Creator: Victor C.
Date: 20th Century
Dimensions: 10 x 8 inches
Date Acquired: 2013-06-06
From Where?: Madison, New Jersey (US)
Painted by an unidentified “Victor C.” [20th century]
I was drawn to this painting because of the hands, which resemble one of my favorite paintings by J.C. Leyendecker: http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2723/4213293693_e2fc90ca24_o.jpg
Socrates: So what distinguishes good from bad writing? Do we need to ask this question of Lysias or anyone else who ever did or will write anything–whether a public or a private document, poetic verse or plain prose?
Phaedrus: You ask if we need to? Why else should one live, I say, if not for pleasures of this sort? Certainly not for those you cannot feel unless you are first in pain, like most of the pleasures of the body, and which for this reason we call the pleasures of slaves.
Socrates: It seems we clearly have the time. Besides, I think that the cicadas, who are singing and carrying on conversations with one another in the heat of the day above our heads, are also watching us. And if they saw the two of us avoiding conversation at midday like most people, diverted by their song and, sluggish of mind, nodding off, they would have every right to laugh at us, convinced that a pair of slaves had come to their resting place to sleep like sheep gathering around the spring in the afternoon. But if they see us in conversation, steadfastly navigating around them as if they were the Sirens, they will be very pleased and immediately give us the gift from the gods they are able to give to mortals.
Phaedrus: What is this gift? I don’t think I have heard of it.
Socrates: Everyone who loves the Muses should have heard of this. The story goes that the cicadas used to be human beings who lived before the birth of the Muses. When the Muses were born and song was created for the first time, some of the people of that time were so overwhelmed with the pleasure of singing that they forgot to eat or drink; so they died without even realizing it. It is from them that the race of the cicadas came into being; and, as a gift from the Muses, they have no need of nourishment once they are born. Instead, they immediately burst into song, without food or drink, until it is time for them to die.
After they die, they go to the Muses and tell each one of them which mortals have honored her. To Terpischore they report those who have honored her by their devotion to the dance and thus make them dearer to her. To Erato, they report those who honored her by dedicating themselves to the affairs of love, and so too with the other Muses, according to the activity that honors each. And to Calliope, the oldest among them, and Urania, the next after her, who preside over the heavens and all discourse, human and divine, and sing with the sweetest voice, they report those who honor their special kind of music by leading a philosophical life.
There are many reasons, then, why we should talk and not waste our afternoon in sleep.
Phaedrus: By all means, let’s talk.
[Page 535-536 Plato’s Complete Works]