Phædrus, whom we have already[105] met with among the followers of the
sophist Hippias, happening to meet with Socrates, tells him that he has
just left the orator Lysias, who had written and recited a speech on the
subject of love, in which he argued that a youth ought rather to shew
favour to one who is not in love than to one who is. Socrates, who
pretends to be very anxious to hear the speech, begs Phædrus to repeat
it from memory as well as he is able, for he cannot doubt but that he
has learnt it by heart, so great is his admiration for its author.
Phædrus affects shyness, though in reality desirous of practising
himself on Socrates: at length, however, Socrates discovers that he has
a copy of it under his cloak, so they proceed on their walk, talking by
the way, till they reach a plane-tree on the banks of the Ilissus,
outside the walls of Athens, under whose ample shade they lie down[106].
-----
Footnote 105:
See the Protagoras, § 17.
Footnote 106:
§ 1-10.
-----
Phædrus reads the speech, which in addition to the faults of obscurity,
inconclusiveness, and tautology, takes a very low and sensual view of
the passion of love[107]. When it is ended, Phædrus asks Socrates what
he thinks of it, and whether it is not a wonderful composition,
especially as to the language. Socrates at first praises it ironically,
but on being pressed by Phædrus points out some of its faults, and says
that even Lysias himself could not be satisfied with it, and that many
others have both spoken and written finer things on the same subject,
with which at that very instant his breast is full. Phædrus catches at
this, and insists on Socrates repeating these fine things, promising
that if he says any thing that excels the speech of Lysias he will erect
his statue in gold in Olympia[108].
-----
Footnote 107:
§ 11-21.
Footnote 108:
§ 22-27.
-----
As it is the present design of Socrates to take the same low view of
love that Lysias had done, he determines to speak with his face covered,
that he may not falter through shame. He begins by a definition of love,
which he represents to be desire hurried on to the pleasure derived from
personal beauty; and then he goes on to shew, with great perspicuity,
how a person under the influence of such a passion must needs be anxious
that the beloved object should not excel himself or be admired by
others. Then with regard to the body, he will wish to make it
effeminate, and be anxious that his beloved should be as much as
possible dependent on him; and at length he will become unfaithful,
forget all his former vows and promises, and leave his favourite
despised and destitute, who will suffer most of all in this, that he has
been debarred from cultivating his soul, than which, he adds, there
neither is nor ever will be any thing more precious in the sight of gods
and men[109].
-----
Footnote 109:
§ 28-40.
-----
Phædrus expects that Socrates will not only shew the disadvantages of
granting favours to a lover, but also go on to point out the advantages
of granting them to one who is not in love. This, however, he refuses to
do; and then, conscience-stricken for that he has been guilty of an
offence against the deity of Love in speaking of him in so impious a
manner, he determines on making his recantation, by uttering a speech
which shall describe that deity in his true character. He begins by
condemning his former assertion that favour ought rather to be shewn to
one who is not in love than to a lover, because the latter is mad and
the former in his sober senses. For, he argues, it is not universally
true that madness is an evil, so far from it, that the greatest
blessings spring from madness, for even prophetic inspiration is a
species of madness and derives its very name from it. And love is one of
many kinds of madness, and as such the source of the greatest happiness
to man. To prove this, he says, it is necessary to examine into the
nature of the soul, both human and divine. The soul, then, is immortal,
because it contains the principle of motion within itself (a subtle
argument which it may be observed was not adduced in the Phædo, where
the soul’s immortality was the immediate point under discussion.) Still,
to explain what the soul is would require a divine and lengthened
exposition; he must therefore content himself with saying what it is
like. He therefore compares the soul to a pair of winged steeds and a
charioteer. The horses and charioteers of the gods are all good, but all
others are mixed. While the soul is perfect and winged it soars aloft,
but when it loses its wings it is borne downward and becomes united with
a body in which it takes up its abode, and the two united are called
mortal. He then describes how Jupiter goes first, driving a winged
chariot, and is followed by a host of gods and demons distributed into
eleven divisions: in their flight they reach the external regions of
heaven, and behold truth, justice, temperance, science, in their
essences. Other inferior souls endeavour to follow and imitate them;
few, however, can do so: those that get a glimpse of any of the true
essences are free from harm till the next revolution, but those that are
unable to do so are weighed down and lose their wings, and become
implanted in earthly natures of various orders, and then, according to
their conduct in this condition, are either restored to their former
state or still further degraded. The mind of the philosopher, however,
is alone furnished with wings, because his memory dwells on that which
is divine[110].
-----
Footnote 110:
§ 40-62.
-----
This then is the madness above spoken of, when one, beholding beauty in
this lower world, is reminded of the true, and looking upwards to it
despises things below and is deemed to be affected with madness. But he
who has become corrupted is not easily carried hence to beauty itself,
nor does he reverence it when he beholds it, but looks upon it with
carnal sensuality; whereas he, who has not been so far corrupted, when
he beholds the imitation of beauty here, reverences it as a god, and,
but for the imputation of madness, would sacrifice to it. Then his wings
begin to swell again and endeavour to burst forth anew; but when
separated from the beautiful object the soul becomes parched and the
passages through which the wings shoot forth become closed. Thus
alternately tormented with agony and joy, it becomes frantic and runs
about trying to see the possessor of the beauty. This affection men call
love. Now when a follower of Jupiter is thus seized, he is better able
to bear the burden of the winged god: for such a one seeks one who
resembles Jupiter to be the object of his love; and when he has found
him, he endeavours to make him like his own god[111].
-----
Footnote 111:
§ 68-73.
-----
As each soul was before divided into three parts, two having the form of
horses, and the third that of a charioteer, so that division must still
be maintained. When therefore the charioteer beholds the love-inspiring
sight, the obedient horse is easily restrained, but the other compels
them to hurry to the favourite, and longs to indulge in the delights of
love. But the charioteer, on approaching him, is carried back to
absolute beauty, and being awe-struck falls backward and throws the
horses on their haunches. When by being repeatedly checked in this way
the vicious horse has laid aside his insolence, he becomes humbled and
the soul of the lover follows his favourite with reverence and awe. And
the beloved being worshipped by one who does not feign the passion but
who really feels it, requites the affection of his worshipper, and in
turn longs for the lover in the same manner that he is longed for,
possessing love’s image, love returned. If then the better parts of
their mind prevail so as to lead to a well-regulated life and
philosophy, they pass their life in bliss and concord, and when they
depart this life, they become winged and win one of the three truly
Olympic contests, a greater good than which neither human prudence nor
divine madness can bestow on man. If however, they have adopted a
coarser and less philosophic mode of life, but still honourable, in the
end they find the body without wings indeed, yet making an effort to
become winged and so carry off no trifling prize of impassioned
madness[112].
-----
Footnote 112:
§ 73-84.
-----
When Socrates had ended his recantation to Love, Phædrus expresses great
admiration of his speech; and adds that he doubts whether Lysias will
ever venture to write speeches again. But Socrates shews him that such
an expectation is altogether groundless; and after a charming little
episode on the origin of grasshoppers, proposes to consider in what a
correct mode of speaking and writing consists[113].
-----
Footnote 113:
§ 85-91.
-----
The first essential is that the speaker should know the truth of the
subject on which he is about to speak. And though it is commonly said
that an orator need not know what is really just, but only what will
appear so to the multitude, yet Socrates with great force destroys this
fallacy, and shews that such rhetoric is not an art but an inartistic
trick; for a genuine art of speaking neither does nor can exist without
laying hold of truth. Rhetoric must be an art that leads the soul by
means of argument. Now in courts of justice and popular assemblies men
succeed by making things appear similar to each other so far as they are
capable of being made appear so; and deception will more frequently
occur in things that nearly resemble each other, so that a person who
means to persuade or deceive another must be able to distinguish
accurately the similarity and dissimilarity of things, and so lead his
hearer by means of resemblances. Taking this as his principle, Socrates
proceeds to shew that the speech of Lysias is altogether inartistic, for
that he ought first of all to have defined Love and divided it into its
different species and shewn of which class he was going to speak,
whereas he begins where he should have ended, and throughout speaks at
random without any definite design. He then proceeds to comment on his
own two speeches. In one he argued that favour ought to be shewn to one
that is in love, in the other to a person that is not in love. In one he
said that love was a kind of divine madness, and then dividing this
madness into four parts he shewed that the madness of Love is the best.
In these speeches, then, are seen the two methods of arguing correctly,
definition and division, the former of which contemplates many things
under one aspect and brings them together under one general idea, the
latter separates that general idea into species[114].
-----
Footnote 114:
§ 92-111.
-----
Socrates then ridicules the rules of rhetoric laid down by many of the
sophists, and having passed a high eulogium on Pericles, shews that a
perfect orator must know the real nature of the things to which he will
have to apply his speeches, and that is the soul; for as the power of
speech consists in leading the soul, he must know how many kinds of soul
there are, and by what arguments each kind is most easily
persuaded[115].
-----
Footnote 115:
§ 112-132.
-----
From speaking he proceeds to writing, and tells a pleasant story of the
invention of letters, and remarks that the evil of writing is, that,
like painting, if you ask it a question it cannot answer; and when once
written it is tossed from hand to hand, as well among those who
understand it as those who do not. But there is another kind of
discourse far more excellent, which is written in the learner’s mind,
and knows when to speak and when to be silent. The conclusion of the
whole is that a speaker should be acquainted with the true nature of
each subject on which he speaks or writes, be able to define, and divide
things into their species until he reaches the indivisible, and to
investigate the nature of the soul and apply his discourses to each soul
according to its capacity.
Then, with a message, in accordance with these principles, to Lysias,
and a high encomium on Isocrates, who promised to be led by a diviner
impulse to holier and higher things, he concludes by praying that Pan
would grant him to be beautiful in the inner man, and that all outward
things might be at peace with those within. That he may deem the wise
man rich: and may have such a portion of gold as none but a prudent man
can bear or employ.