S. "And should we not say, Phaethon, that there was no true
enjoyment in such love, even on the part of the mistress; nay, that
it was not worthy of the name of love at all, but was merely
something base, such as happens to animals?"

P. "We should say so rightly."

S. "Tell me, then, Phaethon-for a strange doubt has entered my mind
on account of your words. This truth of which you were enamoured,
seems, from what has been agreed, not to be a part of yourself, nor
a creation of your own, like Pygmalion's statue-how then has it not
happened to you to be even more miserable than Pygmalion till you
were sure that truth loved you in return?-and, moreover, till you
were sure that truth had free choice as to whether it should return
or refuse your love? For, otherwise, you would be in danger of
being found suffering the same base passion as a mistress enamoured
of a slave who cannot resist her."

P. "I am puzzled, Socrates."

S. "Shall we rather say, then, that you were enamoured, not of
truth itself, but of the spirit of truth? For we have been all
along defining truth to be 'facts as they are,' have we not?"

P. "We have."

S. "But there are many facts as they are, whereof to be enamoured
would be base, for they cannot return your love. As, for instance,
that one and one make two, or that a horse has four legs. With
respect to such facts, you would be, would you not, in the same