{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13726/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13726","id":"gutenberg_13726","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13726","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Harvard Classics","Socrates, 470 BC-399 BC"],"text":"PLATO'S\n\nAPOLOGY, CRITO AND PH\u00c6DO\nOF\nSOCRATES.\n\n\n\n\nLiterally Translated By\n\nHENRY CARY, M.A.,\n_Worcester College, Oxford_\n\n\n\n\nWith An Introduction By\n\nEDWARD BROOKS, JR.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nTHE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES\n\nINTRODUCTION TO THE CRITO\n\nCRITO; OR, THE DUTY OF A CITIZEN\n\nINTRODUCTION TO THE PH\u00c6DO\n\nPH\u00c6DO; OR, THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nOf all writers of speculative philosophy, both ancient and modern, there\nis probably no one who has attained so eminent a position as Plato. What\nHomer was to Epic poetry, what Cicero and Demosthenes were to oratory,\nand what Shakespeare was to the drama of England, Plato was to ancient\nphilosophy, not unapproachable nor unapproached, but possessing an\ninexplicable but unquestioned supremacy.\n\nThe authentic records of his life are meagre, and much that has been\nwritten concerning him is of a speculative nature. He was born at Athens\nin the year 427 B.C. His father's name was Ariston, and his mother's\nfamily, which claimed its descent from Solon, included among its members\nmany Athenian notables, among whom was Oritias, one of the thirty\ntyrants.\n\nIn his early youth Plato applied himself to poetry and painting, both of\nwhich pursuits he relinquished to become the disciple and follower of\nSocrates. It is said that his name was originally Aristocles, but that\nit was changed to Plato on account of the breadth of his shoulders and\nforehead. He is also said to have been an expert wrestler and to have\ntaken part in several important battles.\n\nHe was the devoted friend and pupil of Socrates, and during the\nimprisonment of his master he attended him constantly, and committed to\nwriting his last discourses on the immortality of the soul.\n\nAfter the death of Socrates it is supposed that Plato took refuge with\nEuclides in Megara, and subsequently extended his travels into Magna\nGraecia and Egypt.\n\nUpon his return to Athens he taught those who came to him for\ninstruction in the grove named Academus, near the Cephisus, and thus\nfounded the first great philosophical school, over which he continued to\npreside until the day of his death. Above the entrance to this grove was\ninscribed the legend: \"Let no one ignorant of geometry enter here.\" Here\nhe was attended by persons of every description, among the more\nillustrious of whom were Aristotle, Lycurgus, Demosthenes and Isocrates.\n\nThere is a story to the effect that Plato three times visited Sicily,\nonce upon the invitation of the elder Dionysius, and twice at the\nearnest solicitations of the younger. The former he is said to have so\nseriously offended as to cause the tyrant to have him seized on his\nreturn home and sold as a slave, from which state of bondage he was,\nhowever, released by Anicerius of Cyrene.\n\nThe people of his time thought more of him than they did of all their\nother philosophers, and called him the Divine Plato. So great was the\nregard and veneration for him that it was considered better to err with\nPlato than be right with any one else.\n\nThe writings of Plato are numerous, and most of them are in the form of\ndialogues. The following pages contain translations of three of his\nworks, viz.: \"The Apologia,\" \"The Crito\" and \"The Ph\u00e6do,\" all of which\nhave reference to the trial, imprisonment and death of Socrates.\n\n\"The Apologia\" represents Socrates on trial for his life, undertaking\nhis own defence, though unaccustomed to the language of the courts, the\noccasion being, as he says, the first time he has ever been before a\ncourt of justice, though seventy years of age. Plato was present at the\ntrial, and no doubt gives us the very arguments used by the accused. Two\ncharges were brought against Socrates--one that he did not believe in\nthe gods recognized by the State, the other that he had corrupted the\nAthenian youth by his teachings. Socrates does not have recourse to the\nordinary methods adopted by orators on similar occasions. He prefers to\nstand upon his own integrity and innocence, uninfluenced by the fear of\nthat imaginary evil, death. He, therefore, does not firmly grapple with\neither of the charges preferred against him. He neither denies nor\nconfesses the first accusation, but shows that in several instances he\nconformed to the religious customs of his country, and that he believes\nin God more than he fears man. The second charge he meets by a\ncross-examination of his accuser, Melitus, whom he reduces to the\ndilemma of charging him with corrupting the youth designedly, which\nwould be absurd, or with doing so undesignedly, for which he could not\nbe liable to punishment.\n\nHis defence, however, avails him nothing, and he is condemned by the\njudges to die by drinking the poisonous hemlock. In the closing part of\n\"The Apologia\" Socrates is represented as commenting upon the sentence\nwhich has been passed upon him, and as expressing his belief that in\ngoing to his death he is only passing to a better and a happier life.\n\nIn \"The Crito\" Socrates is represented in conversation with a friend of\nhis named Crito, who had been present at his trial, and who had offered\nto assist Socrates in paying a fine, had a fine been the sentence\nimposed. Crito visits Socrates in his confinement to bring to him the\nintelligence that the ship, the arrival of which was to be the signal\nfor his death upon the following day, would arrive forthwith, and to\nurge him to adopt the means of escape which had already been prepared.\nSocrates promises to follow the advice of Crito if, upon a full\ndiscussion of the matter, it seems right to do so. In the conversation\nwhich ensues Socrates argues that it is wrong to return evil for evil\nand that the obligations which a citizen owes to his State are more\nbinding than those which a child owes his parents or a slave his master,\nand, therefore, it is his duty to submit to the laws of Athens at\nwhatever cost to himself. Crito has no answer to make to this argument,\nand Socrates thereupon decides to submit to his fate.\n\nPlato is said to have had two objects in writing this dialogue: First,\nto acquit Socrates of the charge of corrupting the Athenian youth; and,\nsecond, to establish the fact that it is necessary under all\ncircumstances to submit to the established laws of his country.\n\n\"The Ph\u00e6do\" relates the manner in which Socrates spent the last day of\nhis life and the circumstances attending his death. He is visited by a\nnumber of his friends, among whom are Ph\u00e6do, Simmias and Crito. When his\nfriends arrive they find him sitting upon a bed rubbing his legs, which\nhave just been released from bonds. He remarks upon the unaccountable\nconnection between pleasure and pain, and from this the conversation\ngradually turns to a consideration of the question of the immortality of\nthe soul. He convinces his listeners of the pre-existence of the soul;\nbut they are still skeptical as to its immortality, urging that its\npre-existence and the fact that it is more durable than the body does\nnot preclude the possibility of its being mortal. Socrates, however,\nargues that contraries cannot exist in the same thing at the same time,\nas, for example, the same object cannot partake of both magnitude and\nlittleness at the same time. In like manner, heat while it is heat can\nnever admit the idea of cold. Life and death are contraries and can\nnever coexist; but wherever there is life there is soul, so that the\nsoul contains that which is contrary to death and can never admit death;\nconsequently the soul is immortal.\n\nHaving convinced his listeners, Socrates bathes and takes leave of his\nchildren and the women of his family. Thereupon the officer appears and\ntells him it is time for him to drink the poison. At this his friends\ncommence to weep and are rebuked by Socrates for their weakness. He\ndrinks the poison calmly and without hesitation, and then begins to walk\nabout, still conversing with his friends. His limbs soon grow stiff and\nheavy and he lays himself down upon his back. His last words are:\n\"Crito, we owe a cock to \u00c6sculapius; pay it, therefore, and do not\nneglect it.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.\n\n\nI know not, O Athenians! how far you have been influenced by my accusers\nfor my part, in listening to them I almost forgot myself, so plausible\nwere their arguments however, so to speak, they have said nothing true.\nBut of the many falsehoods which they uttered I wondered at one of them\nespecially, that in which they said that you ought to be on your guard\nlest you should be deceived by me, as being eloquent in speech. For that\nthey are not ashamed of being forthwith convicted by me in fact, when I\nshall show that I am not by any means eloquent, this seemed to me the\nmost shameless thing in them, unless indeed they call him eloquent who\nspeaks the truth. For, if they mean this, then I would allow that I am\nan orator, but not after their fashion for they, as I affirm, have said\nnothing true, but from me you shall hear the whole truth. Not indeed,\nAthenians, arguments highly wrought, as theirs were, with choice phrases\nand expressions, nor adorned, but you shall hear a speech uttered\nwithout premeditation in such words as first present themselves. For I\nam confident that what I say will be just, and let none of you expect\notherwise, for surely it would not become my time of life to come before\nyou like a youth with a got up speech. Above all things, therefore, I\nbeg and implore this of you, O Athenians! if you hear me defending\nmyself in the same language as that in which I am accustomed to speak\nboth in the forum at the counters, where many of you have heard me, and\nelsewhere, not to be surprised or disturbed on this account. For the\ncase is this: I now for the first time come before a court of justice,\nthough more than seventy years old; I am therefore utterly a stranger to\nthe language here. As, then, if I were really a stranger, you would have\npardoned me if I spoke in the language and the manner in which I had\nbeen educated, so now I ask this of you as an act of justice, as it\nappears to me, to disregard the manner of my speech, for perhaps it may\nbe somewhat worse, and perhaps better, and to consider this only, and to\ngive your attention to this, whether I speak what is just or not; for\nthis is the virtue of a judge, but of an orator to speak the truth.\n\n2. First, then, O Athenians! I am right in defending myself against the\nfirst false accusations alleged against me, and my first accusers, and\nthen against the latest accusations, and the latest accusers. For many\nhave been accusers of me to you, and for many years, who have asserted\nnothing true, of whom I am more afraid than of Anytus and his party,\nalthough they too are formidable; but those are still more formidable,\nAthenians, who, laying hold of many of you from childhood, have\npersuaded you, and accused me of what is not true: \"that there is one\nSocrates, a wise man, who occupies himself about celestial matters, and\nhas explored every thing under the earth, and makes the worse appear the\nbetter reason.\" Those, O Athenians! who have spread abroad this report\nare my formidable accusers; for they who hear them think that such as\nsearch into these things do not believe that there are gods. In the next\nplace, these accusers are numerous, and have accused me now for a long\ntime; moreover, they said these things to you at that time of life in\nwhich you were most credulous, when you were boys and some of you\nyouths, and they accused me altogether in my absence, when there was no\none to defend me. But the most unreasonable thing of all is, that it is\nnot possible to learn and mention their names, except that one of them\nhappens to be a comic poet.[1] Such, however, as, influenced by envy and\ncalumny, have persuaded you, and those who, being themselves persuaded,\nhave persuaded others, all these are most difficult to deal with; for it\nis not possible to bring any of them forward here, nor to confute any;\nbut it is altogether necessary to fight, as it were with a shadow, in\nmaking my defense, and to convict when there is no one to answer.\nConsider, therefore, as I have said, that my accusers are twofold, some\nwho have lately accused me, and others long since, whom I have made\nmention of; and believe that I ought to defend myself against these\nfirst; for you heard them accusing me first, and much more than these\nlast.\n\nWell. I must make my defense, then, O Athenians! and endeavor in this so\nshort a space of time to remove from your minds the calumny which you\nhave long entertained. I wish, indeed, it might be so, if it were at all\nbetter both for you and me, and that in making my defense I could effect\nsomething more advantageous still: I think, however, that it will be\ndifficult, and I am not entirely ignorant what the difficulty is.\nNevertheless, let this turn out as may be pleasing to God, I must obey\nthe law and make my defense.\n\n3. Let us, then, repeat from the beginning what the accusation is from\nwhich the calumny against me has arisen, and relying on which Melitus\nhas preferred this indictment against me. Well. What, then, do they who\ncharge me say in their charge? For it is necessary to read their\ndeposition as of public accusers. \"Socrates acts wickedly, and is\ncriminally curious in searching into things under the earth, and in the\nheavens, and in making the worse appear the better cause, and in\nteaching these same things to others.\" Such is the accusation: for such\nthings you have yourselves seen in the comedy of Aristophanes, one\nSocrates there carried about, saying that he walks in the air, and\nacting many other buffooneries, of which I understand nothing whatever.\nNor do I say this as disparaging such a science, if there be any one\nskilled in such things, only let me not be prosecuted by Melitus on a\ncharge of this kind; but I say it, O Athenians! because I have nothing\nto do with such matters. And I call upon most of you as witnesses of\nthis, and require you to inform and tell each other, as many of you as\nhave ever heard me conversing; and there are many such among you.\nTherefore tell each other, if any one of you has ever heard me\nconversing little or much on such subjects. And from this you will know\nthat other things also, which the multitude assert of me, are of a\nsimilar nature.\n\n4. However not one of these things is true; nor, if you have heard from\nany one that I attempt to teach men, and require payment, is this true.\nThough this, indeed, appears to me to be an honorable thing, if one\nshould be able to instruct men, like Gorgias the Leontine, Prodicus the\nCean, and Hippias the Elean. For each of these, O Athenians! is able, by\ngoing through the several cities, to persuade the young men, who can\nattach themselves gratuitously to such of their own fellow-citizens as\nthey please, to abandon their fellow-citizens and associate with them,\ngiving them money and thanks besides. There is also another wise man\nhere, a Parian, who, I hear, is staying in the city. For I happened to\nvisit a person who spends more money on the sophists than all others\ntogether: I mean Callias, son of Hipponicus. I therefore asked him, for\nhe has two sons, \"Callias,\" I said, \"if your two sons were colts or\ncalves, we should have had to choose a master for them, and hire a\nperson who would make them excel in such qualities as belong to their\nnature; and he would have been a groom or an agricultural laborer. But\nnow, since your sons are men, what master do you intend to choose for\nthem? Who is there skilled in the qualities that become a man and a\ncitizen? For I suppose you must have considered this, since you have\nsons. Is there any one,\" I said, \"or not?\" \"Certainly,\" he answered.\n\"Who is he?\" said I, \"and whence does he come? and on what terms does he\nteach?\" He replied, \"Evenus the Parian, Socrates, for five minae.\" And I\ndeemed Evenus happy, if he really possesses this art, and teaches\nadmirably. And I too should think highly of myself, and be very proud,\nif I possessed this knowledge, but I possess it not, O Athenians.\n\n5. Perhaps, one of you may now object: \"But, Socrates, what have you\ndone, then? Whence have these calumnies against you arisen? For surely\nif you had not busied yourself more than others, such a report and story\nwould never have got abroad, unless you had done something different\nfrom what most men do. Tell us, therefore, what it is, that we may not\npass a hasty judgment on you.\" He who speaks thus appears to me to speak\njustly, and I will endeavor to show you what it is that has occasioned\nme this character and imputation. Listen, then: to some of you perhaps I\nshall appear to jest, yet be assured that I shall tell you the whole\ntruth. For I, O Athenians! have acquired this character through nothing\nelse than a certain wisdom. Of what kind, then, is this wisdom? Perhaps\nit is merely human wisdom. For in this, in truth, I appear to be wise.\nThey probably, whom I have just now mentioned, possessed a wisdom more\nthan human, otherwise I know not what to say about it; for I am not\nacquainted with it, and whosoever says I am, speaks falsely, and for the\npurpose of calumniating me. But, O Athenians! do not cry out against me,\neven though I should seem to you to speak somewhat arrogantly. For the\naccount which I am going to give you is not my own; but I shall refer to\nan authority whom you will deem worthy of credit. For I shall adduce to\nyou the god at Delphi as a witness of my wisdom, if I have any, and of\nwhat it is. You doubtless know Ch\u00e6repho: he was my associate from youth,\nand the associate of most of you; he accompanied you in your late exile,\nand returned with you. You know, then, what kind of a man Ch\u00e6repho was,\nhow earnest in whatever he undertook. Having once gone to Delphi, he\nventured to make the following inquiry of the oracle (and, as I said, O\nAthenians! do not cry out), for he asked if there was any one wiser than\nI. The Pythian thereupon answered that there was not one wiser; and of\nthis, his brother here will give you proofs, since he himself is dead.\n\n6. Consider, then, why I mention these things: it is because I am going\nto show you whence the calumny against me arose. For when I heard this,\nI reasoned thus with myself, What does the god mean? What enigma is\nthis? For I am not conscious to myself that I am wise, either much or\nlittle. What, then, does he mean by saying that I am the wisest? For\nassuredly he does not speak falsely: that he could not do. And for a\nlong time I was in doubt what he meant; afterward, with considerable\ndifficulty, I had recourse to the following method of searching out his\nmeaning. I went to one of those who have the character of being wise,\nthinking that there, if anywhere, I should confute the oracle, and show\nin answer to the response that This man is wiser than I, though you\naffirmed that I was the wisest. Having, then, examined this man (for\nthere is no occasion to mention his name; he was, however, one of our\ngreat politicians, in examining whom I felt as I proceed to describe, O\nAthenians!), having fallen into conversation with him, this man appeared\nto be wise in the opinion of most other men, and especially in his own\nopinion, though in fact he was not so. I thereupon endeavored to show\nhim that he fancied himself to be wise, but really was not. Hence I\nbecame odious, both to him and to many others who were present. When I\nleft him, I reasoned thus with myself: I am wiser than this man, for\nneither of us appears to know anything great and good; but he fancies he\nknows something, although he knows nothing; whereas I, as I do not know\nanything, so I do not fancy I do. In this trifling particular, then, I\nappear to be wiser than he, because I do not fancy I know what I do not\nknow. After that I went to another who was thought to be wiser than the\nformer, and formed the very same opinion. Hence I became odious to him\nand to many others.\n\n7. After this I went to others in turn, perceiving indeed, and grieving\nand alarmed, that I was making myself odious; however, it appeared\nnecessary to regard the oracle of the god as of the greatest moment, and\nthat, in order to discover its meaning, I must go to all who had the\nreputation of possessing any knowledge. And by the dog, O Athenians! for\nI must tell you the truth, I came to some such conclusion as this: those\nwho bore the highest reputation appeared to me to be most deficient, in\nmy researches in obedience to the god, and others who were considered\ninferior more nearly approaching to the possession of understanding. But\nI must relate to you my wandering, and the labors which I underwent, in\norder that the oracle might prove incontrovertible. For after the\npoliticians I went to the poets, as well the tragic as the dithyrambic\nand others, expecting that here I should in very fact find myself more\nignorant than they. Taking up, therefore, some of their poems, which\nappeared to me most elaborately finished, I questioned them as to their\nmeaning, that at the same time I might learn something from them. I am\nashamed, O Athenians! to tell you the truth; however, it must be told.\nFor, in a word, almost all who were present could have given a better\naccount of them than those by whom they had been composed. I soon\ndiscovered this, therefore, with regard to the poets, that they do not\neffect their object by wisdom, but by a certain natural inspiration, and\nunder the influence of enthusiasm, like prophets and seers; for these\nalso say many fine things, but they understand nothing that they say.\nThe poets appeared to me to be affected in a similar manner; and at the\nsame time I perceived that they considered themselves, on account of\ntheir poetry, to be the wisest of men in other things, in which they\nwere not. I left them, therefore, under the persuasion that I was\nsuperior to them, in the same way that I was to the politicians.\n\n8. At last, therefore, I went to the artisans. For I was conscious to\nmyself that I knew scarcely anything, but I was sure that I should find\nthem possessed of much beautiful knowledge. And in this I was not\ndeceived; for they knew things which I did not, and in this respect they\nwere wiser than I. But, O Athenians! even the best workmen appeared to\nme to have fallen into the same error as the poets; for each, because he\nexcelled in the practice of his art, thought that he was very wise in\nother most important matters, and this mistake of theirs obscured the\nwisdom that they really possessed. I therefore asked myself, in behalf\nof the oracle, whether I should prefer to continue as I am, possessing\nnone, either of their wisdom or their ignorance, or to have both as they\nhave. I answered, therefore, to myself and to the oracle, that it was\nbetter for me to continue as I am.\n\n9. From this investigation, then, O Athenians! many enmities have arisen\nagainst me, and those the most grievous and severe, so that many\ncalumnies have sprung from them, and among them this appellation of\nbeing wise; for those who are from time to time present think that I am\nwise in those things, with respect to which I expose the ignorance of\nothers. The god, however, O Athenians! appears to be really wise, and to\nmean this by his oracle: that human wisdom is worth little or nothing;\nand it is clear that he did not say this to Socrates, but made use of my\nname, putting me forward as an example, as if he had said, that man is\nthe wisest among you, who, like Socrates, knows that he is in reality\nworth nothing with respect to wisdom. Still, therefore, I go about and\nsearch and inquire into these things, in obedience to the god, both\namong citizens and strangers, if I think any one of them is wise; and\nwhen he appears to me not to be so, I take the part of the god, and show\nthat he is not wise. And, in consequence of this occupation, I have no\nleisure to attend in any considerable degree to the affairs of the state\nor my own; but I am in the greatest poverty through my devotion to the\nservice of the god.\n\n10. In addition to this, young men, who have much leisure and belong to\nthe wealthiest families, following me of their own accord, take great\ndelight in hearing men put to the test, and often imitate me, and\nthemselves attempt to put others to the test; and then, I think, they\nfind a great abundance of men who fancy they know something, although\nthey know little or nothing. Hence those who are put to the test by them\nare angry with me, and not with them, and say that \"there is one\nSocrates, a most pestilent fellow, who corrupts the youth.\" And when any\none asks them by doing or teaching what, they have nothing to say, for\nthey do not know; but, that they may not seem to be at a loss, they say\nsuch things as are ready at hand against all philosophers; \"that he\nsearches into things in heaven and things under the earth, that he does\nnot believe there are gods, and that he makes the worse appear the\nbetter reason.\" For they would not, I think, be willing to tell the\ntruth that they have been detected in pretending to possess knowledge,\nwhereas they know nothing. Therefore, I think, being ambitions and\nvehement and numerous, and speaking systematically and persuasively\nabout me, they have filled your ears, for a long time and diligently\ncalumniating me. From among these, Melitus, Anytus and Lycon have\nattacked me; Melitus being angry on account of the poets, Anytus on\naccount of the artisans and politicians, and Lycon on account of the\nrhetoricians. So that, as I said in the beginning, I should wonder if I\nwere able in so short a time to remove from your minds a calumny that\nhas prevailed so long. This, O Athenians! is the truth; and I speak it\nwithout concealing or disguising anything from you, much or little;\nthough I very well know that by so doing I shall expose myself to odium.\nThis, however, is a proof that I speak the truth, and that this is the\nnature of the calumny against me, and that these are its causes. And if\nyou will investigate the matter, either now or hereafter, you will find\nit to be so.\n\n11. With respect, then, to the charges which my first accusers have\nalleged against me, let this be a sufficient apology to you. To Melitus,\nthat good and patriotic man, as he says, and to my later accusers, I\nwill next endeavor to give an answer; and here, again, as there are\ndifferent accusers, let us take up their deposition. It is pretty much\nas follows: \"Socrates,\" it says, \"acts unjustly in corrupting the youth,\nand in not believing in those gods in whom the city believes, but in\nother strange divinities.\" Such is the accusation; let us examine each\nparticular of it. It says that I act unjustly in corrupting the youth.\nBut I, O Athenians! say that Melitus acts unjustly, because he jests on\nserious subjects, rashly putting men upon trial, under pretense of being\nzealous and solicitous about things in which he never at any time took\nany concern. But that this is the case I will endeavor to prove to you.\n\n12. Come, then, Melitus, tell me, do you not consider it of the greatest\nimportance that the youth should be made as virtuous as possible?\n\n_Mel._ I do.\n\n_Socr._ Well, now, tell the judges who it is that makes them better, for\nit is evident that you know, since it concerns you so much; for, having\ndetected me in corrupting them, as you say, you have cited me here, and\naccused me: come, then, say, and inform the judges who it is that makes\nthem better. Do you see, Melitus, that you are silent, and have nothing\nto say? But does it not appear to you to be disgraceful, and a\nsufficient proof of what I say, that you never took any concern about\nthe matter? But tell me, friend, who makes them better?\n\n_Mel._ The laws.\n\n_Socr._ I do not ask this, most excellent sir, but what man, who surely\nmust first know this very thing, the laws?\n\n_Mel._ These, Socrates, the judges.\n\n_Socr._ How say you, Melitus? Are these able to instruct the youth, and\nmake them better?\n\n_Mel._ Certainly.\n\n_Socr._ Whether all, or some of them, and others not?\n\n_Mel._ All.\n\n_Socr._ You say well, by Juno! and have found a great abundance of those\nthat confer benefit. But what further? Can these hearers make them\nbetter, or not?\n\n_Mel._ They, too, can.\n\n_Socr._ And what of the senators?\n\n_Mel._ The senators, also.\n\n_Socr._ But, Melitus, do those who attend the public assemblies corrupt\nthe younger men? or do they all make them better?\n\n_Mel._ They too.\n\n_Socr._ All the Athenians, therefore, as it seems, make them honorable\nand good, except me; but I alone corrupt them. Do you say so?\n\n_Mel._ I do assert this very thing.\n\n_Socr._ You charge me with great ill-fortune. But answer me: does it\nappear to you to be the same, with respect to horses? Do all men make\nthem better, and is there only some one that spoils them? or does quite\nthe contrary of this take place? Is there some one person who can make\nthem better, or very few; that is, the trainers? But if the generality\nof men should meddle with and make use of horses, do they spoil them? Is\nnot this the case, Melitus, both with respect to horses and all other\nanimals? It certainly is so, whether you and Anytus deny it or not. For\nit would be a great good-fortune for the youth if only one person\ncorrupted, and the rest benefited them. However, Melitus, you have\nsufficiently shown that you never bestowed any care upon youth; and you\nclearly evince your own negligence, in that you have never paid any\nattention to the things with respect to which you accuse me.\n\n13. Tell us further, Melitus, in the name of Jupiter, whether is it\nbetter to dwell with good or bad citizens? Answer, my friend; for I ask\nyou nothing difficult. Do not the bad work some evil to those that are\ncontinually near them, but the good some good?\n\n_Mel._ Certainly.\n\n_Socr._ Is there any one that wishes to be injured rather than benefited\nby his associates? Answer, good man; for the law requires you to answer.\nIs there any one who wishes to be injured?\n\n_Mel._ No, surely.\n\n_Socr._ Come, then, whether do you accuse me here, as one that corrupts\nthe youth, and makes them more depraved, designedly or undesignedly?\n\n_Mel._ Designedly, I say.\n\n_Socr._ What, then, Melitus, are you at your time of life so much wiser\nthan I at my time of life, as to know that the evil are always working\nsome evil to those that are most near to them, and the good some good;\nbut I have arrived at such a pitch of ignorance as not to know that if I\nmake any one of my associates depraved, I shall be in danger of\nreceiving some evil from him; and yet I designedly bring about this so\ngreat evil, as you say? In this I can not believe you, Melitus, nor do I\nthink would any other man in the world. But either I do not corrupt the\nyouth, or, if I do corrupt them, I do it undesignedly: so that in both\ncases you speak falsely. But if I corrupt them undesignedly, for such\ninvoluntary offenses it is not usual to accuse one here, but to take one\napart, and teach and admonish one. For it is evident that if I am\ntaught, I shall cease doing what I do undesignedly. But you shunned me,\nand were not willing to associate with and instruct me; but you accuse\nme here, where it is usual to accuse those who need punishment, and not\ninstruction.\n\n14. Thus, then, O Athenians! this now is clear that I have said; that\nMelitus never paid any attention to these matters, much or little.\nHowever, tell us, Melitus, how you say I corrupt the youth? Is it not\nevidently, according to the indictment which you have preferred, by\nteaching them not to believe in the gods in whom the city believes, but\nin other strange deities? Do you not say that, by teaching these things,\nI corrupt the youth?\n\n_Mel._ Certainly I do say so.\n\n_Socr._ By those very gods, therefore, Melitus, of whom the discussion\nnow is, speak still more clearly both to me and to these men. For I can\nnot understand whether you say that I teach them to believe that there\nare certain gods (and in that case I do believe that there are gods, and\nam not altogether an atheist, nor in this respect to blame), not,\nhowever, those which the city believes in, but others; and this it is\nthat you accuse me of, that I introduce others. Or do you say outright\nthat I do not myself believe that there are gods, and that I teach\nothers the same?\n\n_Mel._ I say this: that you do not believe in any gods at all.\n\n_Socr._ O wonderful Melitus, how come you to say this? Do I not, then,\nlike the rest of mankind, believe that the sun and moon are gods?\n\n_Mel._ No, by Jupiter, O judges! for he says that the sun is a stone,\nand the moon an earth.\n\n_Socr._ You fancy that you are accusing Anaxagoras, my dear Melitus, and\nthus you put a slight on these men, and suppose them to be so illiterate\nas not to know that the books of Anaxagoras of Clazomene are full of\nsuch assertions. And the young, moreover, learn these things from me,\nwhich they might purchase for a drachma, at most, in the orchestra, and\nso ridicule Socrates, if he pretended they were his own, especially\nsince they are so absurd? I ask then, by Jupiter, do I appear to you to\nbelieve that there is no god?\n\n_Mel._ No, by Jupiter, none whatever.\n\n_Socr._ You say what is incredible, Melitus, and that, as appears to me,\neven to yourself. For this man, O Athenians! appears to me to be very\ninsolent and intemperate and to have preferred this indictment through\ndownright insolence, intemperance, and wantonness. For he seems, as it\nwere, to have composed an enigma for the purpose of making an\nexperiment. Whether will Socrates the wise know that I am jesting, and\ncontradict myself, or shall I deceive him and all who hear me? For, in\nmy opinion, he clearly contradicts himself in the indictment, as if he\nshould say, Socrates is guilty of wrong in not believing that there are\ngods, and in believing that there are gods. And this, surely, is the act\nof one who is trifling.\n\n15. Consider with me now, Athenians, in what respect he appears to me to\nsay so. And do you, Melitus, answer me; and do ye, as I besought you at\nthe outset, remember not to make an uproar if I speak after my usual\nmanner.\n\nIs there any man, Melitus, who believes that there are human affairs,\nbut does not believe that there are men? Let him answer, judges, and not\nmake so much noise. Is there any one who does not believe that there are\nhorses, but that there are things pertaining to horses? or who does not\nbelieve that there are pipers, but that there are things pertaining to\npipes? There is not, O best of men! for since you are not willing to\nanswer, I say it to you and to all here present. But answer to this at\nleast: is there any one who believes that there are things relating to\ndemons, but does not believe that there are demons?\n\n_Mel._ There is not.\n\n_Socr._ How obliging you are in having hardly answered; though compelled\nby these judges! You assert, then, that I do believe and teach things\nrelating to demons, whether they be new or old; therefore, according to\nyour admission, I do believe in things relating to demons, and this you\nhave sworn in the bill of indictment. If, then, I believe in things\nrelating to demons, there is surely an absolute necessity that I should\nbelieve that there are demons. Is it not so? It is. For I suppose you to\nassent, since you do not answer. But with respect to demons, do we not\nallow that they are gods, or the children of gods? Do you admit this or\nnot?\n\n_Mel._ Certainly.\n\n_Socr._ Since, then, I allow that there are demons, as you admit, if\ndemons are a kind of gods, this is the point in which I say you speak\nenigmatically and divert yourself in saying that I do not allow there\nare gods, and again that I do allow there are, since I allow that there\nare demons? But if demons are the children of gods, spurious ones,\neither from nymphs or any others, of whom they are reported to be, what\nman can think that there are sons of gods, and yet that there are not\ngods? For it would be just as absurd as if any one should think that\nthere are mules, the offspring of horses and asses, but should not think\nthere are horses and asses. However, Melitus, it can not be otherwise\nthan that you have preferred this indictment for the purpose of trying\nme, or because you were at a loss what real crime to allege against me;\nfor that you should persuade any man who has the smallest degree of\nsense that the same person can think that there are things relating to\ndemons and to gods, and yet that there are neither demons, nor gods,\nnot heroes, is utterly impossible.\n\n16. That I am not guilty, then, O Athenians! according to the indictment\nof Melitus, appears to me not to require a lengthened defense; but what\nI have said is sufficient. And as to what I said at the beginning, that\nthere is a great enmity toward me among the multitude, be assured it is\ntrue. And this it is which will condemn me, if I am condemned, not\nMelitus, nor Anytus, but the calumny and envy of the multitude, which\nhave already condemned many others, and those good men, and will, I\nthink, condemn others also; for there is no danger that it will stop\nwith me.\n\nPerhaps, however, some one may say, \"Are you not ashamed, Socrates, to\nhave pursued a study from which you are now in danger of dying?\" To such\na person I should answer with good reason, You do not say well, friend,\nif you think that a man, who is even of the least value, ought to take\ninto the account the risk of life or death, and ought not to consider\nthat alone when be performs any action, whether he is acting justly or\nunjustly, and the part of a good man or bad man. For, according to your\nreasoning, all those demi-gods that died at Troy would be vile\ncharacters, as well all the rest as the son of Thetis, who so far\ndespised danger in comparison of submitting to disgrace, that when his\nmother, who was a goddess, spoke to him, in his impatience to kill\nHector, something to this effect, as I think,[2] \"My son, if you revenge\nthe death of your friend Patroclus, and slay Hector, you will yourself\ndie, for,\" she said, \"death awaits you immediately after Hector;\" but\nhe, on hearing this, despised death and danger, and dreading much more\nto live as a coward, and not avenge his friend, said, \"May I die\nimmediately when I have inflicted punishment on the guilty, that I may\nnot stay here an object of ridicule, by the curved ships, a burden to\nthe ground?\"--do you think that he cared for death and danger? For thus\nit is, O Athenians! in truth: wherever any one has posted himself,\neither thinking it to be better, or has been posted by his chief, there,\nas it appears to me, he ought to remain and meet danger, taking no\naccount either of death or anything else in comparison with disgrace.\n\n17. I then should be acting strangely, O Athenians! if, when the\ngenerals whom you chose to command me assigned me my post at Potid\u00e6a, at\nAmphipolis, and at Delium, I then remained where they posted me, like\nany other person, and encountered the danger of death; but when the\ndeity, as I thought and believed, assigned it as my duty to pass my life\nin the study of philosophy, and examining myself and others, I should on\nthat occasion, through fear of death or any thing else whatsoever,\ndesert my post, strange indeed would it be; and then, in truth, any one\nmight justly bring me to trial, and accuse me of not believing in the\ngods, from disobeying the oracle, fearing death, and thinking myself to\nbe wise when I am not. For to fear death, O Athenians! is nothing else\nthan to appear to be wise, without being so; for it is to appear to know\nwhat one does not know. For no one knows but that death is the greatest\nof all good to man; but men fear it, as if they well knew that it is the\ngreatest of evils. And how is not this the most reprehensible ignorance,\nto think that one knows what one does not know? But I, O Athenians! in\nthis, perhaps, differ from most men; and if I should say that I am in\nany thing wiser than another, it would be in this, that not having a\ncompetent knowledge of the things in Hades, I also think that I have not\nsuch knowledge. But to act unjustly, and to disobey my superior,\nwhether God or man, I know is evil and base. I shall never, therefore,\nfear or shun things which, for aught I know, maybe good, before evils\nwhich I know to be evils. So that, even if you should now dismiss me,\nnot yielding to the instances of Anytus, who said that either I should\nnot[3] appear here at all, or that, if I did appear, it was impossible\nnot to put me to death, telling you that if I escaped, your sons,\nstudying what Socrates teaches, would all be utterly corrupted; if you\nshould address me thus, \"Socrates, we shall not now yield to Anytus, but\ndismiss you, on this condition, however, that you no longer persevere in\nyour researches nor study philosophy; and if hereafter you are detected\nin so doing, you shall die\"--if, as I said, you should dismiss, me on\nthese terms, I should say to you, \"O Athenians! I honor and love you;\nbut I shall obey God rather than you; and so long as I breathe and am\nable, I shall not cease studying philosophy, and exhorting you and\nwarning any one of you I may happen to meet, saying, as I have been\naccustomed to do: 'O best of men! seeing you are an Athenian, of a city\nthe most powerful and most renowned for wisdom and strength, are you not\nashamed of being careful for riches, how you may acquire them in\ngreatest abundance, and for glory, and honor, but care not nor take any\nthought for wisdom and truth, and for your soul, how it maybe made most\nperfect?'\" And if any one of you should question my assertion, and\naffirm that he does care for these things, I shall not at once let him\ngo, nor depart, but I shall question him, sift and prove him. And if he\nshould appear to me not to possess virtue, but to pretend that he does,\nI shall reproach him for that he sets the least value on things of the\ngreatest worth, but the highest on things that are worthless. Thus I\nshall act to all whom I meet, both young and old, stranger and citizen,\nbut rather to you, my fellow-citizens, because ye are more nearly allied\nto me. For be well assured, this the deity commands. And I think that no\ngreater good has ever befallen you in the city than my zeal for the\nservice of the god. For I go about doing nothing else than persuading\nyou, both young and old, to take no care either for the body, or for\nriches, prior to or so much as for the soul, how it may be made most\nperfect, telling you that virtue does not spring from riches, but riches\nand all other human blessings, both private and public, from virtue. If,\nthen, by saying these things, I corrupt the youth, these things must be\nmischievous; but if any one says that I speak other things than these,\nhe misleads you.[4] Therefore I must say, O Athenians! either yield to\nAnytus, or do not, either dismiss me or not, since I shall not act\notherwise, even though I must die many deaths.\n\n18. Murmur not, O Athenians! but continue to attend to my request, not\nto murmur at what I say, but to listen, for, as I think, you will derive\nbenefit from listening. For I am going to say other things to you, at\nwhich, perhaps, you will raise a clamor; but on no account do so. Be\nwell assured, then, if you put me to death, being such a man as I say I\nam, you will not injure me more than yourselves. For neither will\nMelitus nor Anytus harm me; nor have they the power; for I do not think\nthat it is possible for a better man to be injured by a worse. He may\nperhaps have me condemned to death, or banished, or deprived of civil\nrights; and he or others may perhaps consider these as mighty evils; I,\nhow ever, do not consider them so, but that it is much more so to do\nwhat he is now doing, to endeavor to put a man to death unjustly. Now,\ntherefore, O Athenians! I am far from making a defense on my behalf, as\nany one might think, but I do so on your own behalf, lest by condemning\nme you should offend at all with respect to the gift of the deity to\nyou. For, if you should put me to death, you will not easily find such\nanother, though it may be ridiculous to say so, altogether attached by\nthe deity to this city as to a powerful and generous horse, somewhat\nsluggish from his size, and requiring to be roused by a gad-fly; so the\ndeity appears to have united me, being such a person as I am, to the\ncity, that I may rouse you, and persuade and reprove every one of you,\nnor ever cease besetting you throughout the whole day. Such another man,\nO Athenians! will not easily be found; therefore, if you will take my\nadvice, you will spare me. But you, perhaps, being irritated like drowsy\npersons who are roused from sleep, will strike me, and, yielding to\nAnytus, will unthinkingly condemn me to death; and then you will pass\nthe rest of your life in sleep, unless the deity, caring for you, should\nsend some one else to you. But that I am a person who has been given by\nthe deity to this city, you may discern from hence; for it is not like\nthe ordinary conduct of men, that I should have neglected all my own\naffairs, and suffered my private interest to be neglected for so many\nyears, and that I should constantly attend to your concerns, addressing\nmyself to each of you separately, like a father, or elder brother,\npersuading you to the pursuit of virtue. And if I had derived any profit\nfrom this course, and had received pay for my exhortations, there would\nhave been some reason for my conduct; but now you see yourselves that my\naccusers, who have so shamelessly calumniated me in everything else,\nhave not had the impudence to charge me with this, and to bring\nwitnesses to prove that I ever either exacted or demanded any reward.\nAnd I think I produce a sufficient proof that I speak the truth,\nnamely, my poverty.\n\n19. Perhaps, however, it may appear absurd that I, going about, thus\nadvise you in private and make myself busy, but never venture to present\nmyself in public before your assemblies and give advice to the city. The\ncause of this is that which you have often and in many places heard me\nmention; because I am moved by a certain divine and spiritual influence,\nwhich also Melitus, through mockery, has set out in the indictment. This\nbegan with me from childhood, being a kind of voice which, when present,\nalways diverts me from what I am about to do, but never urges me on.\nThis it is which opposed my meddling in public politics; and it appears\nto me to have opposed me very properly. For be well assured, O\nAthenians! if I had long since attempted to intermeddle with politics, I\nshould have perished long ago, and should not have at all benefited you\nor myself. And be not angry with me for speaking the truth. For it is\nnot possible that any man should be safe who sincerely opposes either\nyou, or any other multitude, and who prevents many unjust and illegal\nactions from being committed in a city; but it is necessary that he who\nin earnest contends for justice, if he will be safe for but a short\ntime, should live privately, and take no part in public affairs.\n\n20. I will give you strong proofs of this, not words, but what you\nvalue, facts. Hear, then, what has happened to me, that you may know\nthat I would not yield to any one contrary to what is just, through fear\nof death, at the same time by not yielding I must perish. I shall tell\nyou what will be displeasing and wearisome,[5] yet true. For I, O\nAthenians! never bore any other magisterial office in the city, but\nhave been a senator: and our Antiochean tribe happened to supply the\nPrytanes when you chose to condemn in a body the ten generals who had\nnot taken off those that perished in the sea-fight, in violation of the\nlaw, as you afterward all thought. At that time I alone of the Prytanes\nopposed your doing anything contrary to the laws, and I voted against\nyou; and when the orators were ready to denounce me, and to carry me\nbefore a magistrate, and you urged and cheered them on, I thought I\nought rather to meet the danger with law and justice on my side, than\nthrough fear of imprisonment or death, to take part with you in your\nunjust designs. And this happened while the city was governed by a\ndemocracy. But when it became an oligarchy, the Thirty, having sent for\nme with four others to the Tholus, ordered us to bring Leon the\nSalaminian from Salamis, that he might be put to death; and they gave\nmany similar orders to many others, wishing to involve as many as they\ncould in guilt. Then, however, I showed, not in word but in deed, that I\ndid not care for death, if the expression be not too rude, in the\nsmallest degree; but that all my care was to do nothing unjust or\nunholy. For that government, strong as it was, did not so overawe me as\nto make me commit an unjust action; but when we came out from the\nTholus, the four went to Salamis, and brought back Leon; but I went away\nhome. And perhaps for this I should have been put to death, if that\ngovernment had not been speedily broken up. And of this you can have\nmany witnesses.\n\n21. Do you think, then, that I should have survived so many years if I\nhad engaged in public affairs, and, acting as becomes a good man, had\naided the cause of justice, and, as I ought, had deemed this of the\nhighest importance? Far from it, O Athenians! nor would any other man\nhave done so. But I, through the whole of my life, if I have done\nanything in public, shall be found to be a man, and the very same in\nprivate, who has never made a concession to any one contrary to justice,\nneither to any other, nor to any one of these whom my calumniators say\nare my disciples. I, however, was never the preceptor of any one; but if\nany one desired to hear me speaking, and to see me busied about my own\nmission, whether he were young or old, I never refused him. Nor do I\ndiscourse when I receive money, and not when I do not receive any, but I\nallow both rich and poor alike to question me, and, if any one wishes\nit, to answer me and hear what I have to say. And for these, whether any\none proves to be a good man or not, I cannot justly be responsible,\nbecause I never either promised them any instruction or taught them at\nall. But if any one says that he has ever learned or heard anything from\nme in private which all others have not, be well assured that he does\nnot speak the truth.\n\n22. But why do some delight to spend so long a time with me? Ye have\nheard, O Athenians! I have told you the whole truth, that they delight\nto hear those closely questioned who think that they are wise but are\nnot; for this is by no means disagreeable. But this duty, as I say, has\nbeen enjoined me by the deity, by oracles, by dreams, and by every mode\nby which any other divine decree has ever enjoined anything to man to\ndo. These things, O Athenians! are both true, and easily confuted if not\ntrue. For if I am now corrupting some of the youths, and have already\ncorrupted others, it were fitting, surely, that if any of them, having\nbecome advanced in life, had discovered that I gave them bad advice when\nthey were young, they should now rise up against me, accuse me, and have\nme punished; or if they were themselves unwilling to do this, some of\ntheir kindred, their fathers, or brothers, or other relatives, if their\nkinsman have ever sustained any damage from me, should now call it to\nmind. Many of them, however, are here present, whom I see: first, Crito,\nmy contemporary and fellow-burgher, father of this Critobulus; then\nLysanias of Sphettus, father of this \u00c6schines; again, Antiphon of\nCephisus, father of Epigenes. There are those others, too, whose\nbrothers maintained the same intimacy with me, namely, Nicostratus, son\nof Theodotus, brother of Theodotus--Theodotus indeed is dead, so that he\ncould not deprecate his brother's proceedings--and Paralus here, son of\nDemodocus, whose brother was Theages; and Adimantus, son of Ariston,\nwhose brother is this Plato; and \u00c6antodorus, whose brother is this\nApollodorus. I could also mention many others to you, some one of whom\ncertainly Melitus ought to have adduced in his speech as a witness. If,\nhowever, he then forgot to do so, let him now adduce them; I give him\nleave to do so, and let him say it, if he has anything of the kind to\nallege. But, quite contrary to this, you will find, O Athenians! all\nready to assist me, who have corrupted and injured their relatives, as\nMelitus and Anytus say. For those who have been themselves corrupted\nmight perhaps have some reason for assisting me; but those who have not\nbeen corrupted, men now advanced in life, their relatives, what other\nreason can they have for assisting me, except that right and just one,\nthat they know that Melitus speaks falsely, and that I speak the truth.\n\n23. Well, then, Athenians, these are pretty much the things I have to\nsay in my defense, and others perhaps of the same kind. Perhaps,\nhowever, some among you will be indignant on recollecting his own case,\nif he, when engaged in a cause far less than this, implored and besought\nthe judges with many tears, bringing forward his children in order that\nhe might excite their utmost compassion, and many others of his\nrelatives and friends, whereas I do none of these things, although I may\nappear to be incurring the extremity of danger. Perhaps, therefore, some\none, taking notice of this, may become more determined against me, and,\nbeing enraged at this very conduct of mine, may give his vote under the\ninfluence of anger. If, then, any one of you is thus affected--I do not,\nhowever, suppose that there is--but if there should be, I think I may\nreasonably say to him: \"I, too, O best of men, have relatives; for, to\nmake use of that saying of Homer, I am not sprung from an oak, nor from\na rock, but from men, so that I, too, O Athenians! have relatives, and\nthree sons, one now grown up, and two boys: I shall not, however, bring\nany one of them forward and implore you to acquit me.\" Why, then, shall I\nnot do this? Not from contumacy, O Athenians! nor disrespect toward you.\nWhether or not I am undaunted at the prospect of death is another\nquestion; but, out of regard to my own character, and yours, and that of\nthe whole city, it does not appear to me to be honorable that I should\ndo any thing of this kind at my age, and with the reputation I have,\nwhether true or false. For it is commonly agreed that Socrates in some\nrespects excels the generality of men. If, then, those among you who\nappear to excel either in wisdom, or fortitude, or any other virtue\nwhatsoever, should act in such a manner as I have often seen some when\nthey have been brought to trial, it would be shameful, who appearing\nindeed to be something, have conducted themselves in a surprising\nmanner, as thinking they should suffer something dreadful by dying, and\nas if they would be immortal if you did not put them to death. Such men\nappear to me to bring disgrace on the city, so that any stranger might\nsuppose that such of the Athenians as excel in virtue, and whom they\nthemselves choose in preference to themselves for magistracies and other\nhonors, are in no respect superior to women. For these things, O\nAthenians! neither ought we to do who have attained to any height of\nreputation, nor, should we do them, ought you to suffer us; but you\nshould make this manifest, that you will much rather condemn him who\nintroduces these piteous dramas, and makes the city ridiculous, than him\nwho quietly awaits your decision.\n\n24. But, reputation apart, O Athenians! it does not appear to me to be\nright to entreat a judge, or to escape by entreaty; but one ought to\ninform and persuade him. For a judge does not sit for the purpose of\nadministering justice out of favor, but that he may judge rightly, and\nhe is sworn not to show favor to whom he pleases, but that he will\ndecide according to the laws. It is, therefore, right that neither\nshould we accustom you, nor should you accustom yourselves, to violate\nyour oaths; for in so doing neither of us would act righteously. Think\nnot then, O Athenians! that I ought to adopt such a course toward you as\nI neither consider honorable, nor just, nor holy, as well, by Jupiter!\non any other occasion, and now especially when I am accused of impiety\nby this Melitus. For clearly, if I should persuade you, and by my\nentreaties should put a constraint on you who are bound by an oath, I\nshould teach you to think that there are no gods, and in reality, while\nmaking my defense, should accuse myself of not believing in the gods.\nThis, however, is far from being the case; for I believe, O Athenians!\nas none of my accusers do, and I leave it to you and to the deity to\njudge concerning me in such way as will be best both for me and for you.\n\n[Socrates here concludes his defense, and, the votes being taken, he is\ndeclared guilty by a majority of voices. He thereupon resumes his\naddress.]\n\n25. That I should not be grieved, O Athenians! at what has\nhappened--namely, that you have condemned me--as well many other\ncircumstances concur in bringing to pass; and, moreover this, that what\nhas happened has not happened contrary to my expectation; but I much\nrather wonder at the number of votes on either side. For I did not\nexpect that I should be condemned by so small a number, but by a large\nmajority; but now, as it seems, if only three more votes had changed\nsides, I should have been acquitted. So far as Melitus is concerned, as\nit appears to me, I have been already acquitted; and not only have I\nbeen acquitted, but it is clear to every one that had not Anytus and\nLycon come forward to accuse me, he would have been fined a thousand\ndrachmas, for not having obtained a fifth part of the votes.\n\n26. The man, then, awards me the penalty of death. Well. But what shall\nI, on my part, O Athenians! award myself? Is it not clear that it will\nbe such as I deserve? What, then, is that? Do I deserve to suffer, or to\npay a fine? for that I have purposely during my life not remained quiet,\nbut neglecting what most men seek after, money-making, domestic\nconcerns, military command, popular oratory, and, moreover, all the\nmagistracies, conspiracies, and cabals that are met with in the city,\nthinking that I was in reality too upright a man to be safe if I took\npart in such things, I therefore did not apply myself to those pursuits,\nby attending to which I should have been of no service either to you or\nto myself; but in order to confer the greatest benefit on each of you\nprivately, as I affirm, I thereupon applied myself to that object,\nendeavoring to persuade every one of you not to take any care of his own\naffairs before he had taken care of himself in what way he may become\nthe best and wisest, nor of the affairs of the city before he took care\nof the city itself; and that he should attend to other things in the\nsame manner. What treatment, then, do I deserve, seeing I am such a man?\nSome reward, O Athenians! if, at least, I am to be estimated according\nto my real deserts; and, moreover, such a reward as would be suitable to\nme. What, then, is suitable to a poor man, a benefactor, and who has\nneed of leisure in order to give you good advice? There is nothing so\nsuitable, O Athenians! as that such a man should be maintained in the\nPrytaneum, and this much more than if one of you had been victorious at\nthe Olympic games in a horserace, or in the two or four horsed chariot\nrace: for such a one makes you appear to be happy, but I, to be so; and\nhe does not need support, but I do. If, therefore, I must award a\nsentence according to my just deserts, I award this, maintenance in the\nPrytaneum.\n\n27. Perhaps, however, in speaking to you thus, I appear to you to speak\nin the same presumptuous manner as I did respecting commiseration and\nentreaties; but such is not the case, O Athenians! it is rather this: I\nam persuaded that I never designedly injured any man, though I can not\npersuade you of this, for we have conversed with each other but for a\nshort time. For if there were the same law with you as with other men,\nthat in capital cases the trial should list not only one day, but many,\nI think you would be persuaded; but it is not easy in a short time to do\naway with, great calumnies. Being persuaded, then, that I have injured\nno one, I am far from intending to injure myself, and of pronouncing\nagainst myself that I am deserving of punishment, and from awarding\nmyself any thing of the kind. Through fear of what? lest I should\nsuffer that which Melitus awards me, of which I say I know not whether\nit he good or evil? Instead of this, shall I choose what I well know to\nbe evil, and award that? Shall I choose imprisonment? And why should I\nlive in prison, a slave to the established magistracy, the Eleven? Shall\nI choose a fine, and to be imprisoned until I have paid it? But this is\nthe same as that which I just now mentioned, for I have not money to pay\nit. Shall I, then, award myself exile? For perhaps you would consent to\nthis award. I should indeed be very fond of life, O Athenians! if I were\nso devoid of reason as not to be able to reflect that you, who are my\nfellow-citizens, have been unable to endure my manner of life and\ndiscourses, but they have become so burdensome and odious to you that\nyou now seek to be rid of them: others, however, will easily bear them.\nFar from it, O Athenians! A fine life it would be for me at my age to go\nout wandering, and driven from city to city, and so to live. For I well\nknow that, wherever I may go, the youth will listen to me when I speak,\nas they do here. And if I repulse them, they will themselves drive me\nout, persuading the elders; and if I do not repulse them, their fathers\nand kindred will banish me on their account.\n\n28. Perhaps, however, some one will say, Can you not, Socrates, when you\nhave gone from us, live a silent and quiet life? This is the most\ndifficult thing of all to persuade some of you. For if I say that that\nwould be to disobey the deity, and that, therefore, it is impossible for\nme to live quietly, you would not believe me, thinking I spoke\nironically. If, on the other hand, I say that this is the greatest good\nto man, to discourse daily on virtue, and other things which you have\nheard me discussing, examining both myself and others, but that a life\nwithout investigation is not worth living for, still less would you\nbelieve me if I said this. Such, however, is the case, as I affirm, O\nAthenians! though it is not easy to persuade you. And at the same time I\nam not accustomed to think myself deserving of any ill. If, indeed, I\nwere rich, I would amerce myself in such a sum as I should be able to\npay; for then I should have suffered no harm, but now--for I can not,\nunless you are willing to amerce me in such a sum as I am able to pay.\nBut perhaps I could pay you a mina of silver: in that sum, then, I\namerce myself. But Plato here, O Athenians! and Crito Critobulus, and\nApollodorus bid me amerce myself in thirty minae, and they offer to be\nsureties. I amerce myself, then, to you in that sum; and they will be\nsufficient sureties for the money.\n\n[The judges now proceeded to pass the sentence, and condemned Socrates\nto death; whereupon he continued:]\n\n29. For the sake of no long space of time, O Athenians! you will incur\nthe character and reproach at the hands of those who wish to defame the\ncity, of having put that wise man, Socrates, to death. For those who\nwish to defame you will assert that I am wise, though I am not. If,\nthen, you had waited for a short time, this would have happened of its\nown accord; for observe my age, that it is far advanced in life, and\nnear death. But I say this not to you all, but to those only who have\ncondemned me to die. And I say this, too, to the same persons. Perhaps\nyou think, O Athenians! that I have been convicted through the want of\narguments, by which I might have persuaded you, had I thought it right\nto do and say any thing, so that I might escape punishment. Far\notherwise: I have been convicted through want indeed, yet not of\narguments, but of audacity and impudence, and of the inclination to say\nsuch things to you as would have been most agreeable for you to hear,\nhad I lamented and bewailed and done and said many other things\nunworthy of me, as I affirm, but such as you are accustomed to hear from\nothers. But neither did I then think that I ought, for the sake of\navoiding danger, to do any thing unworthy of a freeman, nor do I now\nrepent of having so defended myself; but I should much rather choose to\ndie, having so defended myself, than to live in that way. For neither in\na trial nor in battle is it right that I or any one else should employ\nevery possible means whereby he may avoid death; for in battle it is\nfrequently evident that a man might escape death by laying down his\narms, and throwing himself on the mercy of his pursuers. And there are\nmany other devices in every danger, by which to avoid death, if a man\ndares to do and say every thing. But this is not difficult, O Athenians!\nto escape death; but it is much more difficult to avoid depravity, for\nit runs swifter than death. And now I, being slow and aged, am overtaken\nby the slower of the two; but my accusers, being strong and active, have\nbeen overtaken by the swifter, wickedness. And now I depart, condemned\nby you to death; but they condemned by truth, as guilty of iniquity and\ninjustice: and I abide my sentence, and so do they. These things,\nperhaps, ought so to be, and I think that they are for the best.\n\n30. In the next place, I desire to predict to you who have condemned me,\nwhat will be your fate; for I am now in that condition in which men most\nfrequently prophesy--namely, when they are about to die. I say, then, to\nyou, O Athenians! who have condemned me to death, that immediately after\nmy death a punishment will overtake you, far more severe, by Jupiter!\nthan that which you have inflicted on me. For you have done this,\nthinking you should be freed from the necessity of giving an account of\nyour lives. The very contrary, however, as I affirm, will happen to you.\nYour accusers will be more numerous, whom I have now restrained, though\nyou did not perceive it; and they will be more severe, inasmuch as they\nare younger, and you will be more indignant. For if you think that by\nputting men to death you will restrain any one from upbraiding you\nbecause you do not live well, you are much mistaken; for this method of\nescape is neither possible nor honorable; but that other is most\nhonorable and most easy, not to put a check upon others, but for a man\nto take heed to himself how he may be most perfect. Having predicted\nthus much to those of you who have condemned me, I take my leave of you.\n\n31. But with you who have voted for my acquittal I would gladly hold\nconverse on what has now taken place, while the magistrates are busy,\nand I am not yet carried to the place where I must die. Stay with me,\nthen, so long, O Athenians! for nothing hinders our conversing with each\nother, while we are permitted to do so; for I wish to make known to you,\nas being my friends, the meaning of that which has just now befallen me.\nTo me, then, O my judges! and in calling you judges I call you\nrightly--a strange thing has happened. For the wonted prophetic voice of\nmy guardian deity on every former occasion, even in the most trifling\naffairs, opposed me if I was about to do any thing wrong; but now that\nhas befallen me which ye yourselves behold, and which any one would\nthink, and which is supposed to be the extremity of evil; yet neither\nwhen I departed from home in the morning did the warning of the god\noppose me, nor when I came up here to the place of trial, nor in my\naddress when I was about to say any thing; yet on other occasions it has\nfrequently restrained me in the midst of speaking. But now it has never,\nthroughout this proceeding, opposed me, either in what I did or said.\nWhat, then, do I suppose to be the cause of this? I will tell you: what\nhas befallen me appears to be a blessing; and it is impossible that we\nthink rightly who suppose that death is an evil. A great proof of this\nto me is the fact that it is impossible but that the accustomed signal\nshould have opposed me, unless I had been about to meet with some good.\n\n32. Moreover, we may hence conclude that there is great hope that death\nis a blessing. For to die is one of two things: for either the dead may\nbe annihilated, and have no sensation of any thing whatever; or, as it\nis said, there are a certain change and passage of the soul from one\nplace to another. And if it is a privation of all sensation, as it were\na sleep in which the sleeper has no dream, death would be a wonderful\ngain. For I think that if any one, having selected a night in which he\nslept so soundly as not to have had a dream, and having compared this\nnight with all the other nights and days of his life, should be\nrequired, on consideration, to say how many days and nights he had\npassed better and more pleasantly than this night throughout his life, I\nthink that not only a private person, but even the great king himself,\nwould find them easy to number, in comparison with other days and\nnights. If, therefore, death is a thing of this kind, I say it is a\ngain; for thus all futurity appears to be nothing more than one night.\nBut if, on the other hand, death is a removal from hence to another\nplace, and what is said be true, that all the dead are there, what\ngreater blessing can there be than this, my judges? For if, on arriving\nat Hades, released from these who pretend to be judges, one shall find\nthose who are true judges, and who are said to judge there, Minos and\nRhadamanthus, \u00c6acus and Triptolemus, and such others of the demi-gods as\nwere just during their own life, would this be a sad removal? At what\nprice would you not estimate a conference with Orpheus and Mus\u00e6us,\nHesiod and Homer? I indeed should be willing to die often, if this be\ntrue. For to me the sojourn there would be admirable, when I should meet\nwith Palamedes, and Ajax, son of Telamon, and any other of the ancients\nwho has died by an unjust sentence. The comparing my sufferings with\ntheirs would, I think, be no unpleasing occupation. But the greatest\npleasure would be to spend my time in questioning and examining the\npeople there as I have done those here, and discovering who among them\nis wise, and who fancies himself to be so, but is not. At what price, my\njudges, would not any one estimate the opportunity of questioning him\nwho led that mighty army against Troy, or Ulysses, or Sisyphus, or ten\nthousand others whom one might mention both men and women--with whom to\nconverse and associate, and to question them, would be an inconceivable\nhappiness? Surely for that the judges there do not condemn to death; for\nin other respects those who live there are more happy than those who are\nhere, and are henceforth immortal, if, at least, what is said be true.\n\n33. You, therefore, O my judges! ought to entertain good hopes with\nrespect to death, and to meditate on this one truth, that to a good man\nnothing is evil, neither while living nor when dead, nor are his\nconcerns neglected by the gods. And what has befallen me is not the\neffect of chance; but this is clear to me, that now to die, and be freed\nfrom my cares is better for me On this account the warning in no way\nturned me aside; and I bear no resentment toward those who condemned me,\nor against my accusers, although they did not condemn and accuse me with\nthis intention, but thinking to injure me: in this they deserve to be\nblamed.\n\nThus much, however, I beg of them. Punish my sons when they grow up, O\njudges! paining them as I have pained you, if they appear to you to care\nfor riches or anything else before virtue; and if they think themselves\nto be something when they are nothing, reproach them as I have done you,\nfor not attending to what they ought, and for conceiving themselves to\nbe something when they are worth nothing. If ye do this, both I and my\nsons shall have met with just treatment at your hands.\n\nBut it is now time to depart--for me to die, for you to live. But which\nof us is going to a better state is unknown to every one but God.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n  [1] Aristophanes.\n\n  [2] \"Iliad,\" lib. xviii. ver. 94, etc.\n\n  [3] See the \"Crito,\" sec. 5.\n\n  [4] ouden legei, literally, \"he says nothing:\" on se trompe, ou\n    l'on vous impose, _Cousin_.\n\n  [5] But for the authority of Stallbaum, I should have translated\n    dikanika \"forensic;\" that is, such arguments as an advocate would use\n    in a court of justice.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION TO THE CRITO.\n\n\nIt has been remarked by Stallbaum that Plato had a twofold design in\nthis dialogue--one, and that the primary one, to free Socrates from the\nimputation of having attempted to corrupt the Athenian youth; the other,\nto establish the principle that under all circumstances it is the duty\nof a good citizen to obey the laws of his country. These two points,\nhowever, are so closely interwoven with each other, that the general\nprinciple appears only to be illustrated by the example of Socrates.\n\nCrito was one of those friends of Socrates who had been present at his\ntrial, and had offered to assist in paying a fine, had a fine been\nimposed instead of the sentence of death. He appears to have frequently\nvisited his friend in prison after his condemnation; and now, having\nobtained access to his cell very early in the morning, finds him\ncomposed in a quiet sleep. He brings intelligence that the ship, the\narrival of which would be the signal for his death on the following day,\nis expected to arrive forthwith, and takes occasion to entreat Socrates\nto make his escape, the means of which were already prepared. Socrates\nthereupon, having promised to follow the advice of Crito if, after the\nmatter had been fully discussed, it should appear to be right to do so,\nproposes to consider the duty of a citizen toward his country; and\nhaving established the divine principle that it is wrong to return evil\nfor evil, goes on to show that the obligations of a citizen to his\ncountry are even more binding than those of a child to its parent, or a\nslave to his master, and that therefore it is his duty to obey the\nestablished laws, at whatever cost to himself.\n\nAt length Crito admits that he has no answer to make, and Socrates\nresolves to submit himself to the will of Providence.\n\n\n\n\nCRITO;\nOR,\nTHE DUTY OF A CITIZEN.\n\n\nSOCRATES, CRITO.\n\n_Socr._ Why have you come at this hour, Crito? Is it not very early?\n\n_Cri._ It is.\n\n_Socr._ About what time?\n\n_Cri._ Scarce day-break.\n\n_Socr._ I wonder how the keeper of the prison came to admit you.\n\n_Cri._ He is familiar with me, Socrates, from my having frequently come\nhither; and he is under some obligations to me.\n\n_Socr._ Have you just now come, or some time since?\n\n_Cri._ A considerable time since.\n\n_Socr._ Why, then, did you not wake me at once, instead of sitting down\nby me in silence?\n\n_Cri._ By Jupiter! Socrates, I should not myself like to be so long\nawake, and in such affliction. But I have been for some time wondering\nat you, perceiving how sweetly you slept; and I purposely did not awake\nyou, that you might pass your time as pleasantly as possible. And,\nindeed, I have often before throughout your whole life considered you\nhappy in your disposition, but far more so in the present calamity,\nseeing how easily and meekly you bear it.\n\n_Socr._ However, Crito, it would be disconsonant for a man at my time of\nlife to repine because he must needs die.\n\n_Cri._ But others, Socrates, at your age have been involved in similar\ncalamities, yet their age has not hindered their repining at their\npresent fortune.\n\n_Socr._ So it is. But why did you come so early?\n\n_Cri._ Bringing sad tidings, Socrates, not sad to you, as it appears,\nbut to me, and all your friends, sad and heavy, and which I, I think,\nshall bear worst of all.\n\n_Socr._ What tidings? Has the ship[6] arrived from Delos, on the arrival\nof which I must die?\n\n_Cri._ It has not yet arrived, but it appears to me that it will come\nto-day, from what certain persons report who have come from Sunium,[7]\nand left it there. It is clear, therefore, from these messengers, that\nit will come to day, and consequently it will be necessary, Socrates,\nfor you to die to-morrow.\n\n2. _Socr._ But with good fortune, Crito, and if so it please the gods,\nso be it. I do not think, however, that it will come to day.\n\n_Cri._ Whence do you form this conjecture?\n\n_Socr._ I will tell you. I must die on the day after that on which the\nship arrives.\n\n_Cri._ So they say[8] who have the control of these things.\n\n_Socr._ I do not think, then, that it will come to-day, but to-morrow. I\nconjecture this from a dream which I had this very night, not long ago,\nand you seem very opportunely to have refrained from waking me.\n\n_Cri._ But what was this dream?\n\n_Socr._ A beautiful and majestic woman, clad in white garments seemed to\napproach me, and to call to me and say, \"Socrates, three days hence you\nwill reach fertile Pythia\"[9].\n\n_Cri._ What a strange dream, Socrates!\n\n_Socr._ Very clear, however, as it appears to me, Crito.\n\n3. _Cri._ Very much so, as it seems. But, my dear Socrates, even now be\npersuaded by me, and save yourself. For if you die, not only a single\ncalamity will befall me, but, besides being deprived of such a friend as\nI shall never meet with again, I shall also appear to many who do not\nknow you and me well, when I might have saved you had I been willing to\nspend my money, to have neglected to do so. And what character can be\nmore disgraceful than this--to appear to value one's riches more than\none's friends? For the generality of men will not be persuaded that you\nwere unwilling to depart hence, when we urged you to it.\n\n_Socr._ But why, my dear Crito, should we care so much for the opinion\nof the many? For the most worthy men, whom we ought rather to regard,\nwill think that matters have transpired as they really have.\n\n_Cri._ Yet you see, Socrates, that it is necessary to attend to the\nopinion of the many. For the very circumstances of the present case show\nthat the multitude are able to effect not only the smallest evils, but\neven the greatest, if any one is calumniated to them.\n\n_Socr._ Would, O Crito that the multitude could effect the greatest\nevils, that they might also effect the greatest good, for then it would\nbe well. But now they can do neither; for they can make a man neither\nwise nor foolish; but they do whatever chances.\n\n4. _Cri._ So let it be, then. But answer me this, Socrates: are you not\nanxious for me and other friends, lest, if you should escape from hence,\ninformers should give us trouble, as having secretly carried you off,\nand so we should be compelled either to lose all our property, or a very\nlarge sum, or to suffer something else besides this? For, if you fear\nany thing of the kind, dismiss your fears; for we are justified in\nrunning the risk to save you--and, if need be, even a greater risk than\nthis. But be persuaded by me, and do not refuse.\n\n_Socr._ I am anxious about this, Crito, and about many other things.\n\n_Cri._ Do not fear this, however; for the sum is not large on receipt of\nwhich certain persons are willing to save you, and take you hence. In\nthe next place, do you not see how cheap these informers are, so that\nthere would be no need of a large sum for them? My fortune is at your\nservice, sufficient, I think, for the purpose; then if, out of regard to\nme, you do not think right to spend my money, these strangers here are\nready to spend theirs. One of them, Simmias the Theban, has brought with\nhim a sufficient sum for the very purpose. Cebes, too, is ready, and\nvery many others. So that, as I said, do not, through fears of this\nkind, hesitate to save yourself, nor let what you said in court give you\nany trouble, that if you went from hence you would not know what to do\nwith yourself. For in many places, and wherever you go, men will love\nyou; and if you are disposed to go to Thessaly, I have friends there who\nwill esteem you very highly, and will insure your safety, so that no one\nin Thessaly will molest you.\n\n5. Moreover, Socrates, you do not appear to me to pursue a just course\nin giving yourself up when you might be saved; and you press on the very\nresults with respect to yourself which your enemies would press, and\nhave pressed, in their anxiety to destroy you. Besides this, too, you\nappear to me to betray your own sons, whom, when it is in your power to\nrear and educate them, you will abandon, and, so far as you are\nconcerned, they will meet with such a fate as chance brings them, and,\nas is probable, they will meet with such things as orphans are wont to\nexperience in a state of orphanage. Surely one ought not to have\nchildren, or one should go through the toil of rearing and instructing\nthem. But you appear to me to have chosen the most indolent course;\nthough you ought to have chosen such a course as a good and brave man\nwould have done, since you profess to have made virtue your study\nthrough the whole of your life; so that I am ashamed both for you and\nfor us who are your friends, lest this whole affair of yours should seem\nto be the effect of cowardice on our part--your appearing to stand your\ntrial in the court, since you appeared when it was in your power not to\nhave done so, the very manner in which the trial was conducted, and this\nlast circumstance, as it were, a ridiculous consummation of the whole\nbusiness; your appearing to have escaped from us through our indolence\nand cowardice, who did not save you; nor did you save yourself, when it\nwas practicable and possible, had we but exerted ourselves a little.\nThink of these things, therefore, Socrates, and beware, lest, besides\nthe evil _that will result_, they be disgraceful both to you and to us;\nadvise, then, with yourself; though, indeed, there is no longer time for\nadvising--your resolve should be already made. And there is but one\nplan; for in the following night the whole must be accomplished. If we\ndelay, it will be impossible and no longer practicable. By all means,\ntherefore, Socrates, be persuaded by me, and on no account refuse.\n\n6. _Socr._ My dear Crito, your zeal would be very commendable were it\nunited with right principle; otherwise, by how much the more earnest it\nis, by so much is it the more sad. We must consider, therefore, whether\nthis plan should be adopted or not. For I not now only, but always, am a\nperson who will obey nothing within me but reason, according as it\nappears to me on mature deliberation to be best. And the reasons which I\nformerly professed I can not now reject, because this misfortune has\nbefallen me; but they appear to me in much the same light, and I respect\nand honor them as before; so that if we are unable to adduce any better\nat the present time, be assured that I shall not give in to you, even\nthough the power of the multitude should endeavor to terrify us like\nchildren, by threatening more than it does now, bonds and death, and\nconfiscation of property. How, therefore, may we consider the matter\nmost conveniently? First of all, if we recur to the argument which you\nused about opinions, whether on former occasions it was rightly resolved\nor not, that we ought to pay attention to some opinions, and to others\nnot; or whether, before it was necessary that I should die, it was\nrightly resolved; but now it has become clear that it was said idly for\nargument's sake, though in reality it was merely jest and trifling. I\ndesire then, Crito, to consider, in common with you, whether it will\nappear to me in a different light, now that I am in this condition, or\nthe same, and whether we shall give it up or yield to it. It was said, I\nthink, on former occasions, by those who were thought to speak\nseriously, as I just now observed, that of the opinions which men\nentertain some should be very highly esteemed and others not. By the\ngods! Crito, does not this appear to you to be well said? For you, in\nall human probability, are out of all danger of dying to-morrow, and the\npresent calamity will not lead your judgment astray. Consider, then;\ndoes it not appear to you to have been rightly settled that we ought not\nto respect all the opinions of men, but some we should, and others not?\nNor yet the opinions of all men, but of some we should, and of others\nnot? What say you? Is not this rightly resolved?\n\n_Cri._ It is.\n\n_Socr._ Therefore we should respect the good, but not the bad?\n\n_Cri._ Yes.\n\n_Socr._ And are not the good those of the wise, and the bad those of the\nfoolish?\n\n_Cri._ How can it be otherwise?\n\n7. _Socr._ Come, then: how, again, were the following points settled?\nDoes a man who practices gymnastic exercises and applies himself to\nthem, pay attention to the praise and censure and opinion of every one,\nor of that one man only who happens to be a physician, or teacher of the\nexercises?\n\n_Cri._ Of that one only.\n\n_Socr._ He ought, therefore, to fear the censures and covet the praises\nof that one, but not those of the multitude.\n\n_Cri._ Clearly.\n\n_Socr._ He ought, therefore, so to practice and exercise himself, and to\neat and drink, as seems fitting to the one who presides and knows,\nrather than to all others together.\n\n_Cri._ It is so.\n\n_Socr._ Well, then, if he disobeys the one, and disregards his opinion\nand praise, but respects that of the multitude and of those who know\nnothing, will he not suffer some evil?\n\n_Cri._ How should he not?\n\n_Socr._ But what is this evil? Whither does it tend, and on what part\nof him that disobeys will it fall?\n\n_Cri._ Clearly on his body, for this it ruins.\n\n_Socr._ You say well. The case is the same, too, Crito, with all other\nthings, not to go through them all. With respect then, to things just\nand unjust, base and honorable, good and evil, about which we are now\nconsulting, ought we to follow the opinion of the multitude, and to\nrespect it, or that of one, if there is any one who understands, whom we\nought to reverence and respect rather than all others together? And if\nwe do not obey him, shall we not corrupt and injure that part of\nourselves which becomes better by justice, but is ruined by injustice?\nOr is this nothing?\n\n_Cri._ I agree with you, Socrates.\n\n8. _Socr._ Come, then, if we destroy that which becomes better by what\nis wholesome, but is impaired by what is unwholesome, through being\npersuaded by those who do not understand, can we enjoy life when that is\nimpaired? And this is the body we are speaking of, is it not?\n\n_Cri._ Yes.\n\n_Socr._ Can we, then, enjoy life with a diseased and impaired body?\n\n_Cri._ By no means.\n\n_Socr._ But can we enjoy life when that is impaired which injustice\nruins but justice benefits? Or do we think that to be of less value than\nthe body, whatever part of us it may be, about which injustice and\njustice are concerned'\n\n_Cri._ By no means.\n\n_Socr._ But of more value?\n\n_Cri._ Much more.\n\n_Socr._ We must not then, my excellent friend, so much regard what the\nmultitude will say of us, but what he will say who understands the just\nand the unjust, the one, even truth itself. So that at first you did\nnot set out with a right principle, when you laid it down that we ought\nto regard the opinion of the multitude with respect to things just and\nhonorable and good, and their contraries. How ever, some one may say,\nare not the multitude able to put us to death?\n\n_Cri._ This, too, is clear, Socrates, any one might say so.\n\n_Socr._ You say truly. But, my admirable friend, this principle which we\nhave just discussed appears to me to be the same as it was before[10].\nAnd consider this, moreover, whether it still holds good with us or not,\nthat we are not to be anxious about living but about living well.\n\n_Cri._ It does hold good.\n\n_Socr._ And does this hold good or not, that to live well and Honorable\nand justly are the same thing?\n\n_Cri._ It does.\n\n9. _Socr._ From what has been admitted, then, this consideration arises,\nwhether it is just or not that I should endeavor to leave this place\nwithout the permission of the Athenians. And should it appear to be\njust, we will make the attempt, but if not, we will give it up. But as\nto the considerations which you mention, of an outlay of money,\nreputation, and the education of children, beware, Crito, lest such\nconsiderations as these in reality belong to these multitudes, who\nrashly put one to death, and would restore one to life, if they could do\nso, without any reason at all. But we, since reason so requires, must\nconsider nothing else than what we just now mentioned, whether we shall\nact justly in paying money and contracting obligations to those who\nwill lead me hence, as well they who lead me as we who are led hence, or\nwhether, in truth, we shall not act unjustly in doing all these things.\nAnd if we should appear in so doing to be acting unjustly, observe that\nwe must not consider whether from remaining here and continuing quiet we\nmust needs die, or suffer any thing else, rather than whether we shall\nbe acting unjustly.\n\n_Cri._ You appear to me to speak wisely, Socrates, but see what we are\nto do.\n\n_Socr._ Let us consider the matter together, my friend, and if you have\nany thing to object to what I say, make good your objection, and I will\nyield to you, but if not, cease, my excellent friend, to urge upon me\nthe same thing so often, that I ought to depart hence against the will\nof the Athenians. For I highly esteem your endeavors to persuade me thus\nto act, so long as it is not against my will Consider, then, the\nbeginning of our inquiry, whether it is stated to your entire\nsatisfaction, and endeavor to answer the question put to you exactly as\nyou think right.\n\n_Cri._ I will endeavor to do so.\n\n10. _Socr._ Say we, then, that we should on no account deliberately\ncommit injustice, or may we commit injustice under certain\ncircumstances, under others not? Or is it on no account either good or\nhonorable to commit injustice, as we have often agreed on former\noccasions, and as we just now said? Or have all those our former\nadmissions been dissipated in these few days, and have we, Crito, old\nmen as we are, been for a long time seriously conversing with each other\nwithout knowing that we in no respect differ from children? Or does the\ncase, beyond all question, stand as we then determined? Whether the\nmultitude allow it or not, and whether we must suffer a more severe or a\nmilder punishment than this, still is injustice on every account both\nevil and disgraceful to him who commits it? Do we admit this, or not?\n\n_Cri._ We do admit it.\n\n_Socr._ On no account, therefore, ought we to act unjustly.\n\n_Cri._ Surely not.\n\n_Socr._ Neither ought one who is injured to return the injury, as the\nmultitude think, since it is on no account right to act unjustly.\n\n_Cri._ It appears not.\n\n_Socr._ What, then? Is it right to do evil, Crito, or not?\n\n_Cri._ Surely it is not right, Socrates.\n\n_Socr._ But what? To do evil in return when one has been evil-entreated,\nis that right, or not?\n\n_Cri._ By no means.\n\n_Socr._ For to do evil to men differs in no respect from committing\ninjustice.\n\n_Cri._ You say truly.\n\n_Socr._ It is not right, therefore, to return an injury, or to do evil\nto any man, however one may have suffered from him. But take care,\nCrito, that in allowing these things you do not allow them contrary to\nyour opinion, for I know that to some few only these things both do\nappear, and will appear, to be true. They, then, to whom these things\nappear true, and they to whom they do not, have no sentiment in common,\nand must needs despise each other, while they look to each other's\nopinions. Consider well, then, whether you coincide and think with me,\nand whether we can begin our deliberations from this point--that it is\nnever right either to do an injury or to return an injury, or when one\nhas been evil-entreated, to revenge one's self by doing evil in return,\nor do you dissent from, and not coincide in this principle? For so it\nappears to me, both long since and now, but if you in any respect think\notherwise, say so and inform me. But if you persist in your former\nopinions, hear what follows.\n\n_Cri._ I do persist in them, and think with you. Speak on, then.\n\n_Socr._ I say next, then, or rather I ask; whether when a man has\npromised to do things that are just he ought to do them, or evade his\npromise?\n\n_Cri._ He ought to do them.\n\n11. _Socr._ Observe, then, what follows. By departing hence without the\nleave of the city, are we not doing evil to some, and that to those to\nwhom we ought least of all to do it, or not? And do we abide by what we\nagreed on as being just, or do we not?\n\n_Cri._ I am unable to answer your question, Socrates; for I do not\nunderstand it.\n\n_Socr._ Then, consider it thus. If, while we were preparing to run away,\nor by whatever name we should call it, the laws and commonwealth should\ncome, and, presenting themselves before us, should say, \"Tell me,\nSocrates, what do you purpose doing? Do you design any thing else by\nthis proceeding in which you are engaged than to destroy us, the laws,\nand the whole city, so far as you are able? Or do you think it possible\nfor that city any longer to subsist, and not be subverted, in which\njudgments that are passed have no force, but are set aside and destroyed\nby private persons?\"--what should we say, Crito, to these and similar\nremonstrances? For any one, especially an orator, would have much to say\non the violation of the law, which enjoins that judgments passed shall\nbe enforced. Shall we say to them that the city has done us an\ninjustice, and not passed a right sentence? Shall we say this, or what\nelse?\n\n_Cri._ This, by Jupiter! Socrates.\n\n12. _Socr._ What, then, if the laws should say, \"Socrates, was it not\nagreed between us that you should abide by the judgments which the city\nshould pronounce?\" And if we should wonder at their speaking thus,\nperhaps they would say, \"Wonder not, Socrates, at what we say, but\nanswer, since you are accustomed to make use of questions and answers.\nFor, come, what charge have you against us and the city, that you\nattempt to destroy us? Did we not first give you being? and did not your\nfather, through us, take your mother to wife and beget you? Say, then,\ndo you find fault with those laws among us that relate to marriage as\nbeing bad?\" I should say, \"I do not find fault with them.\" \"Do you with\nthose that relate to your nurture when born, and the education with\nwhich you were instructed? Or did not the laws, ordained on this point,\nenjoin rightly, in requiring your father to instruct you in music and\ngymnastic exercises?\" I should say, rightly. Well, then, since you were\nborn, nurtured, and educated through our means, can you say, first of\nall, that you are not both our offspring and our slave, as well you as\nyour ancestors? And if this be so, do you think that there are equal\nrights between us? and whatever we attempt to do to you, do you think\nyou may justly do to us in turn? Or had you not equal rights with your\nfather, or master, if you happened to have one, so as to return what you\nsuffered, neither to retort when found fault with, nor, when stricken,\nto strike again, nor many other things of the kind; but that with your\ncountry and the laws you may do so; so that if we attempt to destroy\nyou, thinking it to be just, you also should endeavor, so far as you are\nable, in return, to destroy us, the laws, and your country; and in doing\nthis will you say that you act justly--you who, in reality, make virtue\nyour chief object? Or are you so wise as not to know that one's country\nis more honorable, venerable, and sacred, and more highly prized both by\ngods, and men possessed of understanding, than mother and father, and\nall other progenitors; and that one ought to reverence, submit to, and\nappease one's country, when angry, rather than one's father; and either\npersuade it or do what it orders, and to suffer quietly if it bids one\nsuffer, whether to be beaten, or put in bonds; or if it sends one out to\nbattle there to be wounded or slain, this must be done; for justice so\nrequires, and one must not give way, or retreat, or leave one's post;\nbut that both in war and in a court of justice, and everywhere one must\ndo what one's city and country enjoin, or persuade it in such manner as\njustice allows; but that to offer violence either to one's mother or\nfather is not holy, much less to one's country? What shall we say to\nthese things, Crito? That the laws speak the truth, or not?\n\n_Cri._ It seems so to me.\n\n13. _Socr._ \"Consider, then, Socrates,\" the laws perhaps might say,\n\"whether we say truly that in what you are now attempting you are\nattempting to do what is not just toward us. For we, having given you\nbirth, nurtured, instructed you, and having imparted to you and all\nother citizens all the good in our power, still proclaim, by giving the\npower to every Athenian who pleases, when he has arrived at years of\ndiscretion, and become acquainted with the business of the state, and\nus, the laws, that any one who is not satisfied with us may take his\nproperty, and go wherever he pleases. And if any one of you wishes to go\nto a colony, if he is not satisfied with us and the city, or to migrate\nand settle in another country, none of us, the laws, hinder or forbid\nhim going whithersoever he pleases, taking with him all his property.\nBut whoever continues with us after he has seen the manner in which we\nadminister justice, and in other respects govern the city, we now say\nthat he has in fact entered into a compact with us to do what we order;\nand we affirm that he who does not obey is in three respects guilty of\ninjustice--because he does not obey us who gave him being, and because\nhe does not obey us who nurtured him, and because, having made a compact\nthat he would obey us, he neither does so, nor does he persuade us if we\ndo any thing wrongly; though we propose for his consideration, and do\nnot rigidly command him to do what we order, but leave him the choice of\none of two things, either to persuade us, or to do what we require, and\nyet he does neither of these.\"\n\n14. \"And we say that you, O Socrates! will be subject to these charges\nif you accomplish your design, and that not least of the Athenians, but\nmost so of all.\" And if I should ask, \"For what reason?\" they would\nprobably justly retort on me by saying that, among all the Athenians, I\nespecially made this compact with them. For they would say, \"Socrates,\nwe have strong proof of this, that you were satisfied both with us and\nthe city; for, of all the Athenians, you especially would never have\ndwelt in it if it had not been especially agreeable to you; for you\nnever went out of the city to any of the public spectacles, except once\nto the Isthmian games, nor anywhere else, except on military service,\nnor have you ever gone abroad as other men do, nor had you ever had any\ndesire to become acquainted with any other city or other laws, but we\nand our city were sufficient for you; so strongly were you attached to\nus, and so far did you consent to submit to our government, both in\nother respects and in begetting children in this city, in consequence of\nyour being satisfied with it. Moreover, in your very trial, it was in\nyour power to have imposed on yourself a sentence of exile, if you\npleased, and might then have done, with the consent of the city, what\nyou now attempt against its consent. Then, indeed, you boasted yourself\nas not being grieved if you must needs die; but you preferred, as you\nsaid, death to exile. Now, however, you are neither ashamed of those\nprofessions, nor do you revere us, the laws, since you endeavor to\ndestroy us, and you act as the vilest slave would act, by endeavoring to\nmake your escape contrary to the conventions and the compacts by which\nyou engaged to submit to our government. First, then, therefore, answer\nus this, whether we speak the truth or not in affirming that you agreed\nto be governed by us in deed, though not in word?\" What shall we say to\nthis, Crito? Can we do otherwise than assent?\n\n_Cri._ We must needs do so, Socrates.\n\n_Socr._ \"What else, then,\" they will say, \"are you doing but violating\nthe conventions and compacts which you made with us, though you did not\nenter into them from compulsion or through deception, or from being\ncompelled to determine in a short time but during the space of seventy\nyears, in which you might have departed if you had been dissatisfied\nwith us, and the compacts had not appeared to you to be just? You,\nhowever, preferred neither Laced\u00e6mon nor Crete, which you several times\nsaid are governed by good laws, nor any other of the Grecian or\nbarbarian cities; but you have been less out of Athens than the lame and\nthe blind, and other maimed persons. So much, it is evident, were you\nsatisfied with the city and us, the laws, beyond the rest of the\nAthenians; for who can be satisfied with a city without laws? But now\nwill you not abide by your compacts? You will, if you are persuaded by\nus, Socrates, and will not make yourself ridiculous by leaving the\ncity.\"\n\n15. \"For consider, by violating these compacts and offending against any\nof them, what good you will do to yourself or your friends. For that\nyour friends will run the risk of being themselves banished, and\ndeprived of the rights of citizenship, or of forfeiting their property,\nis pretty clear. And as for yourself, if you should go to one of the\nneighboring cities, either Thebes or Megara, for both are governed by\ngood laws, you will go there, Socrates, as an enemy to their polity; and\nsuch as have any regard for their country will look upon you with\nsuspicion, regarding you as a corrupter of the laws; and you will\nconfirm the opinion of the judges, so that they will appear to have\ncondemned you rightly, for whose is a corrupter of the laws will appear\nin all likelihood to be a corrupter of youths and weak-minded men. Will\nyou, then, avoid these well-governed cities, and the best-ordered men?\nAnd should you do so, will it be worth your while to live? Or will you\napproach them, and have the effrontery to converse with them, Socrates,\non subjects the same as you did here--that virtue and justice, legal\ninstitutions and laws, should be most highly valued by men? And do you\nnot think that this conduct of Socrates would be very indecorous? You\nmust think so. But you will keep clear of these places, and go to\nThessaly, to Crito's friends, for there are the greatest disorder and\nlicentiousness; and perhaps they will gladly hear you relating how\ndrolly you escaped from prison, clad in some dress or covered with a\nskin, or in some other disguise such as fugitives are wont to dress\nthemselves in, having so changed your usual appearance. And will no one\nsay that you, though an old man, with but a short time to live, in all\nprobability, have dared to have such a base desire of life as to violate\nthe most sacred laws? Perhaps not, should you not offend any one. But if\nyou should, you will hear, Socrates, many things utterly unworthy of\nyou. You will live, too, in a state of abject dependence on all men,\nand as their slave. But what will you do in Thessaly besides feasting,\nas if you had gone to Thessaly to a banquet? And what will become of\nthose discourses about justice and all other virtues? But do you wish to\nlive for the sake of your children, that you may rear and educate them?\nWhat then? Will you take them to Thessaly, and there rear and educate\nthem, making them aliens to their country, that they may owe you this\nobligation too? Or, if not so, being reared here, will they be better\nreared and educated while you are living, though not with them, for your\nfriends will take care of them? Whether, if you go to Thessaly, will\nthey take care of them, but if you go to Hades will they not take care\nof them? If, however, any advantage is to be derived from those that say\nthey are your friends, we must think they will.\"\n\n16. \"Then, O Socrates! be persuaded by us who have nurtured you, and do\nnot set a higher value on your children, or on life, or on any thing\nelse than justice, that, when you arrive in Hades, you may have all this\nto say in your defense before those who have dominion there. For neither\nhere in this life, if you do what is proposed, does it appear to be\nbetter, or more just, or more holy to yourself, or any of your friends;\nnor will it be better for you when you arrive there. But now you depart,\nif you do depart, unjustly treated, not by us, the laws, but by men; but\nshould you escape, having thus disgracefully returned injury for injury,\nand evil for evil, having violated your own compacts and conventions\nwhich you made with us, and having done evil to those to whom you least\nof all should have done it--namely, yourself, your friends, your\ncountry, and us--both we shall be indignant with you as long as you\nlive, and there our brothers, the laws in Hades, will not receive you\nfavorably knowing that you attempted, so far as you were able, to\ndestroy us. Let not Crito, then, persuade you to do what he advises,\nrather than we.\"\n\n17. These things, my dear friend Crito, be assured, I seem to hear as\nthe votaries of Cybele[11] seem to hear the flutes. And the sound of\nthese words booms in my ear, and makes me incapable of hearing any thing\nelse. Be sure, then, so long as I retain my present opinions, if you\nshould say any thing contrary to these, you will speak in vain. If,\nhowever, you think that you can prevail at all, say on.\n\n_Cri._ But, Socrates, I have nothing to say.\n\n_Socr._ Desist, then, Crito, and let us pursue this course, since this\nway the deity leads us.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n  [6] See the Ph\u00e6do sec 1.\n\n  [7] A promontory at the southern extremity of Attica\n\n  [8] The Eleven\n\n  [9] See Homer's \"Iliad,\" 1 IX, v 363\n\n  [10] That is to say, the principle which we had laid down in former\n    discussions that no regard is to be had to popular opinion, is still\n    found to hold good.\n\n  [11] The Corybantes, priests of Cybele, who in their solemn festivals\n    made such a noise with flutes that the hearers could hear no other\n    sound.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION TO THE PH\u00c6DO.\n\n\nThis dialogue presents us with an account of the manner In which\nSocrates spent the last day of his, life, and how he met his death. The\nmain subject is that of the soul's immortality, which Socrates takes\nupon himself to prove with as much certainty as it is possible for the\nhuman mind to arrive at. The question itself, though none could be\nbetter suited to the occasion, arises simply and naturally from the\ngeneral conversation that precedes it.\n\nWhen his friends visit him in the morning for the purpose of spending\nthis his last day with him, they find him sitting up in bed, and rubbing\nhis leg, which had just been freed from bonds. He remarks on the\nunaccountable alternation and connection between pleasure and pain, and\nadds that \u00c6sop, had he observed it, would have made a fable from it.\nThis remark reminds Cebes of Socrates's having put some of \u00c6sop's fables\ninto metre since his imprisonment, and he asks, for the satisfaction of\nthe poet Evenus, what has induced him to do so. Socrates explains his\nreason, and concludes by bidding him tell Evenus to follow him as soon\nas he can. Simmias expresses his surprise at this message, on which\nSocrates asks, \"Is not Evenus a philosopher?\" and on the question being\nanswered in the affirmative, he says that he or any philosopher would be\nwilling to die, though perhaps he would not commit violence on himself.\nThis, again, seems a contradiction to Simmias; but Socrates explains it\nby showing that our souls are placed in the body by God, and may not\nleave it without his permission. Whereupon Cebes objects that in that\ncase foolish men only would wish to die, and quit the service of the\nbest of masters, to which Simmias agrees. Socrates, therefore, proposes\nto plead his cause before them, and to show that there is a great\nprobability that after this life he shall go into the presence of God\nand good men, and be happy in proportion to the purity of his own mind.\n\nHe begins[12] by stating that philosophy itself is nothing else than a\npreparation for and meditation on death. Death and philosophy have this\nin common: death separates the soul from the body; philosophy draws off\nthe mind from bodily things to the contemplation of truth and virtue:\nfor he is not a true philosopher who is led away by bodily pleasures,\nsince the senses are the source of ignorance and all evil. The mind,\ntherefore, is entirely occupied in meditating on death, and freeing\nitself as much as possible from the body. How, then, can such a man be\nafraid of death? He who grieves at the approach of death can not be a\ntrue lover of wisdom, but is a lover of his body. And, indeed, most men\nare temperate through intemperance; that is to say, they abstain from\nsome pleasures that they may the more easily and permanently enjoy\nothers. They embrace only a shadow of virtue, not virtue itself, since\nthey estimate the value of all things by the pleasures they afford.\nWhereas the philosopher purifies his mind from all such things, and\npursues virtue and wisdom for their own sakes. This course Socrates\nhimself has pursued to the utmost of his ability, with what success he\nshould shortly know; and on these grounds he did not repine at leaving\nhis friends in this world, being persuaded that in another he should\nmeet with good masters and good friends.\n\nUpon this Cebes[13] says that he agrees with all else that had been\nsaid, but can not help entertaining doubts of what will become of the\nsoul when separated from the body, for the common opinion is that it is\ndispersed and vanishes like breath or smoke, and no longer exists\nanywhere. Socrates, therefore, proposes to inquire into the probability\nof the case, a fit employment for him under his present circumstances.\n\nHis first argument[14] is drawn from the ancient belief prevalent among\nmen, that souls departing hence exist in Hades, and are produced again\nfrom the dead. If this be true, it must follow that our souls are there,\nfor they could not be produced again if they did not exist; and its\ntruth is confirmed by this, that it is a general law of nature that\ncontraries are produced from contraries--the greater from the less,\nstrong from weak, slow from swift, heat from cold, and in like manner\nlife from death, and vice versa. To explain this more clearly, he\nproceeds to show that what is changed passes from one state to another,\nand so undergoes three different states--first, the actual state; then\nthe transition; and, thirdly, the new state; as from a state of sleep,\nby awaking to being awake. In like manner birth is a transition from a\nstate of death to life, and dying from life to death; so that the soul,\nby the act of dying, only passes to another state. If it were not so,\nall nature would in time become dead, just as if people did not awake\nout of sleep all would at last be buried in eternal sleep. Whence the\nconclusion is that the souls of men are not annihilated by death.\n\nCebes[15] agrees to this reasoning, and adds that he is further\nconvinced, of its truth by calling to mind an argument used by Socrates\non former occasions, that knowledge is nothing but reminiscence; and if\nthis is so, the soul must have existed, and had knowledge, before it\nbecame united to the body.\n\nBut in case Simmias should not yet be satisfied, Socrates[16] proceeds\nto enlarge on this, his second argument, drawn from reminiscence. We\ndaily find that we are carried from the knowledge of one thing to\nanother. Things perceived by the eyes, ears, and other senses bring up\nthe thought of other things; thus the sight of a lyre or a garment\nreminds us of a friend, and not only are we thus reminded of sensible\nobjects, but of things which are comprehended by the mind alone, and\nhave no sensitive existence. For we have formed in our minds an idea of\nabstract equality, of the beautiful, the just, the good; in short, of\nevery thing which we say exists without the aid of the senses, for we\nuse them only in the perception of individual things; whence it follows\nthat the mind did not acquire this knowledge in this life, but must have\nhad it before, and therefore the soul must have existed before.\n\nSimmias and Cebes[17] both agree in admitting that Socrates has proved\nthe pre-existence of the soul, but insist that he has not shown it to be\nimmortal, for that nothing hinders but that, according to the popular\nopinion, it may be dispersed at the dissolution of the body. To which\nSocrates replies, that if their former admissions are joined to his last\nargument, the immortality, as well as the pre-existence, of the soul has\nbeen sufficiently proved. For if it is true that any thing living is\nproduced from that which is dead, then the soul must exist after death,\notherwise it could not be produced again.\n\nHowever, to remove the apprehension that the soul may be dispersed by a\nwind, as it were, Socrates proceeds, in his third argument,[18] to\nexamine that doubt more thoroughly. What, then, is meant by being\ndispersed but being dissolved into its parts? In order, therefore, to a\nthing being capable of dispersion it must be compounded of parts. Now,\nthere are two kinds of things--one compounded, the other simple The\nformer kind is subject to change, the latter not, and can be\ncomprehended by the mind alone. The one is visible, the other invisible;\nand the soul, which is invisible, when it employs the bodily senses,\nwanders and is confused, but when it abstracts itself from the body it\nattains to the knowledge of that which is eternal, immortal, and\nunchangeable. The soul, therefore, being uncompounded and invisible,\nmust be indissoluble; that is to say, immortal.\n\nStill Simmias and Cebes[19] are unconvinced. The former objects that the\nsoul, according to Socrates's own showing, is nothing but a harmony\nresulting from a combination of the parts of the body, and so may perish\nwith the body, as the harmony of a lyre does when the lyre itself is\nbroken. And Cebes, though he admits that the soul is more durable than\nthe body, yet objects that it is not, therefore, of necessity immortal,\nbut may in time wear out; and it is by no means clear that this is not\nits last period.\n\nThese objections produce a powerful effect on the rest of the company;\nbut Socrates, undismayed, exhorts them not to suffer themselves to be\ndeterred from seeking the truth by any difficulties they may meet with;\nand then proceeds[20] to show, in a moment, the fallacy of Simmias's\nobjection. It was before admitted, he says, that the soul existed before\nthe body; but harmony is produced after the lyre is formed, so that the\ntwo cases are totally different. And, further, there are various degrees\nof harmony, but every soul is as much a soul as any other. But, then,\nwhat will a person who holds this doctrine, that the soul is harmony,\nsay of virtue and vice in the soul? Will he call them another kind of\nharmony and discord? If so, he will contradict himself; for it is\nadmitted that one soul is not more or less a soul than another, and\ntherefore one can not he more or less harmonized than another, and one\ncould not admit of a greater degree of virtue or vice than another; and\nindeed a soul, being harmony, could not partake of vice at all, which is\ndiscord.\n\nSocrates, having thus satisfactorily answered the argument adduced by\nSimmias, goes on to rebut that of Cebes,[21] who objected that the soul\nmight in time wear out. In order to do this, he relates that, when a\nyoung man, he attempted to investigate the causes of all things, why\nthey exist and why they perish; and in the course of his researches,\nfinding the futility of attributing the existence of things to what are\ncalled natural causes, he resolved on endeavoring to find out the\nreasons of things. He therefore assumed that there are a certain\nabstract beauty and goodness and magnitude, and so of all other things;\nthe truth of which being granted, he thinks he shall be able to prove\nthat the soul is immortal.\n\nThis, then, being conceded by Cebes, Socrates[22] argues that every\nthing that is beautiful is so from partaking of abstract beauty, and\ngreat from partaking of magnitude, and little from partaking of\nlittleness. Now, it is impossible, he argues, that contraries can exist\nin the same thing at the same time; for instance, the same thing can not\npossess both magnitude and littleness, but one will withdraw at the\napproach of the other; and not only so, but things which, though not\ncontrary to each other, yet always contain contraries within themselves,\ncan not co-exist; for instance, the number three has no contrary, yet\nit contains within itself the idea of odd, which is the contrary of\neven, and so three never can become even; in like manner, heat while it\nis heat can never admit the idea of its contrary, cold. Now, if this\nmethod of reasoning is applied to the soul, it will be found to be\nimmortal; for life and death are contraries, and never can co-exist; but\nwherever the soul is, there is life: so that it contains within itself\nthat which is contrary to death, and consequently can never admit of\ndeath; therefore it is immortal.\n\nWith this he closes his arguments in support of the soul's immortality.\nCebes owns himself convinced, but Simmias, though he is unable to make\nany objection to the soundness of Socrates's reasoning, can not help\nstill entertaining doubts on the subject. If, however, the soul is\nimmortal, Socrates proceeds,[23] great need is there in this life to\nendeavor to become as wise and good as possible. For if death were a\ndeliverance from every thing, it would be a great gain for the wicked;\nbut since the soul appears to be immortal, it must go to the place\nsuited to its nature. For it is said that each person's demon conducts\nhim to a place where he receives sentence according to his deserts.\n\nHe then[24] draws a fanciful picture of the various regions of the\nearth, to which the good and the bad will respectively go after death,\nand exhorts his friends to use every endeavor to acquire virtue and\nwisdom in this life, \"for,\" he adds, \"the reward is noble, and the hope\ngreat.\"\n\nHaving thus brought his subject to a conclusion, Socrates proposes to\nbathe himself, in order not to trouble others to wash his dead body.\nCrito thereupon asks if he has any commands to give, and especially how\nhe would be buried, to which he, with his usual cheerfulness, makes\nanswer, \"Just as you please, if only you can catch me;\" and then,\nsmiling, he reminds them that after death he shall be no longer with\nthem, and begs the others of the party to be sureties to Crito for his\nabsence from the body, as they had been before bound for his presence\nbefore his judges.\n\nAfter he had bathed, and taken leave of his children and the women of\nhis family the officer of the Eleven comes in to intimate to him that it\nis now time to drink the poison. Crito urges a little delay, as the sun\nhad not yet set; but Socrates refuses to make himself ridiculous by\nshowing such a fondness for life. The man who is to administer the\npoison is therefore sent for; and on his holding out the cup, Socrates,\nneither trembling nor changing color or countenance at all, but, as he\nwas wont, looking steadfastly at the man, asked if he might make a\nlibation to any one; and being told that no more poison than enough had\nbeen mixed, he simply prayed that his departure from this to another\nworld might be happy, and then drank off the poison, readily and calmly.\nHis friends, who had hitherto with difficulty restrained themselves,\ncould no longer control the outward expressions of grief, to which\nSocrates said, \"What are you doing, my friends? I, for this reason,\nchiefly, sent away the women, that they might not commit any folly of\nthis kind; for I have heard that it is right to die with good omens. Be\nquiet, therefore, and bear up.\"\n\nWhen he had walked about for a while his legs began to grow heavy, so he\nlay down on his back; and his body, from the feet upward, gradually grew\ncold and stiff. His last words were, \"Crito, we owe a cock to\n\u00c6sculapius; pay it, therefore, and do not neglect it.\"\n\n\"This,\" concludes Ph\u00e6do, \"was the end of our friend--a man, as we may\nsay, the best of all his time, that we have known, and, moreover, the\nmost wise and just.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n  [12] Sec. 21-39.\n\n  [13] Sec. 39, 40.\n\n  [14] Sec. 40-46.\n\n  [15] Sec. 47.\n\n  [16] Sec. 48-57.\n\n  [17] Sec. 55-59.\n\n  [18] Sec. 61-75.\n\n  [19] Sec. 76-84.\n\n  [20] Sec. 93-99.\n\n  [21] Sec. 100-112.\n\n  [22] Sec. 112-128.\n\n  [23] Sec. 129-131.\n\n  [24] Sec. 132-145.\n\n\n\n\nPH\u00c6DO;\nOR,\nTHE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.\n\n\nFIRST ECHECRATES, PH\u00c6DO.\nTHEN SOCRATES, APOLLODORUS, CEBES, SIMMIAS, AND CRITO.\n\n_Ech._ Were you personally present, Ph\u00e6do, with Socrates on that day\nwhen he drank the poison in prison, or did you hear an account of it\nfrom some one else?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ I was there myself, Echecrates.\n\n_Ech._ What, then, did he say before his death, and how did he die? for\nI should be glad to hear: for scarcely any citizen of Phlius[25] ever\nvisits Athens now, nor has any stranger for a long time come from thence\nwho was able to give us a clear account of the particulars, except that\nhe had died from drinking poison; but he was unable to tell us any thing\nmore.\n\n2. _Ph\u00e6d._ And did you not hear about the trial--how it went off?\n\n_Ech._ Yes; some one told me this; and I wondered that, as it took\nplace so long ago, he appears to have died long afterward. What was the\nreason of this, Ph\u00e6do?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ An accidental circumstance happened in his favor, Echecrates;\nfor the poop of the ship which the Athenians send to Delos chanced to be\ncrowned on the day before the trial.\n\n_Ech._ But what is this ship?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ It is the ship, as the Athenians say, in which Theseus formerly\nconveyed the fourteen boys and girls to Crete, and saved both them and\nhimself. They, therefore, made a vow to Apollo on that occasion, as it\nis said, that if they were saved they would every year dispatch a solemn\nembassy to Delos; which, from that time to the present, they send yearly\nto the god. 3. When they begin the preparations for this solemn embassy,\nthey have a law that the city shall be purified during this period, and\nthat no public execution shall take place until the ship has reached\nDelos, and returned to Athens; and this occasionally takes a long time,\nwhen the winds happen to impede their passage. The commencement of the\nembassy is when the priest of Apollo has crowned the poop of the ship.\nAnd this was done, as I said, on the day before the trial: on this\naccount Socrates had a long interval in prison between the trial and his\ndeath.\n\n4. _Ech._ And what, Ph\u00e6do, were the circumstances of his death? What was\nsaid and done? and who of his friends were with him? or would not the\nmagistrates allow them to be present, but did he die destitute of\nfriends?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ By no means; but some, indeed several, were present.\n\n_Ech._ Take the trouble, then, to relate to me all the particulars as\nclearly as you can, unless you have any pressing business.\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ I am at leisure, and will endeavor to give you a full account;\nfor to call Socrates to mind, whether speaking myself or listening to\nsome one else, is always most delightful to me.\n\n5. _Ech._ And indeed, Ph\u00e6do, you have others to listen to you who are of\nthe same mind. However, endeavor to relate every thing as accurately as\nyou can.\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ I was, indeed, wonderfully affected by being present, for I was\nnot impressed with a feeling of pity, like one present at the death of a\nfriend; for the man appeared to me to be happy, Echecrates, both from\nhis manner and discourse, so fearlessly and nobly did he meet his death:\nso much so, that it occurred to me that in going to Hades he was not\ngoing without a divine destiny, but that when he arrived there he would\nbe happy, if any one ever was. For this reason I was entirely\nuninfluenced by any feeling of pity, as would seem likely to be the case\nwith one present on so mournful an occasion; nor was I affected by\npleasure from being engaged in philosophical discussions, as was our\ncustom; for our conversation was of that kind. But an altogether\nunaccountable feeling possessed me, a kind of unusual mixture compounded\nof pleasure and pain together, when I considered that he was immediately\nabout to die. And all of us who were present were affected in much the\nsame manner, at one time laughing, at another weeping--one of us\nespecially, Apollodorus, for you know the man and his manner.\n\n_Ech._ How should I not?\n\n6. _Ph\u00e6d._ He, then, was entirely overcome by these emotions; and I,\ntoo, was troubled, as well as the others.\n\n_Ech._ But who were present, Ph\u00e6do?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ Of his fellow-countrymen, this Apollodorus was present, and\nCritobulus, and his father, Crito; moreover, Hermogenes, Epigenes,\n\u00c6schines and Antisthenes; Ctesippus the P\u00e6anian, Menexenus, and some\nothers of his countrymen, were also there: Plato, I think, was sick.\n\n_Ech._ Were any strangers present?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ Yes; Simmias, the Theban, Cebes and Ph\u00e6dondes; and from Megara,\nEuclides and Terpsion.\n\n7. _Ech._ But what! were not Aristippus and Cleombrotus present?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ No, for they were said to be at \u00c6gina.\n\n_Ech._ Was any one else there?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ I think that these were nearly all who were present.\n\n_Ech._ Well, now, what do you say was the subject of conversation?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ I will endeavor to relate the whole to you from the beginning.\nOn the preceding days I and the others were constantly in the habit of\nvisiting Socrates, meeting early in the morning at the court house where\nthe trial took place, for it was near the prison. 8. Here, then, we\nwaited every day till the prison was opened, conversing with each other,\nfor it was not opened very early; but as soon as it was opened we went\nin to Socrates, and usually spent the day with him. On that occasion,\nhowever, we met earlier than usual; for on the preceding day, when we\nleft the prison in the evening, we heard that the ship had arrived from\nDelos. We therefore urged each other to come as early as possible to the\naccustomed place. Accordingly we came; and the porter, who used to admit\nus, coming out, told us to wait, and not to enter until he had called\nus. \"For,\" he said, \"the Eleven are now freeing Socrates from his bonds,\nand announcing to him that he must die to-day.\" But in no long time he\nreturned, and bade us enter.\n\n9. When we entered, we found Socrates just freed from his bonds, and\nXantippe, you know her, holding his little boy, and sitting by him. As\nsoon as Xantippe saw us she wept aloud, and said such things as women\nusually do on such occasions--as, \"Socrates, your friends will now\nconverse with you for the last time, and you with them.\" But Socrates,\nlooking towards Crito, said: \"Crito, let some one take her home.\" Upon\nwhich some of Crito's attendants led her away, wailing and beating\nherself.\n\nBut Socrates, sitting up in bed, drew up his leg, and rubbed it with his\nhand, and as he rubbed it, said: \"What an unaccountable thing, my\nfriends, that seems to be, which men call pleasure! and how wonderfully\nis it related toward that which appears to be its contrary, pain, in\nthat they will not both be present to a man at the same time! Yet if any\none pursues and attains the one, he is almost always compelled to\nreceive the other, as if they were both united together from one head.\"\n\n10. \"And it seems tome,\" he said, \"that if \u00c6sop had observed this he\nwould have made a fable from it, how the deity, wishing to reconcile\nthese warring principles, when he could not do so, united their heads\ntogether, and from hence whomsoever the one visits the other attends\nimmediately after; as appears to be the case with me, since I suffered\npain in my leg before from the chain, but now pleasure seems to have\nsucceeded.\"\n\nHereupon Cebes, interrupting him, said: \"By Jupiter! Socrates, you have\ndone well in reminding me; with respect to the poems which you made, by\nputting into metre those Fables of \u00c6sop and the hymn to Apollo, several\nother persons asked me, and especially Evenus recently, with what design\nyou made them after you came here, whereas before you had never made\nany. 11. If therefore, you care at all that I should be able to answer\nEvenus, when he asks me again--for I am sure he will do so--tell me\nwhat I must say to him.\"\n\n\"Tell him the truth, then, Cebes,\" he replied, \"that I did not make them\nfrom a wish to compete with him, or his poems, for I knew that this\nwould be no easy matter; but that I might discover the meaning of\ncertain dreams, and discharge my conscience, if this should happen to be\nthe music which they have often ordered me to apply myself to. For they\nwere to the following purport: often in my past life the same dream\nvisited me, appearing at different times in different forms, yet always\nsaying the same thing--'Socrates,' it said, 'apply yourself to and\npractice music.' 12. And I formerly supposed that it exhorted and\nencouraged me to continue the pursuit I was engaged in, as those who\ncheer on racers, so that the dream encouraged me to continue the pursuit\nI was engaged in--namely, to apply myself to music, since philosophy is\nthe highest music, and I was devoted to it. But now since my trial took\nplace, and the festival of the god retarded my death, it appeared to me\nthat if by chance the dream so frequently enjoined me to apply myself to\npopular music, I ought not to disobey it, but do so, for that it would\nbe safer for me not to depart hence before I had discharged my\nconscience by making some poems in obedience to the dream. Thus, then, I\nfirst of all composed a hymn to the god whose festival was present; and\nafter the god, considering that a poet, if he means to be a poet, ought\nto make fables, and not discourses, and knowing that I was not skilled\nin making fables, I therefore put into verse those Fables of \u00c6sop, which\nwere at hand, and were known to me, and which first occurred to me.\"\n\n13. \"Tell this, then, to Evenus, Cebes, and bid him farewell, and if he\nis wise, to follow me as soon as he can. But I depart, as it seems,\nto-day; for so the Athenians order.\"\n\nTo this Simmias said, \"What is this, Socrates, which you exhort Evenus\nto do? for I often meet with him; and, from what I know of him, I am\npretty certain that he will not at all be willing to comply with your\nadvice.\"\n\n\"What, then,\" said he, \"is not Evenus a philosopher?\"\n\n\"To me he seems to be so,\" said Simmias.\n\n\"Then he will be willing,\" rejoined Socrates, \"and so will every one who\nworthily engages in this study. Perhaps, indeed, he will not commit\nviolence on himself; for that, they say, is not allowable.\" And as he\nsaid this he let down his leg from the bed on the ground, and in this\nposture continued during the remainder of the discussion.\n\nCebes then asked him, \"What do you mean, Socrates, by saying that it is\nnot lawful to commit violence on one's self, but that a philosopher\nshould be willing to follow one who is dying?\"\n\n14. \"What, Cebes! have not you and Simmias, who have conversed\nfamiliarly with Philolaus[26] on this subject, heard?\"\n\n\"Nothing very clearly, Socrates.\"\n\n\"I, however, speak only from hearsay; what, then, I have heard I have no\nscruple in telling. And perhaps it is most becoming for one who is about\nto travel there to inquire and speculate about the journey thither, what\nkind we think it is. What else can one do in the interval before\nsunset?\"\n\n\"Why, then, Socrates, do they say that it is not allowable to kill one's\nself? for I, as you asked just now, have heard both Philolaus, when he\nlived with us, and several others, say that it was not right to do this;\nbut I never heard any thing clear upon the subject from any one.\"\n\n15. \"Then, you should consider it attentively,\" said Socrates, \"for\nperhaps you may hear. Probably, however, it will appear wonderful to\nyou, if this alone, of all other things, is a universal truth,[27] and\nit never happens to a man, as is the case in all other things, that at\nsome times and to some persons only it is better to die than to live;\nyet that these men for whom it is better to die--this probably will\nappear wonderful to you--may not without impiety do this good to\nthemselves, but must await another benefactor.\"\n\n16. Then Cebes, gently smiling, said, speaking in his own dialect,[28]\n\"Jove be witness!\"\n\n\"And, indeed,\" said Socrates, \"it would appear to be unreasonable; yet\nstill, perhaps, it has some reason on its side. The maxim, indeed, given\non this subject in the mystical doctrines,[29] that we men are in a kind\nof prison, and that we ought not to free ourselves from it and escape,\nappears to me difficult to be understood, and not easy to penetrate.\nThis, however, appears to me, Cebes, to be well said: that the gods take\ncare of us, and that we men are one of their possessions. Does it not\nseem so to you?\"\n\n\"It does,\" replied Cebes.\n\n\"Therefore,\" said he, \"if one of your slaves were to kill himself,\nwithout your having intimated that you wished him to die, should you not\nbe angry with him, and should you not punish him if you could?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied.\n\n\"Perhaps, then, in this point of view, it is not unreasonable to assert\nthat a man ought not to kill himself before the deity lays him under a\nnecessity of doing so, such as that now laid on me.\"\n\n17. \"This, indeed,\" said Cebes, \"appears to be probable. But what you\nsaid just now, Socrates, that philosophers should be very willing to\ndie, appears to be an absurdity, if what we said just now is agreeable\nto reason--that it is God who takes care of us, and that we are his\nproperty. For that the wisest men should not be grieved at leaving that\nservice in which they govern them who are the best of all\nmasters--namely, the gods--is not consistent with reason; for surely he\ncan not think that he will take better care of himself when he has\nbecome free. But a foolish man might perhaps think thus, that he should\nfly from his master, and would not reflect that he ought not to fly from\na good one, but should cling to him as much as possible; therefore he\nwould fly against all reason; but a man of sense would desire to be\nconstantly with one better than himself. Thus, Socrates, the contrary of\nwhat you just now said is likely to be the case; for it becomes the wise\nto be grieved at dying, but the foolish to rejoice.\"\n\n18. Socrates, on hearing this, appeared to me to be pleased with the\npertinacity of Cebes, and, looking toward us, said, \"Cebes, you see,\nalways searches out arguments, and is not at all willing to admit at\nonce any thing one has said.\"\n\nWhereupon Simmias replied, \"But, indeed, Socrates, Cebes appears to me\nnow to say something to the purpose; for with what design should men\nreally wise fly from masters who are better than themselves, and so\nreadily leave them? And Cebes appears to me to direct his argument\nagainst you, because you so easily endure to abandon both us and those\ngood rulers, as you yourself confess, the gods.\"\n\n\"You speak justly,\" said Socrates, \"for I think you mean that I ought to\nmake my defense to this charge, as if I were in a court of justice.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Simmias.\n\n19. \"Come, then,\" said he, \"I will endeavor to defend myself more\nsuccessfully before you than before the judges. For,\" he proceeded,\n\"Simmias and Cebes, if I did not think that I should go, first of all,\namong other deities who are both wise and good, and, next, among men who\nhave departed this life, better than any here, I should be wrong in not\ngrieving at death; but now, be assured, I hope to go among good men,\nthough I would not positively assert it. That, however, I shall go among\ngods who are perfectly good masters, be assured I can positively assert\nthis, if I can any thing of the kind. So that, on this account, I am not\nso much troubled, but I entertain a good hope that something awaits\nthose who die, and that, as was said long since, it will be far better\nfor the good than the evil.\"\n\n20. \"What, then, Socrates,\" said Simmias, \"would you go away keeping\nthis persuasion to yourself, or would you impart it to us? For this good\nappears to me to be also common to us; and at the same time it will be\nan apology for you, if you can persuade us to believe what you say.\"\n\n\"I will endeavor to do so,\" he said. \"But first let us attend to Crito\nhere, and see what it is he seems to have for some time wished to say.\"\n\n\"What else, Socrates,\" said Crito, \"but what he who is to give you the\npoison told me some time ago, that I should tell you to speak as little\nas possible? For he says that men become too much heated by speaking,\nand that nothing of this kind ought to interfere with the poison; and\nthat, otherwise, those who did so were sometimes compelled to drink two\nor three times.\"\n\nTo which Socrates replied, \"Let him alone, and let him attend to his own\nbusiness, and prepare to give it me twice, or, if occasion require, even\nthrice.\"\n\n21. \"I was almost certain what you would say,\" answered Crito, \"but he\nhas been some time pestering me.\"\n\n\"Never mind him,\" he rejoined.\n\n\"But now I wish to render an account to you, my judges, of the reason\nwhy a man who has really devoted his life to philosophy, when he is\nabout to die, appears to me, on good grounds, to have confidence, and to\nentertain a firm hope that the greatest good will befall him in the\nother world when he has departed this life. How, then, this comes to\npass, Simmias and Cebes, I will endeavor to explain.\"\n\n\"For as many as rightly apply themselves to philosophy seem to have left\nall others in ignorance, that they aim at nothing else than to die and\nbe dead. If this, then, is true, it would surely be absurd to be anxious\nabout nothing else than this during their whole life, but, when it\narrives, to be grieved at what they have been long anxious about and\naimed at.\"\n\n22. Upon this, Simmias, smiling, said, \"By Jupiter! Socrates, though I\nam not now at all inclined to smile, you have made me do so; for I think\nthat the multitude, if they heard this, would think it was very well\nsaid in reference to philosophers, and that our countrymen particularly\nwould agree with you, that true philosophers do desire death, and that\nthey are by no means ignorant that they deserve to suffer it.\"\n\n\"And, indeed, Simmias, they would speak the truth, except in asserting\nthat they are not ignorant; for they are ignorant of the sense in which\ntrue philosophers desire to die, and in what sense they deserve death,\nand what kind of death. But,\" he said, \"let us take leave of them, and\nspeak to one another. Do we think that death is any thing?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Simmias.\n\n23. \"Is it any thing else than the separation of the soul from the\nbody? And is not this to die, for the body to be apart by itself\nseparated from the soul, and for the soul to subsist apart by itself\nseparated from the body? Is death any thing else than this?\"\n\n\"No, but this,\" he replied.\n\n\"Consider, then, my good friend, whether you are of the same opinion as\nI; for thus, I think, we shall understand better the subject we are\nconsidering. Does it appear to you to be becoming in a philosopher to be\nanxious about pleasures, as they are called, such as meats and drinks?\"\n\n\"By no means, Socrates,\" said Simmias.\n\n\"But what? about the pleasures of love?\"\n\n\"Not at all.\"\n\n24. \"What, then? Does such a man appear to you to think other bodily\nindulgences of value? For instance, does he seem to you to value or\ndespise the possession of magnificent garments and sandals, and other\nornaments of the body except so far as necessity compels him to use\nthem?\"\n\n\"The true philosopher,\" he answered, \"appears to me to despise them.\"\n\n\"Does not, then,\" he continued, \"the whole employment of such a man\nappear to you to be, not about the body, but to separate himself from it\nas much as possible, and be occupied about his soul?\"\n\n\"It does.\"\n\n\"First of all, then, in such matters, does not the philosopher, above\nall other men, evidently free his soul as much as he can from communion\nwith the body?\"\n\n\"It appears so.\"\n\n25. \"And it appears, Simmias, to the generality of men, that he who\ntakes no pleasure in such things, and who does not use them, does not\ndeserve to live; but that he nearly approaches to death who cares\nnothing for the pleasures that subsist through the body.\"\n\n\"You speak very truly.\"\n\n\"But what with respect to the acquisition of wisdom? Is the body an\nimpediment, or not, if any one takes it with him as a partner in the\nsearch? What I mean is this: Do sight and hearing convey any truth to\nmen, or are they such as the poets constantly sing, who say that we\nneither hear nor see any thing with accuracy? If, however, these bodily\nsenses are neither accurate nor clear, much less can the others be so;\nfor they are all far inferior to these. Do they not seem so to you?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied.\n\n26. \"When, then,\" said he, \"does the soul light on the truth? for when\nit attempts to consider any thing in conjunction with the body, it is\nplain that it is then led astray by it.\"\n\n\"You say truly.\"\n\n\"Must it not, then, be by reasoning, if at all, that any of the things\nthat really are become known to it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And surely the soul then reasons best when none of these things disturb\nit--neither hearing, nor sight, nor pain, nor pleasure of any kind; but\nit retires as much as possible within itself, taking leave of the body;\nand, so far as it can, not communicating or being in contact with it, it\naims at the discovery of that which is.\"\n\n\"Such is the case.\"\n\n\"Does not, then, the soul of the philosopher, in these cases, despise\nthe body, and flee from it, and seek to retire within itself?\"\n\n\"It appears so.\"\n\n27. \"But what as to such things as these, Simmias? Do we say that\njustice itself is something or nothing?\"\n\n\"We say it is something, by Jupiter!\"\n\n\"And that beauty and goodness are something?\"\n\n\"How not?\"\n\n\"Now, then, have you ever seen any thing of this kind with your eyes?\"\n\n\"By no means,\" he replied.\n\n\"Did you ever lay hold of them by any other bodily sense? But I speak\ngenerally, as of magnitude, health, strength and, in a word, of the\nessence of every thing; that is to say, what each is. Is, then, the\nexact truth of these perceived by means of the body, or is it thus,\nwhoever among us habituates himself to reflect most deeply and\naccurately on each several thing about which he is considering, he will\nmake the nearest approach to the knowledge of it?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n28. \"Would not he, then, do this with the utmost purity, who should in\nthe highest degree approach each subject by means of the mere mental\nfaculties, neither employing the sight in conjunction with the\nreflective faculty, nor introducing any other sense together with\nreasoning; but who, using pure reflection by itself, should attempt to\nsearch out each essence purely by itself, freed as much as possible from\nthe eyes and ears, and, in a word, from the whole body, as disturbing\nthe soul, and not suffering it to acquire truth and wisdom, when it is\nin communion with it. Is not he the person, Simmias, if any one can, who\nwill arrive at the knowledge of that which is?\"\n\n29. \"You speak with wonderful truth, Socrates,\" replied Simmias.\n\n\"Wherefore,\" he said, \"it necessarily follows from all this that some\nsuch opinion as this should be entertained by genuine philosophers, so\nthat they should speak among themselves as follows: 'A by-path, as it\nwere, seems to lead us on in our researches undertaken by reason,'\nbecause so long as we are encumbered with the body, and our soul is\ncontaminated with such an evil, we can never fully attain to what we\ndesire; and this, we say, is truth. For the body subjects us to\ninnumerable hinderances on account of its necessary support; and,\nmoreover, if any diseases befall us, they impede us in our search after\nthat which is; and it fills us with longings, desires, fears, all kinds\nof fancies, and a multitude of absurdities, so that, as it is said in\nreal truth, by reason of the body it is never possible for us to make\nany advances in wisdom. 30. For nothing else than the body and its\ndesires occasion wars, seditions, and contests; for all wars among us\narise on account of our desire to acquire wealth: and we are compelled\nto acquire wealth on account of the body, being enslaved to its service;\nand consequently on all these accounts we are hindered in the pursuit of\nphilosophy. But the worst of all is, that if it leaves us any leisure,\nand we apply ourselves to the consideration of any subject, it\nconstantly obtrudes itself in the midst of our researches, and occasions\ntrouble and disturbance, and confounds us so that we are not able, by\nreason of it, to discern the truth. It has, then, in reality been\ndemonstrated to us that if we are ever to know any thing purely, we must\nbe separated from the body, and contemplate the things themselves by the\nmere soul; and then, as it seems, we shall obtain that which we desire,\nand which we profess ourselves to be lovers of--wisdom--when we are\ndead, as reason shows, but not while we are alive. 31. For if it is not\npossible to know any thing purely in conjunction with the body, one of\nthese two things must follow, either that we can never acquire\nknowledge, or only after we are dead; for then the soul will subsist\napart by itself, separate from the body, but not before. And while we\nlive we shall thus, as it seems, approach nearest to knowledge, if we\nhold no intercourse or communion at all with the body, except what\nabsolute necessity requires, nor suffer ourselves to be polluted by its\nnature, but purify ourselves from it, until God himself shall release\nus. And thus being pure, and freed from the folly of body, we shall in\nall likelihood be with others like ourselves, and shall of ourselves\nknow the whole real essence, and that probably is truth; for it is not\nallowable for the impure to attain to the pure. Such things, I think,\nSimmias, all true lovers of wisdom must both think and say to one\nanother. Does it not seem so to you?\"\n\n\"Most assuredly, Socrates.\"\n\n32. \"If this, then,\" said Socrates, \"is true, my friend, there is great\nhope for one who arrives where I am going, there, if anywhere, to\nacquire that in perfection for the sake of which we have taken so much\npains during our past life; so that the journey now appointed me is set\nout upon with good hope, and will be so by any other man who thinks that\nhis mind has been, as it were, purified.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Simmias.\n\n\"But does not purification consist in this, as was said in a former part\nof our discourse, in separating as much as possible the soul from the\nbody, and in accustoming it to gather and collect itself by itself on\nall sides apart from the body, and to dwell, so far as it can, both now\nand hereafter, alone by itself, delivered, as it were, from the shackles\nof the body?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied.\n\n33. \"Is this, then, called death, this deliverance and separation of the\nsoul from the body?\"\n\n\"Assuredly,\" he answered.\n\n\"But, as we affirmed, those who pursue philosophy rightly are especially\nand alone desirous to deliver it; and this is the very study of\nphilosophers, the deliverance and separation of the soul from the body,\nis it not?\"\n\n\"It appears so.\"\n\n\"Then, as I said at first, would it not be ridiculous for a man who has\nendeavored throughout his life to live as near as possible to death,\nthen, when death arrives, to grieve? would not this be ridiculous?\"\n\n\"How should it not?\"\n\n\"In reality, then, Simmias,\" he continued, \"those who pursue philosophy\nrightly, study to die; and to them, of all men, death is least\nformidable. Judge from this. Since they altogether hate the body and\ndesire to keep the soul by itself, would it not be irrational if, when\nthis comes to pass, they should be afraid and grieve, and not be glad to\ngo to that place where, on their arrival, they may hope to obtain that\nwhich they longed for throughout life? But they longed for wisdom, and\nto be freed from association with that which they hated. 34. Have many\nof their own accord wished to descend into Hades, on account of human\nobjects of affection, their wives and sons, induced by this very hope of\ntheir seeing and being with those whom they have loved? and shall one\nwho really loves wisdom, and firmly cherishes this very hope, that he\nshall nowhere else attain it in a manner worthy of the name, except in\nHades, be grieved at dying, and not gladly go there? We must think that\nhe would gladly go, my friend, if he be in truth a philosopher; for he\nwill be firmly persuaded of this, that he will nowhere else than there\nattain wisdom in its purity; and if this be so, would it not be very\nirrational, as I just now said, if such a man were to be afraid of\ndeath?\"\n\n\"Very much so, by Jupiter!\" he replied.\n\n35. \"Would not this, then,\" he resumed, \"be a sufficient proof to you\nwith respect to a man whom you should see grieved when about to die,\nthat he was not a lover of wisdom, but a lover of his body? And this\nsame person is probably a lover of riches and a lover of honor, one or\nboth of these.\"\n\n\"It certainly is as you say,\" he replied.\n\n\"Does not, then,\" he said, \"that which is called fortitude, Simmias,\neminently belong to philosophers?\"\n\n\"By all means,\" he answered.\n\n\"And temperance, also, which even the multitude call temperance, and\nwhich consists in not being carried away by the passions, but in holding\nthem in contempt, and keeping them in subjection, does not this belong\nto those only who most despise the body, and live in the study of\nphilosophy?\"\n\n\"Necessarily so,\" he replied.\n\n36. \"For,\" he continued, \"if you will consider the fortitude and\ntemperance of others, they will appear to you to be absurd.\"\n\n\"How so, Socrates?\"\n\n\"Do you know,\" he said, \"that all others consider death among the great\nevils?\"\n\n\"They do indeed,\" he answered.\n\n\"Then, do the brave among them endure death when they do endure it,\nthrough dread of greater evils?\"\n\n\"It is so.\"\n\n\"All men, therefore, except philosophers, are brave through being afraid\nand fear; though it is absurd that any one should be brave through fear\nand cowardice.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"But what, are not those among them who keep their passions in\nsubjection affected in the same way? and are they not temperate through\na kind of intemperance? And although we may say, perhaps, that this is\nimpossible, nevertheless the manner in which they are affected with\nrespect to this silly temperance resembles this, for, fearing to be\ndeprived of other pleasures, and desiring them, they abstain from some,\nbeing mastered by others. And though they call intemperance the being\ngoverned by pleasures, yet it happens to them that, by being mastered by\nsome pleasures, they master others, and this is similar to what was just\nnow said, that in a certain manner they become temperate through\nintemperance.\"\n\n\"So it seems,\"\n\n37. \"My dear Simmias, consider that this is not a right exchange for\nvirtue, to barter pleasures for pleasures, pains for pains, fear for\nfear, and the greater for the lesser, like pieces of money, but that\nthat alone is the right coin, for which we ought to barter all these\nthings, wisdom, and for this and with this everything is in reality\nbought and sold Fortitude, temperance and justice, and, in a word true\nvirtue, subsist with wisdom, whether pleasures and fears, and everything\nelse of the kind, are present or absent, but when separated from wisdom\nand changed one for another, consider whether such virtue is not a mere\noutline and in reality servile, possessing neither soundness nor truth.\nBut the really true virtue is a purification from all such things, and\ntemperance, justice, fortitude and wisdom itself, are a kind of\ninitiatory purification 38. And those who instituted the mysteries for\nus appear to have been by no means contemptible, but in reality to have\nintimated long since that whoever shall arrive in Hades unexpiated and\nuninitiated shall lie in mud, but he that arrives there purified and\ninitiated shall dwell with the gods 'For there are,' say those who\npreside at the mysteries, 'many wand-bearers, but few inspired'. These\nlast, in my opinion, are no other than those who have pursued philosophy\nrightly that I might be of their number. I have to the utmost of my\nability left no means untried, but have endeavored to the utmost of my\npower. But whether I have endeavored rightly, and have in any respect\nsucceeded, on arriving there I shall know clearly, if it please\nGod--very shortly, as it appears to me.\"\n\n39. \"Such, then, Simmias and Cebes,\" he added, \"is the defense I make,\nfor that I, on good grounds, do not repine or grieve at leaving you and\nmy masters here, being persuaded that there, no less than here, I shall\nmeet with good masters and friends. But to the multitude this is\nincredible If, however, I have succeeded better with you in my defense\nthan I did with the Athenian judges, it is well.\"\n\nWhen Socrates had thus spoken, Cebes, taking up the discussion, said\n\"Socrates, all the rest appears to me to be said rightly, but what you\nhave said respecting the soul will occasion much incredulity in many\nfrom the apprehension that when it is separated from the body it no\nlonger exists anywhere, but is destroyed and perishes on the very day in\nwhich a man dies, and that immediately it is separated and goes out from\nthe body it is dispersed, and vanishes like breath or smoke, and is no\nlonger anywhere, since if it remained anywhere united in itself, and\nfreed from those evils which you have just now enumerated, there would\nbe an abundant and good hope, Socrates, that what you say is true 40.\nBut this probably needs no little persuasion and proof, that the soul of\na man who dies exists, and possesses activity and intelligence.\"\n\n\"You say truly, Cebes,\" said Socrates, \"but what shall we do? Are you\nwilling that we should converse on these points, whether such is\nprobably the case or not?\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" replied Cebes, \"I should gladly hear your opinion on these\nmatters.\"\n\n\"I do not think,\" said Socrates, \"that any one who should now hear us,\neven though he were a comic poet, would say that I am talking idly, or\ndiscoursing on subjects that do not concern me. If you please, then, we\nwill examine into it. Let us consider it in this point of view, whether\nthe souls of men who are dead exist in Hades, or not. This is an ancient\nsaying, which we now call to mind, that souls departing hence exist\nthere, and return hither again, and are produced from the dead. 41. And\nif this is so, that the living are produced again from the dead, can\nthere be any other consequence than that our souls are there? for surely\nthey could not be produced again if they did not exist; and this would\nbe sufficient proof that these things are so, if it should in reality be\nevident that the living are produced from no other source than the dead.\nBut if this is not the case, there will be need of other arguments.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Cebes.\n\n\"You must not, then,\" he continued, \"consider this only with respect to\nmen, if you wish to ascertain it with greater certainty, but also with\nrespect to all animals and plants, and, in a word, with respect to every\nthing that is subject to generation. Let us see whether they are not all\nso produced, no otherwise than contraries from contraries, wherever they\nhave any such quality; as, for instance, the honorable is contrary to\nthe base, and the just to the unjust, and so with ten thousand other\nthings. 42. Let us consider this, then, whether it is necessary that all\nthings which have a contrary should be produced from nothing else than\ntheir contrary. As, for instance, when any thing becomes greater, is it\nnot necessary that, from being previously smaller, it afterward became\ngreater?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And if it becomes smaller, will it not, from being previously greater,\nafterward become smaller?\"\n\n\"It is so,\" he replied.\n\n\"And from stronger, weaker? and from slower, swifter?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"What, then? If any thing becomes worse, must it not become so from\nbetter? and if more just, from more unjust?\"\n\n\"How should it not?\"\n\n\"We have then,\" he said, \"sufficiently determined this, that all things\nare thus produced, contraries from contraries?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"What next? Is there also something of this kind in them; for instance,\nbetween all two contraries a mutual twofold production, from one to the\nother, and from that other back again? for between a greater thing and a\nsmaller there are increase and decrease, and do we not accordingly call\nthe one to increase, the other to decrease?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied.\n\n43. \"And must not to be separated and commingled, to grow cold and to\ngrow warm, and every thing in the same manner, even though sometimes we\nhave not names to designate them, yet in fact be everywhere thus\ncircumstanced, of necessity, as to be produced from each other, and be\nsubject to a reciprocal generation?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied.\n\n\"What, then?\" said Socrates, \"has life any contrary, as waking has its\ncontrary, sleeping?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he answered.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Death,\" he replied.\n\n\"Are not these, then, produced from each other, since they are\ncontraries; and are not the modes by which they are produced two-fold\nintervening between these two?\"\n\n\"How should it be otherwise?\"\n\n\"I then,\" continued Socrates, \"will describe to you one pair of the\ncontraries which I have just now mentioned, both what it is and its mode\nof production: and do you describe to me the other. I say that one is to\nsleep, the other to awake; and from sleeping awaking is produced, and\nfrom awaking sleeping, and that the modes of their production are, the\none to fall asleep, the other to be roused. 44. Have I sufficiently\nexplained this to you or not?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Do you, then,\" he said, \"describe to me in the same manner with respect\nto life and death? Do you not say that life is contrary to death?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"And that they are produced from each other?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What, then, is produced from life?\"\n\n\"Death,\" he replied.\n\n\"What, then,\" said he \"is produced from death?\"\n\n\"I must needs confess,\" he replied, \"that life is.\"\n\n\"From the dead, then, O Cebes! living things and living men are\nproduced.\"\n\n\"It appears so,\" he said.\n\n\"Our souls, therefore,\" said Socrates, \"exist in Hades.\"\n\n\"So it seems.\"\n\n\"With respect, then, to their mode of production, is not one of them\nvery clear? for to die surely is clear, is it not?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied.\n\n\"What, then, shall we do?\" he continued; \"shall we not find a\ncorresponding contrary mode of production, or will nature be defective\nin this? Or must we discover a contrary mode of production to dying?\"\n\n\"By all means,\" he said.\n\n\"What is this?\"\n\n\"To revive.\"\n\n\"Therefore,\" he proceeded, \"if there is such a thing as to revive, will\nnot this reviving be a mode of production from the dead to the living?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Thus, then, we have agreed that the living are produced from the dead,\nno less than the dead from the living; but, this being the case, there\nappears to me sufficient proof that the souls of the dead must\nnecessarily exist somewhere, from whence they are again produced.\"\n\n45. \"It appears to me, Socrates,\" he said \"that this must necessarily\nfollow from what has been admitted.\"\n\n\"See now, O Cebes!\" he said, \"that we have not agreed on these things\nimproperly, as it appears to me; for if one class of things were not\nconstantly given back in the place of another, revolving, as it were, in\na circle, but generation were direct from one thing alone into its\nopposite, and did not turn round again to the other, or retrace its\ncourse, do you know that all things would at length have the same form,\nbe in the same state, and cease to be produced?\"\n\n\"How say you?\" he asked.\n\n\"It is by no means difficult,\" he replied, \"to understand what I mean;\nif, for instance, there should be such a thing as falling asleep, but no\nreciprocal waking again produced from a state of sleep, you know that at\nlength all things would show the fable of Endymion to be a jest, and it\nwould be thought nothing at all of, because everything else would be in\nthe same state as he--namely, asleep. And if all things were mingled\ntogether, but never separated, that doctrine of Anaxagoras would soon be\nverified, 'all things would be together.' 46. Likewise, my dear Cebes,\nif all things that partake of life should die, and after they are dead\nshould remain in this state of death, and not revive again, would it not\nnecessarily follow that at length all things should be dead, and nothing\nalive? For if living beings are produced from other things, and living\nbeings die, what could prevent their being all absorbed in death?\"\n\n\"Nothing whatever, I think, Socrates,\" replied Cebes; \"but you appear to\nme to speak the exact truth.\"\n\n\"For, Cebes,\" he continued, \"as it seems to me, such undoubtedly is the\ncase, and we have not admitted these things under a delusion, for it is\nin reality true that there is a reviving again, that the living are\nproduced from the dead, that the souls of the dead exist, and that the\ncondition of the good is better, and of the evil worse.\"\n\n47. \"And, indeed,\" said Cebes, interrupting him, \"according to that\ndoctrine, Socrates, which you are frequently in the habit of advancing,\nif it is true, that our learning is nothing else than reminiscence,\naccording to this it is surely necessary that we must at some former\ntime have learned what we now remember. But this is impossible, unless\nour soul existed somewhere before it came into this human form; so that\nfrom hence, also, the soul appears to be something immortal.\"\n\n\"But, Cebes,\" said Simmias, interrupting him, \"what proofs are there of\nthese things? Remind me of them, for I do not very well remember them at\npresent.\"\n\n48. \"It is proved,\" said Cebes, \"by one argument, and that a most\nbeautiful one, that men, when questioned (if one questions them\nproperly) of themselves, describe all things as they are, however, if\nthey had not innate knowledge and right reason, they would never be\nable to do this. Moreover, if one leads them to diagrams, or any thing\nelse of the kind, it is then most clearly apparent that this is the\ncase.\"\n\n\"But if you are not persuaded in this way, Simmias,\" said Socrates, \"see\nif you will agree with us in considering the matter thus. For do you\ndoubt how that which is called learning is reminiscence?\"\n\n\"I do not doubt,\" said Simmias; \"but I require this very thing of which\nwe are speaking, to be reminded; and, indeed, from what Cebes has begun\nto say, I almost now remember, and am persuaded; nevertheless, however,\nI should like to hear now how you would attempt to prove it.\"\n\n\"I do it thus\" he replied: \"we admit, surely, that if any one be\nreminded of any thing, he must needs have known that thing at some time\nor other before.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he said.\n\n49. \"Do we, then, admit this also, that when knowledge comes in a\ncertain manner it is reminiscence? But the manner I mean is this: if any\none, upon seeing or hearing, or perceiving through the medium of any\nother sense, some particular thing, should not only know that, but also\nform an idea of something else, of which the knowledge is not the same,\nbut different, should we not justly say that he remembered that of which\nhe received the idea?\"\n\n\"How mean you?\"\n\n\"For instance, the knowledge of a man is different from that of a lyre.\"\n\n\"How not?\"\n\n\"Do you not know, then, that lovers when they see a lyre, or a garment,\nor any thing else which their favorite is accustomed to use, are thus\naffected; they both recognize the lyre, and receive in their minds the\nform of the person to whom the lyre belonged? This is reminiscence: just\nas any one, seeing Simmias, is often reminded of Cebes, and so in an\ninfinite number of similar instances.\"\n\n\"An infinite number, indeed, by Jupiter!\" said Simmias.\n\n\"Is not, then,\" he said, \"something of this sort a kind of reminiscence,\nespecially when one is thus affected with respect to things which, from\nlapse of time, and not thinking of them, one has now forgotten?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied.\n\n50. \"But what?\" he continued. \"Does it happen that when one sees a\npainted horse or a painted lyre one is reminded of a man, and that when\none sees a picture of Simmias one is reminded of Cebes?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And does it not also happen that on seeing a picture of Simmias one is\nreminded of Simmias himself?\"\n\n\"It does, indeed,\" he replied.\n\n\"Does it not happen, then, according to all this, that reminiscence\narises partly from things like, and partly from things unlike?\"\n\n\"It does.\"\n\n\"But when one is reminded by things like, is it not necessary that one\nshould be thus further affected, so as to perceive whether, as regards\nlikeness, this falls short or not of the thing of which one has been\nreminded?\"\n\n\"It is necessary,\" he replied.\n\n\"Consider, then,\" said Socrates, \"if the case is thus. Do we allow that\nthere is such a thing as equality? I do not mean of one log with\nanother, nor one stone with another, nor any thing else of this kind,\nbut something altogether different from all these--abstract equality; do\nwe allow that there is any such thing, or not?\"\n\n\"By Jupiter! we most assuredly do allow it,\" replied Simmias.\n\n51. \"And do we know what it is itself?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied.\n\n\"Whence have we derived the knowledge of it? Is it not from the things\nwe have just now mentioned, and that from seeing logs, or stones, or\nother things of the kind, equal, we have from these formed an idea of\nthat which is different from these--for does it not appear to you to be\ndifferent? Consider the matter thus. Do not stones that are equal, and\nlogs sometimes that are the same, appear at one time equal, and at\nanother not?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"But what? Does abstract equality ever appear to you unequal? or\nequality inequality?\"\n\n\"Never, Socrates, at any time.\"\n\n\"These equal things, then,\" he said, \"and abstract equality, are not the\nsame?\"\n\n\"By no means, Socrates, as it appears.\"\n\n\"However, from these equal things,\" he said, \"which are different from\nthat abstract equality, have you not formed your idea and derived your\nknowledge of it?\"\n\n\"You speak most truly,\" he replied.\n\n\"Is it not, therefore, from its being like or unlike them?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"But it makes no difference,\" he said. \"When, therefore, on seeing one\nthing, you form, from the sight of it, the notion of another, whether\nlike or unlike, this,\" he said, \"must necessarily be reminiscence.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n52. \"What, then, as to this?\" he continued. \"Are we affected in any such\nway with regard to logs and the equal things we have just now spoken of?\nAnd do they appear to us to be equal in the same manner as abstract\nequality itself is, or do they fall short in some degree, or not at\nall, of being such as equality itself is?\"\n\n\"They fall far short,\" he replied.\n\n\"Do we admit, then, that when one, on beholding some particular thing,\nperceives that it aims, as that which I now see, at being like something\nelse that exists, but falls short of it, and can not become such as that\nis, but is inferior to it--do we admit that he who perceives this must\nnecessarily have had a previous knowledge of that which he says it\nresembles, though imperfectly?\"\n\n\"It is necessary.\"\n\n\"What, then? Are we affected in some such way, or not, with respect to\nthings equal and abstract equality itself?\"\n\n\"Assuredly.\"\n\n\"It is necessary, therefore, that we must have known abstract equality\nbefore the time when, on first seeing equal things, we perceived that\nthey all aimed at resembling equality, but failed in doing so.\"\n\n\"Such is the case.\"\n\n53. \"Moreover, we admit this too, that we perceived this, and could not\npossibly perceive it by any other means than the sight, or touch, or\nsome other of the senses, for I say the same of them all.\"\n\n\"For they are the same, Socrates, so far as, our argument is concerned.\"\n\n\"However, we must perceive, by means of the senses, that all things\nwhich come under the senses aim at that abstract equality, and yet fall\nshort of it; or how shall we say it is?\"\n\n\"Even so.\"\n\n\"Before, then, we began to see, and hear, and use our other senses, we\nmust have had a knowledge of equality itself--what it is, if we were to\nrefer to it those equal things that come under the senses, and observe\nthat all such things aim at resembling that, but fall far short of it.\"\n\n\"This necessarily follows, Socrates, from what has been already said.\"\n\n\"But did we not, as soon as we were born, see and hear, and possess our\nother senses?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"But, we have said, before we possessed these, we must have had a\nknowledge of abstract equality?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"We must have had it, then, as it seems, before we were born.\"\n\n\"It seems so.\"\n\n54. \"If, therefore, having this before we were born, we were born\npossessing it, we knew, both before we were born and as soon as we were\nborn, not only the equal and the greater and smaller, but all things of\nthe kind; for our present discussion is not more respecting equality\nthan the beautiful itself, the good, the just, and the holy, and, in one\nword, respecting every thing which we mark with the seal of existence,\nboth in the questions we ask and the answers we give. So that we must\nnecessarily have had a knowledge of all these before we were born.\"\n\n\"Such is the case.\"\n\n\"And if, having once had it, we did not constantly forget it, we should\nalways be born with this knowledge, and should always retain it through\nlife. For to know is this, when one has got a knowledge of any thing, to\nretain and not lose it; for do we not call this oblivion, Simmias, the\nloss of knowledge?\"\n\n\"Assuredly, Socrates,\" he replied.\n\n55. \"But if, having had it before we were born, we lose it at our\nbirth, and afterward, through exercising the senses about these things,\nwe recover the knowledge which we once before possessed, would not that\nwhich we call learning be a recovery of our own knowledge? And in saying\nthat this is to remember, should we not say rightly?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"For this appeared to be possible, for one having perceived any thing,\neither by seeing or hearing, or employing any other sense, to form an\nidea of something different from this, which he had forgotten, and with\nwhich this was connected by being unlike or like. So that, as I said,\none of these two things must follow: either we are all born with this\nknowledge, and we retain it through life, or those whom we say learn\nafterward do nothing else than remember, and this learning will be\nreminiscence.\"\n\n\"Such, certainly, is the case, Socrates.\"\n\n56. \"Which, then, do you choose, Simmias: that we are born with\nknowledge, or that we afterward remember what we had formerly known?\"\n\n\"At present, Socrates, I am unable to choose.\"\n\n\"But what? Are you able to choose in this case, and what do you think\nabout it? Can a man who possesses knowledge give a reason for the things\nthat he knows, or not?\"\n\n\"He needs must be able to do so, Socrates,\" he replied.\n\n\"And do all men appear to you to be able to give a reason for the things\nof which we have just now been speaking?\"\n\n\"I wish they could,\" said Simmias; \"but I am much more afraid that at\nthis time to-morrow there will no longer be any one able to do this\nproperly.\"\n\n\"Do not all men, then, Simmias,\" he said, \"seem to you to know these\nthings?\"\n\n\"By no means.\"\n\n\"Do they remember, then, what they once learned?\"\n\n\"Necessarily so.\"\n\n\"When did our souls receive this knowledge? Not surely, since we were\nborn into the world.\"\n\n\"Assuredly not.\"\n\n\"Before, then?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Our souls, therefore, Simmias, existed before they were in a human\nform, separate from bodies, and possessed intelligence.\"\n\n57. \"Unless, Socrates, we receive this knowledge at our birth, for this\nperiod yet remains.\"\n\n\"Be it so, my friend. But at what other time do we lose it? for we are\nnot born with it, as we have just now admitted. Do we lose it, then, at\nthe very time in which we receive it? Or can you mention any other\ntime?\"\n\n\"By no means, Socrates; I was not aware that I was saying nothing to the\npurpose.\"\n\n\"Does the case then stand thus with us, Simmias?\" he proceeded: \"If\nthose things which we are continually talking about really exist, the\nbeautiful, the good, and every such essence, and to this we refer all\nthings that come under the senses, as finding it to have a prior\nexistence, and to be our own, and if we compare these things to it, it\nnecessarily follows, that as these exist, so likewise our soul exists\neven before we are born; but if these do not exist, this discussion will\nhave been undertaken in vain, is it not so? And is there not an equal\nnecessity both that these things should exist, and our souls also,\nbefore we are born; and if not the former, neither the latter?\"\n\n58. \"Most assuredly, Socrates,\" said Simmias, \"there appears to me to be\nthe same necessity; and the argument admirably tends to prove that our\nsouls exist before we are born, just as that essence does which you have\nnow mentioned. For I hold nothing so clear to me as this, that all such\nthings most certainly exist, as the beautiful, the good, and all the\nrest that you just now spoke of; and, so far as I am concerned, the case\nis sufficiently demonstrated.\"\n\n\"But how does it appear to Cebes?\" said Socrates; \"for it is necessary\nto persuade Cebes too.\"\n\n\"He is sufficiently persuaded, I think,\" said Simmias, \"although he is\nthe most pertinacious of men in distrusting arguments. Yet I think he is\nsufficiently persuaded of this, that our soul existed before we were\nborn. But whether, when we are dead, it will still exist does not appear\nto me to have been demonstrated, Socrates,\" he continued; \"but that\npopular doubt, which Cebes just now mentioned, still stands in our way,\nwhether, when a man dies, the soul is not dispersed, and this is the end\nof its existence. 59. For what hinders it being born, and formed from\nsome other source, and existing before it came into a human body, and\nyet, when it has come, and is separated from this body, its then also\ndying itself, and being destroyed?\"\n\n\"You say well, Simmias,\" said Cebes; \"for it appears that only one half\nof what is necessary has been demonstrated--namely, that our soul\nexisted before we were born; but it is necessary to demonstrate further,\nthat when we are dead it will exist no less than before we were born, if\nthe demonstration is to be made complete.\"\n\n\"This has been even now demonstrated, Simmias and Cebes,\" said Socrates,\n\"if you will only connect this last argument with that which we before\nassented to, that every thing living is produced from that which is\ndead. For if the soul exists before, and it is necessary for it when it\nenters into life, and is born, to be produced from nothing else than\ndeath, and from being dead, how is it not necessary for it also to\nexist after death, since it must needs be produced again? 60. What you\nrequire, then, has been already demonstrated. However, both you and\nSimmias appear to me as if you wished to sift this argument more\nthoroughly, and to be afraid, like children, lest, on the soul's\ndeparture from the body, the winds should blow it away and disperse it,\nespecially if one should happen to die, not in a calm, but in a violent\nstorm.\"\n\nUpon this Cebes, smiling, said, \"Endeavor to teach us better, Socrates,\nas if we were afraid, or rather not as if we were afraid, though perhaps\nthere is some boy[30] within us who has such a dread. Let us, then,\nendeavor to persuade him not to be afraid of death, as of hobgoblins.\"\n\n\"But you must charm him every day,\" said Socrates, \"until you have\nquieted his fears.\"\n\n\"But whence, Socrates,\" he said, \"can we procure a skillful charmer for\nsuch a case, now that you are about to leave us?\"\n\n61. \"Greece is wide, Cebes,\" he replied, \"and in it surely there are\nskillful men. There are also many barbarous nations, all of which you\nshould search through, seeking such a charmer, sparing neither money nor\ntoil, as there is nothing on which you can more seasonably spend your\nmoney. You should also seek for him among yourselves; for perhaps you\ncould not easily find any more competent than yourselves to do this.\"\n\n\"This shall be done,\" said Cebes; \"but, if it is agreeable to you, let\nus return to the point from whence we digressed.\"\n\n\"It will be agreeable to me, for how should it not?\"\n\n\"You say well,\" rejoined Cebes.\n\n\"We ought, then,\" said Socrates, \"to ask ourselves some such question\nas this: to what kind of thing it appertains to be thus\naffected--namely, to be dispersed--and for what we ought to fear, lest\nit should be so affected, and for what not. And after this we should\nconsider which of the two the soul is, and in the result should either\nbe confident or fearful for our soul.\"\n\n\"You speak truly,\" said he.\n\n62. \"Does it not, then, appertain to that which is formed by\ncomposition, and is naturally compounded, to be thus affected, to be\ndissolved in the same manner as that in which it was compounded; and if\nthere is any thing not compounded, does it not appertain to this alone,\nif to any thing, not to be thus affected?\"\n\n\"It appears to me to be so,\" said Cebes.\n\n\"Is it not most probable, then, that things which are always the same,\nand in the same state, are uncompounded, but that things which are\nconstantly changing, and are never in the same state, are compounded?\"\n\n\"To me it appears so.\"\n\n\"Let us return, then,\" he said, \"to the subjects on which we before\ndiscoursed. Whether is essence itself, of which we gave this account\nthat it exists, both in our questions and answers, always the same, or\ndoes it sometimes change? Does equality itself, the beautiful itself,\nand each several thing which is, ever undergo any change, however small?\nOr does each of them which exists, being an unmixed essence by itself,\ncontinue always the same, and in the same state, and never undergo any\nvariation at all under any circumstances?\"\n\n\"They must of necessity continue the same and in the same state,\nSocrates,\" said Cebes.\n\n63. \"But what shall we say of the many beautiful things, such as men,\nhorses, garments, or other things of the kind, whether equal or\nbeautiful, or of all things synonymous with them? Do they continue the\nsame, or, quite contrary to the former, are they never at any time, so\nto say, the same, either with respect to themselves or one another?\"\n\n\"These, on the other hand,\" replied Cebes, \"never continue the same.\"\n\n\"These, then, you can touch, or see, or perceive by the other senses;\nbut those that continue the same, you can not apprehend in any other way\nthan by the exercise of thought; for such things are invisible, and are\nnot seen?\"\n\n\"You say what is strictly true,\" replied Cebes.\n\n64. \"We may assume, then, if you please,\" he continued, \"that there are\ntwo species of things; the one visible, the other invisible?\"\n\n\"We may,\" he said.\n\n\"And the invisible always continuing the same, but the visible never the\nsame?\"\n\n\"This, too,\" he said, \"we may assume.\"\n\n\"Come, then,\" he asked, \"is there anything else belonging to us than, on\nthe one hand, body, and, on the other, soul?\"\n\n\"Nothing else,\" he replied.\n\n\"To which species, then, shall we say the body is more like, and more\nnearly allied?\"\n\n\"It is clear to everyone,\" he said, \"that it is to the visible.\"\n\n\"But what of the soul? Is it visible or invisible?\"\n\n\"It is not visible to men, Socrates,\" he replied.\n\n\"But we speak of things which are visible, or not so, to the nature of\nmen; or to some other nature, think you?\"\n\n\"To that of men.\"\n\n\"What, then, shall we say of the soul--that it is visible, or not\nvisible?\"\n\n\"Not visible.\"\n\n\"Is it, then, invisible?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The soul, then, is more like the invisible than the body; and the body,\nthe visible?\"\n\n\"It must needs be so, Socrates.\"\n\n65. \"And did we not, some time since, say this too, that the soul, when\nit employs the body to examine any thing, either by means of the sight\nor hearing, or any other sense (for to examine any thing by means of the\nbody is to do so by the senses), is then drawn by the body to things\nthat never continue the same, and wanders and is confused, and reels as\nif intoxicated, through coming into contact with things of this kind?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"But when it examines anything by itself, does it approach that which is\npure, eternal, immortal, and unchangeable, and, as being allied to it,\ncontinue constantly with it, so long as it subsists by itself, and has\nthe power, and does it cease from its wandering, and constantly continue\nthe same with respect to those things, through coming into contact with\nthings of this kind? And is this affection of the soul called wisdom?\"\n\n\"You speak,\" he said, \"in every respect, well and truly, Socrates.\"\n\n\"To which species of the two, then, both from what was before and now\nsaid, does the soul appear to you to be more like and more nearly\nallied?\"\n\n66. \"Every one, I think, would allow, Socrates,\" he replied, \"even the\ndullest person, from this method of reasoning, that the soul is in every\nrespect more like that which continues constantly the same than that\nwhich does not so.\"\n\n\"But what as to the body?\"\n\n\"It is more like the other.\"\n\n\"Consider it also thus, that, when soul and body are together, nature\nenjoins the latter to be subservient and obey, the former to rule and\nexercise dominion. And, in this way, which of the two appears to you to\nbe like the divine, and which the mortal? Does it not appear to you to\nbe natural that the divine should rule and command, but the mortal obey\nand be subservient?\"\n\n\"To me it does so.\"\n\n\"Which, then, does the soul resemble?\"\n\n\"It is clear, Socrates, that the soul resembles the divine; but the\nbody, the mortal.\"\n\n\"Consider, then, Cebes,\" said he, \"whether, from all that has been said,\nthese conclusions follow, that the soul is most like that which is\ndivine, immortal, intelligent, uniform, indissoluble, and which always\ncontinues in the same state; but that the body, on the other hand, is\nmost like that which is human, mortal, unintelligent, multiform,\ndissoluble, and which never continues in the same state. Can we say any\nthing against this, my dear Cebes, to show that it is not so?\"\n\n\"We can not.\"\n\n67. \"What, then? Since these things are so, does it not appertain to the\nbody to be quickly dissolved, but to the soul, on the contrary, to be\naltogether indissoluble or nearly so?\"\n\n\"How not?\"\n\n\"You perceive, however,\" he said, \"that when a man dies, the visible\npart of him, the body, which is exposed to sight, and which we call a\ncorpse, to which it appertains to be dissolved, to fall asunder and be\ndispersed, does not immediately undergo any of these affections, but\nremains for a considerable time, and especially so if any one should die\nwith his body in full vigor, and at a corresponding age;[31] for when\nthe body has collapsed and been embalmed, as those that are embalmed in\nEgypt, it remains almost entire for an incredible length of time; and\nsome parts of the body, even though it does decay, such as the bones and\nnerves, and every thing of that kind, are, nevertheless, as one may say,\nimmortal. Is it not so?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n68. \"Can the soul, then, which is invisible, and which goes to another\nplace like itself, excellent, pure and invisible, and therefore truly\ncalled the invisible world,[32] to the presence of a good and wise God\n(whither, if God will, my soul also must shortly go)--can this soul of\nours, I ask, being such and of such a nature, when separated from the\nbody, be immediately dispersed and destroyed, as most men assert? Far\nfrom it, my dear Cebes and Simmias. But the case is much rather thus: if\nit is separated in a pure state, taking nothing of the body with it, as\nnot having willingly communicated with it in the present life, but\nhaving shunned it, and gathered itself within itself, as constantly\nstudying this (but this is nothing else than to pursue philosophy\naright, and in reality to study how to die easily), would not this be to\nstudy how to die?\"\n\n\"Most assuredly.\"\n\n\"Does not the soul, then, when in this state, depart to that which\nresembles itself, the invisible, the divine, immortal and wise? And on\nits arrival there, is it not its lot to be happy, free from error,\nignorance, fears, wild passions, and all the other evils to which human\nnature is subject; and, as is said of the initiated, does it not in\ntruth pass the rest of its time with the gods? Must we affirm that it is\nso, Cebes, or otherwise?\"\n\n\"So, by Jupiter!\" said Cebes.\n\n69. \"But, I think, if it departs from the body polluted and impure, as\nhaving constantly held communion with the body, and having served and\nloved it, and been bewitched by it, through desires and pleasures, so as\nto think that there is nothing real except what is corporeal, which one\ncan touch and see, and drink and eat, and employ for sensual purposes;\nbut what is dark and invisible to the eyes, which is intellectual and\napprehended by philosophy, having been accustomed to hate, fear, and\nshun this, do you think that a soul thus affected can depart from the\nbody by itself, and uncontaminated?\"\n\n\"By no means whatever,\" he replied.\n\n\"But I think it will be impressed with that which is corporeal, which\nthe intercourse and communion of the body, through constant association\nand great attention, have made natural to it.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"We must think, my dear Cebes, that this is ponderous and heavy, earthly\nand visible, by possessing which such a soul is weighed down, and drawn\nagain into the visible world through dread of the invisible and of\nHades, wandering, as it is said, among monuments and tombs, about which,\nindeed, certain shadowy phantoms of souls have been seen, being such\nimages as those souls produced which have not departed pure from the\nbody, but which partake of the visible; on which account, also, they are\nvisible.\"\n\n\"That is probable, Socrates.\"\n\n70. \"Probable indeed, Cebes; and not that these are the souls of the\ngood, but of the wicked, which are compelled to wander about such\nplaces, paying the penalty of their former conduct, which was evil; and\nthey wander about so long until, through the desire of the corporeal\nnature that accompanies them, they are again united to a body; and they\nare united, as is probable, to animals having the same habits as those\nthey have given themselves up to during life.\"\n\n\"But what do you say these are, Socrates?\"\n\n\"For instance, those who have given themselves up to gluttony,\nwantonness and drinking, and have put no restraint on themselves, will\nprobably be clothed in the form of asses and brutes of that kind. Do you\nnot think so?\"\n\n\"You say what is very probable.\"\n\n\"And that such as have set great value on injustice, tyranny and rapine,\nwill be clothed in the species of wolves, hawks and kites! Where else\ncan we say such souls go?\"\n\n\"Without doubt,\" said Cebes, \"into such as these.\"\n\n\"Is it not, then, evident,\" he continued, \"as to the rest, whither each\nwill go, according to the resemblances of their several pursuits?\"\n\n71. \"It is evident,\" he replied. \"How not?\"\n\n\"Of these, then,\" he said, \"are not they the most happy, and do they not\ngo to the best place, who have practiced that social and civilized\nvirtue which they call temperance and justice, and which is produced\nfrom habit and exercise, without philosophy and reflection?\"\n\n\"In what respect are these the most happy?\"\n\n\"Because it is probable that these should again migrate into a\ncorresponding civilized and peaceable kind of animals, such as bees\nperhaps, or wasps, or ants, or even into the same human species again,\nand from these become moderate men.\"\n\n\"It is probable.\"\n\n\"But it is not lawful for any one who has not studied philosophy, and\ndeparted this life perfectly pure, to pass into the rank of gods, but\nonly for the true lover of wisdom. And on this account, my friends\nSimmias and Cebes, those who philosophize rightly, abstain from all\nbodily desires, and persevere in doing so, and do not give themselves up\nto them, not fearing the loss of property and poverty, as the generality\nof men and the lovers of wealth; nor, again, dreading disgrace and\nignominy, like those who are lovers of power and honor, do they then\nabstain from them.\"\n\n\"For it would not become them to do so, Socrates,\" says Cebes.\n\n72. \"It would not, by Jupiter!\" he rejoined. \"Wherefore, Cebes, they who\ncare at all for their soul, and do not spend their lives in the culture\nof their bodies, despising all these, proceed not in the same way with\nthem, as being ignorant whither they are going, but, being convinced\nthat they ought not to act contrary to philosophy, but in accordance\nwith the freedom and purification she affords, they give themselves up\nto her direction, following her wherever she leads.\"\n\n\"How, Socrates?\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" he replied. \"The lovers of wisdom know that\nphilosophy, receiving their soul plainly bound and glued to the body,\nand compelled to view things through this, as through a prison, and not\ndirectly by herself, and sunk in utter ignorance, and perceiving, too,\nthe strength of the prison, that it arises from desire, so that he who\nis bound as much as possible assists in binding himself. 73. I say,\nthen, the lovers of wisdom know that philosophy, receiving their soul in\nthis state, gently exhorts it, and endeavors to free it, by showing that\nthe view of things by means of the eyes is full of deception, as also is\nthat through the ears and the other senses; persuading an abandonment\nof these so far as it is not absolutely necessary to use them, and\nadvising the soul to be collected and concentrated within itself, and to\nbelieve nothing else than herself, with respect to what she herself\nunderstands of things that have a real subsistence; and to consider\nnothing true which she views through the medium of others, and which\ndiffer under different aspects;[32] for that a thing of this kind is\nsensible and visible, but that what she herself perceives is\nintelligible and invisible. The soul of the true philosopher, therefore,\nthinking that she ought not to oppose this deliverance, accordingly\nabstains as much as possible from pleasures and desires, griefs and\nfears, considering that when any one is exceedingly delighted or\nalarmed, grieved or influenced by desire, he does not merely suffer such\nevil from these things as one might suppose, such as either being sick\nor wasting his property through indulging his desires; but that which is\nthe greatest evil, and the worst of all, this he suffers, and is not\nconscious of it.\"\n\n\"But what is this evil, Socrates?\" said Cebes.\n\n74. \"That the soul of every man is compelled to be either vehemently\ndelighted or grieved about some particular thing, and, at the same time,\nto consider that the thing about which it is thus strongly affected is\nmost real and most true, though it is not so. But these are chiefly\nvisible objects, are they not?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"In this state of affection, then, is not the soul especially shackled\nby the body?\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Because each pleasure and pain, having a nail, as it were, nails the\nsoul to the body, and fastens it to it, and causes it to become\ncorporeal, deeming those things to be true whatever the body asserts to\nbe so. For, in consequence of its forming the same opinions with the\nbody, and delighting in the same things, it is compelled, I think, to\npossess similar manners, and to be similarly nourished; so that it can\nnever pass into Hades in a pure state, but must ever depart polluted by\nthe body, and so quickly falls again into another body, and grows up as\nif it were sown, and consequently is deprived of all association with\nthat which is divine, and pure, and uniform.\"\n\n\"You speak most truly, Socrates,\" said Cebes.\n\n75. \"For these reasons, therefore, Cebes, those who are truly lovers of\nwisdom are moderate and resolute, and not for the reasons that most\npeople say. Do you think as they do?\"\n\n\"Assuredly not.\"\n\n\"No, truly. But the soul of a philosopher would reason thus, and would\nnot think that philosophy ought to set it free, and that when it is\nfreed it should give itself up again to pleasures and pains, to bind it\ndown again, and make her work void, weaving a kind of Penelope's web the\nreverse way. On the contrary, effecting a calm of the passions, and\nfollowing the guidance of reason, and being always intent on this,\ncontemplating that which is true and divine, and not subject to opinion;\nand being nourished by it, it thinks that it ought to live in this\nmanner as long as it does live, and that when it dies it shall go to a\nkindred essence, and one like itself, and shall be free from human\nevils. From such a regimen as this the soul has no occasion to fear,\nSimmias and Cebes, while it strictly attends to these things, lest,\nbeing torn to pieces at its departure from the body, it should be blown\nabout and dissipated by the winds, and no longer have an existence\nanywhere.\"\n\n76. When Socrates had thus spoken, a long silence ensued; and Socrates\nhimself was pondering upon what had been said, as he appeared, and so\ndid most of us; but Cebes and Simmias were conversing a little while\nwith each other. At length Socrates, perceiving them, said, \"What think\nyou of what has been said? Does it appear to you to have been proved\nsufficiently? for many doubts and objections still remain if any one\nwill examine them thoroughly. If, then, you are considering some other\nsubject, I have nothing to say; but if you are doubting about this, do\nnot hesitate both yourselves to speak and express your opinion, if it\nappears to you in any respect that it might have been argued better, and\nto call me in again to your assistance, if you think you can be at all\nbenefited by my help.\"\n\nUpon this Simmias said, \"Indeed, Socrates, I will tell you the truth:\nfor some time each of us, being in doubt, has been urging and exhorting\nthe other to question you, from a desire to hear our doubts solved; but\nwe were afraid of giving you trouble, lest it should be disagreeable to\nyou in your present circumstances.\"\n\n77. But he, upon hearing this, gently smiled, and said, \"Bless me,\nSimmias; with difficulty, indeed, could I persuade other men that I do\nnot consider my present condition a calamity, since I am not able to\npersuade even you; but you are afraid lest I should be more morose now\nthan during the former part of my life. And, as it seems, I appear to\nyou to be inferior to swans with respect to divination, who, when they\nperceive that they must needs die, though they have been used to sing\nbefore, sing then more than ever, rejoicing that they are about to\ndepart to that deity whose servants they are. But men, through their\nown fear of death, belie the swans too, and say that they, lamenting\ntheir death, sing their last song through grief; and they do not\nconsider that no bird sings when it is hungry or cold, or is afflicted\nwith any other pain, not even the nightingale, or swallow, or the\nhoopoes, which, they say, sing lamenting through grief. But neither do\nthese birds appear to me to sing through sorrow, nor yet do swans; but,\nin my opinion, belonging to Apollo, they are prophetic, and, foreseeing\nthe blessings of Hades, they sing and rejoice on that day more\nexcellently than at any preceding time. 78. But I, too, consider myself\nto be a fellow-servant of the swans, and sacred to the same god; and\nthat I have received the power of divination from our common master no\nless than they, and that I do not depart from this life with less\nspirits than they. On this account, therefore, it is right that you\nshould both speak and ask whatever you please, so long as the Athenian\nEleven permit.\"\n\n\"You say well,\" said Simmias, \"and both I will tell you what are my\ndoubts, and he, in turn, how far he does not assent to what has been\nsaid. For it appears to me, Socrates, probably as it does to you with\nrespect to these matters, that to know them clearly in the present life\nis either impossible or very difficult: on the other hand, however, not\nto test what has been said of them in every possible way, so as not to\ndesist until, on examining them in every point of view, one has\nexhausted every effort, is the part of a very weak man. For we ought,\nwith respect to these things, either to learn from others how they stand\nor to discover them for one's self; or, if both these are impossible,\nthen, taking the best of human reasonings and that which is the most\ndifficult to be confuted, and embarking on this, as one who risks\nhimself on a raft, so to sail through life, unless one could be carried\nmore safely, and with less risk, on a surer conveyance, or some divine\nreason. 79. I, therefore, shall not now be ashamed to question you,\nsince you bid me do so, nor shall I blame myself hereafter for not\nhaving now told you what I think; for to me, Socrates, when I consider\nthe matter, both with myself and with Cebes, what has been said does not\nappear to have been sufficiently proved.\"\n\nThen said Socrates, \"Perhaps, my friend, you have the truth on your\nside; but tell me in what respect it was not sufficiently proved.\"\n\n\"In this,\" he answered, \"because any one might use the same argument\nwith respect to harmony, and a lyre, and its chords, that harmony is\nsomething invisible and incorporeal, very beautiful and divine, in a\nwell-modulated lyre; but the lyre and its chords are bodies, and of\ncorporeal form, compounded and earthly, and akin to that which is\nmortal. When any one, then, has either broken the lyre, or cut or burst\nthe chords, he might maintain from the same reasoning as yours that it\nis necessary the harmony should still exist and not be destroyed; for\nthere could be no possibility that the lyre should subsist any longer\nwhen the chords are burst; and that the chords, which are of a mortal\nnature, should subsist, but that the harmony, which is of the same\nnature and akin to that which is divine and immortal, should become\nextinct, and perish before that which is mortal; but he might say that\nthe harmony must needs subsist somewhere, and that the wood and chords\nmust decay before it can undergo any change. 80. For I think, Socrates,\nthat you yourself have arrived at this conclusion, that we consider the\nsoul to be pretty much of this kind--namely, that our body being\ncompacted and held together by heat and cold, dryness and moisture, and\nother such qualities, our soul is the fusion and harmony of these, when\nthey are well and duly combined with each other. If, then, the soul is a\nkind of harmony, it is evident that when our bodies are unduly relaxed\nor strained, through diseases and other maladies, the soul must, of\nnecessity, immediately perish, although it is most divine, just as other\nharmonies which subsist in sounds or in the various works of artisans;\nbut that the remains of the body of each person last for a long time,\ntill they are either burned or decayed. Consider, then, what we shall\nsay to this reasoning, if any one should maintain that the soul, being a\nfusion of the several qualities in the body, perishes first in that\nwhich is called death.\"\n\n81. Socrates, therefore, looking steadfastly at us, as he was generally\naccustomed to do, and smiling, said, \"Simmias indeed speaks justly. If,\nthen, any one of you is more prompt than I am, why does he not answer,\nfor he seems to have handled my argument not badly? It appears to me,\nhowever, that before we make our reply we should first hear from Cebes,\nwhat he, too, objects to our argument, in order that, some time\nintervening, we may consider what we shall say, and then when we have\nheard them, we may give up to them, if they appear to speak agreeably to\ntruth; or, if not, we may then uphold our own argument. Come, then,\nCebes,\" he continued, \"say what it is that disturbs you, so as to cause\nyour unbelief.\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" said Cebes; \"the argument seems to me to rest where\nit was, and to be liable to the same objection that we mentioned before.\nFor, that our soul existed even before It came into this present form, I\ndo not deny has been very elegantly, and, if it is not too much to say\nso, very fully, demonstrated; but that it still exists anywhere when we\nare dead does not appear to me to have been clearly proved; nor do I\ngive in to the objection of Simmias, that the soul is not stronger and\nmore durable than the body, for it appears to me to excel very far all\nthings of this kind. 82. 'Why, then,' reason might say, 'do you still\ndisbelieve? for, since you see that when a man dies his weaker part\nstill exists, does it not appear to you to be necessary that the more\ndurable part should still be preserved during this period?' Consider,\nthen, whether I say any thing to the purpose in reply to this. For I,\ntoo, as well as Simmias, as it seems, stand in need of an illustration;\nfor the argument appears to me to have been put thus, as if any one\nshould advance this argument about an aged weaver who had died, that the\nman has not yet perished, but perhaps still exists somewhere; and, as a\nproof, should exhibit the garment which he wore and had woven himself,\nthat it is entire and has not perished; and if any one should disbelieve\nhim, he would ask, which of the two is the more durable, the species of\na man or of a garment, that is constantly in use and being worn; then,\nshould any one answer that the species of man is much more durable, he\nwould think it demonstrated that, beyond all question, the man is\npreserved, since that which is less durable has not perished. 83. But I\ndo not think, Simmias, that this is the case, and do you consider what I\nsay, for every one must think that he who argues thus argues, foolishly.\nFor this weaver, having worn and woven many such garments, perished\nafter almost all of them, but before the last, I suppose; and yet it\ndoes not on this account follow any the more that a man is inferior to\nor weaker than a garment. And I think, the soul might admit this same\nillustration with respect to the body, and he who should say the same\nthings concerning them would appear to me to speak correctly, that the\nsoul is more durable, but the body weaker and less durable; for he would\nsay that each soul wears out many bodies, especially if it lives many\nyears; for if the body wastes and is dissolved while the man still\nlives, but the soul continually weaves anew what is worn out, it must\nnecessarily follow that when the soul is dissolved it must then have on\nits last garment, and perish before this alone; but when the soul has\nperished the body would show the weakness of its nature, and quickly rot\nand vanish. 84. So that it is not by any means right to place implicit\nreliance on this argument, and to believe that when we die our soul\nstill exists somewhere. For, if any one should concede to him who admits\neven more than you do, and should grant to him that not only did our\nsoul exist before we were born, but that even when we die nothing\nhinders the souls of some of us from still existing, and continuing to\nexist hereafter, and from being often born, and dying again--for so\nstrong is it by nature, that it can hold out against repeated births--if\nhe granted this, he would not yet concede that it does not exhaust\nitself in its many births, and at length perish altogether in some one\nof the deaths. But he would say that no one knows this death and\ndissolution of the body, which brings destruction to the soul; for it is\nimpossible for any one of us to perceive it. If, however, this be the\ncase, it follows that every one who is confident at the approach of\ndeath is foolishly confident, unless he is able to prove that the soul\nis absolutely immortal and imperishable; otherwise it necessarily\nfollows that he who is about to die must be alarmed for his soul, lest\nin its present disunion from the body it should entirely perish.\"\n\n85. Upon this, all of us who had heard them speaking were disagreeably\naffected, as we afterward mentioned to each other; because, after we had\nbeen fully persuaded by the former arguments, they seemed to disturb us\nanew, and to cast us into a distrust, not only of the arguments already\nadduced, but of such as might afterward be urged, for fear lest we\nshould not be fit judges of anything, or lest the things themselves\nshould be incredible.\n\n_Echec._ By the gods! Ph\u00e6do, I can readily excuse you; for, while I am\nnow hearing you, it occurs to me to ask myself some such question as\nthis: What arguments can we any longer believe? since the argument which\nSocrates advanced, and which was exceedingly credible, has now fallen\ninto discredit. For this argument, that our soul is a kind of harmony,\nproduces a wonderful impression on me, both now and always, and in being\nmentioned, it has reminded me, as it were, that I, too, was formerly of\nthe same opinion; so that I stand in need again, as if from the very\nbeginning, of some other argument which may persuade me that the soul of\none who dies does not die with the body. Tell me, therefore, by Jupiter!\nhow Socrates followed up the argument; and whether he, too, as you\nconfess was the case with yourselves, seemed disconcerted at all, or\nnot, but calmly maintained his position; and maintained it sufficiently\nor defectively. Relate everything to me as accurately as you can.\n\n86. _Ph\u00e6d._ Indeed, Echecrates, though I have often admired Socrates, I\nwas never more delighted than at being with him on that occasion. That\nhe should be able to say something is perhaps not at all surprising; but\nI especially admired this in him--first of all, that he listened to the\nargument of the young men so sweetly, affably, and approvingly; in the\nnext place, that he so quickly perceived how we were affected by their\narguments; and, lastly, that he cured us so well and recalled us, when\nwe were put to flight, as it were, and vanquished, and encouraged us to\naccompany him, and consider the argument with him.\n\n_Echec._ How was that?\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ I will tell you: I happened to be sitting at his right hand,\nnear the bed, upon a low seat, but he himself sat much higher than I.\nStroking my head, then, and laying hold of the hair that hung on my\nneck--for he used, often, to play with my hairs--\"To-morrow,\" he said,\n\"perhaps, Ph\u00e6do, you will cut off these beautiful locks?\"\n\n\"It seems likely, Socrates,\" said I.\n\n87. \"Not if you are persuaded by me.\"\n\n\"Why so?\" I asked.\n\n\"To-day,\" he replied, \"both I ought to cut off mine and you yours, if\nour argument must die, and we are unable to revive it. And I, if I were\nyou, and the arguments were to escape me, would take an oath, as the\nArgives do, not to suffer my hair to grow until I had renewed the\ncontest, and vanquished the arguments of Simmias and Cebes.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"even Hercules himself is said not to have been a match\nfor two.\"\n\n\"Call upon me, then,\" he said, \"as your Iolaus, while it is yet day.\"\n\n\"I do call on you, then,\" I said, \"not as Hercules upon Iolaus, but as\nIolaus upon Hercules.\"\n\n\"It will make no difference,\" he replied. \"But, first of all, we must\nbeware lest we meet with some mischance.\"\n\n\"What?\" I asked.\n\n\"That we do not become,\" he answered, \"haters of reasoning, as some\nbecome haters of men; for no greater evil can happen to any one than to\nhate reasoning. 88. But hatred of reasoning and hatred of mankind both\nspring from the same source. For hatred of mankind is produced in us\nfrom having placed too great reliance on some one without sufficient\nknowledge of him, and from having considered him to be a man altogether\ntrue, sincere, and faithful, and then, after a little while, finding him\ndepraved and unfaithful, and after him another. And when a man has\noften experienced this, and especially from those whom he considered his\nmost intimate and best friends, at length, having frequently stumbled,\nhe hates all men, and thinks that there is no soundness at all in any of\nthem. Have you not perceived that this happens so?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" I replied.\n\n\"Is it not a shame?\" he said \"And is it not evident that such a one\nattempts to deal with men without sufficient knowledge of human affairs?\nFor if he had dealt with them with competent knowledge, as the case\nreally is, so he would have considered that the good and the bad are\neach very few in number, and that those between both are most numerous.\"\n\n89. \"How say you?\" I asked.\n\n\"In the same manner,\" he replied, \"as with things very little and very\nlarge Do you think that any thing is more rare than to find a very large\non a very little man, or dog, or any thing else? and, again, swift or\nslow, beautiful or ugly, white or black? Do you not perceive that of all\nsuch things the extremes are rare and few, but that the intermediate are\nabundant and numerous?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" I replied.\n\n\"Do you not think, then,\" he continued, \"that if a contest in wickedness\nwere proposed, even here very few would be found pre-eminent?\"\n\n\"It is probable,\" I said.\n\n\"It is so,\" he said, \"but in this respect reasonings do not resemble\nmen, for I was just now following you as my leader, but in this they do\nresemble them, when any one believes in any argument as true without\nbeing skilled in the art of reasoning, and then shortly afterward it\nappears to him to be false, at one time being so and at another time\nnot, and so on with one after another,[34] and especially they who\ndevote themselves to controversial arguments, you are aware, at length\nthink they have become very wise and have alone discovered that there is\nnothing sound and stable either in things or reasonings but that all\nthings that exist, as is the case with the Euripus, are in a constant\nstate of flux and reflux, and never continue in any one condition for\nany length of time.\"\n\n\"You speak perfectly true,\" I said.\n\n90. \"Would it not, then, Ph\u00e6do\" he said \"be a sad thing if, when there\nis a true and sound reasoning, and such as one can understand, one\nshould then, through lighting upon such arguments as appear to be at one\ntime true and at another false, not blame one's self and one's own want\nof skill, but at length, through grief, should anxiously transfer the\nblame from one's self to the arguments, and thereupon pass the rest of\none's life in hating and reviling arguments and so be depraved of the\ntruth and knowledge of things that exist?\"\n\n\"By Jupiter!\" I said, \"it would be sad, indeed.\"\n\n\"In the first place, then,\" he said, \"let us beware of this, and let us\nnot admit into our souls the notion that there appears to be nothing\nsound in reasoning, but much rather that we are not yet in a sound\ncondition, and that we ought vigorously and strenuously to endeavor to\nbecome sound, you and the others, on account of your whole future life,\nbut I, on account of my death, since I am in danger, at the present\ntime, of not behaving as becomes a philosopher with respect to this very\nsubject, but as a wrangler, like those who are utterly uninformed 91.\nFor they, when they dispute about any thing, care nothing at all for the\nsubject about which the discussion is, but are anxious about this, that\nwhat they have themselves advanced shall appear true to the persons\npresent. And I seem to myself on the present occasion to differ from\nthem only in this respect, for I shall not be anxious to make what I say\nappear true to those who are present, except that may happen by the way,\nbut that it may appear certainly to be so to myself. For I thus reason,\nmy dear friend, and observe how interestedly. If what I say be true, it\nis well to be persuaded of it, but if nothing remains to one that is\ndead, I shall, at least, during the interval before death be less\ndisagreeable to those present by my lamentations. But this ignorance of\nmine will not continue long, for that would be bad, but will shortly be\nput an end to. Thus prepared, then, Simmias and Cebes,\" he continued, \"I\nnow proceed to my argument. Do you, however, if you will be persuaded by\nme, pay little attention to Socrates, but much more to the truth, and if\nI appear to you to say any thing true, assent to it, but if not, oppose\nme with all your might, taking good care that in my zeal I do not\ndeceive both myself and you, and, like a bee, depart leaving my sting\nbehind.\"\n\n92. \"But let us proceed,\" he said \"First of all, remind me of what you\nsaid, if I should appear to have forgotten it For Simmias, as I think,\nis in doubt, and fears lest the soul, though more divine and beautiful\nthan the body, should perish before it, as being a species of harmony.\nBut Cebes appeared to me to grant me this, that the soul is more durable\nthan the body, but he argued that it is uncertain to every one, whether\nwhen the soul has worn out many bodies and that repeatedly, it does\nnot, on leaving the last body, itself also perish, so that this very\nthing is death, the destruction of the soul, since the body never ceases\ndecaying Are not these the things, Simmias and Cebes, which we have to\ninquire into?\"\n\nThey both agreed that they were.\n\n\"Whether, then,\" he continued \"do you reject all our former arguments,\nor some of them only, and not others?\"\n\n\"Some we do,\" they replied, \"and others not.\"\n\n\"What, then,\" he proceeded, \"do you say about that argument in which we\nasserted that knowledge is reminiscence, and that, this being the case,\nour soul must necessarily have existed somewhere before it was inclosed\nin the body?\"\n\n93. \"I, indeed,\" replied Cebes \"was both then wonderfully persuaded by\nit, and now persist in it, as in no other argument.\"\n\n\"And I, too,\" said Simmias, \"am of the same mind, and should very much\nwonder if I should ever think otherwise on that point.\"\n\n\"Then,\" Socrates said, \"you must needs think otherwise, my Theban\nfriend, if this opinion holds good, that harmony is something\ncompounded, and that the soul is a kind of harmony that results from the\nparts compacted together in the body. For surely you will not allow\nyourself to say that harmony was composed prior to the things from which\nit required to be composed Would you allow this?\"\n\n\"By no means, Socrates\" he replied.\n\n\"Do you perceive, then,\" he said, \"that this result from what you say,\nwhen you assert that the soul existed before it came into a human form\nand body, but that it was composed from things that did not yet exist?\nFor harmony is not such as that to which you compare it, but first the\nlyre, and the chords, and the sounds yet unharmonized, exist, and, last\nof all, harmony is produced, and first perishes. How, then, will this\nargument accord with that?\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said Simmias.\n\n94. \"And yet,\" he said, \"if in any argument, there ought to be an\naccordance in one respecting harmony.\"\n\n\"There ought,\" said Simmias.\n\n\"This of yours, however,\" he said, \"is not in accordance. Consider,\nthen, which of these two statements do you prefer--that knowledge is\nreminiscence, or the soul harmony?\"\n\n\"The former by far, Socrates,\" he replied; \"for the latter occurred to\nme without demonstration, through a certain probability and speciousness\nwhence most men derive their opinions. But I am well aware that\narguments which draw their demonstrations from probabilities are idle;\nand, unless one is on one's guard against them, they are very deceptive,\nboth in geometry and all other subjects. But the argument respecting\nreminiscence and knowledge may be said to have been demonstrated by a\nsatisfactory hypothesis. For in this way it was said that our soul\nexisted before it came into the body, because the essence that bears the\nappellation of 'that which is' belongs to it. But of this, as I persuade\nmyself, I am fully and rightly convinced. It is therefore necessary, as\nit seems, that I should neither allow myself nor any one else to\nmaintain that the soul is harmony.\"\n\n95. \"But what, Simmias,\" said he, \"if you consider it thus? Does it\nappear to you to appertain to harmony, or to any other composition, to\nsubsist in any other way than the very things do of which it is\ncomposed?\"\n\n\"By no means.\"\n\n\"And indeed, as I think, neither to do any thing, nor suffer any thing\nelse, besides what they do or suffer.\"\n\nHe agreed.\n\n\"It does not, therefore, appertain to harmony to take the lead of the\nthings of which it is composed, but to follow them.\"\n\nHe assented.\n\n\"It is, then, far from being the case that harmony is moved or sends\nforth sounds contrariwise, or is in any other respect opposed to its\nparts?\"\n\n\"Far, indeed,\" he said.\n\n\"What, then? Is not every harmony naturally harmony, so far as it has\nbeen made to accord?\"\n\n\"I do not understand you,\" he replied.\n\n\"Whether,\" he said, \"if it should be in a greater degree and more fully\nmade to accord, supposing that were possible, would the harmony be\ngreater and more full; but if in a less degree and less fully, then\nwould it be inferior and less full?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Is this, then, the case with the soul that, even in the smallest\nextent, one soul is more fully and in a greater degree, or less fully\nand in a less degree, this very thing, a soul, than another?\"\n\n\"In no respect whatever,\" he replied.\n\n96. \"Well, then,\" he said, \"by Jupiter! is one soul said to possess\nintelligence and virtue, and to be good, and another folly and vice, and\nto be bad? and is this said with truth?\"\n\n\"With truth, certainly.\"\n\n\"Of those, then, who maintain that the soul is harmony, what will any\none say that these things are in the soul, virtue and vice? Will he call\nthem another kind of harmony and discord, and say that the one, the good\nsoul, is harmonized, and, being harmony, contains within itself another\nharmony, but that the other is discordant, and does not contain within\nitself another harmony?\"\n\n\"I am unable to say,\" replied Simmias; \"but it is clear that he who\nmaintains that opinion would say something of the kind.\"\n\n\"But it has been already granted,\" said he, \"that one soul is not more\nor less a soul than another; and this is an admission that one harmony\nis not to a greater degree or more fully, or to a less degree or less\nfully, a harmony, than another; is it not so?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And that that which is neither more or less harmony is neither more nor\nless harmonized: is it so?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"But does that which is neither more or less harmonized partake of more\nor less harmony, or an equal amount?\"\n\n\"An equal amount.\"\n\n97. \"A soul, therefore, since it is not more or less this very thing, a\nsoul, than another, is not more or less harmonized?\"\n\n\"Even so.\"\n\n\"Such, then, being its condition, it can not partake of a greater degree\nof discord or harmony?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"And, again, such being its condition, can one soul partake of a greater\ndegree of vice or virtue than another, if vice be discord, and virtue\nharmony?\"\n\n\"It can not.\"\n\n\"Or rather, surely, Simmias, according to right reason, no soul will\npartake of vice, if it is harmony; for doubtless harmony, which is\nperfectly such, can never partake of discord?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"Neither, therefore, can a soul which is perfectly a soul partake of\nvice.\"\n\n\"How can it, from what has been already said?\"\n\n\"From this reasoning, then, all souls of all animals will be equally\ngood, if, at least, they are by nature equally this very thing, souls?\"\n\n\"It appears so to me, Socrates,\" he said.\n\n\"And does it appear to you,\" he said, \"to have been thus rightly argued,\nand that the argument would lead to this result, if the hypothesis were\ncorrect, that the soul is harmony?\"\n\n98. \"On no account whatever,\" he replied.\n\n\"But what,\" said he, \"of all the things that are in man? Is there any\nthing else that you say bears rule except the soul, especially if it be\nwise?\"\n\n\"I should say not.\"\n\n\"Whether by yielding to the passions in the body, or by opposing them?\nMy meaning is this: for instance, when heat and thirst are present, by\ndrawing it the contrary way, so as to hinder it from drinking; and when\nhunger is present, by hindering it from eating; and in ten thousand\nother instances we see the soul opposing the desires of the body. Do we\nnot?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"But have we not before allowed that if the soul were harmony, it would\nnever utter a sound contrary to the tension, relaxation, vibration, or\nany other affection to which its component parts are subject, but would\nfollow, and never govern them?\"\n\n\"We did allow it,\" he replied, \"for how could we do otherwise?\"\n\n\"What, then? Does not the soul now appear to act quite the contrary,\nruling over all the parts from which any one might say it subsists, and\nresisting almost all of them through the whole of life, and exercising\ndominion over them in all manner of ways; punishing some more severely\neven with pain, both by gymnastics and medicine, and others more mildly;\npartly threatening, and partly admonishing the desires, angers and\nfears, as if, being itself of a different nature, it were conversing\nwith something quite different? 99. Just as Homer has done in the\nOdyssey,[35] where he speaks of Ulysses--'Having struck his breast, he\nchid his heart in the following words: Bear up, my heart; ere this thou\nhast borne far worse.' Do you think that he composed this in the belief\nthat the soul was harmony, and capable of being led by the passions of\nthe body, and not rather that it was able to lead and govern them, as\nbeing something much more divine than to be compared with harmony?\"\n\n\"By Jupiter! Socrates, it appears so to me.\"\n\n\"Therefore, my excellent friend, it is on no account correct for us to\nsay that the soul is a kind of harmony; for, as it appears, we should\nneither agree with Homer, that divine poet, nor with ourselves.\"\n\n\"Such is the case,\" he replied.\n\n\"Be it so, then,\" said Socrates, \"we have already, as it seems,\nsufficiently appeased this Theban harmony. But how, Cebes, and by what\narguments, shall we appease this Cadmus?\"[36]\n\n100. \"You appear to me,\" replied Cebes, \"to be likely to find out; for\nyou have made out this argument against harmony wonderfully beyond my\nexpectation. For when Simmias was saying what his doubts were, I\nwondered very much whether any one would be able to answer his\nreasoning. It, therefore, appeared to me unaccountable that he did not\nwithstand the very first onset of your argument. I should not,\ntherefore, be surprised if the arguments of Cadmus met with the same\nfate.\"\n\n\"My good friend,\" said Socrates, \"do not speak so boastfully, lest some\nenvious power should overthrow the argument that is about to be urged.\nThese things, however, will be cared for by the deity; but let us,\nmeeting hand to hand, in the manner of Homer, try whether you say any\nthing to the purpose. This, then, is the sum of what you inquire you\nrequire it to be proved that our soul is imperishable and immortal; if a\nphilosopher that is about to die, full of confidence and hope that after\ndeath he shall be far happier than if he had died after leading a\ndifferent kind of life, shall not entertain this confidence foolishly\nand vainly. 101. But to show that the soul is something strong and\ndivine, and that it existed before we men were born, you say not at all\nhinders, but that all these things may evince, not its immortality, but\nthat the soul is durable, and existed an immense space of time before,\nand knew and did many things. But that, for all this, it was not at all\nthe more immortal, but that its very entrance into the body of a man was\nthe beginning of its destruction, as if it were a disease; so that it\npasses through this life in wretchedness, and at last perishes in that\nwhich is called death. But you say that it is of no consequence whether\nit comes into a body once or often, with respect to our occasion of\nfear; for it is right he should be afraid, unless he is foolish, who\ndoes not know, and can not give a reason to prove, that the soul is\nimmortal. Such, I think, Cebes, is the sum of what you say; and I\npurposely repeat it often, that nothing may escape us, and, if you\nplease, you may add to or take from it.\"\n\nCebes replied, \"I do not wish at present either to take from or add to\nit; that is what I mean.\"\n\n102. Socrates, then having paused for some time, and considered\nsomething within himself, said, \"You inquire into no easy matter, Cebes;\nfor it is absolutely necessary to discuss the whole question of\ngeneration and corruption. If you please, then, I will relate to you\nwhat happened to me with reference to them; and afterward, if any thing\nthat I shall say shall appear to you useful toward producing conviction\non the subject you are now treating of, make use of it.\"\n\n\"I do indeed wish it,\" replied Cebes.\n\n\"Hear my relation, then. When I was a young man, Cebes, I was\nwonderfully desirous of that wisdom which they call a history of nature;\nfor it appeared to me to be a very sublime thing to know the causes of\nevery thing--why each thing is generated, why it perishes, and why it\nexists. And I often tossed myself upward and downward, considering first\nsuch things as these, whether when heat and cold have undergone a\ncertain corruption, as some say, then animals are formed; and whether\nthe blood is that by means of which we think, or air, or fire, or none\nof these, but that it is the brain that produces the perceptions of\nhearing, seeing, and smelling; and that from these come memory and\nopinion; and from memory and opinion, when in a state of rest, in the\nsame way knowledge is produced. 103. And, again, considering the\ncorruptions of these, and the affections incidental to the heavens and\nthe earth, I at length appeared to myself so unskillful in these\nspeculations that nothing could be more so. But I will give you a\nsufficient proof of this; for I then became, by these very speculations,\nso very blind with respect to things which I knew clearly before, as it\nappeared to myself and others, that I unlearned even the things which I\nthought I knew before, both on many other subjects and also this, why a\nman grows. For, before, I thought this was evident to every one--that it\nproceeds from eating and drinking; for that, when, from the food, flesh\nis added to flesh, bone to bone, and so on in the same proportion, what\nis proper to them is added to the several other parts, then the bulk\nwhich was small becomes afterward large, and thus that a little man\nbecomes a big one. Such was my opinion at that time. Does it appear to\nyou correct?\"\n\n\"To me it does,\" said Cebes.\n\n104. \"Consider this further. I thought that I had formed a right\nopinion, when, on seeing a tall man standing by a short one, I judged\nthat he was taller by the head, and in like manner, one horse than\nanother; and, still more clearly than this, ten appeared to me to be\nmore than eight by two being added to them, and that two cubits are\ngreater than one cubit by exceeding it a half.\"\n\n\"But now,\" said Cebes, \"what think you of these matters?\"\n\n\"By Jupiter!\" said he, \"I am far from thinking that I know the cause of\nthese, for that I can not even persuade myself of this: when a person\nhas added one to one, whether the one to which the addition has been\nmade has become two, or whether that which has been added, and that to\nwhich the addition has been made, have become two by the addition of the\none to the other. For I wonder if, when each of these was separate from\nthe other, each was one, and they were not yet two; but when they have\napproached nearer each other this should be the cause of their becoming\ntwo--namely, the union by which they have been placed nearer one\nanother. 105. Nor yet, if any person should divide one, am I able to\npersuade myself that this, their division, is the cause of its becoming\ntwo. For this cause is the contrary to the former one of their becoming\ntwo; for then it was because they were brought nearer to each other, and\nthe one was added to the other; but now it is because one is removed and\nseparated from the other. Nor do I yet persuade myself that I know why\none is one, nor, in a word, why any thing else is produced, or perishes,\nor exists, according to this method of proceeding; but I mix up another\nmethod of my own at random, for this I can on no account give in to.\"\n\n\"But, having once heard a person reading from a book, written, as he\nsaid, by Anaxagoras, and which said that it is intelligence that sets in\norder and is the cause of all things, I was delighted with this cause,\nand it appeared to me in a manner to be well that intelligence should be\nthe cause of all things, and I considered with myself, if this is so,\nthat the regulating intelligence orders all things, and disposes each in\nsuch way as will be best for it. 106. If any one, then, should desire to\ndiscover the cause of every thing, in what way it is produced, or\nperishes, or exists, he must discover this respecting it--in what way it\nis best for it either to exist, or to suffer, or do any thing else. From\nthis mode of reasoning, then, it is proper that a man should consider\nnothing else, both with respect to himself and others, than what is most\nexcellent and best; and it necessarily follows that this same person\nmust also know that which is worst, for that the knowledge of both of\nthem is the same. Thus reasoning with myself, I was delighted to think I\nhad found in Anaxagoras a preceptor who would instruct me in the causes\nof things, agreeably to my own mind, and that he would inform me, first,\nwhether the earth is flat or round, and, when he had informed me,\nwould, moreover, explain the cause and necessity of its being so,\narguing on the principle of the better, and showing that it is better\nfor it to be such as it is; and if he should say that it is in the\nmiddle, that he would, moreover, explain how it is better for it to be\nin the middle; and if he should make all this clear to me, I was\nprepared no longer to require any other species of cause. 107. I was in\nlike manner prepared to inquire respecting the sun and moon and the\nother stars, with respect to their velocities in reference to each\nother, and their revolutions and other conditions, in what way it is\nbetter for both to act and be affected as it does and is. For I never\nthought that after he had said that these things were set in order by\nintelligence, he would introduce any other cause for them than that it\nis best for them to be as they are. Hence, I thought, that in assigning\nthe cause to each of them, and to all in common, he would explain that\nwhich is best for each, and the common good of all. And I would not have\ngiven up my hopes for a good deal; but, having taken up his books with\ngreat eagerness, I read through them as quickly as I could, that I might\nas soon as possible know the best and the worst.\"\n\n108. \"From this wonderful hope, however, my friend, I was speedily\nthrown down, when, as I advance and read over his works, I meet with a\nman who makes no use of intelligence, nor assigns any causes for the\nordering of all things, but makes the causes to consist of air, ether,\nand water, and many other things equally absurd. And he appeared to me\nto be very like one who should say that whatever Socrates does he does\nby intelligence, and then, attempting to describe the causes of each\nparticular action, should say, first of all, that for this reason I am\nnow sitting here, because my body is composed of bones and sinews and\nthat the bones are hard, and have joints separate from each other, but\nthat the sinews, being capable of tension and contraction, cover the\nbones, together with the flesh and skin which contain them. The bones,\ntherefore, being suspended in their sockets, the nerves, relaxing and\ntightening, enable me to bend my limbs as I now do, and from this cause\nI sit here bent up. 109. And if, again, he should assign other similar\ncauses for my conversing with you, assigning as causes voice, and air,\nand hearing, and ten thousand other things of the kind, omitting to\nmention the real causes, that since it appeared better to the Athenians\nto condemn me, I therefore thought it better to sit here, and more just\nto remain and submit to the punishment which they have ordered; for, by\nthe dog! I think these sinews and bones would have been long ago either\nin Megara or Boeotia, borne thither by an opinion of that which is best,\nif I had not thought it more just and honorable to submit to whatever\nsentence the city might order than to flee and run stealthily away. But\nto call such things causes is too absurd. But if any one should say that\nwithout possessing such things as bones and sinews, and whatever else I\nhave, I could not do what I pleased, he would speak the truth; but to\nsay that I do as I do through them, and that I act thus by intelligence,\nand not from the choice of what is best, would be a great and extreme\ndisregard of reason. 110. For this would be not to be able to\ndistinguish that the real cause is one thing, and that another, without\nwhich a cause could not be a cause; which, indeed, the generality of men\nappear to me to do, fumbling, as it were, in the dark, and making use of\nstrange names, so as to denominate them as the very cause. Wherefore one\nencompassing the earth with a vortex from heaven makes the earth remain\nfixed; but another, as if it were a broad trough, rests it upon the air\nas its base; but the power by which these things are now so disposed\nthat they may be placed in the best manner possible, this they neither\ninquire into, nor do they think that it requires any superhuman\nstrength; but they think they will some time or other find out an Atlas\nstronger and more immortal than this, and more capable of containing all\nthings; and in reality, the good, and that which ought to hold them\ntogether and contain them, they take no account of at all. I, then,\nshould most gladly have become the disciple of any one who would teach\nme of such a cause, in what way it is. But when I was disappointed of\nthis, and was neither able to discover it myself, nor to learn it from\nanother, do you wish, Cebes, that I should show you in what way I set\nout upon a second voyage in search of the cause?\"\n\n111. \"I wish it exceedingly,\" he replied.\n\n\"It appeared to me, then,\" said he, \"after this, when I was wearied with\nconsidering things that exist, that I ought to beware lest I should\nsuffer in the same way as they do who look at and examine an eclipse of\nthe sun, for some lose the sight of their eyes, unless they behold its\nimage in water, or some similar medium. And I was affected with a\nsimilar feeling, and was afraid lest I should be utterly blinded in my\nsoul through beholding things with the eyes, and endeavoring to grasp\nthem by means of the several senses. It seemed to me, therefore, that I\nought to have recourse to reasons, and to consider in them the truth of\nthings. Perhaps, however, this similitude of mine may in some respect be\nincorrect; for I do not altogether admit that he who considers things in\ntheir reasons considers them in their images, more than he does who\nviews them in their effects. However, I proceeded thus, and on each\noccasion laying down the reason, which I deem to be the strongest,\nwhatever things appear to me to accord with this I regard as true, both\nwith respect to the cause and every thing else; but such as do not\naccord I regard as not true. 112. But I wish to explain my meaning to\nyou in a clearer manner; for I think that you do not yet understand me.\"\n\n\"No, by Jupiter!\" said Cebes, \"not well.\"\n\n\"However,\" continued he, \"I am now saying nothing new, but what I have\nalways at other times, and in a former part of this discussion, never\nceased to say. I proceed, then, to attempt to explain to you that\nspecies of cause which I have busied myself about, and return again to\nthose well-known subjects, and set out from them, laying down as an\nhypothesis, that there is a certain abstract beauty, and goodness, and\nmagnitude, and so of all other things; which if you grant me, and allow\nthat they do exist, I hope that I shall be able from these to explain\nthe cause to you, and to discover that the soul is immortal.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Cebes, \"since I grant you this, you may draw your conclusion\nat once.\"\n\n\"But consider,\" he said, \"what follows from thence, and see if you can\nagree with me. For it appears to me that if there is any thing else\nbeautiful besides beauty itself, it is not beautiful for any other\nreason than because it partakes of that abstract beauty; and I say the\nsame of every thing. Do you admit such a cause?\"\n\n\"I do admit it,\" he replied.\n\n113. \"I do not yet understand,\" he continued, \"nor am I able to\nconceive, those other wise causes; but if any one should tell me why any\nthing is beautiful, either because it has a blooming florid color, or\nfigure, or any thing else of the kind, I dismiss all other reasons, for\nI am confounded by them all; but I simply, wholly, and perhaps\nfoolishly, confine myself to this, that nothing else causes it to be\nbeautiful except either the presence or communication of that abstract\nbeauty, by whatever means and in whatever way communicated; for I can\nnot yet affirm this with certainty, but only that by means of beauty all\nbeautiful things become beautiful. For this appears to me the safest\nanswer to give both to myself and others; and adhering to this, I think\nthat I shall never fall, but that it is a safe answer both for me and\nany one else to give--that by means of beauty beautiful things become\nbeautiful. Does it not also seem so to you?\"\n\n\"It does.\"\n\n\"And that by magnitude great things become great, and greater things,\ngreater; and by littleness less things become less?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n114. \"You would not, then, approve of it, if any one said that one\nperson is greater than another by the head, and that the less is less by\nthe very same thing; but you would maintain that you mean nothing else\nthan that every thing that is greater than another is greater by nothing\nelse than magnitude, and that it is greater on this account--that is, on\naccount of magnitude; and that the less is less by nothing else than\nlittleness, and on this account less--that is, on account of littleness;\nbeing afraid, I think, lest some opposite argument should meet you if\nyou should say that any one is greater and less by the head; as, first,\nthat the greater is greater, and the less less, by the very same thing;\nand, next, that the greater is greater by the head, which is small; and\nthat it is monstrous to suppose that any one is great through something\nsmall. Should you not be afraid of this?\"\n\nTo which said Cebes, smilingly, \"Indeed, I should.\"\n\n\"Should you not, then,\" he continued, \"be afraid to say that ten is more\nthan eight by two, and for this cause exceeds it, and not by number,\nand on account of number? and that two cubits are greater than one cubit\nby half, and not by magnitude (for the fear is surely the same)?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied.\n\n115. \"What, then? When one has been added to one, would you not beware\nof saying that the addition is the cause of its being two, or division\nwhen it has been divided; and would you not loudly assert that you know\nno other way in which each thing subsists, than by partaking of the\npeculiar essence of each of which it partakes, and that in these cases\nyou can assign no other cause of its becoming two than its partaking of\nduality; and that such things as are to become two must needs partake of\nthis, and what is to become one, of unity; but these divisions and\nadditions, and other such subtleties, you would dismiss, leaving them to\nbe given as answers by persons wiser than yourself; whereas you,\nfearing, as it is said, your own shadow and inexperience, would adhere\nto this safe hypothesis, and answer accordingly? But if any one should\nassail this hypothesis of yours, would you not dismiss him, and refrain\nfrom answering him till you had considered the consequences resulting\nfrom it, whether in your opinion they agree with or differ from each\nother? But when it should be necessary for you to give a reason for it,\nwould you give one in a similar way, by again laying down another\nhypothesis, which should appear the best of higher principles, until you\narrived at something satisfactory; but, at the same time, you would\navoid making confusion, as disputants do, in treating of the first\nprinciple and the results arising from it, if you really desire to\narrive at the truth of things? 116. For they, perhaps, make no account\nat all of this, nor pay any attention to it; for they are able, through\ntheir wisdom, to mingle all things together, and at the same time please\nthemselves. But you, if you are a philosopher, would act, I think, as I\nnow describe.\"\n\n\"You speak most truly,\" said Simmias and Cebes together.\n\n_Echec._ By Jupiter! Ph\u00e6do, they said so with good reason; for he\nappears to me to have explained these things with wonderful clearness,\neven to one endued with a small degree of intelligence.\n\n_Ph\u00e6d._ Certainly, Echecrates, and so it appeared to all who were\npresent.\n\n_Echec._ And so it appears to me, who was absent, and now hear it\nrelated. But what was said after this?\n\nAs well as I remember, when these things had been granted him, and it\nwas allowed that each several idea exists of itself,[37] and that other\nthings partaking of them receive their denomination from them, he next\nasked: \"If, then,\" he said, \"you admit that things are so, whether, when\nyou say that Simmias is greater than Socrates, but less than Ph\u00e6do, do\nyou not then say that magnitude and littleness are both in Simmias?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n117. \"And yet,\" he said, \"you must confess that Simmias's exceeding\nSocrates is not actually true in the manner in which the words express\nit; for Simmias does not naturally exceed Socrates in that he is\nSimmias, but in consequence of the magnitude which he happens to have;\nnor, again, does he exceed Socrates because Socrates is Socrates, but\nbecause Socrates possesses littleness in comparison with his magnitude?\"\n\n\"True.\"\n\n\"Nor, again, is Simmias exceeded by Ph\u00e6do, because Ph\u00e6do is Ph\u00e6do, but\nbecause Ph\u00e6do possesses magnitude in comparison with Simmias's\nlittleness?\"\n\n\"It is so.\"\n\n\"Thus, then, Simmias has the appellation of being both little and great,\nbeing between both, by exceeding the littleness of one through his own\nmagnitude, and to the other yielding a magnitude that exceeds his own\nlittleness.\" And at the same time, smiling, he said, \"I seem to speak\nwith the precision of a short-hand writer; however, it is as I say.\"\n\nHe allowed it.\n\n118. \"But I say it for this reason, wishing you to be of the same\nopinion as myself. For it appears to me, not only that magnitude itself\nis never disposed to be at the same time great and little, but that\nmagnitude in us never admits the little nor is disposed to be exceeded,\nbut one of two things, either to flee and withdraw when its contrary,\nthe little, approaches it, or, when it has actually come, to perish; but\nthat it is not disposed, by sustaining and receiving littleness, to be\ndifferent from what it was. Just as I, having received and sustained\nlittleness, and still continuing the person that I am, am this same\nlittle person; but that, while it is great, never endures to be little.\nAnd, in like manner, the little that is in us is not disposed at any\ntime to become or to be great, nor is any thing else among contraries,\nwhile it continues what it was, at the same time disposed to become and\nto be its contrary; but in this contingency it either departs or\nperishes.\"\n\n119. \"It appears so to me,\" said Cebes, \"in every respect.\"\n\nBut some one of those present, on hearing this, I do not clearly\nremember who he was, said, \"By the gods! was not the very contrary of\nwhat is now asserted admitted in the former part of our discussion, that\nthe greater is produced from the less, and the less from the greater,\nand, in a word, that the very production of contraries is from\ncontraries? But now it appears to me to be asserted that this can never\nbe the case.\"\n\nUpon this Socrates, having leaned his head forward and listened, said,\n\"You have reminded me in a manly way; you do not, however, perceive the\ndifference between what is now and what was then asserted. For then it\nwas said that a contrary thing is produced from a contrary; but now,\nthat a contrary can never become contrary to itself--neither that which\nis in us, nor that which is in nature. For then, my friend, we spoke of\nthings that have contraries, calling them by the appellation of those\nthings; but now we are speaking of those very things from the presence\nof which things so called receive their appellation, and of these very\nthings we say that they are never disposed to admit of production from\neach other.\" 120. And, at the same time looking at Cebes, \"Has anything\nthat has been said, Cebes, disturbed you?\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Cebes, \"I am not at all so disposed; however, I by no\nmeans say that there are not many things that disturb me.\"\n\n\"Then,\" he continued, \"we have quite agreed to this, that a contrary can\nnever be contrary to itself.\"\n\n\"Most certainly,\" he replied.\n\n\"But, further,\" he said, \"consider whether you will agree with me in\nthis also. Do you call heat and cold any thing?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"The same as snow and fire?\"\n\n\"By Jupiter! I do not.\"\n\n\"But heat is something different from fire, and cold something different\nfrom snow?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But this, I think, is apparent to you--that snow, while it is snow, can\nnever, when it has admitted heat, as we said before, continue to be what\nit was, snow and hot; but, on the approach of heat, it must either\nwithdraw or perish?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And, again, that fire, when cold approaches it, must either depart or\nperish; but that it will never endure, when it has admitted coldness, to\ncontinue what it was, fire and cold?\"\n\n121. \"You speak truly,\" he said.\n\n\"It happens, then,\" he continued, \"with respect to some of such things,\nthat not only is the idea itself always thought worthy of the same\nappellation, but likewise something else which is not, indeed, that idea\nitself, but constantly retains its form so long as it exists. What I\nmean will perhaps be clearer in the following examples: the odd in\nnumber must always possess the name by which we now call it, must it\nnot?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Must it alone, of all things--for this I ask--or is there any thing\nelse which is not the same as the odd, but yet which we must always call\nodd, together with its own name, because it is so constituted by nature\nthat it can never be without the odd? But this, I say, is the case with\nthe number three, and many others. For consider with respect to the\nnumber three: does it not appear to you that it must always be called by\nits own name, as well as by that of the odd, which is not the same as\nthe number three? Yet such is the nature of the number three, five, and\nthe entire half of number, that though they are not the same as the odd,\nyet each of them is always odd. And, again, two and four, and the whole\nother series of number, though not the same as the even, are\nnevertheless each of them always even: do you admit this, or not?\"\n\n122. \"How should I not?\" he replied.\n\n\"Observe then,\" said he, \"what I wish to prove. It is this--that it\nappears not only that these contraries do not admit each other, but that\neven such things as are not contrary to each other, and yet always\npossess contraries, do not appear to admit that idea which is contrary\nto the idea that exists in themselves, but, when it approaches, perish\nor depart. Shall we not allow that the number three would first perish,\nand suffer any thing whatever, rather than endure, while it is still\nthree, to become even?\"\n\n\"Most certainly,\" said Cebes.\n\n\"And yet,\" said he, \"the number two is not contrary to three.\"\n\n\"Surely not.\"\n\n\"Not only, then, do ideas that are contrary never allow the approach of\neach other, but some other things also do not allow the approach of\ncontraries.\"\n\n\"You say very truly,\" he replied.\n\n\"Do you wish, then,\" he said, \"that, if we are able, we should define\nwhat these things are?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Would they not then, Cebes,\" he said, \"be such things as, whatever they\noccupy, compel that thing not only to retain its own idea, but also that\nof something which is always a contrary?\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n123. \"As we just now said. For you know, surely, that whatever things\nthe idea of three occupies must of necessity not only be three, but also\nodd?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"To such a thing, then, we assert, that the idea contrary to that form\nwhich constitutes this can never come.\"\n\n\"It can not.\"\n\n\"But did the odd make it so?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And is the contrary to this the idea of the even?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The idea of the even, then, will never come to the three?\"\n\n\"No, surely.\"\n\n\"Three, then, has no part in the even?\"\n\n\"None whatever.\"\n\n\"The number three is uneven?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What, therefore, I said should be defined--namely, what things they are\nwhich, though not contrary to some particular thing, yet do not admit of\nthe contrary itself; as, in the present instance, the number three,\nthough not contrary to the even, does not any the more admit it, for it\nalways brings the contrary with it, just as the number two does to the\nodd, fire to cold, and many other particulars. Consider, then, whether\nyou would thus define, not only that a contrary does not admit a\ncontrary, but also that that which brings with it a contrary to that to\nwhich it approaches will never admit the contrary of that which it\nbrings with it. 124. But call it to mind again, for it will not be\nuseless to hear it often repeated. Five will not admit the idea of the\neven, nor ten, its double, that of the odd. This double, then, though it\nis itself contrary to something else,[38] yet will not admit the idea of\nthe odd, nor will half as much again, nor other things of the kind, such\nas the half and the third part, admit the idea of the whole, if you\nfollow me, and agree with me that it is so.\"\n\n\"I entirely agree with you,\" he said, \"and follow you.\"\n\n\"Tell me again, then,\" he said, \"from the beginning; and do not answer\nme in the terms in which I put the question, but in different ones,\nimitating my example. For I say this because, besides that safe mode of\nanswering which I mentioned at first,[39] from what has now been said, I\nsee another no less safe one. For if you should ask me what that is\nwhich, if it be in the body, will cause it to be hot, I should not give\nyou that safe but unlearned answer, that it is heat, but one more\nelegant, from what we have just now said, that it is fire; nor, if you\nshould ask me what that is which, if it be in the body, will cause it to\nbe diseased, should I say that it is disease, but fever; nor if you\nshould ask what that is which, if it be in number, will cause it to be\nodd, should I say that it is unevenness, but unity; and so with other\nthings. But consider whether you sufficiently understand what I mean.\"\n\n125. \"Perfectly so,\" he replied.\n\n\"Answer me, then,\" he said, \"what that is which, when it is in the body,\nthe body will be alive?\"\n\n\"Soul,\" he replied.\n\n\"Is not this, then, always the case?\"\n\n\"How should it not be?\" said he.\n\n\"Does the soul, then, always bring life to whatever it occupies?\"\n\n\"It does indeed,\" he replied.\n\n\"Whether, then, is there any thing contrary to life or not?\"\n\n\"There is,\" he replied.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Death.\"\n\n\"The soul, then, will never admit the contrary of that which it brings\nwith it, as has been already allowed?\"\n\n\"Most assuredly,\" replied Cebes.\n\n\"What, then? How do we denominate that which does not admit the idea of\nthe even?\"\n\n\"Uneven,\" he replied.\n\n\"And that which does not admit the just, nor the musical?\"\n\n\"Unmusical,\" he said, \"and unjust.\"\n\n\"Be it so. But what do we call that which does not admit death?\"\n\n\"Immortal,\" he replied.\n\n\"Therefore, does not the soul admit death?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Is the soul, then, immortal?\"\n\n\"Immortal.\"\n\n126. \"Be it so,\" he said. \"Shall we say, then, that this has been now\ndemonstrated? or how think you?\"\n\n\"Most completely, Socrates.\"\n\n\"What, then,\" said he, \"Cebes, if it were necessary for the uneven to be\nimperishable, would the number three be otherwise than imperishable?\"\n\n\"How should it not?\"\n\n\"If, therefore, it were also necessary that what is without heat should\nbe imperishable, when any one should introduce heat to snow, would not\nthe snow withdraw itself, safe and unmelted? For it would not perish;\nnor yet would it stay and admit the heat.\"\n\n\"You say truly,\" he replied.\n\n\"In like manner, I think, if that which is insusceptible of cold were\nimperishable, that when any thing cold approached the fire, it would\nneither be extinguished nor perish, but would depart quite safe.\"\n\n\"Of necessity,\" he said.\n\n\"Must we not, then, of necessity,\" he continued, \"speak thus of that\nwhich is immortal? if that which is immortal is imperishable, it is\nimpossible for the soul to perish, when death approaches it. For, from\nwhat has been said already, it will not admit death, nor will ever be\ndead; just as we said that three will never be even, nor, again, will\nthe odd; nor will fire be cold, nor yet the heat that is in fire. 127.\nBut some one may say, what hinders, though the odd can never become even\nby the approach of the even, as we have allowed, yet, when the odd is\ndestroyed, that the even should succeed in its place? We could not\ncontend with him who should make this objection that it is not\ndestroyed, for the uneven is not imperishable; since, if this were\ngranted us, we might easily have contended that, on the approach of the\neven, the odd and the three depart; and we might have contended in the\nsame way with respect to fire, heat, and the rest, might we not?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Wherefore, with respect to the immortal, if we have allowed that it is\nimperishable, the soul, in addition to its being immortal, must also be\nimperishable; if not, there will be need of other arguments.\"\n\n\"But there is no need,\" he said, \"so far as that is concerned; for\nscarcely could any thing not admit of corruption, if that which is\nimmortal and eternal is liable to it.\"\n\n128. \"The deity, indeed, I think,\" said Socrates, \"and the idea itself\nof life, and if anything else is immortal, must be allowed by all beings\nto be incapable of dissolution.\"\n\n\"By Jupiter!\" he replied, \"by all men, indeed, and still more, as I\nthink, by the gods.\"\n\n\"Since, then, that which is immortal is also incorruptible, can the\nsoul, since it is immortal, be any thing else than imperishable?\"\n\n\"It must, of necessity, be so.\"\n\n\"When, therefore, death approaches a man, the mortal part of him, as it\nappears, dies, but the immortal part departs safe and uncorrupted,\nhaving withdrawn itself from death?\"\n\n\"It appears so.\"\n\n\"The soul, therefore,\" he said, \"Cebes, is most certainly immortal and\nimperishable, and our souls will really exist in Hades.\"\n\n\"Therefore, Socrates,\" he said, \"I have nothing further to say against\nthis, nor any reason for doubting your arguments. But if Simmias here,\nor any one else, has any thing to say, it were well for him not to be\nsilent; for I know not to what other opportunity beyond the present any\none can defer it, who wishes either to speak or hear about these\nthings.\"\n\n\"But, indeed,\" said Simmias, \"neither have I any reason to doubt what\nhas been urged; yet, from the magnitude of the subject discussed, and\nfrom my low opinion of human weakness, I am compelled still to retain a\ndoubt within myself with respect to what has been said.\"\n\n\"Not only so, Simmias,\" said Socrates, \"but you say this well; and,\nmoreover, the first hypotheses, even though they are credible to you,\nshould nevertheless be examined more carefully; and if you should\ninvestigate them sufficiently, I think you will follow my reasoning as\nfar as it is possible for man to do so; and if this very point becomes\nclear, you will inquire no further.\"\n\n\"You speak truly,\" he said.\n\n\"But it is right, my friends,\" he said, \"that we should consider this---\nthat if the soul is immortal, it requires our care not only for the\npresent time, which we call life, but for all time; and the danger would\nnow appear to be dreadful if one should neglect it. 130. For if death\nwere a deliverance from every thing, it would be a great gain for the\nwicked, when they die, to be delivered at the same time from the body,\nand from their vices together with the soul; but now, since it appears\nto be immortal, it can have no other refuge from evils, nor safety,\nexcept by becoming as good and wise as possible. For the soul goes to\nHades possessing nothing else than its discipline and education, which\nare said to be of the greatest advantage or detriment to the dead, on\nthe very beginning of his journey thither. For, thus, it is said that\neach person's demon who was assigned to him while living, when he dies\nconducts him to some place, where they that are assembled together must\nreceive sentence, and then proceed to Hades with that guide who has been\nordered to conduct them from hence thither. But there having received\ntheir deserts, and having remained the appointed time, another guide\nbrings them back hither again, after many and long revolutions of time.\nThe journey, then, is not such as the Telephus of \u00c6schylus describes it;\nfor he says that a simple path leads to Hades; but it appears to me to\nbe neither simple nor one, for there would be no need of guides, nor\ncould any one ever miss the way, if there were but one. But now it\nappears to have many divisions and windings; and this I conjecture from\nour religious and funeral rites.[40] 131. The well-ordered and wise\nsoul, then, both follows, and is not ignorant of its present condition;\nbut that which through passion clings to the body, as I said before,\nhaving longingly fluttered about it for a long time, and about its\nvisible place,[41] after vehement resistance and great suffering, is\nforcibly and with great difficulty led away by its appointed demon. And\nwhen it arrives at the place where the others are, impure and having\ndone any such thing as the committal of unrighteous murders or other\nsimilar actions, which are kindred to these, and are the deeds of\nkindred souls, every one shuns it and turns away from it, and will be\nneither its fellow-traveler nor guide; but it wanders about, oppressed\nwith every kind of helplessness, until certain periods have elapsed; and\nwhen these are completed, it is carried, of necessity, to an abode\nsuitable to it. But the soul which has passed through life with purity\nand moderation, having obtained the gods for its fellow-travelers and\nguides, settles each in the place suited to it. 132. There are, indeed,\nmany and wonderful places in the earth, and it is itself neither of such\na kind nor of such a magnitude as is supposed by those who are\naccustomed to speak of the earth, as I have been persuaded by a certain\nperson.\"\n\nWhereupon Simmias said, \"How mean you, Socrates? For I, too, have heard\nmany things about the earth--not, however, those things which have\nobtained your belief. I would, therefore, gladly hear them.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Simmias, the art of Glaucus[42] does not seem to me to be\nrequired to relate what these things are. That they are true, however,\nappears to me more than the art of Glaucus can prove, and, besides, I\nshould probably not be able to do it; and even if I did know how, what\nremains to me of life, Simmias, seems insufficient for the length of the\nsubject. However, the form of the earth, such as I am persuaded it is,\nand the different places in it, nothing hinders me from telling.\"\n\n\"But that will be enough,\" said Simmias.\n\n\"I am persuaded, then,\" said he, \"in the first place, that, if the earth\nis in the middle of the heavens, and is of a spherical form, it has no\nneed of air, nor of any other similar force, to prevent it from falling;\nbut that the similarity of the heavens to themselves on every side, and\nthe equilibrium of the earth itself, are sufficient to support it; for a\nthing in a state of equilibrium when placed in the middle of something\nthat presses it equally on all sides can not incline more or less on any\nside, but, being equally affected all around, remains unmoved. 133. In\nthe first place, then,\" he said, \"I am persuaded of this.\"\n\n\"And very properly so,\" said Simmias.\n\n\"Yet, further,\" said he, \"that it is very large, and that we who inhabit\nsome small portion of it, from the river Phasis to the pillars of\nHercules, dwell about the sea, like ants or frogs about a marsh; and\nthat many others elsewhere dwell in many similar places, for that there\nare everywhere about the earth many hollows of various forms and sizes\ninto which there is a confluence of water, mist and air; but that the\nearth itself, being pure, is situated in the pure heavens, in which are\nthe stars, and which most persons who are accustomed to speak about such\nthings call ether; of which these things are the sediment, and are\ncontinually flowing into the hollow parts of the earth. 134. That we are\nignorant, then, that we are dwelling in its hollows, and imagine that we\ninhabit the upper parts of the earth, just as if any one dwelling in the\nbottom of the sea should think that he dwelt on the sea, and, beholding\nthe sun and the other stars through the water, should imagine that the\nsea was the heavens; but, through sloth and weakness, should never have\nreached the surface of the sea; nor, having emerged and risen up from\nthe sea to this region, have seen how much more pure and more beautiful\nit is than the place where he is, nor has heard of it from any one else\nwho has seen it. This, then, is the very condition in which we are; for,\ndwelling in some hollow of the earth, we think that we dwell on the\nsurface of it, and call the air heaven, as if the stars moved through\nthis, being heaven itself. But this is because, by reason of our\nweakness and sloth, we are unable to reach to the summit of the air.\nSince, if any one could arrive at its summit, or, becoming winged, could\nfly up thither, or, emerging from hence, he would see--just as with us,\nfishes, emerging from the sea, behold what is here, so any one would\nbehold the things there; and if his nature were able to endure the\ncontemplation, he would know that that is the true heaven, and the true\nlight, and the true earth. 135. For this earth and these stones, and the\nwhole region here, are decayed and corroded, as things in the sea by the\nsaltness; for nothing of any value grows in the sea, nor, in a word,\ndoes it contain any thing perfect; but there are caverns and sand, and\nmud in abundance, and filth, in whatever parts of the sea there is\nearth, nor are they at all worthy to be compared with the beautiful\nthings with us. But, on the other hand, those things in the upper\nregions of the earth would appear far more to excel the things with us.\nFor, if we may tell a beautiful fable, it is well worth hearing,\nSimmias, what kind the things are on the earth beneath the heavens.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Socrates,\" said Simmias, \"we should be very glad to hear that\nfable.\"\n\n136. \"First of all, then, my friend,\" he continued, \"this earth, if any\none should survey it from above, is said to have the appearance of\nballs covered with twelve different pieces of leather, variegated and\ndistinguished with colors, of which the colors found here, and which\npainters use, are, as it were, copies. But there the whole earth is\ncomposed of such, and far more brilliant and pure than these; for one\npart of it is purple, and of wonderful beauty, part of a golden color,\nand part of white, more white than chalk or snow, and, in like manner,\ncomposed of other colors, and those more in number and more beautiful\nthan any we have ever beheld. And those very hollow parts of the earth,\nthough filled with water and air, exhibit a certain species of color,\nshining among the variety of other colors, so that one continually\nvariegated aspect presents itself to the view. In this earth, being\nsuch, all things that grow, grow in a manner proportioned to its\nnature--trees, flowers and fruits; and, again, in like manner, its\nmountains and stones possess, in the same proportion, smoothness and\ntransparency, and more beautiful colors; of which the well-known stones\nhere that are so highly prized are but fragments, such as\nsardine-stones, jaspers, and emeralds, and all of that kind. But there,\nthere is nothing subsists that is not of this character, and even more\nbeautiful than these. 137. But the reason of this is, because the stones\nthere are pure, and not eaten up and decayed, like those here, by\nrottenness and saltness, which flow down hither together, and which\nproduce deformity and disease in the stones and the earth, and in other\nthings, even animals and plants. But that earth is adorned with all\nthese, and, moreover, with gold and silver, and other things of the\nkind: for they are naturally conspicuous, being numerous and large, and\nin all parts of the earth; so that to behold it is a sight for the\nblessed. There are also many other animals and men upon it, some\ndwelling in mid-earth, others about the air, as we do about the sea, and\nothers in islands which the air flows round, and which are near the\ncontinent; and, in one word, what water and the sea are to us, for our\nnecessities, the air is to them; and what air is to us, that ether is to\nthem. 138. But their seasons are of such a temperament that they are\nfree from disease, and live for a much longer time than those here, and\nsurpass us in sight, hearing, and smelling, and every thing of this\nkind, as much as air excels water, and ether air, in purity. Moreover,\nthey have abodes and temples of the gods, in which gods really dwell,\nand voices and oracles, and sensible visions of the gods, and such-like\nintercourse with them; the sun, too, and moon, and stars, are seen by\nthem such as they really are, and their felicity in other respects is\ncorrespondent with these things.\"\n\n\"And, such, indeed, is the nature of the whole earth, and the parts\nabout the earth; but there are many places all round it throughout its\ncavities, some deeper and more open than that in which we dwell; but\nothers that are deeper have a less chasm than our region, and others are\nshallower in depth than it is here, and broader. 139. But all these are\nin many places perforated one into another under the earth, some with\nnarrower and some with wider channels, and have passages through, by\nwhich a great quantity of water flows from one into another, as into\nbasins, and there are immense bulks of ever-flowing rivers under the\nearth, both of hot and cold water, and a great quantity of fire, and\nmighty rivers of fire, and many of liquid mire, some purer, and some\nmore miry, as in Sicily there are rivers of mud that flow before the\nlava, and the lava itself, and from these the several places are filled,\naccording as the overflow from time to time happens to come to each of\nthem. But all these move up and down, as it were, by a certain\noscillation existing in the earth. And this oscillation proceeds from\nsuch natural cause as this; one of the chasms of the earth is\nexceedingly large, and perforated through the entire earth, and is that\nwhich Homer[43] speaks of, 'very far off, where is the most profound\nabyss beneath the earth,' which elsewhere both he and many other poets\nhave called Tartarus. For into this chasm all rivers flow together, and\nfrom it flow out again; but they severally derive their character from\nthe earth through which they flow. 140. And the reason why all streams\nflow out from thence, and flow into it, is because this liquid has\nneither bottom nor base. Therefore, it oscillates and fluctuates up and\ndown, and the air and the wind around it do the same; for they accompany\nit both when it rushes to those parts of the earth, and when to these.\nAnd as in respiration the flowing breath is continually breathed out and\ndrawn in, so there the wind oscillating with the liquid causes certain\nvehement and irresistible winds both as it enters and goes out. When,\ntherefore, the water rushing in descends to the place which we call the\nlower region, it flows through the earth into the streams there, and\nfills them, just as men pump up water. But when again it leaves those\nregions and rushes hither, it again fills the rivers here; and these,\nwhen filled, flow through channels and through the earth, and, having\nseverally reached the several places to which they are journeying, they\nmake seas, lakes, rivers, and fountains. 141. Then, sinking again from\nthence beneath the earth, some of them having gone round longer and more\nnumerous places, and others round fewer and shorter, they again\ndischarge themselves into Tartarus--some much lower than they were drawn\nup, others only a little so; but all of them flow in again beneath the\npoint at which they flowed out. And some issue out directly opposite the\nplace by which they flow in, others on the same side. There are also\nsome which, having gone round altogether in a circle, folding themselves\nonce or several times round the earth, like serpents, when they have\ndescended as low as possible, discharge themselves again; and it is\npossible for them to descend on either side as far as the middle, but\nnot beyond; for in each direction there is an acclivity to the streams\nboth ways.\"\n\n\"Now, there are many other large and various streams; but among this\ngreat number there are four certain streams, of which the largest, and\nthat which flows most outwardly round the earth, is called Ocean; but\ndirectly opposite this, and flowing in a contrary direction, is Acheron,\nwhich flows through other desert places, and, moreover, passing under\nthe earth, reaches the Acherusian lake, where the souls of most who die\narrive; and, having remained there for certain destined periods, some\nlonger and some shorter, are again sent forth into the generations of\nanimals. 142. A third river issues midway between these, and, near its\nsource, falls into a vast region, burning with abundance of fire, and\nforms a lake larger than our sea, boiling with water and mud. From hence\nit proceeds in a circle, turbulent and muddy, and, folding itself round\nit, reaches both other places and the extremity of the Acherusian lake,\nbut does not mingle with its water; but, folding itself oftentimes\nbeneath the earth, it discharges itself into the lower parts of\nTartarus. And this is the river which they call Pyriphlegethon, whose\nburning streams emit dissevered fragments in whatever part of the earth\nthey happen to be. Opposite to this, again, the fourth river first falls\ninto a place dreadful and savage, as it is said, having its whole color\nlike cyanus:[44] this they call Stygian, and the lake which the river\nforms by its discharge, Styx. This river, having fallen in here, and\nreceived awful power in the water, sinking beneath the earth, proceeds,\nfolding itself round, in an opposite course to Pyriphlegethon, and meets\nit in the Acherusian lake from, a contrary direction. Neither does the\nwater of this river mingle with any other; but it, too, having gone\nround in a circle, discharges itself into Tartarus, opposite to\nPyriphlegethon. Its name, as the poets say, is Cocytus.\"\n\n143. \"These things being thus constituted, when the dead arrive at the\nplace to which their demon leads them severally, first of all they are\njudged, as well those who have lived well and piously, as those who have\nnot. And those who appear to have passed a middle kind of life,\nproceeding to Acheron, and embarking in the vessels they have, on these\narrive at the lake, and there dwell; and when they are purified, and\nhave suffered punishment for the iniquities they may have committed,\nthey are set free, and each receives the reward of his good deeds,\naccording to his deserts. But those who appear to be incurable, through\nthe magnitude of their offenses, either from having committed many and\ngreat sacrileges, or many unjust and lawless murders, or other similar\ncrimes, these a suitable destiny hurls into Tartarus, whence they never\ncome forth. 144. But those who appear to have been guilty of curable yet\ngreat offenses--such as those who, through anger, have committed any\nviolence against father or mother, and have lived the remainder of their\nlife in a state of penitence, or they who have become homicides in a\nsimilar manner--these must, of necessity, fall into Tartarus. But after\nthey have fallen, and have been there for a year, the wave casts them\nforth, the homicides into Cocytus, but the parricides and matricides\ninto Pyriphlegethon. But when, being borne along, they arrive at the\nAcherusian lake, there they cry out to and invoke, some those whom they\nslew, others those whom they injured, and, invoking them, they entreat\nand implore them to suffer them to go out into the lake, and to receive\nthem, and if they persuade them, they go out, and are freed from their\nsufferings, but if not, they are borne back to Tartarus, and thence\nagain to the rivers. And they do not cease from suffering this until\nthey have persuaded those whom they have injured, for this sentence was\nimposed on them by the judges. 145. But those who are found to have\nlived an eminently holy life, these are they who, being freed and set at\nlarge from these regions in the earth as from a prison, arrive at the\npure abode above, and dwell on the upper parts of the earth. And among\nthese, they who have sufficiently purified themselves by philosophy\nshall live without bodies, throughout all future time, and shall arrive\nat habitations yet more beautiful than these which it is neither easy to\ndescribe, nor at present is there sufficient time for the purpose.\"\n\n\"But, for the sake of these things which we have described, we should\nuse every endeavor, Simmias, so as to acquire virtue and wisdom in this\nlife, for the reward is noble, and the hope great.\"\n\n\"To affirm positively, indeed, that these things are exactly as I have\ndescribed them does not become a man of sense. That, however, either\nthis, or something of the kind, takes place with respect to our souls\nand their habitations--since our soul is certainly immortal--this\nappears to me most fitting to be believed, and worthy the hazard for one\nwho trusts in its reality; for the hazard is noble, and it is right to\nallure ourselves with such things, as with enchantments, for which\nreason I have prolonged my story to such a length. 146. On account of\nthese things, then, a man ought to be confident about his soul who,\nduring this life, has disregarded all the pleasures and ornaments of the\nbody as foreign from his nature, and who, having thought that they do\nmore harm than good, has zealously applied himself to the acquirement of\nknowledge, and who, having adorned his soul, not with a foreign, but its\nown proper ornament--temperance, justice, fortitude, freedom, and\ntruth--thus waits for his passage to Hades, as one who is ready to\ndepart whenever destiny shall summon him. You, then,\" he continued,\n\"Simmias and Cebes, and the rest, will each of you depart at some future\ntime, but now destiny summons me, as a tragic writer would say, and it\nis nearly time for me to betake myself to the bath, for it appears to me\nto be better to drink the poison after I have bathed myself, and not to\ntrouble the women with washing my dead body.\"\n\n147. When he had thus spoken, Crito said, \"So be it, Socrates, but what\ncommands have you to give to these or to me, either respecting your\nchildren, or any other matter, in attending to which we can most oblige\nyou?\"\n\n\"What I always say, Crito,\" he replied, \"nothing new that by taking care\nof yourselves you will oblige both me and mine, and yourselves, whatever\nyou do, though you should not now promise it, and if you neglect\nyourselves, and will not live, as it were, in the footsteps of what has\nbeen now and formerly said, even though you should promise much at\npresent, and that earnestly, you will do no good at all.\"\n\n\"We will endeavor, then, so to do,\" he said. \"But how shall we bury\nyou?\"\n\n\"Just as you please,\" he said, \"if only you can catch me, and I do not\nescape from you.\" 148. And, at the same time smiling gently, and looking\nround on us, he said, \"I cannot persuade Crito, my friends, that I am\nthat Socrates who is now conversing with you, and who methodizes each\npart of the discourse; but he thinks that I am he whom he will shortly\nbehold dead, and asks how he should bury me. But that which I some time\nsince argued at length, that when I have drunk the poison I shall no\nlonger remain with you, but shall depart to some happy state of the\nblessed, this I seem to have urged to him in vain, though I meant at the\nsame time to console both you and myself. Be ye, then, my sureties to\nCrito,\" he said, \"in an obligation contrary to that which he made to the\njudges (for he undertook that I should remain); but do you be sureties\nthat, when I die, I shall not remain, but shall depart, that Crito may\nmore easily bear it; and, when he sees my body either burned or buried,\nmay not be afflicted for me, as if I suffered from some dreadful thing;\nnor say at my interment that Socrates is laid out, or is carried out, or\nis buried. 149. For be well assured,\" he said, \"most excellent Crito,\nthat to speak improperly is not only culpable as to the thing itself,\nbut likewise occasions some injury to our souls. You must have a good\ncourage, then, and say that you bury my body, and bury it in such a\nmanner as is pleasing to you, and as you think is most agreeable to our\nlaws.\"\n\nWhen he had said thus, he rose, and went into a chamber to bathe, and\nCrito followed him, but he directed us to wait for him. We waited,\ntherefore, conversing among ourselves about what had been said, and\nconsidering it again, and sometimes speaking about our calamity, how\nsevere it would be to us, sincerely thinking that, like those who are\ndeprived of a father, we should pass the rest of our life as orphans.\nWhen he had bathed, and his children were brought to him (for he had\ntwo little sons and one grown up), and the women belonging to his family\nwere come, having conversed with them in the presence of Crito, and\ngiven them such injunctions as he wished, he directed the women and\nchildren to go away, and then returned to us. And it was now near\nsunset; for he spent a considerable time within. 150. But when he came\nfrom bathing he sat down, and did not speak much afterward; then the\nofficer of the Eleven came in, and, standing near him, said, \"Socrates,\nI shall not have to find that fault with you that I do with others, that\nthey are angry with me, and curse me, when, by order of the archons, I\nbid them drink the poison. But you, on all other occasions during the\ntime you have been here, I have found to be the most noble, meek, and\nexcellent man of all that ever came into this place; and, therefore, I\nam now well convinced that you will not be angry with me (for you know\nwho are to blame), but with them. Now, then (for you know what I came to\nannounce to you), farewell, and endeavor to bear what is inevitable as\neasily as possible.\" And at the same time, bursting into tears, he\nturned away and withdrew.\n\n151. And Socrates, looking after him, said, \"And thou, too, farewell. We\nwill do as you direct.\" At the same time turning to us, he said, \"How\ncourteous the man is! During the whole time I have been here he has\nvisited me, and conversed with me sometimes, and proved the worthiest of\nmen; and now how generously he weeps for me! But come, Crito, let us\nobey him, and let some one bring the poison, if it is ready pounded; but\nif not, let the man pound it.\"\n\nThen Crito said, \"But I think, Socrates, that the sun is still on the\nmountains, and has not yet set. Besides, I know that others have drunk\nthe poison very late, after it had been announced to them, and have\nsupped and drunk freely, and some even have enjoyed the objects of their\nlove. Do not hasten, then, for there is yet time.\"\n\nUpon this Socrates replied, \"These men whom you mention, Crito, do these\nthings with good reason, for they think they shall gain by so doing; and\nI, too, with good reason, shall not do so; for I think I shall gain\nnothing by drinking a little later, except to become ridiculous to\nmyself, in being so fond of life, and sparing of it, when none any\nlonger remains. Go then,\" he said, \"obey, and do not resist.\"\n\n152. Crito, having heard this, nodded to the boy that stood near. And\nthe boy, having gone out and staid for some time, came, bringing with\nhim the man that was to administer the poison, who brought it ready\npounded in a cup. And Socrates, on seeing the man, said, \"Well, my good\nfriend, as you are skilled in these matters, what must I do?\"\n\n\"Nothing else,\" he replied, \"than, when you have drunk it, walk about\nuntil there is a heaviness in your legs; then lie down: thus it will do\nits purpose.\" And at the same time he held out the cup to Socrates. And\nhe having received it very cheerfully, Echecrates neither trembling, nor\nchanging at all in color or countenance, but, as he was wont, looking\nsteadfastly at the man, said, \"What say you of this potion, with respect\nto making a libation to any one, is it lawful or not?\"\n\n\"We only pound so much, Socrates,\" he said, \"as we think sufficient to\ndrink.\"\n\n153. \"I understand you,\" he said; \"but it is certainly both lawful and\nright to pray to the gods, that my departure hence thither may be happy;\nwhich, therefore, I pray, and so may it be.\" And as he said this, he\ndrank it off readily and calmly. Thus far, most of us were with\ndifficulty able to restrain ourselves from weeping; but when we saw him\ndrinking, and having finished the draught, we could do so no longer;\nbut, in spite of myself, the tears came in full torrent, so that,\ncovering my face, I wept for myself; for I did not weep for him, but for\nmy own fortune, in being deprived of such a friend. But Crito, even\nbefore me, when he could not restrain his tears, had risen up. 154. But\nApollodorus, even before this, had not ceased weeping; and then,\nbursting into an agony of grief, weeping and lamenting, he pierced the\nheart of every one present, except Socrates himself. But he said, \"What\nare you doing, my admirable friends? I, indeed, for this reason chiefly,\nsent away the women, that they might not commit any folly of this kind.\nFor I have heard that it is right to die with good omens. Be quiet,\ntherefore, and bear up.\"\n\nWhen we heard this, we were ashamed, and restrained our tears. But he,\nhaving walked about, when he said that his legs were growing heavy, lay\ndown on his back; for the man had so directed him. And, at the same\ntime, he who gave the poison taking hold of him, after a short interval,\nexamined his feet and legs; and then, having pressed his foot hard, he\nasked if he felt it: he said that he did not. And after this he pressed\nhis thighs; and, thus going higher, he showed us that he was growing\ncold and stiff. Then Socrates touched himself, and said that when the\npoison reached his heart he should then depart. 155. But now the parts\naround the lower belly were almost cold; when, uncovering himself, for\nhe had been covered over, he said (and they were his last words),\n\"Crito, we owe a cock to Aesculapius; pay it, therefore; and do not\nneglect it.\"\n\n\"It shall be done,\" said Crito; \"but consider whether you have any thing\nelse to say.\"\n\nTo this question he gave no reply; but, shortly after, he gave a\nconvulsive movement, and the man covered him, and his eyes were fixed;\nand Crito, perceiving it, closed his mouth and eyes.\n\nThis, Echecrates, was the end of our friend,--a man, as we may say, the\nbest of all of his time that we have known, and, moreover, the most wise\nand just.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n  [25] Phlius, to which Echecrates belonged, was a town of Sicyonia, in\n    Peloponnesus.\n\n  [26] A Pythagorean of Crotona.\n\n  [27] Namely, \"that it is better to die than to live.\"\n\n  [28] Hitto, Boetian for hioto.\n\n  [29] Of Pythagoras.\n\n  [30] Some boyish spirit.\n\n  [31] That is, at a time of life when the body is in full vigor.\n\n  [32] In the original there is a play on the words Haides and\n    haeides, which I can only attempt to retain by departing from\n    the usual rendering of the former word.\n\n  [33] By this I understand him to mean that the soul alone can perceive\n    the truth, but the senses, as they are different, receive and convey\n    different impressions of the same thing; thus, the eye receives one\n    impression of an object, the ear a totally different one.\n\n  [34] kai ahythis eteros kai eteros, that is, \"with one argument\n    after another\" Though Cousin translates it _et successivement tout\n    different de luimeme_ and Ast, _et rursus alia atque alia_, which\n    may be taken in either sense, yet it appears to me to mean that,\n    when a man repeatedly discovers the fallacy of arguments which he\n    before believed to be true, he distrusts reasoning altogether, just\n    as one who meets with friend after friend who proves unfaithful\n    becomes a misanthrope.\n\n  [35] Lib. xx, v. 7.\n\n  [36] Harmony was the wife of Cadmus, the founder of Thebes; Socrates,\n    therefore, compares his two Theban friends, Simmias and Cebes, with\n    them, and says that, having overcome Simmias, the advocate of\n    Harmony, he must now deal with Cebes, who is represented by Cadmus.\n\n  [37] einai ti, literally, \"is something.\"\n\n  [38] That is, to single.\n\n  [39] Sec. 113.\n\n  [40] It is difficult to express the distinction between osia\n    and nomima. The former word seems to have reference to the souls of\n    the dead; the latter, to their bodies.\n\n  [41] Its place of interment.\n\n  [42] A proverb meaning \"a matter of great difficulty.\"\n\n  [43] \"Iliad,\" lib. viii., v. 14.\n\n  [44] A metallic substance of a deep-blue color, frequently mentioned by\n    the earliest Grecian writers, but of which the nature is unknown.","title":"Apology, Crito, and Phaedo of Socrates","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":52169}