Writing, painting

Phaedrus: Socrates, you easily make up stories from Egypt or from anywhere else you like (W} Sw&kratej, r(a|di/wj su\ Ai0gupti/ouj kai\ o9podapou\j a2n e0qe/lh|j lo/gouj poiei=j).

Socrates: Well, my friend, those (Oi9 de/ g’, w} fi/le) at the sanctuary of Zeus of Dodona (e0n tw~| tou= Dio\j tou= Dwdwnai/ou i9erw~|) said that words of an oak were the first prophetic utterances (druo\j lo/gouj e1fhsan mantikou\j prw&touj gene/sqai). So the men of those days (toi=j me\n ou]n to/te), because they were not wise like you moderns (a3te ou0k ou]si sofoi=j w#sper u9mei=j oi9 ne/oi), were content because of their simplicity to listen to oak and rock (a0pe/xrh druo\j kai\ pe/traj a0kou/ein u9p’ eu0hqei/aj), provided only they said what was true (ei0 mo/non a0lhqh= le/goien); but for you, Phaedrus, perhaps it makes a difference (soi\ d’ i1swj diafe/rei) who the speaker is (ti/j o9 le/gwn) and where he comes from (kai\ podapo/j): you don’t just consider whether what he says is right or not (ou0 ga\r e0kei=no mo/non skopei=j, ei1te ou3twj ei1te a1llwj e1xei).

Phaedrus: You rightly rebuke me (O0rqw~j e0pe/plhcaj), and it seems to me to be as the Theban says about letters (kai/ moi dokei= peri\ gramma/twn e1xein h[|per o9 Qhbai=oj le/gei).

Socrates: So the man who thinks that he has left behind him a science in writing (Ou0kou=n o9 te/xnhn oi0o/menoj e0n gra/mmasi katalipei=n), and in his turn the man who receives it from him in the belief that anything clear or certain will result from what is written down (kai\ au] o9 paradexo/menoj w#j ti safe\j kai\ be/baion e0k gramma/twn e0so/menon), would be full of simplicity (pollh=j a2n eu0hqei/aj ge/moi) and would be really ignorant of Ammon’s prophetic utterance (kai\ tw~| o1nti th\n A1mmwnoj mantei/an a0gnooi=), in thinking that written words were anything more (ple/on ti oi0o/menoj ei]nai lo/gouj gegramme/nouj) than a reminder to the man who knows (tou= to\n ei0do/ta u9pomnh=sai) the subjects to which the things written relate (peri\ w{n a2n h2| ta\ gegramme/na).

Phaedrus: Quite right (O0rqo/tata).

Socrates: Yes, Phaedrus, because I think writing has this strange feature (Deino\n ga/r pou, w} Fai=dre, tou=t e1xei grafh/), which makes it like painting (kai\ w(j a0lhqw~j o3moion zwgrafi/a|). The offspring of painting stand there as if alive (kai\ ga\r ta\ e0kei/nhj e1kgona e3sthke me\n w(j zw#nta), but if you ask them something (e0a\n d’ a0ne/rh| ti), they preserve a quite solemn silence (semnw~j pa/nu siga|=). Similarly with written words (tau0to\n de\ kai\ oi9 lo/goi): you might think that they spoke as if they had some thought in their heads (do/caij me\n a2n w#j ti fronou=ntaj au0tou\j le/gein), but if you ever ask them about any of the things they say (e0a\n de/ ti e1rh| tw~n legome/nwn) out of a desire to learn (boulo/menoj maqei=n), they point to just one thing (e3n ti shmai/nei mo/non), the same each time (tau0to\n a0ei/). And when once it is written (o3tan de\ a3pac grafh|=), every composition is trundled about everywhere (kulindei=tai me\n pantaxou= pa=j lo/goj) in the same way (o9moi/wj), in the presence both of those who know about the subject (para\ toi=j e0pai+/ousin) and of those who have nothing at all to do with it (w(j d’ au3twj par’ oi[j ou0de\n prosh/kei), and it does not know how to address those it should address and not those it should not (kai\ ou0k e0pi/statai le/gein oi[j dei= ge kai\ mh/). When it is ill-treated (plhmmelou/menoj me/n) and unjustly abused (kai\ ou0k e0n di/kh|  loidorhqei/j), it always needs its father to help it (tou= patro\j a0ei\ dei=tai bohqou=); for it is incapable of defending or helping itself (au0to\j ga\r ou1t’ a0mu/nasqai ou1te bohqh=sai dunato\j au9tw~|).

Phaedrus: You’re quite right about that too (Kai\ tau=ta/ soi o0rqo/tata ei1rhtai).