Banquet

Do you know, asked Socrates, anything more celestial than the gods? Syr. No; but that is not what people say you are concerned with, but rather with the most unbeneficial things. Soc. Even granting the expression, it would still be the gods that are my concern; for (1) they cause rain under the heavens and so are beneficial,[*](This translation is an attempt to reproduce Socrates’ bad logic and worse pun whereby he takes the Syracusan’s expression ἀν-ωφελεστάτων (most useless, most unbeneficial) and not only splits it in twp but changes the negative prefix into the adverb ἄνωθεν (from above).) and (2) they produce light, also under the heavens, and are thus again beneficial. If the pun is strained, he added, you have only yourself to blame for it, for annoying me.

Syr. Well, let that pass. But tell me the distance between us in flea’s feet; for people say that your geometry includes such measurements as that.[*](In a famous passage in the Clouds (144 ff., cf. also 830 f.), published two years before this banquet was supposed to have been held, Aristophanes had represented Socrates and Chaerephon as measuring a flea’s jump in terms of its own feet.)At this Antisthenes said to Philip: You are clever at hitting off a person’s likeness; wouldn’t you say that our friend here resembles one with a penchant for abuse?Yes, indeed, came the answer; and I see a resemblance in him to many another kind of person, too.

Nevertheless, interposed Socrates, do not draw the comparison, lest you take on a similar likeness to one stooping to abuse. But suppose I am likening him to all the upright, the very elite; then I should deserve to be compared to a eulogist, rather than to a detractor. Ah, you resemble the latter right now, for you are asserting that every one is better than he.[*](i.e., (if the text is sound), by saying that he resembles the virtuous, thus assuming that he is not actually one of them.)

Would you have me compare him to those who excel him in villainy?No, not those, either.What, to no one?No; don’t compare him to any one in any particular.But if I hold my peace, I do not understand how I am going to render services suitable to such a fine dinner.That is easily effected, said Socrates, if you will be reticent on matters that should not be talked about. Thus was quenched this bit of convivial unpleasantness.

Then some among the rest of the banqueters kept urging Philip to go on with his comparisons, while others opposed. As the clamour rose to some height, Socrates once more interposed, saying: Since we all want to talk, would this not be a fine time to join in singing? And with the words he began a song.

When they had finished, a potter’s wheel was brought in for the dancing girl on which she intended performing some feats of jugglery. This prompted Socrates to observe to the Syracusan: Sir, it is quite probable that, to use your words, I am indeed a thinker; at any rate, I am now considering how it might be possible for this lad of yours and this maid to exert as little effort as may be, and at the same time give us the greatest possible amount of pleasure in watching them,—this being your purpose, also, I am sure.

Now, turning somersaults in among knives seems to me to be a dangerous exhibition, which is utterly out of place at a banquet. Also, to write or read aloud on a whirling potter’s wheel may perhaps be something of a feat; yet I cannot conceive what pleasure even this can afford. Nor is it any more diverting to watch the young and beautiful going through bodily contortions and imitating hoops than to contemplate them in repose.

For it is of course no rare event to meet with marvels, if that is what one’s mind is set on. He may marvel at what he finds immediately at hand,—for instance, why the lamp gives light owing to its having a bright flame, while a bronze mirror, likewise bright, does not produce light but instead reflects other things that appear in it; or how it comes about that olive oil, though wet, makes the flame higher, while water, because it is wet, puts the fire out.

However, these questions also fail to promote the same object that wine does; but if the young people were to have a flute accompaniment and dance figures depicting the Graces, the Horae,[*](Or, the Seasons. Or it may be used here in the Homeric sense of the maidens who kept the cloud gate of Heaven.) and the Nymphs, I believe that they would be far less wearied themselves and that the charms of the banquet would be greatly enhanced.Upon my word, Socrates, replied the Syracusan, you are quite right; and I will bring in a spectacle that will delight you.

So the Syracusan withdrew amid applause. Socrates now opened up another new topic for discussion. Gentlemen, said he, it is to be expected of us, is it not, when in the presence of a mighty deity that is coeval with the eternal gods, yet youngest of them all in appearance, in magnitude encompassing the universe, but enthroned in the heart of man,—I mean Love,—that we should not be unmindful of him, particularly in view of the fact that we are all of his following?

For I cannot name a time when I was not in love with some one, and I know that Charmides here has gained many lovers and has in some instances felt the passion himself; and Critobulus, though even yet the object of love, is already beginning to feel this passion for others.

Nay, Niceratus too, so I am told, is in love with his wife and finds his love reciprocated. And as for Hermogenes, who of us does not know that he is pining away with love for nobility of character, whatever that may be? Do you not observe how serious his brows are, how calm his gaze, how modest his words, how gentle his voice, how genial his demeanour? That though he enjoys the friendship of the most august gods, yet he does not disdain us mortals? Are you the only person, Antisthenes, in love with no one?

No, by Heaven! replied he; I am madly in love—with you. And Socrates, banteringly, pretending to be coquettish, said: Don’t pester me just now; I am engaged in other business, as you see.

How transparent you are, sir procurer of your own charms, Antisthenes rejoined, in always doing something like this; at one time you refuse me audience on the pretext of your divine sign,[*](See footnote on page 494 of the Defence.) at another time because you have some other purpose in mind.

In Heaven’s name, Antisthenes, implored Socrates, only refrain from beating me; any other manifestation of your bad temper I am wont to endure, and shall continue to do so, in a friendly spirit. But, he went on, let us keep your love a secret, because it is founded not on my spirit but on my physical beauty.

But as for you, Callias, all the city knows that you are in love with Autolycus, and so, I think, do a great many men from abroad. The reason for this is the fact that you are both sons of distinguished fathers and are yourselves in the public eye.

Now, I have always felt an admiration for your character, but at the present time I feel a much keener one, for I see that you are in love with a person who is not marked by dainty elegance nor wanton effeminacy, but shows to the world physical strength and stamina, virile courage and sobriety. Setting one’s heart on such traits gives an insight into the lover’s character.

Now, whether there is one Aphrodite or two, Heavenly and Vulgar, I do not know; for even Zeus, though considered one and the same, yet has many by-names. I do know, however, that in the case of Aphrodite there are separate altars and temples for the two, and also rituals, those of the Vulgar Aphrodite excelling in looseness, those of the Heavenly in chastity.

One might conjecture, also, that different types of love come from the different sources, carnal love from the Vulgar Aphrodite, and from the Heavenly spiritual love, love of friendship and of noble conduct. That is the sort of love, Callias, that seems to have you in its grip.

I infer this from the noble nature of the one you love and because I see that you include his father in your meetings with him. For the virtuous lover does not make any of these matters a secret from the father of his beloved.