LYSIS, OR ON FRIENDSHIP.
Henry Cary translation
Socrates, Hippothales, Ctesippus, Menexenus, and Lysis.
I was going from the Academy straight to the Lyceum on the road outside the wall close to the wall itself, but when I reached the little gate, where is the fountain of the Panops, I there met with Hippothales son of Hieronymus, Ctesippus the Pæanian, and other young men with them standing together in a group. And Hippothales seeing me approach said, “Socrates, whither are you going, and whence come you?”
“From the Academy,” I replied, “and am going straight to the Lyceum.”
“Hither, then,” said he, “straight to us. Won’t you come here? it is worth while.”
“Where do you mean,” said I, “and whom do you mean by ‘you’?”
“Hither,” he replied, shewing me an enclosure opposite the wall and an open gate, “there we are passing away our time, we and a good many other fine fellows.”
“And what is this, and what your occupation?”
“A palæstra,” he said, “lately built; our occupation consists chiefly in conversation, which we would gladly share with you.”
“You do well,” said I. “But who teaches there?”
“Your friend and encomiast,” said he, “Miccus.”
“By Jupiter,” said I, “he is no mean person, but an apt sophist.”
“Will you follow us then,” said he, “that you may see those that are there?”
2. “I should be glad to hear this first, and on that condition I enter, who is the beauty?”
“To some of us,” said he, “Socrates, one appears so, to some, another.”
“But who appears so to you, Hippothales? Tell me this.”this.” 483Then he blushed at the question. And I said, “Hippothales, son of Hieronymus, you need no longer tell me this, whether you are in love with any one or not: for I know that you are not only in love, but are already pretty far gone in love. I, for my part, am in other matters poor and useless, but this somehow has been given me by the deity, to be able quickly to discern both a lover, and one that is beloved.”
On hearing this, he blushed still more. Whereupon Ctesippus said, “It is a fine thing in you to blush, Hippothales, and hesitate to tell Socrates the name, though if he were to stay here with you even for a short time he would be tired to death with hearing you frequently telling it. 3. He has certainly deafened our ears, Socrates, and filled them with the name of Lysis: and if he is somewhat tipsy, it is easy for us, even when we awake out of sleep, to fancy that we hear the name of Lysis. And what he tells of him in his ordinary talk, though wearisome, is not so very much so; but when he attempts to overwhelm us with his poems and set-speeches! and what is still more wearisome than these, is that he sings about his favourite with a wonderful voice, which we must endure to listen to. But now when questioned by you, he blushes.”
“This Lysis, then,” said I, “is a youth, as it seems. I conjecture this, because on hearing the name I did not know it.”
“They don’t often call him by his own name,” said he, “but he still goes by his father’s name, because his father is so very well known. For I am very sure, that you are far from being unacquainted with the form of the youth; for he may be sufficiently known from this only.”
4. “Tell me then,” said I, “whose son he is.”
“The eldest son of Democrates, of Æxone,” he replied.
“Well done, Hippothales,” said I, “what a noble and in every way admirable love is this you have met with! Come then, display to me what you display to these also, that I may discover whether you know what a lover ought to say about his favourite, either to himself or to others.”
“Do you really put any weight, Socrates,” said he, “on any thing that he says?”
“Do you deny,” said I, “that you are in love with the person whom he speaks of?”
“I do not,” said he, “but I do deny that I make verses on my favourite or compose speeches.”
484“He is not in his right senses,” said Ctesippus, “but is delirious and mad.”
Upon this I said, “Hippothales, I do not wish to hear your verses, nor any song that you may have made on the youth, but their meaning, that I may know in what way you behave towards your favourite.”
“He doubtless will tell you,” said he, “for he knows and remembers it well, since, as he says, he has been stunned by constantly hearing it from me.”
5. “By the gods,” said Ctesippus, “assuredly I do; and ridiculous it is too, Socrates. For that being a lover, and devoting himself to the youth beyond all others, he should have nothing of his own to say, that even a boy might not say, how can it be otherwise than ridiculous? For what the whole city resounds with about Democrates and Lysis the boy’s grandfather, and all his ancestors, their wealth, their breed of horses, and their victories in the Pythian, Isthmian, and Nemean games, with four horses and with one, these things he puts into poems and speeches, and besides these, things still more absurd: for he lately described to us in a poem, the entertainment of Hercules, how an ancestor of theirs received Hercules on account of his relationship to him, being himself sprung from Jupiter and the daughter of the founder of his borough, such things as old women sing, and many others of the same kind, Socrates. 6. These are the things that he speaks of and sings and compels us to listen to.”
Upon hearing this, I said, “O ridiculous Hippothales, before you have gained the victory do you compose and sing an encomium on yourself?”
“But I neither compose nor sing on myself, Socrates.”
“You do not think so,” I replied.
“How is that?” said he.
“These songs,” said I, “most of all relate to you. For if you gain your favourite being such as you describe, what you have said and sung will be an honour to you, and in reality an encomium on yourself as victorious in having won such a favourite. But if he should escape you, by how much greater the encomiums are which you uttered on your favourite, by so much the more ridiculous will you appear in being deprived of greater blessings. Whoever therefore, my friend, is skilled in matters of love, does not praise his beloved before he has caught 485him, fearing how the event will turn out. Moreover such as are beautiful when any one praises and extols them, are filled with pride and arrogance. Do you not think so?”
“I do,” he replied.
7. “And by how much the more arrogant they are, are they not more difficult to be caught?”
“That is probable at least.”
“What sort of huntsman, then, would he appear to you to be, who in hunting should scare away his prey, and make it more difficult to be caught?”
“Without doubt, a bad one.”
“And by speeches and songs not to soothe but exasperate, shews a great want of skill; does it not?”
“It appears so to me.”
“Consider then, Hippothales, whether you will not expose yourself to all these charges by your poetry. Though I think you would not be willing to allow that a man who harms himself by his poetry can be a good poet, in that he harms himself.”
“No, by Jupiter,” said he, “for that would be a great piece of folly. But on this very account, Socrates, I communicate the matter to you, and if you have any thing else to suggest, advise me, by saying what or by doing what one may win the affections of one’s favourite.”
“It is not easy to say,” I replied: “but if you will make Lysis himself converse with me, I could perhaps shew you what you ought to say to him, instead of the things which your friends allege that you say and sing.”
8. “There is no difficulty in that,” he replied. “For if you will enter with Ctesippus here, and sit down and converse, I think that he will join you of his own accord, for he is exceedingly fond of listening, Socrates, and moreover, as they are celebrating the Hermæa, young men and boys are all mixed up together. He will therefore join you: but if not, he is intimate with Ctesippus, through his cousin Menexenus; for Menexenus is his most particular friend. Let him call him, therefore, if he does not join you of his own accord.”
“This,” said I, “we must do.” And at the same time, laying hold of Ctesippus, I entered the palæstra, and the others came after us.
On entering there, we found that the boys had finished their 486sacrifices, and, the ceremonies being now nearly ended, playing at dice, and all full dressed. 9. Many of them were playing in the court outside, but some in a corner of the dressing-room were playing at odd and even with a great number of dice which they drew out of certain little baskets. Others stood round these, looking on; and among them was Lysis, and he stood in the midst of the boys and youths, crowned, and surpassing them in form, so as not only to deserve to be called beautiful, but beautiful and noble. Then we withdrawing to the opposite side sat down, (for it was quiet there,) and entered into conversation with each other. Lysis, thereupon, turning round, frequently looked at us, and was evidently anxious to come to us; but for some time he hesitated, and was averse to approach alone. Then, Menexenus comes in, in the midst of his game from the court, and as soon as he saw me and Ctesippus, came and seated himself by us. 10. Lysis, therefore, seeing him, followed, and sat down by the side of Menexenus. Others likewise came up, and moreover Hippothales, when he saw a good many standing round, concealing himself behind them, took up a position where he thought Lysis could not see him, fearing lest he should give him offence, and in this position he listened to our discourse. And I, looking towards Menexenus, said, “Son of Demophon, which of you is the elder?”
“We are in doubt,” he replied.
“Should you not also contend which of you is the more noble?” said I.
“Certainly,” said he.
“And in like manner, which of you is the more beautiful?”
Hereupon they both laughed. “However,” said I, “I will not ask which of you is the more rich, for you are friends; are you not?”
“Certainly,” they replied.
“Now the property of friends is said to be common, so that in this respect there will be no difference between you if what you say about friendship is true.”
They assented.
After this, I was purposing to ask, which of them was the more just and the more wise; but in the meanwhile some one came and made Menexenus get up, saying that the master of the palæstra called him; for he appeared to me to be one 487concerned in the sacrifices. He therefore left us; and I questioned Lysis: 11. “Doubtless,” said I, “Lysis, your father and mother love you very much?”
“Certainly,” he replied.
“Would they not, then, wish you to be as happy as possible?”
“How not?”
“Does a man appear to you to be happy who is a slave, and who is not permitted to do any thing he desires?”
“By Jupiter, no,” said he.
“If, therefore, your father and mother love you and wish that you may be happy, this is quite evident, that they endeavour to make you happy?”
“How should they not?” said he.
“Do they, therefore, permit you to do what you please, and in no respect find fault with you or hinder you from doing whatever you desire?”
“By Jupiter, Socrates,” said he, “they do indeed hinder me in very many things.”
“How say you?” I asked, “wishing you to be happy do they hinder you from doing whatever you please? Answer me thus; If you should desire to mount on one of your father’s chariots, and to take the reins when a race is to be run, would he not allow you, but hinder you?”
“By Jupiter,” said he, “he would not allow me.”
“Whom would he then?”
“There is a charioteer who receives pay from my father.”
12. “How say you? Do they suffer a hired servant rather than you to do what he pleases with the horses, and moreover pay him money for so doing?”
“Why not?” said he.
“But I suppose they suffer you to drive the pair of mules and, if you wish to take the whip and beat them, they would allow you.”
“Why allow me?” said he.
“But what?” said I, “is no one allowed to beat them?”
“Certainly,” said he, “the mule-driver.”
“Is he a slave, or free?”.
“A slave,” he replied.
“They think more of a slave then, as it seems, than of you, their son, and commit their property to him rather than to you, and allow him to do what he pleases, but you they hinder. 488Tell me this too. Do they allow you to govern yourself; or do they not even suffer this?”
“How should they suffer it?” he said.
“Who then governs you?”
“My pædagogue here,” said he.
“Is he a slave?”
“How should he be otherwise? ours though,” said he.
“It is shameful, surely,” said I, “that a freeman should be governed by a slave. And by doing what does this pædagogue govern you?”
“Of course,” said he, “he conducts me to my masters.”
“And do they too govern you, the masters?
“Assuredly.”
13. “Your father, then, voluntarily sets over you many rulers and governors. But when you return home to your mother, does she allow you to do whatever you please, that you may be happy as far as she is concerned, either with her wool or her loom when she is spinning? She surely does not hinder you from touching the comb or the shuttle, or any other of her spinning instruments.”
Whereupon, he laughing replied, “By Jupiter, Socrates, she not only hinders me, but I should be beaten too if I touched them.”
“By Hercules,” said I, “have you in any way injured your father or your mother?”
“By Jupiter, not I,” he said.
“For what reason, then, do they so shamefully hinder you from being happy and doing what you please, and bring you up throughout the whole day in subjection to some one, and in a word let you do scarcely any thing that you wish? So that, as it seems, neither have you any advantage from such great riches, but any one manages them rather than you, nor from your person, which is so noble, but this too another tends and takes care of: but you, Lysis, neither govern any thing, nor do any thing that you wish.”
14, “For I am not yet old enough, Socrates,” said he.
“That should not hinder you, son of Democrates: since thus far, I think, both your father and mother permit you and do not wait till you are old enough: for when they wish any thing to be read to or written for them, they appoint you, I think, first of all in the house to this office; do they not?”
489“Certainly,” said he.
“Are you allowed then, in this case, to write whichever letter you please first, and which second, and are you allowed to read in like manner? And when you take the lyre, I think, neither your father nor your mother hinder you from tightening and loosening any string you please, and from twanging and striking them with the quill; do they hinder you?”
“By no means.”
“What then can be the cause, Lysis, that in these cases they do not hinder you, but do hinder you in those that we just now mentioned?”
“Because, I think,” said he, “I know the one, but not the other.”
15. “Be it so,” said I, “my excellent youth; your father, then, is not waiting for your being old enough to entrust every thing to you, but on the very day that he shall think you are wiser than he is, he will entrust to you both himself and his property?”
“I think he will,” said he.
“Be it so,” said I, “what then? Will not your neighbour follow the same rule as your father respecting you? Do you think he will entrust you with the management of his household when he thinks you are wiser than himself with respect to household-management, or will he preside over it himself?”
“I think he will entrust it to me.”
“But what? do you think the Athenians will entrust their affairs to you, when they perceive that you are wise enough?”
“I do.”
“By Jupiter,” said I, “what then as to the great king? Would he suffer his eldest son, who will succeed to the government of Asia, when his meat is being cooked, to throw into the sauce whatever he pleases, rather than us, if we should go to him and shew that we are more skilled in the preparation of dishes than his son?”
“Us, clearly,” he replied.
16. “And he would not allow him to throw any thing in, however trifling, but us he would allow, even if we wished to throw in salt by the handful.”
“How not?”
“But what if his son should be diseased in his eyes, would 490he allow him to touch his own eyes, not considering him a physician, or would he hinder him?”
“He would hinder him.”
“But if he supposed we were good physicians, even if we wished to open his eyes and sprinkle them with ashes, I think he would not hinder us, considering we judged rightly.”
“You say true.”
“Would he not entrust every thing else to us rather than to himself or his son, with respect to which we appeared to him to be wiser than either of them?”
“Necessarily so, Socrates,” he replied.
“This, then, is the case,” said I, “my dear Lysis, all persons, both Greeks and barbarians, men and women, will entrust us with those things with respect to which we are found to be wise, and we shall do in them whatever we please, nor will any one purposely hinder us, but we shall both be free ourselves in these matters, and governors over others, and these things will be our own, for we shall derive benefit from them. 17. But those things about which we have no knowledge no one will suffer us to do as we think proper, but all men will hinder us as much as they are able, not only strangers, but even our own father and mother, and any one else who is more nearly related to us than them, and in these matters we ourselves shall be subject to others, and they will be strange to us, for we shall derive no benefit from them. Do you admit that this is the case?”
“I do.”
“Shall we, then, be friends to any one, and will any one love us in those things in which we are of no use?”
“No, surely,” said he.
“Now, then, neither does your father love you, nor does any one else love another person, in so far as he is useless?”
“It appears not,” he said.
“If, then, you become wise, my boy, all men will be your friends, and all men will be attached to you, for you will be useful and good. But if not, neither will any one else, nor your father be a friend to you, nor your mother, nor any of your kindred. Is it possible, then, Lysis, that any one can deem himself wise in those things of which as yet he has no knowledge at all?”
“How can he?” said he.
491“If, then, you require a teacher, you are not yet wise?”
18. “True.”
“Neither, then, are you very wise, if you are still unwise?”
“By Jupiter,” said he, “Socrates, I do not think that I can be.”
Then I, upon hearing this, looked at Hippothales, and almost committed a blunder, for it occurred to me to say, “Thus, Hippothales, we ought to converse with favourites, humbling and checking them, and not, as you do, puffing them up and filling them with vanity.” However, perceiving him anxious and disturbed at what was said, I recollected that, although he was standing near, he wished to escape the observation of Lysis; I therefore recovered myself, and restrained my speech.
At this moment Menexenus came again, and sat down by Lysis, whence he had risen before. Lysis, then, in a very boyish and affectionate manner, unobserved by Menexenus, talking to me a little while, said, “Socrates, say over again to Menexenus what you have been saying to me.”
And I replied, “Do you tell it him, Lysis, for you paid very great attention.”
“I certainly did,” he replied.
“Endeavour, then,” said I, “to remember it as well as you can, that you may tell him all clearly; but if you forget any thing, ask me again the first time you meet me.”
19. “I will most certainly do so, Socrates,” said he, “be well assured. But say something else to him, that I too may hear, until it is time for me to go home.”
“I must do so,” said I, “since you bid me; but take care that you assist me, if Menexenus should attempt to confute me. Do you not know that he is fond of disputing?”
“By Jupiter,” said he, “very much so; and for this reason I wish you to converse with him.”
“That I may make myself ridiculous?” said I.
“No, by Jupiter,” said he, “but that you may punish him.”
“How so,” said I, “that’s not an easy matter, for the man is clever, a disciple of Ctesippus. And besides, he is here in person, do not you see Ctesippus?”
“Don’t concern yourself about that, Socrates,” said he, “but come, converse with him.”
“We must converse, then,” I replied.
While we were speaking thus to each other, Ctesippus said, 492“What are you two feasting on by yourselves, without letting us share in the conversation?”
“But indeed,” said I, “you shall have a share, for Lysis here does not understand something that I have said, but says he thinks Menexenus knows it, and bids me ask him.”
20. “Why then,” said he, “do you not ask him?”
“But I will ask him,” I replied. “Answer me, then, Menexenus, what I shall ask you; for from my childhood I happen to have had a desire for a certain thing, as another person may have of something else: for one desires to possess horses, another dogs, another gold, and another honours; but I, for my part, am indifferent about these things, but have a fond desire for the possession of friends, and I had rather have a good friend than the best quail or cock in the world; and, by Jupiter, than the best horse or dog, and I think, by the dog, that I should much rather prefer the possession of an intimate, than the gold of Darius, or even than Darius himself, so fond am I of intimate friends. Seeing you, therefore, and Lysis, I was amazed, and pronounced you happy, because, young as you are, you have been able so quickly and easily to acquire this possession, and you have so quickly and sincerely acquired him for your friend, and again he you. But I am so far from making this acquisition, that I do not even know in what way one man becomes the friend of another; but I wish to ask this very thing of you, as being an experienced person. 21. Tell me, then, when any one loves another, which of the two becomes a friend, the lover of the beloved, or the beloved of the lover? or is there no difference?”
“It appears to me,” said he, “that there is no difference.”
“How say you?” I replied, “Do both then become friends of each other, if one alone loves the other?”
“To me it appears so,” said he.
“But what? Is it not possible for one who loves not to be loved in turn by the object of his love?”
“It is.”
“But what? is it not possible, then, for one who loves ever to be hated? as lovers surely sometimes seem to be treated by their favourites: for though they love most ardently, some of them think that they are not loved in turn, and some even that they are hated. Does not this appear to you to be true?”
“Quite true,” said he.
493“In such a case, then,” said I, “does one love, and is the other loved?”
“Yes.”
“Which then of these is the friend of the other? the lover of the beloved, whether he is loved in turn, or even if he is hated, or the beloved of the lover? or again, in such a case, is neither the friend of neither, unless both love each other?”
“It seems indeed to be so.”
22. “Now, then, it appears to us otherwise than it appeared before. For then if one loved, both appeared to be friends; but now, unless both love neither is a friend.”
“It appears so,” said he.
“Nothing, therefore, is a friend to that which loves unless it loves in turn.”
“It seems not.”
“Neither, then, are they friends of horses, whom horses do not love in turn, nor friends of quails, nor again friends of dogs, and friends of wine, and friends of gymnastics, and of wisdom, unless wisdom loves them in turn: or do they severally love these things although they are not friends, and does the poet speak falsely who says, ‘Happy the man who has boys for his friends, and solid-hoofed horses, and hunting dogs, and a foreign guest?’”
“It does not seem so to me,” he replied.
“But does he appear to you to speak the truth?”
“Yes.”
“The beloved, then, is a friend to that which loves, as it seems, Menexenus, whether it loves or whether it hates; just as children newly born, who partly do not yet love, and partly even hate, when they are punished by their mother or their father, nevertheless, at the very time when they hate, are in the highest degree beloved by their parents.
“It appears to me,” said he, “that this is the case.”
23. “The lover, therefore, from this reasoning, is not the friend, but the beloved.”
“It seems so.”
“And he who is hated, therefore, is an enemy, but not he who hates.”
“So it appears.”
“Many, therefore, are beloved by their enemies and hated by their friends; and are friends to their enemies, but enemies 494to their friends, if the beloved is a friend, and not the lover. Though it is very absurd, my dear friend, or rather, I think, impossible, to be an enemy to a friend, and a friend to an enemy.”
“You seem to speak truly, Socrates,” said he.
“If, therefore, this is impossible, the lover will be a friend of the beloved.”
“So it appears.”
“Again, therefore, that which hates must be the enemy of that which is hated.”
“Necessarily so.”
“Therefore, the result will be that we must of necessity admit the very things that we did before, that a man is often a friend of that which is not a friend, and often even of that which is an enemy, when either any one loves that which does not love, or even loves that which hates, and is often an enemy of that which is not an enemy, or is even a friend, when either any one loves that which does not hate, or even hates that which loves.”
“It appears so,” said he.
“What shall we do, then,” said I, “if neither those who love are to be friends, nor those who are loved, nor yet those who both love and are loved? Shall we say that some others besides these become friends to each other?”
“By Jupiter, Socrates,” said he, “I don’t well know what answer to make.”
24. “Have we not, then, Menexenus,” said I, “conducted our enquiries altogether right?”
“To me it appears not, Socrates,” said Lysis; and as he said this he blushed: for his remark appeared to me to escape from him involuntarily through his earnest attention to the conversation: and he was plainly most attentive while he was listening.
I then, wishing that Menexenus should cease speaking, and being delighted with the other’s love of wisdom, accordingly turned round and directed my discourse to Lysis, and said, “Lysis, you seem to me to say truly, that if we had conducted our enquiries properly, we should never have wandered in this manner. But let us proceed no longer in this way, (for the investigation appears to me to be difficult as if it were a road,) but it seems to me that we should proceed by the road to which we turned aside, and conduct our enquiries after the 495poets; for they are to us, as it were, fathers of wisdom and guides. They speak however, I imagine, so as not to give a mean account of such as happen to be friends, but they say that God himself makes them friends, by conducting them to each other. They express themselves as I think somehow as follows: ‘God ever conducts like to like[173],’ and makes them known; have you not met with this verse?”
“I have,” said he.
25. “Have you not met, too, with the writings of the wisest of men that say the very same things, that like must ever needs be friendly to like? But these are they who discourse and write about nature and the universe.”
“You say truly,” he replied.
“Whether, then,” said I, “do they say well?”
“Perhaps so,” said he.
“Perhaps,” said I, “the half is true, and perhaps the whole, but we do not understand it: for the wicked man, by how much nearer he approaches, and is more intimate with a wicked man, seems to us to become so much the more hostile to him; for he injures him; but, surely, it is impossible for those who injure and are injured to be friends: is it not so?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Thus, then, the half of this saying will not be true, since the wicked are like each other?”
“You say true.”
“But they seem to me to say that the good are like each other and friends, but that the bad, as it is said of them, are never alike even to themselves, but are inconstant and unstable. But that which is unlike and at variance with itself, can scarcely be like or friendly to another; does it not seem so to you too?”
“To me it does,” said he.
26. “They intimate this, then, my friend, as it seems to me, when they say that like is friendly to like, that the good man only is a friend to the good man only, but that the bad man never arrives at true friendship, either with a good or a bad man: does it seem so to you also?”
He nodded assent.
“We have now discovered, then, who are friends, for our argument shews that it must be those who are good.”
496“It certainly seems so,” said he.
“And I think so too,” said I. “Nevertheless, I find some difficulty in it. Come then, by Jupiter, let us see what it is I suspect. The like, in so far as he is like, is a friend to the like, and such an one is useful to such an one: or rather thus: can any thing that is like confer any benefit on or do any harm to any thing that is like, which it cannot also do to itself; or suffer any thing which it cannot also suffer from itself? But how can such things be held in regard by each other when they are unable to afford any assistance to each other? is it possible?”
“It is not possible.”
“But how can that which is not held in regard be a friend?”
“In no way.”
“The like, then, is not a friend to the like: but will the good be a friend to the good, so far as he is good, and not so far as he is like?”
“Perhaps so.”
27. “But what? Will not the good man, so far as he is good, be sufficient for himself?”
“Yes.”
“But he who is sufficient stands in need of nothing, so far as sufficiency is concerned?”
“How can it be otherwise?”
“And he who stands in need of nothing will not regard any thing?”
“He will not.”
“But he who does not feel a regard cannot love?”
“Surely not.”
“How, then, will the good be in any respect friends to the good, who neither when absent regret each other, for they are sufficient for themselves when apart, nor when present stand in need of each other? By what contrivance can such persons value each other very highly?”
“By none at all,” said he.
“But they will not be friends who do not value each other very highly?”
“True.”
“Observe then, Lysis, how we are deceived. Are we, then, deceived in the whole?”
“How so?” said he.
“I once heard a person say, and I just now call it to 497mind, that like is most hostile to like, and the good to the good. And moreover, he adduced Hesiod[174] as a witness, saying that ‘potter is angry with potter, bard with bard, and beggar with beggar.’ And so, he said, with regard to all other things, that as a matter of absolute necessity, things most like each other are most full of envy, strife, and hatred; but such as are most unlike, of friendship; 28. for that the poor man is compelled to be a friend to the rich, and the weak to the strong, for the sake of assistance, and the sick man to the physician; and that every one who is ignorant must regard and love him that has knowledge. Moreover, he carried on the subject in a more lofty style, saying that the like is so far from being friendly to the like, that the very contrary to this takes place. For that the most contrary is in the highest degree friendly to the most contrary; for every thing desires its contrary, and not its like. Thus the dry desires the moist, the cold heat, the bitter sweet, the sharp blunt, the empty fulness, and the full emptiness; and all other things in the same way. For the contrary is food to the contrary, but the like can derive no enjoyment from the like. And indeed, my friend, he who said this seemed to be an accomplished man, for he spoke well. But how does he seem to you to speak?” I asked.
29. “Well,” replied Menexenus, “as it seems on first hearing.”
“Shall we say, then, that the contrary is most friendly to the contrary?”
“Certainly.”
“Be it so,” said I, “but is it not monstrous, Menexenus, and will not those perfectly wise men, the disputants, immediately spring upon us exultingly, and ask, if friendship is not most contrary to enmity? What answer shall we give them? Must we not of necessity admit that they say truly?”
“Of necessity.”
“‘Well then,’ they will ask, ‘is an enemy a friend to a friend, or is a friend a friend to an enemy?’”.
“Neither the one nor the other,” he replied.
“But is the just a friend to the unjust, or the temperate to the intemperate, or the good to the bad?”
“I does not appear to me to be so.”
“However,” said I, “if one thing is a friend to another by 498reason of contrariety, these things must also of necessity be friendly?”
“Of necessity.”
“Neither, therefore, is the like friendly to the like, nor the contrary to the contrary?”
“It appears not.”
“Further, let us consider this, whether it still more escapes our observation, that a friend is in reality none of these, but that what is neither good nor evil may sometimes become the friend of the good.”
“How mean you?” said he.
“By Jupiter,” said I, “I don’t know; for I am in reality myself dizzy with the perplexity of the argument. It appears, however, according to the ancient proverb, that the beautiful is friendly. 30. It certainly resembles something soft, smooth, and plump; on which account perhaps it slips away from us and escapes us, because it is a thing of this kind. For I say that the good is beautiful: do you not think so?”
“I do.”
“I say, therefore, prophetically, that that which is neither good nor evil is friendly to the beautiful and the good. But hear why I thus prophesy. There appear to me to be as it were three several classes, one good, a second evil, a third neither good nor evil. What think you?”
“It seems so to me also,” said he.
“Now that the good is friendly to the good, or the evil to the evil, or the good to the evil, our former argument does not allow us to say. It remains therefore, if any thing is friendly to any thing, that that which is neither good nor evil, must be friendly either to the good, or to that which is such as itself; for nothing surely can become friendly to the evil.”
“True.”
“Neither is like friendly to like, we just now said; did we not?”
“Yes.”
“Therefore to that which is neither good nor evil, that which resembles it will not be friendly?”
“It appears not.”
“The result then is, that that which is neither good nor evil alone becomes friendly to the good alone?”
“Necessarily so, as it seems.”
49931. “Well then, my boys,” said I, “does what is now said lead us in the right direction? Surely if we will consider, a healthy body has no need of the medicinal art, or of any assistance; for it is sufficient for itself; so that no healthy person is a friend to a physician on account of health; is it not so?”
“No one.”
“But the sick man I think is, on account of disease?”
“How not?”
“But disease is an evil, and the medicinal art beneficial and good.”
“Yes.”
“But a body surely, so far as it is body, is neither good nor evil.”
“Just so.”
“But a body is compelled, on account of disease, to embrace and love the medicinal art.”
“It seems so to me.”
“That, therefore, which is neither evil nor good, becomes friendly to the good, on account of the presence of evil.”
“So it seems.”
“But it is evident that it becomes so, prior to its becoming evil through the evil which it contains; for when it has once become evil, it will no longer desire the good, and be friendly to it: for we have said that it is impossible for the evil to be friendly to the good.”
“It is impossible.”
“Consider, then, what I say. For I say that some things are themselves such as that which is present with them, and some not. Thus, if any one wishes to dye any thing with any colour, the colour that is dyed in is surely present in the thing that is dyed.”
“Certainly.”
32. “Is then, that which is dyed, afterwards, the same as to colour, as that which is on it?”
“I don’t understand you,” he replied.
“But thus,” said I, “If any one should dye your hairs, which are yellow, with white lead, would they then be white, or appear so?”
“They would appear so,” he replied.
“Though whiteness would be present with them.”
“Yes.”
500“And yet your hairs would not be at all the more white, but though whiteness is present, they are neither white nor black.”
“True.”
“But when, my friend, old age has brought this colour on them, then they become such as that which is present with them, white by the presence of white.”
“How can it be otherwise?”
“This then I now ask, if a thing be present in any thing, will that which contains it be such as that which is present with it, or if it be present after a certain manner, will it be such, but otherwise not?”
“Thus, rather,” he replied.
“That then which is neither evil nor good, sometimes when evil is present, is not yet evil, but sometimes it has already become such.”
“Certainly.”
“When, therefore, it is not yet evil, though evil be present, this very presence of evil makes it desirous of good, but this presence which makes it evil, deprives it at the same time of the desire and friendship for the good. 33. For it is now no longer neither evil nor good, but evil; evil however we saw, is not friendly to good.”
“It is not.”
“On this account we must say, that those who are already wise no longer love wisdom, whether they are gods or men; nor again do they love wisdom who have so much ignorance, as to be evil: for no evil and foolish person loves wisdom. They therefore are left, who possess indeed this evil, ignorance, but are not yet thereby stupid or foolish, but still think that they do not know the things that they do not know. Wherefore they who are not yet either good or evil are lovers of wisdom; but such as are evil do not love wisdom, nor do the good: for we have seen in a former part of our discussion, that neither is the contrary friendly to the contrary, nor the like to the like: do you not remember this?”
“Certainly,” they both replied.
“Now then,” said I, “Lysis and Menexenus, we have certainly discovered what it is that is friendly and what not. For we say, that with respect to the soul, and with respect to the body, and every thing else, that which is neither evil nor good, is friendly to the good on account of the presence of evil.”
50134. They quite admitted and agreed that such was the case.
And I for my part was rejoicing exceedingly, like any hunter, in having just caught the prey that I was in chase of. And then, I know not from what quarter, a most strange suspicion came into my mind, that what we had assented to was not true. And immediately being distressed, I said, “Alas, Lysis and Menexenus, we seem to have grown rich in a dream.”
“Why so?” said Menexenus.
“I am afraid,” I replied, “that as if with braggart men, we have fallen in with some such false reasonings respecting a friend.”
“How so?” he asked.
“Let us consider it thus,” said I; “whether is he who is a friend, a friend to some one or not?”
“Necessarily so,” said he.
“Whether, therefore, for the sake of nothing, and on account of nothing, or for the sake of something, and on account of something?”
“For the sake of something and on account of something.”
“Whether is that thing friendly for the sake of which a friend is a friend to a friend, or is it neither friendly nor hostile?”
“I do not quite follow you,” said he.
“Probably,” said I. “But thus perhaps you will be able to follow me; and I think that I too shall better understand what I say. The sick man, we just now said, is a friend to the physician; is it not so?”
“Yes.”
“Is he not, then, a friend to the physician on account of disease, for the sake of health?”
“Yes.”
“But disease is an evil?”
“How not?”
“But what is health?” said I; “is it good or evil, or neither?”
“Good,” said he.
35. “We stated, then, as it seems, that the body, which is neither good, nor evil, on account of disease, that is on account of evil, is friendly to the medicinal art: but the medicinal art is a good; and the medicinal art acquires the friendship for the sake of health; and health is good: is it not?”
“Yes.”
502“But is health a friend, or not a friend?”
“A friend.”
“And is disease an enemy?”
“Certainly.”
“That then which is neither evil nor good, on account of what is evil and an enemy, is a friend to the good, for the sake of what is good and a friend.”
“It appears so.”
“The friendly therefore is a friend for the sake of the friend, on account of that which is an enemy.”
“So it seems.”
“Well then,” said I, “since we have reached this point, my boys, let us pay every attention that we be not deceived. For that a friend becomes a friend to a friend, and that like becomes a friend to like, which we said is impossible, I give up. However let us consider this, that what is now asserted may not deceive us. The medicinal art, we say, is a friend for the sake of health?”
“Yes.”
“Is not, then, health also a friend?”
“Certainly.”
36. “If, then, it is a friend, it must be so for the sake of something?”
“Yes.”
“And indeed of something friendly, if we will keep to our former admission?”
“Certainly.”
“Will not, therefore, that again be a friend, for the sake of something friendly?”
“Yes.”
“Must we not, then, necessarily be tired out with going on thus, and arrive at some principle, which will not have to be referred to another friend, but will arrive at that which is the first friend, for the sake of which we say that all other things are friendly?”
“Necessarily so.”
“This, then, is what I say, we must take care that all those other things which we said were friendly for the sake of that, do not, as being certain images of it, deceive us, but that that may be the first which is truly a friend. For let us consider it thus. If any one values any thing very highly, as, for instance, 503sometimes a father prizes a son above all other things, will not such an one, because he esteems his son above every thing, also value something else very highly? For instance, if he were to hear that he had drunk hemlock, would he not value wine very highly, if he thought this would save his son?”
“How should he not?” said he.
37. “And the vessel too that contained the wine?”
“Certainly.”
“Will he then set the same value on an earthenware cup as he does upon his son, or three measures of wine as on his son? or is the case thus? all such anxiety is employed not about those things that are procured for the sake of something else, but about that for the sake of which all such things are procured: for although we often say that we value gold and silver very highly, yet we may observe that the truth is not at all the more thus; but what we value so very highly is that, whatever it may prove to be, for the sake of which gold and all other provisions are procured. Shall we not say so?”
“Certainly.”
“May not the same thing also be said of a friend? for whatever things we say are friendly to us, for the sake of some friendly thing, we appear to describe by a name that belongs to another, but that very thing seems in reality to be friendly in which all those so-called friendships terminate?”
“This seems to be the case,” said he.
“That, then, which is in reality friendly is not friendly for the sake of any other friendly thing?”
“True.”
“This, then, is settled, that what is friendly is not friendly for the sake of any other friendly thing. Is the good, then, friendly?”
“It seems so to me.”
38. “Is the good, then, loved on account of evil, and is the case thus? If of the three things which we just now mentioned, good, evil, and that which is neither good nor evil, two only were to be left, but evil were to depart altogether, and not come in contact with any thing, either with body, or soul, or any other of the things which we say in themselves are neither evil nor good, in that case would not good be of no use to us, but become useless? For if there were nothing to hurt 504us any more, we should stand in need of no assistance whatever. And thus it would then become evident that we had a regard for and loved the good on account of evil, since good is a medicine for evil, but evil is a disease. But when there is no disease, there is no need of medicine. Is this, then, the nature of good, and is it loved on account of evil, by us who are placed between evil and good, and is it of no use itself, for the sake of itself?”
“Such seems to be the case,” he replied.
“That which is friendly, therefore, to us, is that in which terminate all other things, which we said are friendly for the sake of some other friendly thing, but in no respect resembles them? 39. For these are called friendly for the sake of a friendly thing; but that which is in reality friendly appears to be of a nature quite contrary to this; for we have found it to be friendly for the sake of that which is hostile: but if that which is hostile should depart, it would no longer, as it seems, be friendly to us.”
“It seems to me that it would not,” said he, “according to what is now said.”
“Whether, by Jupiter,” said I, “if evil were to be destroyed, would there no longer be any hunger or thirst, or any thing else of the kind? or would there be hunger, if men and other animals existed, yet not so as to be hurtful? and thirst, and other desires, yet not be evil, since evil is destroyed? or is the question ridiculous, what would then be the case or not be the case? for who knows? This, however, we know, that at present it is possible to be harmed by being hungry, and it is also possible to be benefited; is it not so?”
“Certainly.”
“Therefore it is possible that one who thirsts, or is affected by any other similar desire, may sometimes be affected by it beneficially, and sometimes harmfully, and sometimes neither?”
“Assuredly.”
“If, therefore, evil were destroyed, must things that are not evil be destroyed together with the evil?”
“Not at all.”
“There will be, then, such desires as are neither good nor evil, even if evils were destroyed?”
“It appears so.”
50540. “Is it, then, possible, that one who desires and is fond of any thing, should not love that which he desires and is fond of?”
“It does not appear so to me.”
“When evils, then, are destroyed, there will remain, as it seems, certain friendly things?”
“Yes.”
“Not so; at least if evil were the cause of any thing being friendly, for, when that is destroyed, one thing could not be friendly to another: for when the cause is destroyed, it is surely impossible that that of which it was the cause should any longer exist?”
“You say rightly.”
“Did we not admit that the friendly loved something, and on account of something, and did we not then think that, on account of evil, that which is neither good nor evil loved the good?”
“True.”
“But now, as it seems, there appears to be some other cause of loving and being loved?”
“So it seems.”
“Whether, then, in reality, as we just now said, is desire the cause of friendship, and is that which desires friendly to that which it desires, and at the time when it desires, but is what we before said was friendly mere trifling, like a poem[175] heedlessly composed?”
“It seems so,” said he.
“However,” I said, “that which desires desires that which it stands in need of; does it not?”
“Yes.”
“And is that which stands in need friendly to that of which it stands in need?”
“It seems so to me.”
“And it stands in need of that which is taken from it?”
41. “How should it not?”
“As it seems, then, love, friendship, and desire, respect that which belongs to a man; so it appears, Menexenus and Lysis?”
506They both assented.
“If, therefore, you two are friends to each other, you must, in a manner, by nature belong to each other?”
“Assuredly,” they both replied.
“If, then,” said I, “any one desires or is fond of another, my boys, he could never desire, or be fond of, or be a friend, unless he, in a manner, belonged to the object of his love, either as to his soul, or as to some habit of the soul, or disposition, or form?”
“Certainly,” said Menexenus, but Lysis was silent.
“Well, then,” said I, “it has proved necessary for us to love that which by nature belongs to us?”
“It seems so,” said he.
“It is necessary, then, for a genuine, and not a pretended lover, to be beloved by his favourite?”
To this Lysis and Menexenus scarcely nodded assent, but Hippothales, through delight, exhibited all sorts of colours. And I, being willing to examine the matter, said, “If there is any difference between that which belongs to us and that which is like, we shall be able to say, as it seems to me, Lysis and Menexenus, respecting a friend, what he is, but if the like and that which belongs are the same, it is not easy to get rid of our former conclusion, that the like is useless to the like, as regards similitude; but to admit that what is useless can be friendly is absurd. 42. Are you willing, then,” I added, “since we are, as it were, intoxicated by the discussion, that we should grant and affirm that that which belongs is different from that which is like?”
“Certainly.”
“Whether, then, shall we admit that good belongs to every thing, but that evil is foreign? or that evil belongs to evil, good to good, and that which is neither good nor evil, to that which is neither good nor evil?”
They both said, that so it appeared to them, that each belongs to each.
“Again, therefore,” said I, “my boys, we have fallen upon those conclusions which we at first rejected respecting friendship. For the unjust will be no less a friend to the unjust, and the evil to the evil, than the good to the good.”
“So it seems,” he said.
“But what? if we should say that the good and that which 507belongs are the same, will not the good only be a friend to the good?”
“Certainly.”
“But in this too we thought we had confuted ourselves; do you not remember?”
“We do remember.”
“In what way, then, can we still deal with the subject; is it not clear, in no way at all? I require, then, like skilful pleaders in the law courts, to sum up all that has been said; for if neither those that are loved, nor those that love, nor the like, nor the unlike, nor the good, nor those that belong to us, nor any others that we have described, (for I do not remember them any further, on account of their number,) but if no one of these is a friend, I have nothing more to say.”
43. When I had said this, I purposed to stir up some one of the older men; but just then, like evil spirits, the pedagogues of Lysis and Menexenus approaching us, having hold of their brothers by their hand, called to them, and bade them go home, for it was already late. At first, then, both we and the bystanders drove them away; but when they paid no attention to us, but murmured in their barbarous dialect, and desisted not from calling them, and seemed to us, from having drunk too much at the Hermæan festival, to be difficult to manage, we yielded to them, and dissolved the conference. However, as they were just going away, I said, Lysis and Menexenus, we have made ourselves ridiculous, both I, an old man, and you; for those who are now leaving us will say, that we think ourselves to be each other’s friends, (for I reckon myself among you,) but that we have not yet been able to discover what a friend is.
END OF VOL. I.
Transcriber’s Note
Each dialogue is footnoted beginning anew with ‘a’, and cycling back to ‘a’ if needed. The footnote sequence has the occasional lapse. However, all have been re-sequenced numerically across the entire volume.
A single erratum, referring to 428.32, was included in the front matter of the volume. The change has been applied.
There were several section numbers referred to in the text which were missing. Where possible, these have been added (delimited by square brackets), based on the Greek edition of Bekker (1826), which the author used as the basis for his translation.
At 288.7, an closing single quotation mark has no obvious opening.
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
23.41 quietly awaits your decision.[”] Added.
25.41 Crito[,] Critobulus Added,
110.40 “The same as snow and fire?[’/”] Replaced.
111.19 must it not?[”] Added.
111.34 do you admit this or not?[”] Added.
112.18 which is always a contrary?[”] Added.
121.32 and it is possi[ /b]le Replaced.
123.1 [“]But those who appear Added.
167.33 64. [Pol. ]But this is more difficult Added.
187.41 as if αὐτ[α/ὰ] ταῦτα preceded ἃ [ἃ/ἂ]ν Replaced.
240.32 given by Protagoras[?/.] Replaced.
288.37 [‘]Protagoras and Socrates Added.
293.1 what is dreadful, and no[t] dreadful Added.
320.43 οἰωνιστική, [augury augury] Italicize.
326.10 best of all enthusia[s]ms Inserted.
352.15 who take an interest in such matters[./?] Replaced.
359.8 of composing poet[r]y Inserted.
373.19 and reasoning[./?] Replaced.
377.2 as I just now spoke of it[./,] Replaced.
380.2 both to themselves a[m/n]d others. Replaced.
455.8 what science is[,] Added.
481.35 Tell me this.[’/”] Replaced.