_Socr._ But where is my boy, to whom I spoke? that he may hear this too, and may not, from not hearing it, hastily grant favours to one who is not in love.
_Phæ._ Here he is always very near to you, whenever you want him.
_Socr._ Understand then, my beautiful boy, that the former speech was that of Phædrus, son of Pythocles, a man of Myrrhinus; but that which I am now about to deliver is the speech of Stesichorus, son of Euphemus, of Himera. It must begin thus: “The assertion is not true which declares that when a lover is present favour ought rather to be shewn to one who is not in love, because the one is mad and the other in his sober senses. 47. For if it were universally true that madness is evil, the assertion would be correct.
But now the greatest blessings we have spring from madness, when granted by divine bounty. For the prophetess at Delphi, and the priestesses at Dodona, have, when mad, done many and noble services for Greece, both privately and publicly, but in their sober senses, little or nothing.
And if we were to speak of the Sybil and others, who, employing prophetic inspiration, have correctly predicted many things to many persons respecting the future, we should be too prolix in relating what is known to every one. 48. This, however, deserves to be adduced by way of testimony, that such of the ancients as gave names to things did not consider madness as disgraceful or a cause of reproach: for they would not have attached this very name to that most noble art by which the future is discerned, and have called it a mad art; but considering it noble when it happens by the divine decree, they gave it this name; but the men of the present day, by ignorantly inserting the letter τ, have called it the prophetic art[122]. Since also with respect to the investigation of the future by people in their senses, which is made by means of birds and other signs, inasmuch as men by means of reflection, furnished themselves by human thought with intelligence and information, they gave it the name of prognostication[123], which the moderns, by using the emphatic long õ, now call augury. But how much more perfect and valuable, then, prophecy is than augury, one name than the other, and one effect than the other, by so much did the ancients testify that madness is more noble than sound sense, that which comes from God than that which proceeds from men. 49. Moreover, for those dire diseases and afflictions, which continued in some families in consequence of ancient crimes committed by some or other of them, madness springing up and prophesying to those to whom it was proper, discovered a remedy, fleeing for refuge to prayers and services of the gods, whence obtaining purifications and atoning rites, it made him who possessed it sound, both for the present and the future, by discovering to him, who was rightly mad and possessed, a release from present evils. There is a third possession and madness proceeding from the Muses, which seizing upon a tender and chaste soul, and rousing and inspiring it to the composition of odes and other species of poetry, by adorning the countless deeds of antiquity, instructs posterity. But he who without the madness of the Muses approaches the gates of poesy under the persuasion that by means of art he can become an efficient poet, both himself fails in his purpose, and his poetry, being that of a sane man, is thrown into the shade by the poetry of such as are mad.
----- Footnote 122: It is impossible, in an English version, to retain Plato’s explanation of the progressive application of kindred words; if the unlearned reader can decypher the following Greek letters he may possibly understand our author’s meaning; μανία is _madness_, μανική, _the mad Footnote 123: οἰονιστική, _prognostication_, οἰωνιστική, _augury_.
----- 50. So great and even more noble effects of madness proceeding from the gods I am able to mention to you. Let us not, therefore, be afraid of this, nor let any argument disturb and frighten us so as to persuade us that we ought to prefer a sane man as our friend in preference to one who is under the influence of a divine impulse; but let him carry all the victory when he was shewn this in addition, that love is sent by the gods for no benefit to the lover and the beloved. But we, on the other hand, must prove that such madness is given by the gods, for the purpose of producing the highest happiness. Now the proof will be incredible to the subtle, but credible to the wise. It is necessary, therefore, first of all to understand the truth with respect to the nature of the soul both divine and human, by observing its affections and operations. 51.
This then is the beginning of the demonstration.
Every soul is immortal: for whatever is continually moved is immortal; but that which moves another and is moved by another, when it ceases to move, ceases to live. Therefore that only which moves itself, since it does not quit itself, never ceases to be moved, but is also the source and beginning of motion to all other things that are moved. But a beginning is uncreate: for every thing that is created must necessarily be created from a beginning, but a beginning itself from nothing whatever; for if a beginning were created from any thing, it would not be a beginning. 52. Since then it is uncreate it must also of necessity be indestructible; for should a beginning perish, it could neither itself be ever created from any thing, nor any thing else from it, since all things must be created from a beginning. Thus then the beginning of motion is that which moves itself: and this can neither perish nor be created, or all heaven and all creation must collapse and come to a stand-still, and never again have any means whereby it may be moved and created. 53. Since then it appears that that which is moved by itself is immortal, no one will be ashamed to say that this is the very essence and true notion of soul. For every body which is moved from without, is soulless, but that which is moved from within of itself, possesses a soul, since this is the very nature of soul. But if this be the case, that there is nothing else which moves itself except soul, soul must necessarily be both uncreate and immortal. This then may suffice for its immortality.
But respecting its idea we must speak as follows: what it is, would in every way require a divine and lengthened exposition to tell, but what it is like, a human and a shorter one: in this way then we will describe it. 54. Let it then be likened to the combined power of a pair of winged steeds and a charioteer. Now the horses and charioteers of the gods are all both good themselves and of good extraction, but all others are mixed. In the first place, then, our ruling power drives a pair of steeds, in the next place, of these horses it has one that is beautiful and noble, and of similar extraction, but the other is of opposite extraction, and opposite character; our driving therefore is necessarily difficult and troublesome. But we must endeavour to explain in what respect an animal is called mortal or immortal. All soul takes care of all that is without soul, and goes about all heaven, appearing at different times in different forms. 55. While it is perfect, then, and winged, it soars aloft and governs the universe: but when it has lost its wings it is borne downward, until it meets with something solid, in which having taken up its abode, by assuming an earthly body, which appears to move itself by means of its own power, the whole together is called an animal, soul and body compounded, and takes the appellation of mortal. But the immortal derives its name from no deduction of reasoning, but as we neither see, nor sufficiently understand God, we represent him as an immortal animal possessed of soul, and possessed of body, and these united together throughout all time. Let these things, however, so be and be described as God pleases. But let us now discover the cause of the loss of the wings, why they fall off from the soul. It is something of the following kind: 56. The natural power of a wing, is to carry up heavy substances by raising them aloft to the regions where the race of the gods dwells; and of the parts connected with the body, it probably partakes most largely of that which is divine. But that which is divine is beautiful, wise, good, and every thing of that kind. By these then the wings of the soul are chiefly nourished and increased, but by what is base and vile, and other similar contraries, it falls to decay and perishes. Now the mighty chief in heaven, Jupiter, goes first, driving a winged chariot, ordering and taking care of all things; and there follows him a host of gods and demons, distributed into eleven divisions, for Vesta remains alone in the dwelling of the gods: but of the others all that have been assigned a station as chief gods in the number of the twelve, lead in the order to which they have been severally appointed. 57. But there are many delightful sights and paths within heaven among which the race of the blessed gods move, each performing his own proper work; and whoso has both will and power accompanies them; for envy stands aloof from the heavenly choir. But when they proceed to a banquet and feast, they now ascend by an up-hill path to the highest arch of heaven: and the chariots of the gods, which from being equally poised are obedient to the rein, move easily, but all others with difficulty; for the horse that partakes of vice weighs them down, leaning and pressing heavily towards the earth, if he happens not to have been well trained by his charioteer. Here then the severest toil and trial is laid upon the soul.
For those that are called immortal, when they reach the summit, proceeding outside, stand on the back of heaven, and while they are stationed here, its revolution carries them round, and they behold the external regions of heaven. 58. But the region above heaven no poet here has ever yet sung of, nor ever will sing of, as it deserves. It is, however, as follows: for surely I may venture to speak the truth, especially as my subject is truth. For essence, that really exists, colourless, formless and intangible, is visible only to intelligence that guides the soul, and around it the family of true science have this for their abode. As then the mind of deity is nourished by intelligence and pure science, so the mind of every soul that is about to receive what properly belongs to it, when it sees after a long time that which is, is delighted, and by contemplating the truth, is nourished and thrives, until the revolution of heaven brings it round again to the same point. And during this circuit it beholds justice herself, it beholds temperance, it beholds science, not that to which creation is annexed, nor that which is different in different things of those which we call real, but that which is science in what really is. And in like manner, having beheld all other things that really are, and having feasted on them, it again enters into the interior of heaven, and returns home. 59. And on its return, the charioteer having taken his horses to the manger, sets ambrosia before them, and afterwards gives them nectar to drink. And this is the life of the gods.
But, with respect to other souls, that which best follows and imitates a god, raises the head of its charioteer to the outer region, and is carried round with the rest in the revolution, yet is confused by its horses, and scarcely able to behold real existences; but another at one time rises, at another sinks, and owing to the violence of the horses, partly sees, and partly not. The rest follow, all eager for the upper region, but being unable to reach it they are carried round sunk beneath the surface, trampling on and striking against each other, in endeavouring to get one before another. Hence the tumult, and struggling, and sweating is extreme; and here through the fault of the charioteers many are maimed, and many break many of their feathers; and all of them having undergone much toil depart without having succeeded in getting a view of that which is, and after their departure they make use of the food of mere opinion. 60. And this is the reason for the great anxiety to behold the field of truth, where it is; the proper pasture for the best part of the soul happens to be in the meadow there, and it is the nature of the wing by which the soul is borne aloft, to be nourished by it; and this is a law of Adrastia[124], that whatever soul, in accompanying a deity, has beheld any of the true essences, it shall be free from harm until the next revolution, and if it can always accomplish this, it shall be always free from harm: but whenever from inability to keep up it has not seen any of them, and from meeting with some misfortune, has been filled with oblivion and vice, and so weighed down, and from being weighed down has lost its wings, and fallen to the earth, then there is a law that this soul should not be implanted in any brutal nature in its first generation, but that the soul which has seen most, should enter into the germ of a man who will become a philosopher or a lover of the beautiful, or a votary of the Muses and Love; but that the second should enter into the form of a constitutional king, or a warrior and commander, the third into that of a statesman, or economist, or merchant, the fourth into one who loves the toil of gymnastic exercises, or who will be employed in healing the body, the fifth will have a prophetic life or one connected with the mysteries, to the sixth the poetic life or some other of those employed in imitation will be best adapted, to the seventh a mechanical or agricultural life, to the eighth the life of a sophist or mob-courtier, to the ninth that of a tyrant. 61. But among all these, whosoever passes his life justly afterwards obtains a better lot, but who unjustly, a worse one. For to the same place, whence each soul comes, it does not return till the expiration of ten thousand years; for it does not recover its wings for so long a period, except it is the soul of a sincere lover of wisdom, or of one who has made philosophy his favourite[125]. But these in the third period of a thousand years, if they have chosen this life thrice in succession, thereupon depart, with their wings restored in the three thousandth year. But the others, when they have ended their first life, are brought to trial; and being sentenced, some go to places of punishment beneath the earth and there suffer for their sins, but others, being borne upwards by their sentence to some region in heaven, pass their time in a manner worthy of the life they have lived in human form. But in the thousandth year, both kinds coming back again for the allotment and choice of their second life, choose that which they severally please. And here a human soul passes into the life of a beast, and from a beast he who was once a man passes again into a man. 62. For the soul which has never seen the truth, cannot come into this form: for it is necessary that a man should understand according to a generic form, as it is called, which proceeding from many perceptions is by reasoning combined into one. And this is a recollection of those things which our soul formerly saw when journeying with deity, despising the things which we now say are, and looking up to that which really is.
Wherefore, with justice, the mind of the philosopher is alone furnished with wings; for, to the best of his power, his memory dwells on those things, by the contemplation of which even deity is divine. But a man who makes a right use of such memorials as these, by constantly perfecting himself in perfect mysteries, alone becomes truly perfect.
And by keeping aloof from human pursuits, and dwelling on that which is divine, he is found fault with by the multitude as out of his senses, but it escapes the notice of the multitude that he is inspired.
----- Footnote 124: That is, “an inevitable law.”
Footnote 125: παιδεραστήσαντος μετὰ φιλοσοφίας. So in the Gorgias (§ 82) Socrates calls “philosophy his favourite,” τὴν φιλοσοφίαν, τὰ ἐμὰ παιδικά.
----- 63. To this then comes our whole argument respecting the fourth kind of madness, on account of which any one, who, on seeing beauty in this lower world, being reminded of the true, begins to recover his wings, and, having recovered them, longs to soar aloft, but being unable to do it, looks upwards like a bird, and despising things below, is deemed to be affected with madness. Our argument comes to this then, that this is the best of all enthusiasms, and of the best origin, both for him who possesses and for him who partakes of it, and that he who loves beautiful objects, by having a share of this madness, is called a lover.
For, as we have mentioned, every soul of man has, from its very nature, beheld real existences, or it would not have entered into this human form; for it is not easy for every one to call to mind former things from the present, neither for those who then had but a brief view of the things there, nor for those who after their fall hither, were so unfortunate as to be turned aside by evil associations to injustice, and so to have forgotten the sacred things they formerly beheld. Few therefore are left who have sufficient memory. But these, when they see any resemblance of the things there, are amazed and no longer masters of themselves, and they know not what this affection is, because they do not thoroughly perceive it. 64. Now of justice and temperance and whatever else souls deem precious, there is no brightness in the resemblances here, but by means of dull instruments with difficulty a few only, on approaching the images, are able to discern the character of that which is represented. But beauty was then splendid to look on, when with that happy choir, we in company with Jupiter, and others with some other of the gods, beheld that blissful sight and spectacle, and were initiated into that which may be rightly called the most blessed of all mysteries, which we celebrated when we were whole and unaffected by the evils that awaited us in time to come, and moreover when we were initiated in, and beheld in the pure light, perfect, simple, calm, and blessed visions, being ourselves pure, and as yet unmasked with this which we now carry about with us and call the body, fettered to it like an oyster to its shell.
65. Let this much be said out of regard to memory, on account of which, from a longing for former things, I have now spoken at greater length than I ought. But with respect to beauty, as we observed, she both shone among things there, and on our coming hither we found her, through the clearest of our senses, shining most clearly. For sight is the keenest of our bodily senses, though wisdom is not seen by it. For vehement would be the love she would inspire, if she came before our sight and shewed us any such clear image of herself, and so would all other loveable things; but now beauty only has this privilege of being most manifest and most lovely. 66. He, then, who has not been recently initiated, or who has become corrupted, is not speedily carried hence thither to beauty itself, by beholding here that which takes its name from it. So that he does not reverence it when he beholds it, but, giving himself up to pleasure, like a beast he attempts to mount it and to have intercourse with it, and in his wanton advances he is neither afraid nor ashamed of this unnatural pursuit of pleasure. But he who has been recently initiated, and who formerly beheld many things, when he sees a god-like countenance, or some bodily form that presents a good imitation of beauty, at first shudders and some of the former terrors come over him, then as he looks stedfastly at it, he reverences it as a god, and if he did not dread the imputation of excessive madness, he would sacrifice to his favourite, as to a statue or a god. 67. But after he has beheld it, as commonly happens, after shuddering, a change, a sweating and unusual heat comes over him. For having received the emanation of beauty through his eyes, he has become heated, so that the wings that are natural to him are refreshed; and by his being heated, the parts where they grow are softened, which having been long closed up through hardness prevented them from shooting out. But when this nutriment flows in, the quill of the wing begins to swell, and makes an effort to burst from the root, beneath the whole form of the soul; for of old it was all winged. In this state, then, the whole boils and throbs violently, and as is the case with infants cutting their teeth, when they are just growing out there is a pricking and soreness of the gums, in the same way the soul is affected of one who is beginning to put forth his wings, it boils and is sore, and itches as it puts them forth. 68. When, therefore, by beholding the beauty of a boy, and receiving particles that proceed and flow from thence, which are for that reason called desire, it becomes refreshed and heated; it is relieved from pain and filled with joy: but when it is separated and becomes parched, the orifices of the passages through which the wing shoots forth, become closed through drought and shut up the germ of the wing. But it being shut in together with desire, leaping like throbbing veins, strikes against each passage that is shut against it, so that the whole soul, being pricked all round, is frantic and in agony; but again retaining the memory of the beautiful one, it is filled with joy. 69.
And from both these mingled together, it is tormented by the strangeness of the affection, and not knowing what to do becomes frenzied, and being in this frantic state it can neither sleep at night, nor remain quiet by day, but runs about with longing wherever it may hope to see the possessor of the beauty. And on beholding him and drawing in fresh supplies of desire, it loosens the parts that were closed up, and recovering breath has a respite from stings and throes, and again for the present enjoys this most exquisite pleasure. Wherefore, it never willingly leaves him, nor values any one more than the beautiful one, but forgets mothers and brothers and friends all alike, and if its substance is wasting through neglect, it reckons that as of no consequence, and despising all customs and decorums in which it formerly prided itself, it is ready to be a slave and to lie down wherever any one will allow it as near as possible to the object of its longing. For in addition to its reverence for the possessor of beauty, it has found that he is the only physician for its severest troubles.
70. Now this affection, my beautiful boy, you I mean to whom I am speaking, men call love, but when you hear what the gods designate it, you will probably laugh, on account of your youth. Some Homerics, I think, adduce out of their secret poems two verses on love, of which the second is very insolent, and not altogether delicate: they sing as follows: “Him mortals indeed call winged Eros, but immortals Pteros (Flyer) for his flighty nature[126].”
----- Footnote 126: I must own myself indebted to Mr. Wright’s version of this dialogue for this happy translation of these two lines.
----- These verses then, you are at liberty to believe, or not; however, this assuredly is the cause and the condition of lovers. 71. Now when one of the attendants upon Jupiter is seized, he is able to bear with greater firmness the burden of the wing-named god; but such as are in the service of Mars and went round heaven with him, when they are caught by Love, and think that they are at all injured by the object of their love, are blood-thirsty, and ready to immolate both themselves and their favourite. And so with respect to each several god, whose choir each followed, he spends his life in honouring and imitating him to the best of his power, so long as he remains free from corruption, and is living here his first generation; and in this way he associates with and behaves to his beloved and all others. 72. Every one, therefore, chooses his love out of the objects of beauty according to his own taste, and, as if he were a god to him, he fashions and adorns him like a statue, as if for the purpose of reverencing him and celebrating orgies in his honour. They then that are followers of Jupiter seek for some one who resembles Jupiter in his soul, to be the object of his love. They therefore consider whether he is by nature a lover of wisdom, and fitted to command; and when, on finding one, they have become enamoured of him, they do every thing in their power to make him such. If, then, they have not already entered upon this study, they now set about it, and learn it from whatever source they can, and themselves pursue it; and by endeavouring to discover of themselves the nature of their own deity, they succeed by being compelled to look stedfastly on their god, and when they grasp him with their memory, being inspired by him, they receive from him their manners and pursuits, as far it is possible for man to participate of deity. 73. And considering the object of their love as the cause of all this, they love him still more, and if they have drawn their inspiration from Jupiter, like the Bacchanals, they pour it into the soul of their beloved, and make him as much as possible resemble their own god. But such as attended Juno seek after a royal favourite, and when they have found one, they act towards him in precisely the same manner. And such as attended Apollo, and each of the other gods, following the example of their several deities, desire that their favourite may have a corresponding character, and when they have gained such an one, both by imitation on their own part, and by persuading and alluring their favourite, they lead him to the peculiar pursuit and character of that god; not, indeed, by employing envy or illiberal severity towards their favourite, but endeavouring by every means in their power to lead him to a perfect resemblance of themselves and their god, they act accordingly. 74. A zeal, then, on the part of those who truly love, and an initiation, as I call it, if they succeed in what they desire, so beautiful and blessed, falls to the lot of the beloved one at the hands of him that is maddened by love, if only he be won. But he that is won, is won in the following manner.
As in the beginning of this account I divided each soul into three parts, two of them having the form of horses, and the third that of a charioteer, so let us still maintain that division: but of the horses, one, we said, was good and the other not: what however is the virtue of the good one, or the vice of the bad one, we have not yet explained, but must now declare. That one of them, then, which is in the nobler condition, is in form erect, finely-moulded, high-necked, hook-nosed, white-coloured, black-eyed, a lover of honour, with temperance and modesty, and a companion of true glory, without the whip is driven by word of command and voice only: the other, on the other hand, is crooked, thick set, clumsily put together, strong-necked, companion of insolence and swaggering, shaggy about the ears, deaf, scarcely obedient to whip and spur together. 75. When, therefore, the charioteer beholds the love-inspiring sight, his whole soul becoming heated by sensation, he is filled with irritation and the stings of desire, the horse that is obedient to the charioteer, then as ever, overpowered by shame restrains himself from leaping on the beloved object: but the other, no longer heeds either the whip or the spurs of the charioteer, but bounding forward is carried violently along, and giving every kind of trouble to his yoke-fellow and the charioteer, compels them to hurry to the favourite, and to indulge in the delights of love. They at first resist from indignation at being compelled to such a dreadful and lawless course: but at length, when there is no end to the evil, they go on as they are led, having submitted and consented to do what they are ordered; and now they come up to him and behold the gleaming countenance of the favourite. 76. But the memory of the charioteer when he beholds him is carried back to the nature of absolute beauty, and again sees her together with temperance standing on a chaste pedestal. And, on beholding, it[127] shudders, and awe-struck falls down backward, and at the same time is compelled to draw back the reins so violently, as to throw both the horses on their haunches, the one indeed willingly, from his not resisting, but the insolent one very much against his will. When they have withdrawn to some distance, the former through shame and amazement drenches the whole soul with sweat, but the other, having got rid of the pain which he suffered from the bit and the fall, when he has scarcely recovered his breath, bursts out into passionate revilings, vehemently reproaches the charioteer and his yoke-fellow, for having abandoned their station and compact from cowardice and effeminacy. And again compelling them against their wills to approach, he with difficulty yields to their entreaties to defer it to a future time. 77. But when the time agreed on comes, reminding them who pretend to forget it, plunging, neighing, and dragging forward, he compels them again to approach the favourite for the same purpose. And when they are near, bending down his head and extending his spear, he champs the bit and drags them on with wantonness. But the charioteer being affected as before, though more strongly, as if he were falling back from the starting rope, pulls back the bit with still greater violence from the teeth of the insolent horse, and covers his railing tongue and jaws with blood, and forcing his legs and haunches to the ground, tortures him with pain. 78. But when by being often treated in the same way, the vicious horse has laid aside his insolence, being humbled he henceforth follows the directions of the charioteer, and when he beholds the beautiful object, he swoons through fear. So that it comes to pass, that thenceforth the soul of the lover follows its favourite with reverence and awe. Since then he is worshipped with all observance as if he were a god, not by a lover who feigns the passion, but who really feels it, and since he is by nature inclined to friendship, he directs his affection to accord with that of his worshipper, even though in past times he may have been misled by his associates or some others, who told him that it was disgraceful to allow a lover to approach him, and he may for this reason have rejected his lover, yet in process of time his age and destiny induce him to admit his lover to familiarity. 79. For surely it was never decreed by fate, that the evil should be a friend to the evil, or the good not a friend to the good. When, therefore, he has admitted him and accepted his conversation and society, the benevolence of the lover being brought into close contact astonishes the beloved, when he perceives that all his other friends and relatives together exhibited no friendship at all towards him in comparison with his inspired friend. But when he has spent some time in doing this, and has approached so near as to come in contact in the gymnastic schools and other places of social intercourse, then the fountain of that stream to which Jupiter, when in love with Ganymede, gave the name of desire, streaming in great abundance upon the lover, partly sinks into him, and partly flows out from him when he is full. And as a wind or any sound rebounding from smooth and hard substances, is borne back again to the place from whence it proceeded, so this stream of beauty, flowing back again to the beautiful one through the eyes, by which way it naturally enters the soul, and having returned thither and fledged itself anew, refreshes the outlets of the feathers, and moves him to put forth wings, and in turn fills the soul of the beloved one with love. 80. Accordingly he is in love, but with whom he knows not; neither is he aware nor is he able to tell what has happened to him, but like a person who has caught a disease in the eyes from another, he is unable to assign the cause, and is not aware that he beholds himself in his lover, as in a mirror. And when the lover is present, he is freed from pain in the same way as the lover is; but, when he is absent, he in turn longs for him in the same manner that he is longed for, possessing love’s image, love returned; but he calls it and considers it to be not love but friendship. And he desires, in the same way as the lover, though more feebly, to see, to touch, to kiss, to lie down with him; and, as is probable, he soon afterwards does all this. 81. In this lying down together, then, the unbridled horse of the lover has something to say to its charioteer, and begs to be allowed some small enjoyment in recompence for his many toils, but the same horse of the favourite has nothing to say, but swelling with love and in doubt, embraces the lover, and kisses him as he would kiss a very dear friend, and when they are laid down together, he is unable to refuse, as far as in his power, to gratify his lover in whatever he requires. But his yoke-fellow, together with the charioteer, resists this familiarity with shame and reason. If, then, the better parts of their mind have prevailed so as to lead them to a well-regulated mode of living and philosophy, they pass their life here in bliss and concord, having obtained the mastery over themselves, and being orderly, through having brought into subjection that part of the soul in which vice was engendered, and having set free that in which was virtue: and when they depart this life, becoming winged and light, they have been victorious in one of the three truly Olympic contests, a greater good than which neither human prudence nor divine madness can possibly bestow on man.
82. If, however, they have adopted a coarser and less philosophic mode of living, yet still honourable, but perhaps in a fit of drunkenness or some other thoughtless moment, their two unbridled beasts finding their souls unguarded, and bringing them together to one place, have made and consummated that choice which most men deem blissful; and having once consummated it they continue to practise it for the future, though rarely, in that they are doing what is not approved by their whole mind.
These too, then, pass their life dear to each other, but less so than the others, both during the period of love and after it, thinking that they have both given to and received from each other the strongest pledges, which it were impious to violate, and so at any time become alienated. 83. But in the end, without wings indeed, yet making an effort to become winged, they quit the body, so as to carry off no trifling prize of impassioned madness: for there is a law that those who have already set out in the heavenward path should never again enter on darkness and the paths beneath the earth, but that, passing a splendid life, they should be happy walking with each other, and that, for their love’s sake, whenever they become winged, they should be winged together.
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