Phaedrus

​PHAEDRUS: “Concerning my affairs you understand, and you have heard how I think it is advantageous for us if these things come about. And I claim that I should not fail to get what I ask for this reason, that I happen not to be a lover of yours. For to those, on the one hand, there is regret then for the things they have done well, whenever they cease from their desire —“ SOCRATES: Indeed, this man seems to be very far from doing what we seek, since he attempts to swim through his speech backward on his back, not from the beginning but from the end, and starts from what the lover would say to his beloved only after he had already ceased loving. Or did I say nothing, Phaedrus, dear head? PHAEDRUS: To be sure, Socrates, that about which he makes his speech is indeed an end. SOCRATES: And what about the rest? Do not the parts of the speech seem to be thrown together at random? Or does it appear that what is said second had to be placed second out of some necessity, or any other of the things spoken? For to me, who know nothing, it seemed that the writer stated what came into his mind not without spirit; but do you have some speech-writing necessity by which he placed these things next to one another in such sequence? PHAEDRUS: You are very kind to think me capable of examining his writings so accurately. SOCRATES: But this, at least, I think you would say: that every speech must be composed like a living being, having a body of its own, so as to be neither headless nor footless, but to have middle parts and extremities, written so as to suit one another and the whole. PHAEDRUS: How could it not be so? SOCRATES: Examine then the speech of your companion, whether it is in this way or otherwise, and you will find that it differs in no way from the epigram which some say is inscribed for Midas the Phrygian. PHAEDRUS: What kind of epigram is this, and what is the matter with it? SOCRATES: It is indeed this: “A bronze maiden am I, and on Midas’ tomb I lie. As long as water flows and tall trees grow green, Remaining here on this much-lamented tomb, I shall announce to those passing by that Midas is buried here.” That it makes no difference whether any part of it is said first or last, you perceive, I think. PHAEDRUS: You are making fun of our speech, Socrates. SOCRATES: Let us, then, leave this speech, so that you may not be vexed—although it seems to me to contain plenty of examples by looking at which one might benefit, provided one does not try at all to imitate them—and let us go on to the other speeches. For there was in them, as I think, something appropriate to examine for those who wish to consider speeches.

PHAEDRUS: What kind of thing indeed do you mean? SOCRATES: They were, I suppose, opposite to each other; for the one said that favor should be given to the lover, and the other to the non-lover. PHAEDRUS: And very vigorously indeed. SOCRATES: I thought you were going to say the truth, namely ‘madly’; however, what I was seeking is this very thing. For we said that love is a certain madness. Is it not so? PHAEDRUS: Yes. SOCRATES: And there are two kinds of madness, one arising from human diseases, the other from a divine release from customary conventions. PHAEDRUS: Certainly. SOCRATES: And having divided the divine madness into four parts belonging to four gods—attributing prophetic inspiration to Apollo, mystic initiation to Dionysus, and again poetic madness to the Muses, and the fourth to Aphrodite and Eros, we said that the madness of love is the best, and, in some way portraying the passion of love, perhaps touching upon some truth, and fast-drifting maybe also in another direction, blending a not altogether unconvincing speech, we sang a playful, mythical hymn in a moderate and auspicious way to honor your master and mine, Phaedrus—namely Eros, the guardian of beautiful boys. PHAEDRUS: And indeed, it was not at all unpleasant for me to hear. SOCRATES: Let us, then, grasp this from the matter itself: how the speech was able to shift from blaming to praising. PHAEDRUS: How indeed do you mean this? SOCRATES: To me indeed, the other parts seem to have been played in real play; but of certain things spoken by chance, if one could grasp by art the power of two classes, it would not be without grace. PHAEDRUS: What are they indeed? SOCRATES: One is to bring together things scattered in many places, looking at them as one idea, so that by defining each, one makes clear whatever one wishes to teach on each occasion. Just as what was said just now about Love—which, having been defined, whether well or badly—at any rate, because of this, the speech was able to state it with clarity and internal consistency. PHAEDRUS: And what indeed do you say the other class is, Socrates?