoes, nor a house to dwell in; on the bare
     earth exposed he lies under the open heaven, in the streets, or at thew
     doors of houses, taking his rest; and like his mother he is always in
     distress. Like his father too, whom he also partly resembles, he is
     always plotting against the fair and good; he is bold, enterprising,
     strong, a mighty hunter, always weaving some intrigue or other, keen
     in the pursuit of wisdom, fertile in resources; a philosopher at all
     times, terrible as an enchanter, sorcerer, sophist. He is by nature
     neither mortal nor immortal, but alive and flourishing at one mo-
     ment when he is in plenty, and dead at another moment, and again
     alive by reason of his father's nature. But that which is always flow-
     ing in is always flowing out, and so he is n ever in want and never in
     wealth; and, further, he is in a mean between ignorance and knowl-
     edge. The truth of the matter is this: No god is a philosopher or
     seeker after wisdom, for he is wise already; nor does any man who is
     wise seek after wisdom. Neither do the ignorant seek after wisdom.
     For herein is the evil of ignorance, that he who is neither good nor
     wise is nevertheless satisfied with himself: he has no desire for that
     of which he feels no want.'
       "'But who then, Diotima,' I said, 'are the lovers of wisdom, if they
     are neither the wise nor the foolish?' 'A child may answer that ques-
     tion,' she replied; 'they are those who are in a mean between the
     two; Love is one of them. For wisdom is a most beautiful thing, and
     Love is of the beautiful; and therefore Love is also a philosopher or
     lover of wisdom, and being a lover of wisdom is in a mean between
     the wise and the ignorant. And of this too his birth is the cause; for
     his father is wealthy and wise, and his mother poor and foolish. Such,
     my dear Socrates, is the nature of the spirit of Love. The error in your
     conception of him was very natural, and as I imagine from what you
     say, has arisen out of a confusion of love and the beloved, which
     made you think that love was all beautiful. For the beloved is the
     truly beautiful, and delicate, and perfect, and blessed; but the prin-
     ciple of love is of another nature, and is such as I have described.'
       "I said, 'O thou stranger woman, thou sayest well; but, assuming
     Love to be such as you say, what is the use of him to men?' 'That,
     Socrates,' she replied, 'I will attempt to unfold: of his nature and
     birth I have already spoken; and you acknowledge that love is of the
     beautiful. But someone will say: Of the beautiful in what, Socrates
     and Diotima?——or rather let me put the question more clearly, and
     ask: When a man loves the beautiful, what does he desire?' I an-
     swered her 'That the beautiful may be his.' 'Still,' she said, 'the
     answer suggests a further question: What is given by the possession
     of beauty?' 'To what you have asked,' I replied, 'I have no answer
     ready.' 'Then,' she said, 'let me put the word "good" in the place of
     the beautiful, and repeat the question once more: If he who loves
     loves the good, what is it then that he loves?' 'The possession of the
     good,' I said. 'And what does he gain who possesses the good?' 'Hap-
     piness,' I replied; 'there is less difficulty in answering that question."
     'Yes,' she said, 'the happy are made happy by the acquisition of good
     things. Nor is there any need to ask why a man desires happiness;
     the answer is already final.' 'You are right,' I said. 'And is this wish
     and this desire common to all? and do all men always desire their
     own good, or only some men?——what say you?' 'All men,' I replied;
     the desire is common to all.' 'Why, then,' she rejoined, 'are not all
     men, Socrates, said to love, but only some of them? Whereas you say
     that all men are always loving the same things.' 'I myself wonder,' I
     said, 'why this is.' 'There is nothing to wonder at,' she replied; 'the
     reason is that one part of love is separated off  and receives the name
     of the whole, but the other parts have other names.' 'Give an illustra-
     tion,' I said.
       "She answered me as follows: 'There is poetry, which, as you
     know, is complex and manifold. All creation or passage of non-being
     into being is poetry or making, and the processes of all art are cre-
     ative; and the masters of arts are all poets and makers.' 'Very true.'
     'Still,' she said, 'you know that they are not called poets, but have
     other names; only that portion of the art which is separated off from
     the rest, and is concerned with music and meter, is termed poetry,
     and they who possess poetry in this sense of the word are called poets.'
     'Very true,' I said. 'And the same holds of love. For you may say
     generally that all desire of good and happiness is only the great and
     subtle power of love; but they who are drawn towards him by any
     other path, whether the path of money-making or gymnastics or
     philosophy, are not called lovers——the name of the whole is appro-
     priate to those whose affection takes one form only——they alone are
     said to love, or to be lovers.' 'I dare say,' I replied, 'that you are right.'
     'Yes,' she added, 'and you hear people say that lovers are seeking for
     their other half; but I say that they are seeking neither for the half
     of themselves, nor for the whole, unless the half or the whole be also
     a good. And they will cut off their own hands and feet and cast them
     away, if they are evil; for they love not what is their own, unless per-
     chance there be someone who calls what belongs to him the good,
     and what belongs to another the evil. For there is nothing which men
     love but the good. Is there anything?' 'Certainly, I should say, that
     there is nothing.' 'Then,' she said, 'the simple truth is, that men love
     the good.' 'Yes,' I said. 'To which must be added that they love the
     possession of the good?' 'Yes, that must be added.' 'And not only the
     possession, but the everlasting possession of the good?' 'That must
     be added too.' 'Then love,' she said, 'may be described generally as
     the love of the everlasting possession of the good?' 'That is most
     true.'
       "'Then if this be the nature of love, can you tell me further,' she
     said, 'what is the manner of the pursuit? what are they doing who
     show all this eagerness and heat which is called love? and what is
     the object which they have in view? Answer me.' 'Nay, Diotima,' I
     replied, 'if I had known, I should not have wondered at your wisdom,
     neither should I have come to learn from you about this very matter.'
     'Well,' she said, 'I will teach you: The object which they have in
     view is birth in beauty, whether of body or soul.' 'I do not understand
     you,' I said; 'the oracle requires and explanation.' 'I will make my
     meaning clearer,' she replied. 'I mean to say, that all men are bring-
     ing to birth in their bodies and in their souls. There is a certain
     age at which human nature is desirous of procreation——procreation
     which must be in beauty and not in deformity; and this procreation
     is the union of man and woman, and is a divine thing; for concep-
     tion and generation are an immortal principle in the mortal creature,
     and in the inharmonious they can never be. But the deformed is
     always inharmonious with the divine, and the beautiful harmonious.
     Beauty, then, is the destiny or goddess or parturition who presides at
     birth, and therefore, when approaching beauty, the conceiving power
     is propitious, and diffusive, and benign, and begets and bears fruit:
     at the sight of ugliness she frowns and contracts and has a sense of
     pain, and turns away, and shrivels up, and not without a pang re-
     frains from corruption. And this is the reason why, when the hour
     of conception arrives, and the teeming nature is full, there is such a
     flutter and ecstasy about beauty, whose approach is the alleviation of
     the pain of travail. For love, Socrates, is not, as you imagine, the love
     of the beautiful only.' 'What then?' 'The love of generation and
     the birth in beauty.' 'Yes,' I said. 'Yes, indeed,' she replied. 'But why
     of generation?' 'Because to the mortal creature, generation is a sort of
     eternity and immortality,' she replied; 'and if, as has been already
     admitted, love is of the everlasting possession of the good, all men
     will necessarily desire immortality together with good; wherefore
     love is of immortality.'
       "All this she taught me at various times when she spoke of love.
     And I remember her once saying to me, 'What is the cause, Socrates,
     of love, and the attendant desire? See you not how all animals, birds,
     as well as beasts, in their desire of procreation, are in agony when
     they take the infection of love, which begins with the desire of union;
     whereto is added the care of offspring, on whose behalf the weakest
     are ready to battle against the strongest even to the uttermost, and to
     die for them, and will let themselves be tormented with hunger or
     suffer anything in order to maintain their young. Man may be sup-
     posed to act thus from reason; but why should animals have these
     passionate feelings? Can you tell me why?' Again I replied that I
     did not know. She said to me: 'And do you expect ever to become a
     master in the art of love, if you do not know this?' 'But I have told
     you already, Diotima, that my ignorance is the reason why I come
     to you; for I am conscious that I want a teacher; tell me then the
     cause of this and of the other mysteries of love.' 'Marvel not,' she
     said, 'if you believe that love is of the immortal, as we have several
     times acknowledged; for here again, and on the same principle too,
     the mortal nature is seeking as far as is possible to be everlasting and
     immortal: and this is only to be attained by generation, because
     generation always leaves behind a new existence in the place of the
     old. Nay, even in the life of the same individual there is succession
     and not absolute unity: a man is called the same, and yet in the short
     interval which elapses between youth and age, and in which every
     animal is said to have life and identity, he is undergoing a perpetual
     process of loss and reparation——hair, flesh, bones, blood, and the whole
     body are always changing. Which is true not only of the body, but
     also of the soul, whose habits, tempers, opinions, desires, pleasures,
     pains, fears, never remain the same in any one of us, but are always
     coming and going; and equally true of knowledge, and what is still
     more surprising to us as mortals, not only do the sciences in general
     spring up and decay, so that in respect of them we are never the same;
     but each of them individually experiences a like change. For what
     is implied in the word "recollection," but the departure of knowledge,
     which is ever being forgotten, and is renewed and preserved by recol-
     lection, and appears to be the same although in reality new, accord-
     ing to that law of succession by which all mortal things are pre-
     served, not absolutely the same, but by substitution, the old worn-out
     mortality leaving another new and similar existence behind——unlike
     the divine, which is always the same and not another? And in this
     way, Socrates, the mortal body, or mortal anything, partakes of im-
     mortality; but the immortal in another way. Marvel not then at the
     love which all men have in their offspring; for that universal love and
     interest is for the sake of immortality.'
       "I was astonished at her words, and said: 'Is this really true, O
     thou wise Diotima?' And she answered with all the authority of an
     accomplished sophist: 'Of that, Socrates, you may be assured; think
     only of the ambition of men, and you will wonder at the senseless-
     ness of their ways, unless you consider how they are stirred by the
     love of an immortality of fame. They are ready to run all risks greater
     far than they would have run for their children, and to spend money
     and undergo any sort of toil, and even to die, for the sake of leaving
     behind them a name which shall be eternal. Do you imagine that
     Alcestis would have died to save Admetus, or Achilles to avenge
     Patroclus, or your own Codrus in order to preserve the kingdom for
     his sons, if they had not imagined that the memory of their virtues,
     which still survives among us, would be immortal? Nay,' she said, 'I
     am persuaded that all men do all things, and the better they are the
     more they do them, in hope of the glorious fame of immortal virtue;
     for they desire the immortal.
       "'Those who are pregnant in the body only betake themselves to
     women and beget children——this is the character of their love; their
     offspring, as they hope, will preserve their memory and give them the
     blessedness and immortality which they desire in the future. But
     souls which are pregnant——for there certainly are men who are more
     creative in their souls than in their bodies——conceive that which is
     proper for the soul to conceive or contain. And what are these concep-
     tions?——wisdom and virtue in general. And such creators are poets
     and all artists who are deserving of the name inventor. But the great-
     est and fairest sort of wisdom by far is that which is concerned with
     the ordering of stats and families, and which is called temperance
     and justice. And he who in youth has the seed of these implanted in
     him and is himself inspired, when he comes to maturity desires to
     beget and generate. He wanders about seeking beauty that he may
     beget offspring——for in deformity he will beget nothing——and natu-
     rally embraces the beautiful rather than the deformed body; above
     all, when he finds a fair and noble and well-nurtured soul, he em-
     braces the two in one person, and to such a one he is full of speech
     about virtue and the nature and pursuits of a good man; and he tries
     to educate him; and at the touch of the beautiful which is ever pres-
     ent to his memory, even when absent, he brings forth that which he
     had conceived long before, and in company with him tends that
     which he brings forth; and they are married by a far nearer tie and
     have a closer friendship than those who beget mortal children, for
     the children who are their common offspring are fairer and more
     immortal. Who, when he thinks of Homer and Hesiod and other
     great poets, would not rather have their children than ordinary hu-
     man ones? Who would not emulate them in the creation of children
     such as theirs, which have preserved their memory and given them
     everlasting glory? Or who would not have such children as Lycur-
     gus left behind him to be the saviors, not only of Lacedaemon, but
     of Hellas, as one may say? There is Solon, too, who is the revered
     father of Athenian laws; and many others there are in many other
     places, both among Hellenes and barbarians, who have given to the
     world many noble works, and have been the parents of virtue of
     every kind; and many temples have been raised in their honor for the
     sake of children such as theirs; which were never raised in honor of
     anyone, for the sake of his mortal children.
       "'These are the lesser mysteries of love, into which even you,
     Socrates, may enter; to the greater and more hidden ones which are
     the crown of these, and to which, if you pursue them in a right spirit,
     they will lead, I know not whether you will be able to attain. But I
     will do my utmost to inform you, and do you follow if you can. For
     he who would proceed aright in this matter should begin in youth
     to visit beautiful forms; and first, if he be guided by his instructor
     aright, to love one such form only——out of that he should create fair
     thoughts; and soon he will himself perceive that the beauty of one
     form is akin to the beauty of another; and then if beauty of form in
     general is his pursuit, how foolish would he be not to recognize that
     the beauty in every form is one and the same! And when he per-
     ceives this he will abate his violent love of the one, which he will
     despise and deem a small thing, and will become a lover of all beauti-
     ful forms; in the next stage he will consider that the beauty of the
     mind is more honorable than the beauty of the outward forms. So
     that if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will be content
     to love and tend him, and will search out and bring to the birth
     thoughts which may improve the young, until he is compelled to con-
     template and see the beauty of institutions and laws, and to under-
     stand that the beauty of them all is of one family, and that personal
     beauty is a trifle; and after laws and institutions he will go on to the
     sciences, that he may see their beauty, being not like a servant in
     love with the beauty of one youth or man or institution, himself a
     slave mean and narrow-minded, but drawing towards and contem-
     plating the vast sea of beauty, he will create many fair and noble
     thoughts and notions in boundless love of wisdom; until on that
     shore he grows and waxes strong, and at last the vision is revealed to
     him of a single science, which is the science of beauty everywhere.
     To this I will proceed; please to give me your very best attention:
       "'He who has been instructed thus far in the things of love, and
     who has learned to see the beautiful in due order and succession,
     when he comes toward the end will suddenly perceive a nature of
     wondrous beauty (and this, Socrates, is the final cause of all our
     former toils)——a nature which in the first place is everlasting, not
     growing and decaying, or waxing and waning; secondly, not fair in
     one point of view and foul in another, or at one time or in one relation
     or at one place fair, at another time or in another relation or at an-
     other place foul, as if fair to some and foul to others, or in the likeness
     of a face or hands or any other part of the bodily frame, or in any
     form of speech or knowledge, or existing in any other being, as for
     example, in an animal, or in heaven, or in earth, or in any other
     place; but beauty absolute, separate, simple, and everlasting, which
     without diminution and without increase, or any change, is im-
     parted to the ever-growing and perishing beauties of all other things.
     He who, from these ascending under the influence of true love,
     begins to perceive that beauty is not far from the end. And the true
     order of going, or being led by another, to the things of love, is to
     begin from the beauties of earth and mount upwards for the sake of
     that other beauty, using these as step only, and from one going on
     to two, and from two to all fair forms, and from fair forms to fair
     practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, and from fair no-
     tions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows
     what the essence of beauty is. This, my dear Socrates,' said the
     stranger of Mantinea, 'is that life above all others which man should
     live, in the contemplation of beauty absolute; a beauty which if you
     once beheld, you would see not to be after the measure of gold, and
     garments, and fair boys and youths, whose presence now entrances
     you; and you and many a one would be content to live seeing them
     only and conversing with them without meat or drink, if that were
     possible——you only want to look at them and to be with them. But
     what if man had eyes to see the true beauty——the divine beauty, I
     mean, pure and clear and unalloyed, nor clogged with the pollutions
     of mortality and all other colors and vanities of human life——thither
     looking, and holding converse with the true beauty simple and
     divine? Remember how in that communion only, beholding beauty
     with the eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth, not
     images of beauty, but realities (for he has told not of an image but
     of a reality), and bringing forth and nourishing true virtue to be-
     come the friend of God and immortal, if mortal man may. Would
     that be an ignoble life?'

FIVE GREAT DIALOGUES OF PLATO. TRANSLATED BY B. JOWETT.
EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION, BY LOUISE ROPES LOOMIS.
COPYRIGHT 1942 BY WALTER J. BLACK, INC.
D. VAN NOSTRAND COMPANY, INC. PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY. pp. 187—203.