Phaedrus 242a · 242a

The Standing Noon

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Phaedrus — μήπω γε ὦ Σώκρατες πρὶν ἂν τὸ καῦμα παρέλθῃ. ἢ οὐχ ὁρᾷς ὡς σχεδὸν ἤδη μεσημβρία ἵσταται ἡ δὴ καλουμένη σταθερά;

Socrates has threatened to cross the stream and escape before Phaedrus can make him say anything more — but Phaedrus stops him with the weather. Not yet, he says: wait for the heat to break. Can't you see it's almost midday, the hour they call the 'standing noon'? Let's stay in the shade, talk over what's been said, and set off when it cools. On the surface it is ordinary — two men waiting out the worst of the afternoon sun. But the phrase Phaedrus uses, the 'standing noon,' names a charged moment: the still, blazing hour when the sun seems to stop overhead, traditionally the time when Pan and the nymphs are abroad and the world feels briefly haunted. They are lingering, on purpose, in a sacred hour and a sacred place.

Word by word

Phaedrus
μήπωmḗpōnot yetγεgeat least / indeedôO (address)ΣώκρατεςSṓkratesSocratesπρὶνprìnbefore / untilἂνànwould / might (potential)τὸtheκαῦμαkaûmathe heatπαρέλθῃparélthēipasses.or / thanοὐχouchnotὁρᾷςhorâisyou seeὡςhōshow, thatσχεδὸνschedònnearly / almost / just aboutἤδηḗdēnowμεσημβρίαmesēmbríamiddayἵσταταιhístataistandstheδὴdḕindeed / thenκαλουμένηkalouménēcalledσταθεράstatherástanding noon;

The setting

Phaedrus won't let Socrates cross the river and leave yet — not in this heat. Look, he says, it's nearly the 'standing noon,' that still, blazing hour when the sun seems to halt overhead. Let's wait it out in the shade, talking, and go when it cools. The detail is more than weather: the standing noon was a numinous hour, sacred to Pan.

A note on this passage

Plato almost never wastes a detail of setting, and the 'standing noon,' mesēmbria stathera, is doing quiet work. To a Greek this was no neutral hour. The midday when the sun stands motionless at the zenith and everything falls silent was felt as uncanny, even dangerous — the time when Pan naps and must not be disturbed, when nymphs seize the unwary, when the boundary between the human and the divine goes thin. It is exactly the hour for what is about to happen. Socrates has just confessed he feels a god rising in him; now Phaedrus keeps him rooted, through pure friendly persistence, in the one place and the one hour most charged for divine visitation. The whole frame of the dialogue has been building this: the barefoot walk to the numinous spot, the shrine of the nymphs, the cicadas overhead, and now the standing noon. Nothing supernatural is asserted — Phaedrus only wants to stay out of the sun. But Plato has arranged for the recantation and the great myth of the soul to be spoken at noon, by running water, in a place belonging to the gods, at the hour they are nearest. The setting is not backdrop; it is argument by other means, insisting that this shaded, holy spot is where the truth about love will be found.

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