Complete Works (105 page)
P
ROTARCHUS
: Perhaps.
S
OCRATES
: Nor again if, beside these three, you give fourth place to those things that we defined as the soul’s own properties, to the sciences and [c] the arts, and what we called right opinions, since they are more closely related to the good than pleasure at least.
P
ROTARCHUS
: Maybe so.
S
OCRATES
: The fifth kind will be those pleasures we set apart and defined as painless; we called them the soul’s own pure pleasures, since they are attached to the sciences, some of them even to sense-perception.
P
ROTARCHUS
: Perhaps.
S
OCRATES
: “With the sixth generation the well-ordered song may find its end,” says Orpheus. So it seems that our discussion, too, has found its [d] end at the determination of the sixth ranking. There remains nothing further to do for us except to give a final touch to what has been said.
P
ROTARCHUS
: We have to do that.
S
OCRATES
: Come on, then, “the third libation goes to Zeus the Savior,” let us call the same argument to witness for the third time.
P
ROTARCHUS
: Which one?
S
OCRATES
: Philebus declares that every pleasure of any kind is the good… .
P
ROTARCHUS
: By the “third libation” you appear to mean, as you just stated, that we have to repeat the argument all over from the beginning!
[e] S
OCRATES
: Yes, but let’s also hear what follows. In view of all the considerations laid out here and out of distaste for Philebus’ position pronounced by countless others on many occasions, I maintained that reason is far superior to pleasure and more beneficial for human life.
P
ROTARCHUS
: That is correct.
S
OCRATES
: Suspecting that there are many other goods, I said that if something turned out to be better than these two, then I would fight on the side of reason for the second prize against pleasure, so that pleasure would be deprived even of the second rank.
[67]
P
ROTARCHUS
: You did say that.
S
OCRATES
: Afterwards it became most sufficiently clear that neither of those two would suffice.
P
ROTARCHUS
: Very true.
S
OCRATES
: And did it not become clear at this point in our discussion that both reason and pleasure had lost any claim that one or the other would be the good itself, since they were lacking in autonomy and in the power of self-sufficiency and perfection?
P
ROTARCHUS
: Exactly.
S
OCRATES
: Then, when a third competitor showed up, superior to either of them, it became apparent that reason was infinitely more closely related and akin to the character of the victor.
P
ROTARCHUS
: Undeniably.
S
OCRATES
: And did not pleasure turn out to receive fifth position, according to the verdict we reached in our discussion?
P
ROTARCHUS
: Apparently.
[b] S
OCRATES
: But not first place, even if all the cattle and horses and the rest of the animals gave testimony by following pleasure. Now, many people accept their testimony, as the seers do that of the birds, and judge that pleasures are most effective in securing the happy life; they even believe that the animal passions are more authoritative witnesses than is the love of argument that is constantly revealed under the guidance of the philosophic muse.
P
ROTARCHUS
: We are all agreed now that what you said is as true as possible, Socrates.
S
OCRATES
: So will you let me go now?
P
ROTARCHUS
: There is still a little missing, Socrates. Surely you will not give up before we do. But I will remind you of what is left!
1
. Cf.
Cratylus
400d–401a.
2
. Reading Burnet’s text, but replacing his interrogation mark at b4 with a comma, on the assumption that there are two rather than three problems addressed.
3
. Socrates uses the customary epithet of the gods (cf.
Iliad
viii.539) to show how serious the problem is. The ambiguity of language, whether words have a unitary and unchangeable meaning, is a serious problem with a flip side that is exploited by the boys who make fun of it.
4
. This description of the exploitation of the problem by naughty boys recalls strikingly (even in the words used) Socrates’ explanation of why boys should not have access to dialectic (
R.
539b). The image there is of a dog tearing around and shredding things to pieces, while here Socrates seems to be thinking of the spreading out or rolling together of dough (or perhaps wool). Cf. also the remarks on the feasts for young boys and late-learners in
Sophist
252a–c.
5
. Accepting the deletion of
ta deonta.
6
. See 12b ff.
7
. See 16c.
8
. Retaining
eggignomena
in the text at 26a3, and leaving out the colon after
tauta
.
9
. Lit., “of the genesis of the third [kind]”: The third kind is described just below as a “coming-into-being,” lit. “genesis into [a?] being.” See further 53c–55d below, where the word for “genesis” is translated “(process of) generation.”
10
. Adopting the insertion of
hoti
before
polla
at d4.
11
. See 22a ff.
12
. Reading
mikton ekeino
.
13
. Accepting the correction of
touto
at 28a3 and retaining the mss. reading of
est
ō
.
14
. Leaving out Burnet’s insertion of
en tois
.
15
.
Iliad
xviii.108–9.
16
. Inserting
to
before
tounantion
in 48c8.
17
. Accepting the deletion of
legomenon hupo tou grammatos
at d2.
18
. Accepting the transposition of
kai to hikanon
from d8 to after
eilikrines
in d7.
19
. Accepting the interchange of
mousik
ē
in a3 with
aut
ē
s aul
ē
tik
ē
in a5.
20
. Cf. 15a–16a and 16c ff.
21
. Since the claim is that rhetoric persuades and does not use force.
22
. See 11b–c, and, for the references just below, 20d–23b.
23
. Cf.
Iliad
iv.452. The picture in Homer is not nearly as cheerful as Plato’s; it is the mixture of the uproar in a fierce battle that is there described.
24
. See 11b.
25
. For the house, see 61b.
26
. Keeping the reading of the manuscripts.
27
. In our mss this sentence ends with a hopelessly corrupt and meaningless phrase, which has therefore been omitted in the translation.
Translated by A. Nehamas and P. Woodruff.
This dialogue, Plato’s poetic and dramatic masterpiece, relates the events of a
‘symposium’ or formal drinking party held in honor of the tragedian Agathon’s
first victorious production. To gratify Phaedrus (the passionate admirer of
speeches and rhetoric in the dialogue named after him), who indignantly regrets
the neglect by Greek poets and writers of the god of Love, the company
agree to give speeches in turn, while they all drink, in praise of Love. ‘Love’
(Greek
erôs
) covers sexual attraction and gratification between men and
women and between men and teenage boys, but the focus here is also and especially
on the adult male’s role as ethical and intellectual educator of the adolescent
that was traditional among the Athenians in the latter sort of relationship,
whether accompanied by sex or not. There are six speeches—plus a seventh delivered
by an uninvited and very drunk latecomer, the Athenian statesman and
general Alcibiades. In his youth Alcibiades had been one of Socrates’ admiring
followers, and he now reports in gripping detail the fascinating reversal Socrates
worked upon him in the erotic roles of the older and the younger man
usual among the Greeks in a relationship of ‘love’: Socrates became the pursued,
Alcibiades the pursuer. Appropriately enough, all the speakers, with the
interesting exception of the comic poet Aristophanes, are mentioned in
Protagoras
as among those who flocked to Callias’ house to attend the sophists gathered
there (all experts on speaking): as he enters Callias’ house, Socrates spots
four of the
Symposium
speakers—Phaedrus and Eryximachus in a crowd
round Hippias, and Agathon and Pausanias (his lover) hanging on the words
of Prodicus; Alcibiades joins the company shortly afterwards.
Socrates’ own speech is given over to reporting a discourse on love he says
he once heard from Diotima, a wise woman from Mantinea. This Diotima
seems an invention, contrived by Socrates (and Plato) to distance Socrates in
his report of it from what she says. In any event, Diotima herself is made to
say that Socrates can probably not follow her in the ‘final and highest mystery’
of the ‘rites of love’—her account of the ascent in love, beginning with love for
individual young men, ending with love for the Form of Beauty, which ‘always
is
and neither comes to be nor passes away, neither waxes nor wanes’, and is
‘not beautiful this way and ugly that way, nor beautiful at one time and ugly
at another, nor beautiful in relation to one thing and ugly in relation to another’
but is ‘just what it is to be beautiful’. In this way Plato lets us know
that this theory of the Beautiful is his own contrivance, not really an idea of
Socrates (whether the historical philosopher or the philosopher of the ‘Socratic’
dialogues). Readers will want to compare Diotima’s speech on Love with those
of Socrates in
Phaedrus,
and also with Socrates’ discussion on friendship with
the boys in the
Lysis
.
The events of this evening at Agathon’s house are all reported long afterward
by a young friend of Socrates’ in his last years, Apollodorus. Apparently
they had become famous among Socrates’ intimates and others who were interested
in hearing about him. That, at any rate, is the impression Apollodorus
leaves us with: he has himself taken the trouble to learn about it all from Aristodemus,
who was present on the occasion, and he has just reported on it to
Glaucon (Socrates’ conversation partner in the
Republic
). He now reports
again to an unnamed friend who has asked to hear about it all—and to us readers
of Plato’s dialogue.
J.M.C.
[172]
A
POLLODORUS
: In fact, your question does not find me unprepared. Just the other day, as it happens, I was walking to the city from my home in Phaleron when a man I know, who was making his way behind me, saw me and called from a distance:
“The gentleman from Phaleron!” he yelled, trying to be funny. “Hey, Apollodorus, wait!”
So I stopped and waited.
[b] “Apollodorus, I’ve been looking for you!” he said. “You know there once was a gathering at Agathon’s when Socrates, Alcibiades, and their friends had dinner together; I wanted to ask you about the speeches they made on Love. What were they? I heard a version from a man who had it from Phoenix, Philip’s son, but it was badly garbled, and he said you were the one to ask. So please, will you tell me all about it? After all, Socrates is your friend—who has a better right than you to report his conversation? But before you begin,” he added, “tell me this: were you there yourself?”
[c] “Your friend must have really garbled his story,” I replied, “if you think this affair was so recent that I could have been there.”
“I did think that,” he said.
“Glaucon, how could you? You know very well Agathon hasn’t lived in Athens for many years, while it’s been less than three that I’ve been Socrates’ companion and made it my job to know exactly what he says
[173]
and does each day. Before that, I simply drifted aimlessly. Of course, I used to think that what I was doing was important, but in fact I was the most worthless man on earth—as bad as you are this very moment: I used to think philosophy was the last thing a man should do.”
“Stop joking, Apollodorus,” he replied. “Just tell me when the party took place.”
“When we were still children, when Agathon won the prize with his first tragedy. It was the day after he and his troupe held their victory celebration.”
“So it really was a long time ago,” he said. “Then who told you about it? Was it Socrates himself?”
“Oh, for god’s sake, of course not!” I replied. “It was the very same man [b] who told Phoenix, a fellow called Aristodemus, from Cydatheneum, a real runt of a man, who always went barefoot. He went to the party because, I think, he was obsessed with Socrates—one of the worst cases at that time. Naturally, I checked part of his story with Socrates, and Socrates agreed with his account.”
“Please tell me, then,” he said. “You speak and I’ll listen, as we walk to the city. This is the perfect opportunity.”
So this is what we talked about on our way; and that’s why, as I said [c] before, I’m not unprepared. Well, if I’m to tell
you
about it too—I’ll be glad to. After all, my greatest pleasure comes from philosophical conversation, even if I’m only a listener, whether or not I think it will be to my advantage. All other talk, especially the talk of rich businessmen like you, bores me to tears, and I’m sorry for you and your friends because you think your affairs are important when really they’re totally trivial. Perhaps, [d] in your turn, you think I’m a failure, and, believe me, I think that what you think is true. But as for all of you, I don’t just
think
you are failures—I know it for a fact.