And now I will take my leave of you, and rehearse the tale of love
which I heard once upon a time from Diotima,[61] of Mantinea, who was
a wise woman in this and many other branches of knowledge. She was the
same who deferred the plague of Athens ten years by a sacrifice, and
was my instructress in the art of love. In the attempt that I am
about to make, I shall pursue Agathon's method, and begin with his
admissions, which are nearly if not quite the same as I made to the
wise woman when she questioned me; this will be the easiest way, and I
shall take both parts myself as well as I can. For, like Agathon, she
spoke first of the being and nature of Love, and then of his works.
And 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, in my way of speaking about him, Love was neither
fair nor good. "What do you mean, Diotima," I said; "is love then evil
and foul?" "Hush," she cried; "is that to be deemed 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 is this?" I said. "Right opinion," she replied, "which, as
you know, being incapable of giving a reason, is not knowledge (for
how could knowledge 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 is evil, or infer that because Love
is not fair and good he is therefore foul and evil; for he is in 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 don't know?" "By all."
"And how, 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. "That is very intelligible," she replied, "as
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 replied. "And you mean by the happy those who are
the possessors of things good or 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 admitted that." "But how can he be a god
who has no share in the good or the fair?" "That is not to be
supposed." "Then you see that you also deny the deity 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 them." "What is he then, Diotima?" "He is a great spirit,
and like all that is spiritual he is intermediate between the divine
and the mortal." "And what is the nature of this spiritual power?" I
said. "This is the power," she said, "which interprets and conveys to
the gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and to men the commands
and rewards of the gods; and this power spans the chasm which divides
them, and in this all is bound together, and through this the arts of
the prophet and the priest, their sacrifices and mysteries and charms,
and all prophecy and incantation, find their way. For God mingles not
with man; and through this power all the intercourse and speech 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
or handicrafts, is mean and vulgar. Now these spirits or intermediate
powers are many and divine, 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 was, came
about the doors to beg. Now Plenty, who was the worse for Nectar
(there was no wine in those days), came into the garden of Zeus and
fell into a heavy sleep; and Poverty, considering her own straitened
circumstances, plotted to have him for a husband, 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 Aphrodite's 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 anything but tender and
fair, as the many imagine him; and he is hard-featured 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 the 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 the good; he is bold, enterprising, strong, a
hunter of men, always at some intrigue or other, keen in the pursuit
of wisdom, and never wanting resources; a philosopher at all times,
terrible as an enchanter, sorcerer, sophist; for as he is neither
mortal nor immortal, he is alive and flourishing at one moment 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 flowing in is always
flowing out, and so he is never in want and never in wealth, and he is
also in a mean between ignorance and knowledge. The truth of the
matter is just this: No god is a philosopher or seeker after wisdom,
for he is wise already; nor does any one else 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; he feels no want, and has therefore no
desire." "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 question," she replied; "they are those who, like Love, are in a
mean between the two. 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 this again is a quality which Love inherits from
his parents; for his father is wealthy and wise, and his mother poor
and foolish. Such, my dear Socrates, is the nature of the spirit 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--this made you think that love was all beautiful. For the
beloved is the truly beautiful, delicate, and perfect and blest; but
the principle of love is of another nature, and is such as I have
described."
I said, "O thou strange woman, thou sayest well, and now, assuming
Love to be such as you say, what is the use of him?" "That, Socrates,"
she replied, "I will proceed to unfold; of his nature and birth I have
already spoken, and you acknowledge that Love is of the beautiful. But
some one will say, 'Of the beautiful in what, Socrates and
Diotima?'--or rather let us put the question more clearly, and ask,
When a man loves the beautiful, what does he love?" I answered her,
"That the beautiful may be his." "Still," she said, "the answer
suggests a further question, which is this, What is given by the
possession of beauty?" "That," I replied, "is a question to which I
have no answer ready." "Then," she said, "let me put the word 'good'
in the place of the beautiful, and repeat the question, What does he
who loves the good desire?" "The possession of the good," I said. "And
what does he gain who possesses the good?" "Happiness," I replied;
"there is no difficulty in answering that." "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." "That is true," 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 think you?" "All men," I replied; "the desire is
common to all." "But all men, Socrates," she rejoined, "are not said
to love, but only some of them; and you say that all men are always
loving the same things." "I myself wonder," I said, "why that 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 example," I said. She
answered me as follows: "There is poetry, which, as you know, is
complex and manifold. And all creation or passage of non-being into
being is poetry or making, and the processes of all art are creative,
and the masters of arts are all poets." "Very true." "Still," she
said, "you know that they are not called poets, but have other names;
the generic term 'poetry' is confined to that specific art which is
separated off from the rest of poetry, and is concerned with music and
meter; and this is what is called poetry, and they who possess this
kind of poetry 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 due to the great
and subtle power of Love; but those who, having their affections set
upon him, are yet diverted into the paths of money-making or gymnastic
philosophy are not called lovers--the name of the genus is reserved
for those whose devotion takes one form only--they alone are said to
love, or to be lovers." "In that," I said, "I am of opinion that you
are right." "Yes," she said, "and you hear people say that lovers are
seeking for the half of themselves; but I say that they are seeking
neither for the half 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 them not because they
are their own, but because they are good, and dislike them not because
they are another's, but because they are evil. There is nothing which
men love but the good. Do you think that there is?" "Indeed," I
answered, "I should say not." "Then," she said, "the conclusion of the
whole matter is that men love the good." "Yes," I said. "To which may
be added that they love the possession of the good?" "Yes, that may be
added." "And not only the possession, but the everlasting possession
of the good?" "That may 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," I said.
"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? Answer me that."
"Nay, Diotima," I said, "if I had known I should not have wondered at
your wisdom or have come to you to learn." "Well," she said, "I will
teach you: love is only birth in beauty, whether of body or soul."
"The oracle requires an explanation," I said; "I don't understand
you." "I will make my meaning clearer," she replied. "I mean to say
that which all men are bringing to the birth of their bodies and their
souls. There is a certain age at which human nature is desirous of
procreation; and this procreation must be in beauty and not in
deformity; and this is the mystery of man and woman, which is a divine
thing, for conception and generation are a principle of immortality in
the mortal creature. And in the inharmonical they can never be. But
the deformed is always inharmonical with the divine, and the beautiful
harmonious. Beauty, then, is the destiny or goddess of parturition who
presides a birth, and therefore, when approaching beauty the
conceiving power is propitious, and diffuse, and benign, and begets
and bears fruit; on the appearance of foulness she frowns and
contracts in pain, and is averted and morose, and shrinks up, and not
without a pang refrains from conception. 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 pain. For love, Socrates, is not, as you imagine, the
love of the beautiful only." "What then?" "The love of generation and
birth in beauty." "Yes," I said. "Yes, indeed," she replied. "But why
of birth?" I said. "Because to the mortal, birth is a sort of eternity
and immortality," she replied; "and as has been already admitted, all
men will necessarily desire immortality together with good if love is
of the everlasting possession of the good."
All this she taught me at various times when she spoke of love. And on
another occasion she said to me: "What is the reason, Socrates, of
this 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; this begins with the desire of
union, to which is added the care of offspring, in behalf of whom 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
offspring.... Marvel not then at the love which all men have of their
offspring; for that universal love and interest are for the sake of
immortality."
When I heard this, I was astonished and said, "Is this really true, O
thou wise Diotima?" And she answered with all the authority of a
sophist: "Of that, Socrates, you may be assured; think only of the
ambition of men, and you will marvel at their senselessness unless you
consider how they are stirred by the love of an immortality of fame.
They are ready to run risks greater far than they would have run for
their children, and to spend money and undergo any amount of toil, and
even to die for the sake of leaving behind them a name which shall be
eternal. Do you imagine that Alcestis[62] would have died on behalf of
Admetus, or Achilles after 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 is still retained among us, would be
immortal? Nay," she said, "for I am persuaded that all men do all
things for the sake of the glorious fame of immortal virtue, and the
better they are the more they desire this; for they are ravished with
the desire of the immortal.
"Men whose bodies only are creative 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 creative
souls--for there are men who are more creative in their souls than in
their bodies--conceive that which is proper for the soul to conceive
or retain. And what are these conceptions?--wisdom and virtue in
general. And such creators are all poets and other artists who may be
said to have invention. But the greatest and fairest sort of wisdom by
far is that which is concerned with the ordering of states 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 offspring. And
he wanders about seeking beauty that he may beget offspring--for in
deformity he will beget nothing--and embraces the beautiful rather
than the deformed; and when he finds a fair and noble and
well-nurtured soul, and there is union of the two in one person, he
gladly embraces it, and to such a soul he is full of fair speech about
virtue and the nature and pursuits of a good man; and he tries to
educate it; and at the touch and presence of the beautiful he brings
forth the beautiful which he conceived long before, and the beautiful
is ever present with him and in his memory even when absent, and in
company they tend that which he brings forth, and they are bound
together 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[63] and other great poets, would not rather 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 Lycurgus[64] left behind to be the saviors, not only of
Lacedæmon, 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
various places, both among Hellenes and barbarians. They all have done
many noble works, and have been the parents of virtue of every kind,
and in honor of their children many temples have been raised, which
were never raised in honor of the mortal children of any one.
"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 rightly in this matter should begin in youth to turn
to beautiful forms; and first, if his instructor guide him rightly, he
should learn to love one such form only--out of that he should create
fair thoughts; and soon he will find himself perceive that the beauty
of one form is truly related to the beauty of another; and then if
beauty 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 perceives 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
beautiful forms; this will lead him on to consider that the beauty of
the mind is more honorable than the beauty of the outward form. So
that if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will be
content to love and tend it, and will search out and bring to the
birth thoughts which may improve the young, until his beloved is
compelled to contemplate and see the beauty of institutions and laws,
and understand that all is of one kindred, and that personal beauty is
only a trifle; and after laws and institutions he will lead him 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 calculating, but looking at the abundance of beauty and
drawing toward the sea of beauty, and creating and beholding many fair
and noble thoughts and notions in boundless love of wisdom, until at
length 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...."
Such, Phædrus[65]--and I speak not only to you, but to all men--were
the words of Diotima; and I am persuaded of their truth. And being
persuaded of them, I try to persuade others that in the attainment of
this end human nature will not easily find a better helper than Love.
And, therefore, also, I say that every man ought to honor him as I
myself honor him, and walk in his ways, and exhort others to do the
same, even as I praise the power and spirit of Love according to the
measure of my ability now and ever.
The words which I have spoken, you, Phædrus, may call an encomium of
Love or anything else which you please.