It may even be that, as Acastos says, good art tells us more truth about our lives and our world than any other kind of thinking or speculation – it certainly speaks to more people. And perhaps the language of art is the most universal and enduring kind of human thought. We are mixed beings, as you said yourself, mixed of darkness and light, sense and intellect, flesh and spirit – the language of art is the highest native natural language of that condition. And you were right to say that art is not just a rare skill. We are all artists, we are all story–tellers. We all have to live by art, it’s our daily bread – by what our language gives us, by what we invent for ourselves, by what we steal from others. And we should thank the gods for great artists who draw away the veil of anxiety and selfishness and show us, even for a moment, another world, a real world, and tell us a little bit of truth. And we should not be too hard on ourselves for being comforted by art.

ACASTOS

Hear, hear!

CALLISTOS teasing Plato

Give in, give in!

Plato laughs. The gathering is beginning to break up.

ACASTOS

You spoke of Eros. Don’t you think that – on that path – that way – whether we can ever reach the end of it or not – that just loving each other – I mean loving as we love – and not only as lovers – is something that is – wonderful and – perhaps teaches most of all?

PLATO

Human love is so selfish.

CALLISTOS

Plato won’t love until he has become a god and can love another god!

PLATO to Acastos, laughingly

Yes, yes, of course – you are right.

They all laugh, touching each other.

MANTIAS

You should go into politics, young fellow. You could go far. Come round to my place some time, we’ll talk about it.

Callistos, who has been putting his mask on again, sees his chance and leaps up onto a table and begins to recite.

CALLISTOS

Zeus whoever he may be
If he cares to bear this name
By it I will clamour to
Zeus – no other can I see
To lift from soul the sullen weight,
But only he, who writes in thought
His fierce decree
That wisdom must be bought by pain.
As the slow ache comes again
Dripping grief on sleeping men,
So will wisdom come unsought
To those who never wanted to be taught.

Plato listens in anguish, tries to cover his ears. The others smile, allowing themselves to be moved by the poetry. At last Plato rushes at Callistos and drags him down and pulls the mask off.

PLATO

Oh stop – stop –

CALLISTOS

Don’t be so rough!

DEXIMENES

Envy – envy – Plato knows he will never be a great poet.

PLATO

I’m going to destroy all my poems – tonight – I’ll tear them up!

SOCRATES