is in a mean between ignorance and knowledge. The truth of the matter
is this: No god is a philosopher or seeker after wisdom, for he is wise
already; nor does any man who is wise seek after wisdom. Neither do the
ignorant seek after wisdom. For herein is the evil of ignorance, that he
who is neither good nor wise is nevertheless satisfied with himself:
he has no desire for that of which he feels no want.' 'But who then,
Diotima,' I said, 'are the lovers of wisdom, if they are neither the
wise nor the foolish?' 'A child may answer that question,' she replied;
'they are those who are in a mean between the two; Love is one of them.
For wisdom is a most beautiful thing, and Love is of the beautiful; and
therefore Love is also a philosopher or lover of wisdom, and being a
lover of wisdom is in a mean between the wise and the ignorant. And of
this too his birth is the cause; for his father is wealthy and wise, and
his mother poor and foolish. Such, my dear Socrates, is the nature of
the spirit Love. The error in your conception of him was very natural,
and as I imagine from what you say, has arisen out of a confusion of
love and the beloved, which made you think that love was all beautiful.
For the beloved is the truly beautiful, and delicate, and perfect, and
blessed; but the principle of love is of another nature, and is such as
I have described.'
I said, 'O thou stranger woman, thou sayest well; but, assuming Love to
be such as you say, what is the use of him to men?' 'That, Socrates,'
she replied, 'I will attempt to unfold: of his nature and birth I have
already spoken; and you acknowledge that love is of the beautiful. But
some one will say: Of the beautiful in what, Socrates and Diotima?--or
rather let me put the question more clearly, and ask: When a man loves
the beautiful, what does he desire?' I answered her 'That the beautiful
may be his.' 'Still,' she said, 'the answer suggests a further question:
What is given by the possession of beauty?' 'To what you have asked,'
I replied, 'I have no answer ready.' 'Then,' she said, 'let me put the
word "good" in the place of the beautiful, and repeat the question once
more: If he who loves loves the good, what is it then that he loves?'
'The possession of the good,' I said. 'And what does he gain who
possesses the good?' 'Happiness,' I replied; 'there is less difficulty
in answering that question.' 'Yes,' she said, 'the happy are made happy
by the acquisition of good things. Nor is there any need to ask why a
man desires happiness; the answer is already final.' 'You are right.'
I said. 'And is this wish and this desire common to all? and do all men
always desire their own good, or only some men?--what say you?' 'All
men,' I replied; 'the desire is common to all.' 'Why, then,' she
rejoined, 'are not all men, Socrates, said to love, but only some of
them? whereas you say that all men are always loving the same things.'
'I myself wonder,' I said, 'why this is.' 'There is nothing to wonder