The Symposium
by Plato
by Plato
***
Last Friday’s post about
the world-famous drinking party Plato re-created in The Symposium left readers in doubt about the actual drinking going
on. Although accounts differ, however, initially the guests decide to drink
lightly, in consequence of several of them still being hung over from the
previous night’s partying. So here we are at an all-male party and with little
wine and no women, even the flute girl having been dismissed for the meantime.
How will the guests entertain themselves? If you guessed, turn on ESPN for the
latest sports, sorry, wrong era. In 4th century BCE Greece, however,
instead of watching football, the guests vote to tell stories. And the topic
for the evening is love.
As I’ve mentioned before,
Plato wasn’t the only ancient Greek writing memoirs about his mentor, the
fourth century BCE philosopher Socrates. His contemporary Xenophon also wrote a
Symposium, in a somewhat naughtier
vein. Plato’s, you might suppose, would be more serious. And it is. Except when
he puts comedy playwright Aristophanes onstage with the strangest story about
the origins of love ever imagined and makes me wonder whether it might have
been Plato who actually wrote the fantastic story he put into Aristophanes’
mouth.
(Not that Aristophanes
needs much help writing stories. His Lysistrata
is still inspirational after more than 2,000 years, as witness its newest
incarnation in Spike Lee’s current Chi-Raq
satire.)
As each guest’s turn at
storytelling goes round the table, Aristophanes’ turn comes early. But he begs
off, claiming to be incapacitated by a bout of hiccoughs. Maybe he really is
hiccoughing badly. Or perhaps, given the ancient Greek reliance on physical
comedy, Plato is caricaturing the playwright as Aristophanes had caricatured
the chief guest, Socrates, in his plays. Or since Socrates was among the guests
still waiting to speak, perhaps Aristophanes just wanted time to think of an
extra special story to tell.
After a few more guests
have had their say, Aristophanes declares himself cured of his hiccoughs and begins
to treat of, as he says, the original nature of man, when “The sexes were not
two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman, and
the union of the two…(this) primeval man was round, his back and sides forming
a circle; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, looking
opposite ways…and the remainder to correspond.”
These original beings
could move by walking upright, but they also had the ability to roll when they
wanted to move especially fast. And they were very strong, so strong that they
attacked the gods.
At first the gods wanted
to destroy them, but realized that would leave no one to sacrifice to them.
Instead, they settled on cutting each human into two pieces, to weaken them.
The result was that each half-person spent his (or her) life seeking its other
half.
“And when one of them
meets with his other half, the actual half of himself,” Aristophanes says, “the
pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy…and the
desire and pursuit of the whole is called love…And if we are not obedient to
the gods, there is a danger that we shall be split up again and go about in
basso-relievo, like the profile figures having only half a nose which are
sculptured on monuments.”
And perhaps Socrates, who
has yet to speak, says to himself, wow, how am I going to top that one?
Which leaves Adventure
classics waiting until next Friday to finish this December of spirited
adventures with Socrates’ story and what came after. And wondering at the
camaraderie between the playwright and the philosopher he could caricature so
viciously in his plays. One of Socrates’ friends, a guest who has yet to enter,
will make just that point. And others, even Plato among them, will lay some of
the blame for Socrates’ execution at the playwright’s feet.
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