(_A Socratic Fragment_.)
"... It is plain, therefore," said Socrates, "that the man whose soul is
afflicted with illness will desire above all things to have it cured as
quickly as possible, and for this purpose he will submit himself to one
who understands the curing of souls. So far, I think, we are agreed, are
we not?"
"Yes, indeed," said Agathon, "that would appear to be the wisest
course."
"Then why," said Socrates, "do we find that men who are generally eager
to be cured of an ague are indisposed to take care of their soul when it
is manifestly suffering? You yourself have declared that your soul is
sick within you, yet you consult nobody and take no steps."
"Nay, nay, Socrates, I cannot allow you to catch me like this. Perhaps I
spoke thoughtlessly when I mentioned my soul just now. Certainly I had
not intended that you should tie me up with your questions and draw
conclusions which it was impossible for me to foresee."
"Then I suppose the fault must be mine, for in truth I had not designed
to catch anyone, least of all yourself, my dear Agathon. But we will
defer the consideration of the matter to a more favourable time, for I
see Philogamus approaching and, if we may judge by the outward signs, he
seems to be, as one might say, in a terrible state."
Hereupon we turned to observe Philogamus, to whom indeed something
painful and calamitous must have happened, for his garments were
disarrayed and his hair was unkempt, and anger was seated upon his
frowning brow, and he was muttering to himself and calling the gods to
witness that he was unjustly treated and that no such misfortune had
ever before happened to any other man; and he was beating his hands
wildly together and was forgetting to salute his friends. Seeing him
thus distraught Socrates plucked him by the sleeve as he passed and
addressed him.
"Hail, Philogamus," he said, "what great misfortune do you announce to
us? Have the Barbarians at last seized upon the Piræus, and are they
even now marching irresistibly on the Acropolis? Are you sent out to
summon us to arms? Here are a few of us who will join with you, laying
aside even their most pressing private business, and will help to defend
the State and themselves to the last gasp. Only do you deliver your
message and let us know."
"This," said Philogamus, "is no moment for laughing, though in laughter,
O Socrates, you are always easily first, as they say, and the rest
nowhere. But have you not heard what has happened?"
"No," said Socrates, "and we much desire to know. I can speak
confidently for myself, and Agathon here is, I am sure, in a fever of
impatience."
"Listen, then, and, by the gods, you shall be made aware of an injustice
that calls for immediate redress. They are even now on the point of
calling up the married men to go to the War."
"That is very interesting; and what do the married men say to it?"
"What do they say?" shouted Philogamus. "They say they will not go
unless, according to the promises of Darbius and Ascuthius, all the
unmarried men are taken first;" and he began once more beating his
breast and glaring with his eyes like a dog who has been for long
without water.
"Softly, my good friend," said Socrates, "softly. As to the promise, I
know it is being rigidly kept. All the willing single men are gone or
going, and the unwilling are being compelled to join as quickly as is
possible. What more can be done?"
"Something ought to be done."
"That is very true," said Socrates; "something ought always to be
getting itself done, and the something at this moment is that the
Barbarians ought to be beaten. But tell me, with regard to the married
men, are they not concerned in the safety and welfare of the State?"
"That, indeed, they are," said Philogamus; "none more so."
"In that case why do they hang back and complain when the State declares
that its safety and welfare demand that they should be ready to go?
Because one here and there has concealed himself, is it for you, a
married man, to retire when by going you might help to thrust back the
Barbarians? Are you one of those that are called the attested ones?"
"Yes, that I am," said Philogamus, proudly displaying his brown armlet
with the red crown.
"Then it is you, as it appears to me, who have given a pledge and made a
promise, and that promise, I am sure, you will fulfil to the best of
your ability. When the time comes it is for you to go at once and not to
weary the market-place with empty noise and murmurs of complaint. For
remember this: the man who has taken a wife and has brought up children
under the State's protection owes more, if it be possible...."
(_Here the fragment ends._)
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