_Phaed._ Often, Echecrates, I have wondered at Socrates, but never more than on that occasion. That he should be 89 able to answer was nothing, but what astonished me was, first, the gentle and pleasant and approving manner in which he received the words of the young men, and then his quick sense of the wound which had been inflicted by the argument, and the readiness with which he healed it. He might be compared to a general rallying his defeated and broken army, urging them to accompany him and return to the field of argument. _Ech._ What followed? _Phaed._ You shall hear, for I was close to him on his right hand, seated on a sort of stool, and he on a couch which was a good deal higher. He stroked my head, and pressed the hair upon my neck—he had a way of playing with my hair; and then he said: To-morrow, Phaedo, I suppose that these fair locks of yours will be severed. Yes, Socrates, I suppose that they will, I replied. Not so, if you will take my advice. What shall I do with them? I said. To-day, he replied, and not to-morrow, if this argument dies and we cannot bring it to life again, you and I will both shave our locks: and if I were you, and the argument got away from me, and I could not hold my ground against Simmias and Cebes, I would myself take an oath, like the Argives, not to wear hair any more until I had renewed the conflict and defeated them. Yes, I said; but Heracles himself is said not to be a match for two. Summon me then, he said, and I will be your Iolaus until the sun goes down. I summon you rather, I rejoined, not as Heracles summoning Iolaus, but as Iolaus might summon Heracles. That will do as well, he said. But first let us take care that we avoid a danger. [Sidenote: _We must not become misologists._] Of what nature? I said. [Sidenote: The danger of becoming haters of ideas greater than of becoming haters of men.] Lest we become misologists, he replied: no worse thing can happen to a man than this. For as there are misanthropists or haters of men, there are also misologists or haters of ideas, and both spring from the same cause, which is ignorance of the world. Misanthropy arises out of the too great confidence of inexperience;—you trust a man and think him altogether true and sound and faithful, and then in a little while he turns out to be false and knavish; and then another and another, and when this has happened several times to a man, especially when it happens among those whom he deems to be his own most trusted and familiar friends, and he has often quarrelled with them, he at last hates all men, and believes that no one has any good in him at all. You must have observed this trait of character? I have.