Lysis | Page 7

propriety of such friendships must be estimated a good deal by the
manner in which public opinion regards them; they must be reconciled
with the ordinary duties of life; and they must be justified by the result.
Yet another question, 10). Admitting that friendships cannot be always
permanent, we may ask when and upon what conditions should they be
dissolved. It would be futile to retain the name when the reality has
ceased to be. That two friends should part company whenever the

relation between them begins to drag may be better for both of them.
But then arises the consideration, how should these friends in youth or
friends of the past regard or be regarded by one another? They are
parted, but there still remain duties mutually owing by them. They will
not admit the world to share in their difference any more than in their
friendship; the memory of an old attachment, like the memory of the
dead, has a kind of sacredness for them on which they will not allow
others to intrude. Neither, if they were ever worthy to bear the name of
friends, will either of them entertain any enmity or dislike of the other
who was once so much to him. Neither will he by 'shadowed hint
reveal' the secrets great or small which an unfortunate mistake has
placed within his reach. He who is of a noble mind will dwell upon his
own faults rather than those of another, and will be ready to take upon
himself the blame of their separation. He will feel pain at the loss of a
friend; and he will remember with gratitude his ancient kindness. But
he will not lightly renew a tie which has not been lightly broken...These
are a few of the Problems of Friendship, some of them suggested by the
Lysis, others by modern life, which he who wishes to make or keep a
friend may profitably study. (Compare Bacon, Essay on Friendship;
Cic. de Amicitia.) LYSIS, OR FRIENDSHIP by Plato Translated by
Benjamin Jowett PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates, who is
the narrator, Menexenus, Hippothales, Lysis, Ctesippus. SCENE: A
newly-erected Palaestra outside the walls of Athens. I was going from
the Academy straight to the Lyceum, intending to take the outer road,
which is close under the wall. When I came to the postern gate of the
city, which is by the fountain of Panops, I fell in with Hippothales, the
son of Hieronymus, and Ctesippus the Paeanian, and a company of
young men who were standing with them. Hippothales, seeing me
approach, asked whence I came and whither I was going. I am going, I
replied, from the Academy straight to the Lyceum. Then come straight
to us, he said, and put in here; you may as well. Who are you, I said;
and where am I to come? He showed me an enclosed space and an open
door over against the wall. And there, he said, is the building at which
we all meet: and a goodly company we are. And what is this building, I
asked; and what sort of entertainment have you? The building, he
replied, is a newly erected Palaestra; and the entertainment is generally
conversation, to which you are welcome. Thank you, I said; and is there

any teacher there? Yes, he said, your old friend and admirer, Miccus.
Indeed, I replied; he is a very eminent professor. Are you disposed, he
said, to go with me and see them? Yes, I said; but I should like to know
first, what is expected of me, and who is the favourite among you?
Some persons have one favourite, Socrates, and some another, he said.
And who is yours? I asked: tell me that, Hippothales. At this he blushed;
and I said to him, O Hippothales, thou son of Hieronymus! do not say
that you are, or that you are not, in love; the confession is too late; for I
see that you are not only in love, but are already far gone in your love.
Simple and foolish as I am, the Gods have given me the power of
understanding affections of this kind. Whereupon he blushed more and
more. Ctesippus said: I like to see you blushing, Hippothales, and
hesitating to tell Socrates the name; when, if he were with you but for a
very short time, you would have plagued him to death by talking about
nothing else. Indeed, Socrates, he has literally deafened us, and stopped
our ears with the praises of Lysis; and if he is a little intoxicated, there
is every likelihood that we may have our sleep murdered with a cry of
Lysis. His performances in prose are bad enough, but nothing at all in
comparison with his verse; and when he drenches us