poets and philosophers in support of their doctrines; for Hesiod says that
'potter is jealous of potter, bard of bard;' and subtle doctors tell us
that 'moist is the friend of dry, hot of cold,' and the like. But neither
can their doctrine be maintained; for then the just would be the friend of
the unjust, good of evil.

Thus we arrive at the conclusion that like is not the friend of like, nor
unlike of unlike; and therefore good is not the friend of good, nor evil of
evil, nor good of evil, nor evil of good. What remains but that the
indifferent, which is neither good nor evil, should be the friend (not of
the indifferent, for that would be 'like the friend of like,' but) of the
good, or rather of the beautiful?

But why should the indifferent have this attachment to the beautiful or
good? There are circumstances under which such an attachment would be
natural. Suppose the indifferent, say the human body, to be desirous of
getting rid of some evil, such as disease, which is not essential but only
accidental to it (for if the evil were essential the body would cease to be
indifferent, and would become evil)--in such a case the indifferent becomes
a friend of the good for the sake of getting rid of the evil. In this
intermediate 'indifferent' position the philosopher or lover of wisdom
stands: he is not wise, and yet not unwise, but he has ignorance
accidentally clinging to him, and he yearns for wisdom as the cure of the
evil. (Symp.)

After this explanation has been received with triumphant accord, a fresh
dissatisfaction begins to steal over the mind of Socrates: Must not
friendship be for the sake of some ulterior end? and what can that final
cause or end of friendship be, other than the good? But the good is
desired by us only as the cure of evil; and therefore if there were no evil