good? I can not refute you, Socrates, said Agathon.
And let us suppose that what you say is true.
Say rather, dear Agathon, that you can not refute the
truth; for Socrates is easily refuted.
And now I will take my leave of you, and rehearse the tale of love which I heard once upon a time from Diotima of Mantineia, who was a wise woman in this and many other branches of knowledge. She was the same who deferred the plague of Athens ten years by a sacrifice, and was my instructress in the art of love. In the attempt which I am about to make I shall pursue Agathon’s method, and begin with his admissions, which are nearly if not quite the same which I made to the wise woman when she questioned me: this will be the easiest way, and I shall take both parts myself as well as I can. For, like Agathon, she spoke first of the being and nature of love, and then of his works. And I said to her in nearly the same words which he
“As in the former instance, he is neither mortal fair; and she proved to me as I proved to him that, in my way of speaking about him, love was neither fair nor good. “What do you mean, Diotima,” I said, “is love then evil and foul?”
“Hush,” she cried; “is that to be deemed foul which is not fair?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“And is that which is not wise, ignorant? do you not see that there is a mean between wisdom and ignorance?”