ΣΩ. αὕτη σοι, ὦ φίλε Ἔρως, εἰς ἡμετέραν δύναμιν ὅτι καλλίστη καὶ ἀρίστη δέδοταί τε καὶ ἐκτέτεισται παλινῳδία, τά τε ἄλλα καὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασιν ἠναγκασμένη ποιητικοῖς τισιν διὰ Φαῖδρον εἰρῆσθαι. ἀλλὰ τῶν προτέρων τε συγγνώμην καὶ τῶνδε χάριν ἔχων, εὐμενὴς καὶ ἵλεως τὴν ἐρωτικήν μοι τέχνην ἣν ἔδωκας μήτε ἀφέλῃ μήτε πηρώσῃς διʼ ὀργήν, δίδου τʼ ἔτι μᾶλλον ἢ νῦν παρὰ τοῖς καλοῖς τίμιον εἶναι. ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν δʼ εἴ τι λόγῳ σοι ἀπηχὲς εἴπομεν Φαῖδρός τε καὶ ἐγώ, Λυσίαν τὸν τοῦ λόγου πατέρα αἰτιώμενος παῦε τῶν τοιούτων λόγων, ἐπὶ φιλοσοφίαν δέ, ὥσπερ ἁδελφὸς αὐτοῦ Πολέμαρχος τέτραπται, τρέψον, ἵνα καὶ ὁ ἐραστὴς ὅδε αὐτοῦ μηκέτι ἐπαμφοτερίζῃ καθάπερ νῦν, ἀλλʼ ἁπλῶς πρὸς ἔρωτα μετὰ φιλοσόφων λόγων τὸν βίον ποιῆται.
ΦΑΙ. συνεύχομαί σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἴπερ ἄμεινον ταῦθʼ ἡμῖν εἶναι, ταῦτα γίγνεσθαι. τὸν λόγον δέ σου πάλαι θαυμάσας ἔχω, ὅσῳ καλλίω τοῦ προτέρου ἀπηργάσω· ὥστε ὀκνῶ μή μοι ὁ Λυσίας ταπεινὸς φανῇ, ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ ἐθελήσῃ πρὸς αὐτὸν ἄλλον ἀντιπαρατεῖναι. καὶ γάρ τις αὐτόν, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ἔναγχος τῶν πολιτικῶν τοῦτʼ αὐτὸ λοιδορῶν ὠνείδιζε, καὶ διὰ πάσης τῆς λοιδορίας ἐκάλει λογογράφον· τάχʼ οὖν ἂν ὑπὸ φιλοτιμίας ἐπίσχοι ἡμῖν ἂν τοῦ γράφειν.
ΣΩ. γελοῖόν γʼ, ὦ νεανία, τὸ δόγμα λέγεις, καὶ τοῦ ἑταίρου συχνὸν διαμαρτάνεις, εἰ αὐτὸν οὕτως ἡγῇ τινα ψοφοδεᾶ. ἴσως δὲ καὶ τὸν λοιδορούμενον αὐτῷ οἴει ὀνειδίζοντα λέγειν ἃ ἔλεγεν.
ΦΑΙ. ἐφαίνετο γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες· καὶ σύνοισθά που καὶ αὐτὸς ὅτι οἱ μέγιστον δυνάμενοί τε καὶ σεμνότατοι ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν αἰσχύνονται λόγους τε γράφειν καὶ καταλείπειν συγγράμματα ἑαυτῶν, δόξαν φοβούμενοι τοῦ ἔπειτα χρόνου, μὴ σοφισταὶ καλῶνται.
ΣΩ. γλυκὺς ἀγκών, ὦ Φαῖδρε, λέληθέν σε ὅτι ἀπὸ τοῦ μακροῦ ἀγκῶνος τοῦ κατὰ Νεῖλον ἐκλήθη· καὶ πρὸς τῷ ἀγκῶνι λανθάνει σε ὅτι οἱ μέγιστον φρονοῦντες τῶν πολιτικῶν μάλιστα ἐρῶσι λογογραφίας τε καὶ καταλείψεως συγγραμμάτων, οἵ γε καὶ ἐπειδάν τινα γράφωσι λόγον, οὕτως ἀγαπῶσι τοὺς ἐπαινέτας, ὥστε προσπαραγράφουσι πρώτους οἳ ἂν ἑκασταχοῦ ἐπαινῶσιν αὐτούς.
ΦΑΙ. πῶς λέγεις τοῦτο; οὐ γὰρ μανθάνω.
Socrates. There, dear Love, thou hast my recantation, which I have offered and paid as beautifully and as well as I could, especially in the poetical expressions which I was forced to employ on account of Phaedrus. Pardon, I pray, my former words and accept these words with favor; be kind and gracious to me; do not in anger take from me the art of love which thou didst give me, and deprive me not of sight, but grant unto me to be even more than now esteemed by the beautiful. And if in our former discourse Phaedrus and I said anything harsh against thee, blame Lysias, the father of that discourse, make him to cease from such speeches, and turn him, as his brother Polemarchus is turned, toward philosophy, that his lover Phaedrus may no longer hesitate, as he does now, between two ways, but may direct his life with all singleness of purpose toward love and philosophical discourses.
Phaedrus. I join in your prayer, Socrates, and pray that this may come to pass, if this is best for us. But all along I have been wondering at your discourse, you made it so much more beautiful than the first; so that I am afraid Lysias will make a poor showing, if he consents to compete with it. Indeed, lately one of the politicians was abusing him for this very thing, and through all his abusive speech kept calling him a speech-writer; so perhaps out of pride he may refrain from writing.
Socrates. That is an absurd idea, young man, and you are greatly mistaken in your friend if you think he is so much afraid of noise. Perhaps, too, you think the man who abused him believed what he was saying.
Phaedrus. He seemed to believe, Socrates; and you know yourself that the most influential and important men in our cities are ashamed to write speeches and leave writings behind them, through fear of being called sophists by posterity.
Socrates. You seem to be unacquainted with the sweet elbow, Phaedrus, and besides the elbow, you seem not to know that the proudest of the statesmen are most fond of writing and of leaving writings behind them, since they care so much for praise that when they write a speech they add at the beginning the names of those who praise them in each instance.
Phaedrus. What do you mean? I don’t understand.
ΣΩ. οὐ μανθάνεις ὅτι ἐν ἀρχῇ ἀνδρὸς πολιτικοῦ [συγγράμματι] πρῶτος ὁ ἐπαινέτης γέγραπται.
ΦΑΙ. πῶς;
ΣΩ. «ἔδοξέ» πού φησιν «τῇ βουλῇ» ἢ «τῷ δήμῳ» ἢ ἀμφοτέροις, καὶ «ὃς καὶ ὃς εἶπεν» —τὸν αὑτὸν δὴ λέγων μάλα σεμνῶς καὶ ἐγκωμιάζων ὁ συγγραφεύς—ἔπειτα λέγει δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο, ἐπιδεικνύμενος τοῖς ἐπαινέταις τὴν ἑαυτοῦ σοφίαν, ἐνίοτε πάνυ μακρὸν ποιησάμενος σύγγραμμα· ἤ σοι ἄλλο τι φαίνεται τὸ τοιοῦτον ἢ λόγος συγγεγραμμένος;
ΦΑΙ. οὐκ ἔμοιγε.
ΣΩ. οὐκοῦν ἐὰν μὲν οὗτος ἐμμένῃ, γεγηθὼς ἀπέρχεται ἐκ τοῦ θεάτρου ὁ ποιητής· ἐὰν δὲ ἐξαλειφθῇ καὶ ἄμοιρος γένηται λογογραφίας τε καὶ τοῦ ἄξιος εἶναι συγγράφειν, πενθεῖ αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ ἑταῖροι.
ΦΑΙ. καὶ μάλα.
ΣΩ. δῆλόν γε ὅτι οὐχ ὡς ὑπερφρονοῦντες τοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος, ἀλλʼ ὡς τεθαυμακότες.
ΦΑΙ. πάνυ μὲν οὖν.
ΣΩ. τί δέ; ὅταν ἱκανὸς γένηται ῥήτωρ ἢ βασιλεύς, ὥστε λαβὼν τὴν Λυκούργου ἢ Σόλωνος ἢ Δαρείου δύναμιν ἀθάνατος γενέσθαι λογογράφος ἐν πόλει, ἆρʼ οὐκ ἰσόθεον ἡγεῖται αὐτός τε αὑτὸν ἔτι ζῶν, καὶ οἱ ἔπειτα γιγνόμενοι ταὐτὰ ταῦτα περὶ αὐτοῦ νομίζουσι, θεώμενοι αὐτοῦ τὰ συγγράμματα;
ΦΑΙ. καὶ μάλα.
ΣΩ. οἴει τινὰ οὖν τῶν τοιούτων, ὅστις καὶ ὁπωστιοῦν δύσνους Λυσίᾳ, ὀνειδίζειν αὐτὸ τοῦτο ὅτι συγγράφει;
ΦΑΙ. οὔκουν εἰκός γε ἐξ ὧν σὺ λέγεις· καὶ γὰρ ἂν τῇ ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιθυμίᾳ, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὀνειδίζοι.
ΣΩ. τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα παντὶ δῆλον, ὅτι οὐκ αἰσχρὸν αὐτό γε τὸ γράφειν λόγους.
ΦΑΙ. τί γάρ;
ΣΩ. ἀλλʼ ἐκεῖνο οἶμαι αἰσχρὸν ἤδη, τὸ μὴ καλῶς λέγειν τε καὶ γράφειν ἀλλʼ αἰσχρῶς τε καὶ κακῶς.
ΦΑΙ. δῆλον δή.
ΣΩ. τίς οὖν ὁ τρόπος τοῦ καλῶς τε καὶ μὴ γράφειν; δεόμεθά τι, ὦ Φαῖδρε, Λυσίαν τε περὶ τούτων ἐξετάσαι καὶ ἄλλον ὅστις πώποτέ τι γέγραφεν ἢ γράψει, εἴτε πολιτικὸν σύγγραμμα εἴτε ἰδιωτικόν, ἐν μέτρῳ ὡς ποιητὴς ἢ ἄνευ μέτρου ὡς ἰδιώτης;
ΦΑΙ. ἐρωτᾷς εἰ δεόμεθα; τίνος μὲν οὖν ἕνεκα κἄν τις ὡς εἰπεῖν ζῴη, ἀλλʼ ἢ τῶν τοιούτων ἡδονῶν ἕνεκα; οὐ γάρ που ἐκείνων γε ὧν προλυπηθῆναι δεῖ ἢ μηδὲ ἡσθῆναι, ὃ δὴ ὀλίγου πᾶσαι αἱ περὶ τὸ σῶμα ἡδοναὶ ἔχουσι· διὸ καὶ δικαίως ἀνδραποδώδεις κέκληνται.
Socrates. You don’t understand that the name of the approver is written first in the writings of statesmen.
Phaedrus. How so?
Socrates. The writer says, “It was voted by the senate (or the people, or both), and so-and-so moved,” mentioning his own name with great dignity and praise, then after that he goes on, displaying his own wisdom to his approvers, and sometimes making a very long document. Does it seem to you that a thing of that sort is anything else than a written speech?
Phaedrus. No, certainly not.
Socrates. Then if this speech is approved, the writer leaves the theater in great delight; but if it is not recorded and he is not granted the privilege of speech-writing and is not considered worthy to be an author, he is grieved, and his friends with him.
Phaedrus. Decidedly.
Socrates. Evidently not because they despise the profession, but because they admire it.
Phaedrus. To be sure.
Socrates. Well then, when an orator or a king is able to rival the greatness of Lycurgus or Solon or Darius and attain immortality as a writer in the state, does he not while living think himself equal to the gods, and has not posterity the same opinion of him, when they see his writings?
Phaedrus. Very true.
Socrates. Do you think, then, that any of the statesmen, no matter how ill-disposed toward Lysias, reproaches him for being a writer?
Phaedrus. It is not likely, according to what you say; for he would be casting reproach upon that which he himself desires to be.
Socrates. Then that is clear to all, that writing speeches is not in itself a disgrace.
Phaedrus. How can it be?
Socrates. But the disgrace, I fancy, consists in speaking or writing not well, but disgracefully and badly.
Phaedrus. Evidently.
Socrates. What, then, is the method of writing well or badly? Do we want to question Lysias about this, and anyone else who ever has written or will write anything, whether a public or private document, in verse or in prose, be he poet or ordinary man?
Phaedrus. You ask if we want to question them? What else should one live for, so to speak, but for such pleasures? Certainly not for those which cannot be enjoyed without previous pain, which is the case with nearly all bodily pleasures and causes them to be justly called slavish.
ΣΩ. σχολὴ μὲν δή, ὡς ἔοικε· καὶ ἅμα μοι δοκοῦσιν ὡς ἐν τῷ πνίγει ὑπὲρ κεφαλῆς ἡμῶν οἱ τέττιγες ᾁδοντες καὶ ἀλλήλοις διαλεγόμενοι καθορᾶν καὶ ἡμᾶς. εἰ οὖν ἴδοιεν καὶ νὼ καθάπερ τοὺς πολλοὺς ἐν μεσημβρίᾳ μὴ διαλεγομένους ἀλλὰ νυστάζοντας καὶ κηλουμένους ὑφʼ αὑτῶν διʼ ἀργίαν τῆς διανοίας, δικαίως ἂν καταγελῷεν, ἡγούμενοι ἀνδράποδʼ ἄττα σφίσιν ἐλθόντα εἰς τὸ καταγώγιον ὥσπερ προβάτια μεσημβριάζοντα περὶ τὴν κρήνην εὕδειν· ἐὰν δὲ ὁρῶσι διαλεγομένους καὶ παραπλέοντάς σφας ὥσπερ Σειρῆνας ἀκηλήτους, ὃ γέρας παρὰ θεῶν ἔχουσιν ἀνθρώποις διδόναι, τάχʼ ἂν δοῖεν ἀγασθέντες.
ΦΑΙ. ἔχουσι δὲ δὴ τί τοῦτο; ἀνήκοος γάρ, ὡς ἔοικε, τυγχάνω ὤν.
ΣΩ. οὐ μὲν δὴ πρέπει γε φιλόμουσον ἄνδρα τῶν τοιούτων ἀνήκοον εἶναι. λέγεται δʼ ὥς ποτʼ ἦσαν οὗτοι ἄνθρωποι τῶν πρὶν μούσας γεγονέναι, γενομένων δὲ Μουσῶν καὶ φανείσης ᾠδῆς οὕτως ἄρα τινὲς τῶν τότε ἐξεπλάγησαν ὑφʼ ἡδονῆς, ὥστε ᾁδοντες ἠμέλησαν σίτων τε καὶ ποτῶν, καὶ ἔλαθον τελευτήσαντες αὑτούς· ἐξ ὧν τὸ τεττίγων γένος μετʼ ἐκεῖνο φύεται, γέρας τοῦτο παρὰ Μουσῶν λαβόν, μηδὲν τροφῆς δεῖσθαι γενόμενον, ἀλλʼ ἄσιτόν τε καὶ ἄποτον εὐθὺς ᾁδειν, ἕως ἂν τελευτήσῃ, καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα ἐλθὸν παρὰ μούσας ἀπαγγέλλειν τίς τίνα αὐτῶν τιμᾷ τῶν ἐνθάδε. Τερψιχόρᾳ μὲν οὖν τοὺς ἐν τοῖς χοροῖς τετιμηκότας αὐτὴν ἀπαγγέλλοντες ποιοῦσι προσφιλεστέρους, τῇ δὲ Ἐρατοῖ τοὺς ἐν τοῖς ἐρωτικοῖς, καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις οὕτως, κατὰ τὸ εἶδος ἑκάστης τιμῆς· τῇ δὲ πρεσβυτάτῃ Καλλιόπῃ καὶ τῇ μετʼ αὐτὴν Οὐρανίᾳ τοὺς ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ διάγοντάς τε καὶ τιμῶντας τὴν ἐκείνων μουσικὴν ἀγγέλλουσιν, αἳ δὴ μάλιστα τῶν Μουσῶν περί τε οὐρανὸν καὶ λόγους οὖσαι θείους τε καὶ ἀνθρωπίνους ἱᾶσιν καλλίστην φωνήν. πολλῶν δὴ οὖν ἕνεκα λεκτέον τι καὶ οὐ καθευδητέον ἐν τῇ μεσημβρίᾳ.
ΦΑΙ. λεκτέον γὰρ οὖν.
ΣΩ. οὐκοῦν, ὅπερ νῦν προυθέμεθα σκέψασθαι, τὸν λόγον ὅπῃ καλῶς ἔχει λέγειν τε καὶ γράφειν καὶ ὅπῃ μή, σκεπτέον.
ΦΑΙ. δῆλον.
ΣΩ. ἆρʼ οὖν οὐχ ὑπάρχειν δεῖ τοῖς εὖ γε καὶ καλῶς ῥηθησομένοις τὴν τοῦ λέγοντος διάνοιαν εἰδυῖαν τὸ ἀληθὲς ὧν ἂν ἐρεῖν πέρι μέλλῃ;
Socrates. We have plenty of time, apparently; and besides, the locusts seem to be looking down upon us as they sing and talk with each other in the heat. Now if they should see us not conversing at mid-day, but, like most people, dozing, lulled to sleep by their song because of our mental indolence, they would quite justly laugh at us, thinking that some slaves had come to their resort and were slumbering about the fountain at noon like sheep. But if they see us conversing and sailing past them unmoved by the charm of their Siren voices, perhaps they will be pleased and give us the gift which the gods bestowed on them to give to men.
Phaedrus. What is this gift? I don’t seem to have heard of it.
Socrates. It is quite improper for a lover of the Muses never to have heard of such things. The story goes that these locusts were once men, before the birth of the Muses, and when the Muses were born and song appeared, some of the men were so overcome with delight that they sang and sang, forgetting food and drink, until at last unconsciously they died. From them the locust tribe afterwards arose, and they have this gift from the Muses, that from the time of their birth they need no sustenance, but sing continually, without food or drink, until they die, when they go to the Muses and report who honors each of them on earth. They tell Terpsichore of those who have honored her in dances, and make them dearer to her; they gain the favor of Erato for the poets of love, and that of the other Muses for their votaries, according to their various ways of honoring them; and to Calliope, the eldest of the Muses, and to Urania who is next to her, they make report of those who pass their lives in philosophy and who worship these Muses who are most concerned with heaven and with thought divine and human and whose music is the sweetest. So for many reasons we ought to talk and not sleep in the noontime.
Phaedrus. Yes, we ought to talk.
Socrates. We should, then, as we were proposing just now, discuss the theory of good (or bad) speaking and writing.
Phaedrus. Clearly.
Socrates. If a speech is to be good, must not the mind of the speaker know the truth about the matters of which he is to speak?
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