Apollodorus Ap. I believe I have got the story you inquire of pretty well by heart. The day before yesterday I chanced to be going up to town from my house in Phalerum, when one of my acquaintance caught sight of me from behind, some way off, and called in a bantering tone “Hullo, Phalerian! I say, Apollodorus, wait a moment.” So I stopped and waited. Then, “Apollodorus,” he said, “do you know, I have just been looking for you, as I want to hear all about the banquet that brought together Agathon 172b and Socrates and Alcibiades and the rest of that party, and what were the speeches they delivered upon love. For somebody else was relating to me the account he had from Phoenix, ¹ son of Philip, and he mentioned that you knew it too. But he could not tell it at all clearly so you must give me the whole story, for you are the most proper reporter of your dear friend’s discourses. But first tell me this,” he went on; “were you at that party yourself, or not?” To which my answer was: “You have had anything but 172c a clear account from your informant, if you suppose the party you are asking about to have been such a recent affair that I could be included.” “So I did suppose,” he said. “How so, Glaucon ²?” said I. “You must know it is many a year that Agathon has been away from home and country, and not yet three years that I have been consorting with Socrates and making it my daily care to know whatever he says or does.”

Ap. “Before that time, 173a what with running about at random and thinking I did things, I was the wretchedest man alive; just as you are at present, thinking philosophy is none of your business.” “Instead of jeering at me,” he said, “tell me when it was that this party took place.” “When you and I were only children,” I told him; “on the occasion of Agathon’s victory with his first tragedy: the day after that of the dedicatory feast which he and his players held for its celebration.” “Ah, quite a long while ago, it would seem,” said he; “but who gave you the account of it? Socrates himself?” “Goodness, no!” I answered. “It was the person who told Phoenix—173bAristodemus of Cydathenaeum, a little man, who went always barefoot. He was of the company there, being one of the chief among Socrates’ lovers at that time, I believe. But all the same, I have since questioned Socrates on some details of the story I had from his friend, and he acknowledged them to be in accordance with his account.” “Come then,” he said, “let me have it now; and in fact the road up to town is well suited for telling and hearing as we go along.”

So on we went, discoursing the while of this affair; 173c and hence, as I began by saying, I have it pretty well by heart. So, friends, if you too must hear the whole story, I had better tell it. For my own part, indeed, I commonly find that, setting aside the benefit I conceive they do me, I take an immense delight in philosophic discourses, whether I speak them myself or hear them from others: whereas in the case of other sorts of talk—especially that of your wealthy, money-bag friends—I am not only annoyed myself but sorry for dear intimates like you, who think you are doing a great deal when you really do nothing at all. 173d From your point of view, I daresay, I seem a hapless creature, and I think your thought is true. I, however, do not think it of you: I know it for sure.

Companion Comp. You are the same as ever, Apollodorus,—always defaming your self and every one else! Your view, I take it, is that all men alike are miserable, save Socrates, and that your own plight is the worst. How you may have come by your title of “crazy,”³ I do not know: though, of course, you are always like that in your way of speech—raging against yourself and everybody except Socrates.

Apollodorus Ap. My dear sir, obviously it must be a mere crazy aberration in me, to hold this opinion of myself and of you all!

Companion Comp. It is waste of time, Apollodorus, to wrangle about such matters now. Come, without more ado, comply with our request and relate how the speeches went.

Apollodorus Ap. Well then, they were somewhat as follows,—but stay, I must try and tell you all in order from the beginning, 174a just as my friend told it to me.

He said that he met with Socrates fresh from the bath and wearing his best pair of slippers—quite rare events with him—and asked him whither he was bound in such fine trim.

“To dinner at Agathon’s,” he answered. “I evaded him and his celebrations yesterday, fearing the crowd; but I agreed to be present today. So I got myself up in this handsome style in order to be a match for my handsome host. Now tell me,” said he, “do you feel in the mood 174b for going unasked to dinner?”

“For anything,” he said he replied, “that you may bid me do.”

“Come along then,” he said; “let us corrupt the proverb with a new version: What if they go of their own accord,The good men to our Goodman’s The name Agathon resembles the Greek for good men’s in the proverb, which seems to have been: αὐτόματοι δ’ ἀγαθοὶ ἀγαθῶν ἐπὶ δαῖτας ἴασι (Athen. i. 8A; Bacchyl. fr. 33). The corruption consists in putting the dative Ἀγάθων(ἰ) for ἀγαθῶν; though perhaps the reference is to another form of the proverb which had δειλῶν (cravens’) instead of ἀγαθῶν. board? Though indeed Homer ⁴ may be said to have not merely corrupted the adage, but debauched it: for after setting forth Agamemnon as a man eminently good at warfare, 174c and Menelaus as only a spearman spiritless, ⁵ he makes the latter come unbidden to the banquet of the former, who was offering sacrifice and holding a feast; so the worse man was the guest of the better.”

To this my friend’s answer, as he told me, was: “I am afraid mine, most likely, is a case that fits not your version, Socrates, but Homer’s—a dolt coming unbidden to the banquet of a scholar. Be sure, then, to have your excuse quite ready when you bring me; for I shall not own to coming unasked, 174d but only on your invitation.”

“If two go along together,” he remarked, “there’s one before another ⁶ in devising what we are to say. Well, off we go.”

After some such conversation, he told me, they started off. Then Socrates, becoming absorbed in his own thoughts by the way, fell behind him as they went; and when my friend began to wait for him he bade him go on ahead. 174e So he came to Agathon’s house, and found the door open; where he found himself in a rather ridiculous position. For he was met immediately by a servant from within, who took him where the company was reclining, and he found them just about to dine. However, as soon as Agathon saw him “Ha, Aristodemus,” he cried, “right welcome to a place at table with us! If you came on some other errand, put it off to another time: only yesterday I went round to invite you, but failed to see you. But how is it you do not bring us Socrates?”

At that I turned back for Socrates, he said, but saw no sign of him coming after me: so I told them how I myself had come along with Socrates, since he had asked me to dine with them.

“Very good of you to come,” he said, “but where is the man?”

“He was coming in just now behind me: I am wondering myself where he can be.”

“Go at once,” said Agathon to the servant, “and see if you can fetch in Socrates. You, Aristodemus, take a place by Eryximachus.”

So the attendant washed him and made him ready for reclining, when another of the servants came in with the news that our good Socrates had retreated into their neighbors’ porch; there he was standing, and when bidden to come in, he refused.

“How strange!” said Agathon, “you must go on bidding him, and by no means let him go.” 175b

But this Aristodemus forbade: “No,” said he, “let him alone; it is a habit he has. Occasionally he turns aside, anywhere at random, and there he stands. He will be here presently, I expect. So do not disturb him; let him be.”

“Very well then,” said Agathon, “as you judge best. Come, boys,” he called to the servants, “serve the feast for the rest of us. You are to set on just whatever you please, now that you have no one to direct you (a method I have never tried before). ⁷ Today you are to imagine that I and all the company here have come on your invitation so look after us, and earn our compliments.” 175c

Thereupon, he said, they all began dinner, but Socrates did not arrive; and though Agathon ever and anon gave orders that they should go and fetch him, my friend would not allow it. When he did come, it was after what, for him, was no great delay, as they were only about halfway through dinner. Then Agathon, who happened to be sitting alone in the lowest place, said: “Here, Socrates, come sit by me, so that by contact with you 175d I may have some benefit from that piece of wisdom that occurred to you there in the porch. Clearly you have made the discovery and got hold of it for you would not have come away before.”

Then Socrates sat down, and “How fine it would be, Agathon,” he said, “if wisdom were a sort of thing that could flow out of the one of us who is fuller into him who is emptier, by our mere contact with each other, as water will flow through wool from the fuller cup into the emptier. If such is indeed the case with wisdom, I set a great value on my sitting next to you: 175e I look to be filled with excellent wisdom drawn in abundance out of you. My own is but meagre, as disputable as a dream; but yours is bright and expansive, as the other day we saw it shining forth from your youth, strong and splendid, in the eyes of more than thirty thousand Greeks.”

“You rude mocker, Socrates!” said Agathon. “A little later on you and I shall go to law on this matter of our wisdom, and Dionysus shall be our judge. For the present, let the dinner be your first concern.”