{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_1658/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_1658","id":"gutenberg_1658","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1658","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Classical literature","Harvard Classics","Immortality (Philosophy) -- Early works to 1800"],"text":"Produced by Sue Asscher\n\n\n\n\n\nPHAEDO\n\nBy Plato\n\n\nTranslated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nAfter an interval of some months or years, and at Phlius, a town of\nPeloponnesus, the tale of the last hours of Socrates is narrated to\nEchecrates and other Phliasians by Phaedo the 'beloved disciple.' The\nDialogue necessarily takes the form of a narrative, because Socrates has\nto be described acting as well as speaking. The minutest particulars of\nthe event are interesting to distant friends, and the narrator has an\nequal interest in them.\n\nDuring the voyage of the sacred ship to and from Delos, which has\noccupied thirty days, the execution of Socrates has been deferred.\n(Compare Xen. Mem.) The time has been passed by him in conversation with\na select company of disciples. But now the holy season is over, and the\ndisciples meet earlier than usual in order that they may converse with\nSocrates for the last time. Those who were present, and those who might\nhave been expected to be present, are mentioned by name. There are\nSimmias and Cebes (Crito), two disciples of Philolaus whom Socrates\n'by his enchantments has attracted from Thebes' (Mem.), Crito the aged\nfriend, the attendant of the prison, who is as good as a friend--these\ntake part in the conversation. There are present also, Hermogenes,\nfrom whom Xenophon derived his information about the trial of Socrates\n(Mem.), the 'madman' Apollodorus (Symp.), Euclid and Terpsion from\nMegara (compare Theaet.), Ctesippus, Antisthenes, Menexenus, and some\nother less-known members of the Socratic circle, all of whom are silent\nauditors. Aristippus, Cleombrotus, and Plato are noted as absent. Almost\nas soon as the friends of Socrates enter the prison Xanthippe and her\nchildren are sent home in the care of one of Crito's servants.\nSocrates himself has just been released from chains, and is led by this\ncircumstance to make the natural remark that 'pleasure follows pain.'\n(Observe that Plato is preparing the way for his doctrine of the\nalternation of opposites.) 'Aesop would have represented them in a fable\nas a two-headed creature of the gods.' The mention of Aesop reminds\nCebes of a question which had been asked by Evenus the poet (compare\nApol.): 'Why Socrates, who was not a poet, while in prison had been\nputting Aesop into verse?'--'Because several times in his life he had\nbeen warned in dreams that he should practise music; and as he was about\nto die and was not certain of what was meant, he wished to fulfil the\nadmonition in the letter as well as in the spirit, by writing verses as\nwell as by cultivating philosophy. Tell this to Evenus; and say that I\nwould have him follow me in death.' 'He is not at all the sort of man\nto comply with your request, Socrates.' 'Why, is he not a philosopher?'\n'Yes.' 'Then he will be willing to die, although he will not take his\nown life, for that is held to be unlawful.'\n\nCebes asks why suicide is thought not to be right, if death is to be\naccounted a good? Well, (1) according to one explanation, because man is\na prisoner, who must not open the door of his prison and run away--this\nis the truth in a 'mystery.' Or (2) rather, because he is not his own\nproperty, but a possession of the gods, and has no right to make away\nwith that which does not belong to him. But why, asks Cebes, if he is a\npossession of the gods, should he wish to die and leave them? For he is\nunder their protection; and surely he cannot take better care of himself\nthan they take of him. Simmias explains that Cebes is really referring\nto Socrates, whom they think too unmoved at the prospect of leaving the\ngods and his friends. Socrates answers that he is going to other gods\nwho are wise and good, and perhaps to better friends; and he professes\nthat he is ready to defend himself against the charge of Cebes.\nThe company shall be his judges, and he hopes that he will be more\nsuccessful in convincing them than he had been in convincing the court.\n\nThe philosopher desires death--which the wicked world will insinuate\nthat he also deserves: and perhaps he does, but not in any sense which\nthey are capable of understanding. Enough of them: the real question\nis, What is the nature of that death which he desires? Death is\nthe separation of soul and body--and the philosopher desires such\na separation. He would like to be freed from the dominion of bodily\npleasures and of the senses, which are always perturbing his mental\nvision. He wants to get rid of eyes and ears, and with the light of the\nmind only to behold the light of truth. All the evils and impurities\nand necessities of men come from the body. And death separates him from\nthese corruptions, which in life he cannot wholly lay aside. Why then\nshould he repine when the hour of separation arrives? Why, if he is dead\nwhile he lives, should he fear that other death, through which alone he\ncan behold wisdom in her purity?\n\nBesides, the philosopher has notions of good and evil unlike those of\nother men. For they are courageous because they are afraid of greater\ndangers, and temperate because they desire greater pleasures. But he\ndisdains this balancing of pleasures and pains, which is the exchange\nof commerce and not of virtue. All the virtues, including wisdom, are\nregarded by him only as purifications of the soul. And this was the\nmeaning of the founders of the mysteries when they said, 'Many are the\nwand-bearers but few are the mystics.' (Compare Matt. xxii.: 'Many are\ncalled but few are chosen.') And in the hope that he is one of these\nmystics, Socrates is now departing. This is his answer to any one who\ncharges him with indifference at the prospect of leaving the gods and\nhis friends.\n\nStill, a fear is expressed that the soul upon leaving the body may\nvanish away like smoke or air. Socrates in answer appeals first of all\nto the old Orphic tradition that the souls of the dead are in the world\nbelow, and that the living come from them. This he attempts to found\non a philosophical assumption that all opposites--e.g. less, greater;\nweaker, stronger; sleeping, waking; life, death--are generated out of\neach other. Nor can the process of generation be only a passage from\nliving to dying, for then all would end in death. The perpetual sleeper\n(Endymion) would be no longer distinguished from the rest of mankind.\nThe circle of nature is not complete unless the living come from the\ndead as well as pass to them.\n\nThe Platonic doctrine of reminiscence is then adduced as a confirmation\nof the pre-existence of the soul. Some proofs of this doctrine are\ndemanded. One proof given is the same as that of the Meno, and is\nderived from the latent knowledge of mathematics, which may be elicited\nfrom an unlearned person when a diagram is presented to him. Again,\nthere is a power of association, which from seeing Simmias may remember\nCebes, or from seeing a picture of Simmias may remember Simmias. The\nlyre may recall the player of the lyre, and equal pieces of wood or\nstone may be associated with the higher notion of absolute equality. But\nhere observe that material equalities fall short of the conception of\nabsolute equality with which they are compared, and which is the measure\nof them. And the measure or standard must be prior to that which is\nmeasured, the idea of equality prior to the visible equals. And if prior\nto them, then prior also to the perceptions of the senses which recall\nthem, and therefore either given before birth or at birth. But all men\nhave not this knowledge, nor have any without a process of reminiscence;\nwhich is a proof that it is not innate or given at birth, unless indeed\nit was given and taken away at the same instant. But if not given to\nmen in birth, it must have been given before birth--this is the only\nalternative which remains. And if we had ideas in a former state, then\nour souls must have existed and must have had intelligence in a former\nstate. The pre-existence of the soul stands or falls with the doctrine\nof ideas.\n\nIt is objected by Simmias and Cebes that these arguments only prove a\nformer and not a future existence. Socrates answers this objection by\nrecalling the previous argument, in which he had shown that the living\ncome from the dead. But the fear that the soul at departing may vanish\ninto air (especially if there is a wind blowing at the time) has not yet\nbeen charmed away. He proceeds: When we fear that the soul will vanish\naway, let us ask ourselves what is that which we suppose to be liable\nto dissolution? Is it the simple or the compound, the unchanging or the\nchanging, the invisible idea or the visible object of sense? Clearly the\nlatter and not the former; and therefore not the soul, which in her own\npure thought is unchangeable, and only when using the senses descends\ninto the region of change. Again, the soul commands, the body serves:\nin this respect too the soul is akin to the divine, and the body to the\nmortal. And in every point of view the soul is the image of divinity and\nimmortality, and the body of the human and mortal. And whereas the\nbody is liable to speedy dissolution, the soul is almost if not quite\nindissoluble. (Compare Tim.) Yet even the body may be preserved for ages\nby the embalmer's art: how unlikely, then, that the soul will perish and\nbe dissipated into air while on her way to the good and wise God!\nShe has been gathered into herself, holding aloof from the body, and\npractising death all her life long, and she is now finally released from\nthe errors and follies and passions of men, and for ever dwells in the\ncompany of the gods.\n\nBut the soul which is polluted and engrossed by the corporeal, and has\nno eye except that of the senses, and is weighed down by the bodily\nappetites, cannot attain to this abstraction. In her fear of the world\nbelow she lingers about the sepulchre, loath to leave the body which\nshe loved, a ghostly apparition, saturated with sense, and therefore\nvisible. At length entering into some animal of a nature congenial to\nher former life of sensuality or violence, she takes the form of an ass,\na wolf or a kite. And of these earthly souls the happiest are those who\nhave practised virtue without philosophy; they are allowed to pass into\ngentle and social natures, such as bees and ants. (Compare Republic,\nMeno.) But only the philosopher who departs pure is permitted to enter\nthe company of the gods. (Compare Phaedrus.) This is the reason why he\nabstains from fleshly lusts, and not because he fears loss or disgrace,\nwhich is the motive of other men. He too has been a captive, and the\nwilling agent of his own captivity. But philosophy has spoken to him,\nand he has heard her voice; she has gently entreated him, and brought\nhim out of the 'miry clay,' and purged away the mists of passion and\nthe illusions of sense which envelope him; his soul has escaped from the\ninfluence of pleasures and pains, which are like nails fastening her to\nthe body. To that prison-house she will not return; and therefore she\nabstains from bodily pleasures--not from a desire of having more or\ngreater ones, but because she knows that only when calm and free from\nthe dominion of the body can she behold the light of truth.\n\nSimmias and Cebes remain in doubt; but they are unwilling to raise\nobjections at such a time. Socrates wonders at their reluctance. Let\nthem regard him rather as the swan, who, having sung the praises of\nApollo all his life long, sings at his death more lustily than ever.\nSimmias acknowledges that there is cowardice in not probing truth to the\nbottom. 'And if truth divine and inspired is not to be had, then let\na man take the best of human notions, and upon this frail bark let him\nsail through life.' He proceeds to state his difficulty: It has been\nargued that the soul is invisible and incorporeal, and therefore\nimmortal, and prior to the body. But is not the soul acknowledged to\nbe a harmony, and has she not the same relation to the body, as the\nharmony--which like her is invisible--has to the lyre? And yet the\nharmony does not survive the lyre. Cebes has also an objection, which\nlike Simmias he expresses in a figure. He is willing to admit that the\nsoul is more lasting than the body. But the more lasting nature of the\nsoul does not prove her immortality; for after having worn out many\nbodies in a single life, and many more in successive births and\ndeaths, she may at last perish, or, as Socrates afterwards restates the\nobjection, the very act of birth may be the beginning of her death, and\nher last body may survive her, just as the coat of an old weaver is left\nbehind him after he is dead, although a man is more lasting than his\ncoat. And he who would prove the immortality of the soul, must prove not\nonly that the soul outlives one or many bodies, but that she outlives\nthem all.\n\nThe audience, like the chorus in a play, for a moment interpret the\nfeelings of the actors; there is a temporary depression, and then the\nenquiry is resumed. It is a melancholy reflection that arguments, like\nmen, are apt to be deceivers; and those who have been often deceived\nbecome distrustful both of arguments and of friends. But this\nunfortunate experience should not make us either haters of men or haters\nof arguments. The want of health and truth is not in the argument, but\nin ourselves. Socrates, who is about to die, is sensible of his own\nweakness; he desires to be impartial, but he cannot help feeling that he\nhas too great an interest in the truth of the argument. And therefore he\nwould have his friends examine and refute him, if they think that he is\nin error.\n\nAt his request Simmias and Cebes repeat their objections. They do not\ngo to the length of denying the pre-existence of ideas. Simmias is of\nopinion that the soul is a harmony of the body. But the admission of the\npre-existence of ideas, and therefore of the soul, is at variance with\nthis. (Compare a parallel difficulty in Theaet.) For a harmony is\nan effect, whereas the soul is not an effect, but a cause; a harmony\nfollows, but the soul leads; a harmony admits of degrees, and the soul\nhas no degrees. Again, upon the supposition that the soul is a harmony,\nwhy is one soul better than another? Are they more or less harmonized,\nor is there one harmony within another? But the soul does not admit of\ndegrees, and cannot therefore be more or less harmonized. Further, the\nsoul is often engaged in resisting the affections of the body, as Homer\ndescribes Odysseus 'rebuking his heart.' Could he have written this\nunder the idea that the soul is a harmony of the body? Nay rather, are\nwe not contradicting Homer and ourselves in affirming anything of the\nsort?\n\nThe goddess Harmonia, as Socrates playfully terms the argument of\nSimmias, has been happily disposed of; and now an answer has to be given\nto the Theban Cadmus. Socrates recapitulates the argument of Cebes,\nwhich, as he remarks, involves the whole question of natural growth or\ncausation; about this he proposes to narrate his own mental experience.\nWhen he was young he had puzzled himself with physics: he had enquired\ninto the growth and decay of animals, and the origin of thought, until\nat last he began to doubt the self-evident fact that growth is the\nresult of eating and drinking; and so he arrived at the conclusion that\nhe was not meant for such enquiries. Nor was he less perplexed with\nnotions of comparison and number. At first he had imagined himself to\nunderstand differences of greater and less, and to know that ten is two\nmore than eight, and the like. But now those very notions appeared to\nhim to contain a contradiction. For how can one be divided into two? Or\ntwo be compounded into one? These are difficulties which Socrates cannot\nanswer. Of generation and destruction he knows nothing. But he has a\nconfused notion of another method in which matters of this sort are to\nbe investigated. (Compare Republic; Charm.)\n\nThen he heard some one reading out of a book of Anaxagoras, that mind is\nthe cause of all things. And he said to himself: If mind is the cause\nof all things, surely mind must dispose them all for the best. The new\nteacher will show me this 'order of the best' in man and nature. How\ngreat had been his hopes and how great his disappointment! For he found\nthat his new friend was anything but consistent in his use of mind as\na cause, and that he soon introduced winds, waters, and other eccentric\nnotions. (Compare Arist. Metaph.) It was as if a person had said that\nSocrates is sitting here because he is made up of bones and muscles,\ninstead of telling the true reason--that he is here because the\nAthenians have thought good to sentence him to death, and he has thought\ngood to await his sentence. Had his bones and muscles been left by him\nto their own ideas of right, they would long ago have taken themselves\noff. But surely there is a great confusion of the cause and condition\nin all this. And this confusion also leads people into all sorts of\nerroneous theories about the position and motions of the earth. None of\nthem know how much stronger than any Atlas is the power of the best. But\nthis 'best' is still undiscovered; and in enquiring after the cause, we\ncan only hope to attain the second best.\n\nNow there is a danger in the contemplation of the nature of things, as\nthere is a danger in looking at the sun during an eclipse, unless the\nprecaution is taken of looking only at the image reflected in the water,\nor in a glass. (Compare Laws; Republic.) 'I was afraid,' says Socrates,\n'that I might injure the eye of the soul. I thought that I had better\nreturn to the old and safe method of ideas. Though I do not mean to say\nthat he who contemplates existence through the medium of ideas sees\nonly through a glass darkly, any more than he who contemplates actual\neffects.'\n\nIf the existence of ideas is granted to him, Socrates is of opinion that\nhe will then have no difficulty in proving the immortality of the soul.\nHe will only ask for a further admission:--that beauty is the cause of\nthe beautiful, greatness the cause of the great, smallness of the small,\nand so on of other things. This is a safe and simple answer, which\nescapes the contradictions of greater and less (greater by reason of\nthat which is smaller!), of addition and subtraction, and the other\ndifficulties of relation. These subtleties he is for leaving to wiser\nheads than his own; he prefers to test ideas by the consistency of their\nconsequences, and, if asked to give an account of them, goes back to\nsome higher idea or hypothesis which appears to him to be the best,\nuntil at last he arrives at a resting-place. (Republic; Phil.)\n\nThe doctrine of ideas, which has long ago received the assent of the\nSocratic circle, is now affirmed by the Phliasian auditor to command\nthe assent of any man of sense. The narrative is continued; Socrates is\ndesirous of explaining how opposite ideas may appear to co-exist but do\nnot really co-exist in the same thing or person. For example, Simmias\nmay be said to have greatness and also smallness, because he is greater\nthan Socrates and less than Phaedo. And yet Simmias is not really great\nand also small, but only when compared to Phaedo and Socrates. I use the\nillustration, says Socrates, because I want to show you not only that\nideal opposites exclude one another, but also the opposites in us. I,\nfor example, having the attribute of smallness remain small, and cannot\nbecome great: the smallness which is in me drives out greatness.\n\nOne of the company here remarked that this was inconsistent with the\nold assertion that opposites generated opposites. But that, replies\nSocrates, was affirmed, not of opposite ideas either in us or in\nnature, but of opposition in the concrete--not of life and death, but\nof individuals living and dying. When this objection has been removed,\nSocrates proceeds: This doctrine of the mutual exclusion of opposites\nis not only true of the opposites themselves, but of things which are\ninseparable from them. For example, cold and heat are opposed; and fire,\nwhich is inseparable from heat, cannot co-exist with cold, or snow,\nwhich is inseparable from cold, with heat. Again, the number three\nexcludes the number four, because three is an odd number and four is\nan even number, and the odd is opposed to the even. Thus we are able to\nproceed a step beyond 'the safe and simple answer.' We may say, not\nonly that the odd excludes the even, but that the number three, which\nparticipates in oddness, excludes the even. And in like manner, not only\ndoes life exclude death, but the soul, of which life is the inseparable\nattribute, also excludes death. And that of which life is the\ninseparable attribute is by the force of the terms imperishable. If the\nodd principle were imperishable, then the number three would not perish\nbut remove, on the approach of the even principle. But the immortal is\nimperishable; and therefore the soul on the approach of death does not\nperish but removes.\n\nThus all objections appear to be finally silenced. And now the\napplication has to be made: If the soul is immortal, 'what manner of\npersons ought we to be?' having regard not only to time but to eternity.\nFor death is not the end of all, and the wicked is not released from his\nevil by death; but every one carries with him into the world below that\nwhich he is or has become, and that only.\n\nFor after death the soul is carried away to judgment, and when she has\nreceived her punishment returns to earth in the course of ages. The wise\nsoul is conscious of her situation, and follows the attendant angel who\nguides her through the windings of the world below; but the impure soul\nwanders hither and thither without companion or guide, and is carried\nat last to her own place, as the pure soul is also carried away to hers.\n'In order that you may understand this, I must first describe to you the\nnature and conformation of the earth.'\n\nNow the whole earth is a globe placed in the centre of the heavens, and\nis maintained there by the perfection of balance. That which we call the\nearth is only one of many small hollows, wherein collect the mists and\nwaters and the thick lower air; but the true earth is above, and is in\na finer and subtler element. And if, like birds, we could fly to the\nsurface of the air, in the same manner that fishes come to the top of\nthe sea, then we should behold the true earth and the true heaven and\nthe true stars. Our earth is everywhere corrupted and corroded; and even\nthe land which is fairer than the sea, for that is a mere chaos or waste\nof water and mud and sand, has nothing to show in comparison of the\nother world. But the heavenly earth is of divers colours, sparkling with\njewels brighter than gold and whiter than any snow, having flowers and\nfruits innumerable. And the inhabitants dwell some on the shore of the\nsea of air, others in 'islets of the blest,' and they hold converse\nwith the gods, and behold the sun, moon and stars as they truly are, and\ntheir other blessedness is of a piece with this.\n\nThe hollows on the surface of the globe vary in size and shape from that\nwhich we inhabit: but all are connected by passages and perforations in\nthe interior of the earth. And there is one huge chasm or opening called\nTartarus, into which streams of fire and water and liquid mud are ever\nflowing; of these small portions find their way to the surface and\nform seas and rivers and volcanoes. There is a perpetual inhalation and\nexhalation of the air rising and falling as the waters pass into the\ndepths of the earth and return again, in their course forming lakes\nand rivers, but never descending below the centre of the earth; for on\neither side the rivers flowing either way are stopped by a precipice.\nThese rivers are many and mighty, and there are four principal ones,\nOceanus, Acheron, Pyriphlegethon, and Cocytus. Oceanus is the river\nwhich encircles the earth; Acheron takes an opposite direction, and\nafter flowing under the earth through desert places, at last reaches the\nAcherusian lake,--this is the river at which the souls of the dead await\ntheir return to earth. Pyriphlegethon is a stream of fire, which coils\nround the earth and flows into the depths of Tartarus. The fourth river,\nCocytus, is that which is called by the poets the Stygian river, and\npasses into and forms the lake Styx, from the waters of which it gains\nnew and strange powers. This river, too, falls into Tartarus.\n\nThe dead are first of all judged according to their deeds, and those who\nare incurable are thrust into Tartarus, from which they never come out.\nThose who have only committed venial sins are first purified of them,\nand then rewarded for the good which they have done. Those who have\ncommitted crimes, great indeed, but not unpardonable, are thrust\ninto Tartarus, but are cast forth at the end of a year by way of\nPyriphlegethon or Cocytus, and these carry them as far as the Acherusian\nlake, where they call upon their victims to let them come out of the\nrivers into the lake. And if they prevail, then they are let out and\ntheir sufferings cease: if not, they are borne unceasingly into Tartarus\nand back again, until they at last obtain mercy. The pure souls also\nreceive their reward, and have their abode in the upper earth, and a\nselect few in still fairer 'mansions.'\n\nSocrates is not prepared to insist on the literal accuracy of this\ndescription, but he is confident that something of the kind is true.\nHe who has sought after the pleasures of knowledge and rejected the\npleasures of the body, has reason to be of good hope at the approach of\ndeath; whose voice is already speaking to him, and who will one day be\nheard calling all men.\n\nThe hour has come at which he must drink the poison, and not much\nremains to be done. How shall they bury him? That is a question which he\nrefuses to entertain, for they are burying, not him, but his dead body.\nHis friends had once been sureties that he would remain, and they shall\nnow be sureties that he has run away. Yet he would not die without the\ncustomary ceremonies of washing and burial. Shall he make a libation of\nthe poison? In the spirit he will, but not in the letter. One request he\nutters in the very act of death, which has been a puzzle to after ages.\nWith a sort of irony he remembers that a trifling religious duty is\nstill unfulfilled, just as above he desires before he departs to compose\na few verses in order to satisfy a scruple about a dream--unless,\nindeed, we suppose him to mean, that he was now restored to health, and\nmade the customary offering to Asclepius in token of his recovery.\n\n*****\n\n1. The doctrine of the immortality of the soul has sunk deep into\nthe heart of the human race; and men are apt to rebel against any\nexamination of the nature or grounds of their belief. They do not like\nto acknowledge that this, as well as the other 'eternal ideas; of\nman, has a history in time, which may be traced in Greek poetry or\nphilosophy, and also in the Hebrew Scriptures. They convert feeling into\nreasoning, and throw a network of dialectics over that which is really\na deeply-rooted instinct. In the same temper which Socrates reproves in\nhimself they are disposed to think that even fallacies will do no harm,\nfor they will die with them, and while they live they will gain by the\ndelusion. And when they consider the numberless bad arguments which have\nbeen pressed into the service of theology, they say, like the companions\nof Socrates, 'What argument can we ever trust again?' But there is a\nbetter and higher spirit to be gathered from the Phaedo, as well as from\nthe other writings of Plato, which says that first principles should\nbe most constantly reviewed (Phaedo and Crat.), and that the highest\nsubjects demand of us the greatest accuracy (Republic); also that we\nmust not become misologists because arguments are apt to be deceivers.\n\n2. In former ages there was a customary rather than a reasoned belief\nin the immortality of the soul. It was based on the authority of the\nChurch, on the necessity of such a belief to morality and the order of\nsociety, on the evidence of an historical fact, and also on analogies\nand figures of speech which filled up the void or gave an expression\nin words to a cherished instinct. The mass of mankind went on their\nway busy with the affairs of this life, hardly stopping to think about\nanother. But in our own day the question has been reopened, and it is\ndoubtful whether the belief which in the first ages of Christianity\nwas the strongest motive of action can survive the conflict with a\nscientific age in which the rules of evidence are stricter and the mind\nhas become more sensitive to criticism. It has faded into the distance\nby a natural process as it was removed further and further from the\nhistorical fact on which it has been supposed to rest. Arguments derived\nfrom material things such as the seed and the ear of corn or transitions\nin the life of animals from one state of being to another (the chrysalis\nand the butterfly) are not 'in pari materia' with arguments from\nthe visible to the invisible, and are therefore felt to be no longer\napplicable. The evidence to the historical fact seems to be weaker than\nwas once supposed: it is not consistent with itself, and is based upon\ndocuments which are of unknown origin. The immortality of man must be\nproved by other arguments than these if it is again to become a living\nbelief. We must ask ourselves afresh why we still maintain it, and seek\nto discover a foundation for it in the nature of God and in the first\nprinciples of morality.\n\n3. At the outset of the discussion we may clear away a confusion. We\ncertainly do not mean by the immortality of the soul the immortality of\nfame, which whether worth having or not can only be ascribed to a very\nselect class of the whole race of mankind, and even the interest in\nthese few is comparatively short-lived. To have been a benefactor to the\nworld, whether in a higher or a lower sphere of life and thought, is a\ngreat thing: to have the reputation of being one, when men have passed\nout of the sphere of earthly praise or blame, is hardly worthy of\nconsideration. The memory of a great man, so far from being immortal,\nis really limited to his own generation:--so long as his friends or his\ndisciples are alive, so long as his books continue to be read, so long\nas his political or military successes fill a page in the history of\nhis country. The praises which are bestowed upon him at his death hardly\nlast longer than the flowers which are strewed upon his coffin or the\n'immortelles' which are laid upon his tomb. Literature makes the most\nof its heroes, but the true man is well aware that far from enjoying an\nimmortality of fame, in a generation or two, or even in a much shorter\ntime, he will be forgotten and the world will get on without him.\n\n4. Modern philosophy is perplexed at this whole question, which is\nsometimes fairly given up and handed over to the realm of faith. The\nperplexity should not be forgotten by us when we attempt to submit the\nPhaedo of Plato to the requirements of logic. For what idea can we form\nof the soul when separated from the body? Or how can the soul be united\nwith the body and still be independent? Is the soul related to the\nbody as the ideal to the real, or as the whole to the parts, or as the\nsubject to the object, or as the cause to the effect, or as the end to\nthe means? Shall we say with Aristotle, that the soul is the entelechy\nor form of an organized living body? or with Plato, that she has a life\nof her own? Is the Pythagorean image of the harmony, or that of the\nmonad, the truer expression? Is the soul related to the body as sight to\nthe eye, or as the boatman to his boat? (Arist. de Anim.) And in\nanother state of being is the soul to be conceived of as vanishing into\ninfinity, hardly possessing an existence which she can call her own,\nas in the pantheistic system of Spinoza: or as an individual informing\nanother body and entering into new relations, but retaining her own\ncharacter? (Compare Gorgias.) Or is the opposition of soul and body a\nmere illusion, and the true self neither soul nor body, but the union\nof the two in the 'I' which is above them? And is death the assertion\nof this individuality in the higher nature, and the falling away into\nnothingness of the lower? Or are we vainly attempting to pass\nthe boundaries of human thought? The body and the soul seem to be\ninseparable, not only in fact, but in our conceptions of them; and any\nphilosophy which too closely unites them, or too widely separates them,\neither in this life or in another, disturbs the balance of human nature.\nNo thinker has perfectly adjusted them, or been entirely consistent with\nhimself in describing their relation to one another. Nor can we\nwonder that Plato in the infancy of human thought should have confused\nmythology and philosophy, or have mistaken verbal arguments for real\nones.\n\n5. Again, believing in the immortality of the soul, we must still\nask the question of Socrates, 'What is that which we suppose to be\nimmortal?' Is it the personal and individual element in us, or the\nspiritual and universal? Is it the principle of knowledge or of\ngoodness, or the union of the two? Is it the mere force of life which is\ndetermined to be, or the consciousness of self which cannot be got rid\nof, or the fire of genius which refuses to be extinguished? Or is there\na hidden being which is allied to the Author of all existence, who is\nbecause he is perfect, and to whom our ideas of perfection give us a\ntitle to belong? Whatever answer is given by us to these questions,\nthere still remains the necessity of allowing the permanence of evil, if\nnot for ever, at any rate for a time, in order that the wicked 'may not\nhave too good a bargain.' For the annihilation of evil at death, or the\neternal duration of it, seem to involve equal difficulties in the moral\ngovernment of the universe. Sometimes we are led by our feelings, rather\nthan by our reason, to think of the good and wise only as existing in\nanother life. Why should the mean, the weak, the idiot, the infant,\nthe herd of men who have never in any proper sense the use of reason,\nreappear with blinking eyes in the light of another world? But our\nsecond thought is that the hope of humanity is a common one, and that\nall or none will be partakers of immortality. Reason does not allow us\nto suppose that we have any greater claims than others, and experience\nmay often reveal to us unexpected flashes of the higher nature in\nthose whom we had despised. Why should the wicked suffer any more than\nourselves? had we been placed in their circumstances should we have been\nany better than they? The worst of men are objects of pity rather than\nof anger to the philanthropist; must they not be equally such to divine\nbenevolence? Even more than the good they have need of another life; not\nthat they may be punished, but that they may be educated. These are\na few of the reflections which arise in our minds when we attempt to\nassign any form to our conceptions of a future state.\n\nThere are some other questions which are disturbing to us because we\nhave no answer to them. What is to become of the animals in a future\nstate? Have we not seen dogs more faithful and intelligent than men,\nand men who are more stupid and brutal than any animals? Does their life\ncease at death, or is there some 'better thing reserved' also for\nthem? They may be said to have a shadow or imitation of morality, and\nimperfect moral claims upon the benevolence of man and upon the justice\nof God. We cannot think of the least or lowest of them, the insect, the\nbird, the inhabitants of the sea or the desert, as having any place in\na future world, and if not all, why should those who are specially\nattached to man be deemed worthy of any exceptional privilege? When we\nreason about such a subject, almost at once we degenerate into nonsense.\nIt is a passing thought which has no real hold on the mind. We may argue\nfor the existence of animals in a future state from the attributes of\nGod, or from texts of Scripture ('Are not two sparrows sold for one\nfarthing?' etc.), but the truth is that we are only filling up the void\nof another world with our own fancies. Again, we often talk about\nthe origin of evil, that great bugbear of theologians, by which they\nfrighten us into believing any superstition. What answer can be made\nto the old commonplace, 'Is not God the author of evil, if he knowingly\npermitted, but could have prevented it?' Even if we assume that the\ninequalities of this life are rectified by some transposition of human\nbeings in another, still the existence of the very least evil if it\ncould have been avoided, seems to be at variance with the love and\njustice of God. And so we arrive at the conclusion that we are carrying\nlogic too far, and that the attempt to frame the world according to a\nrule of divine perfection is opposed to experience and had better be\ngiven up. The case of the animals is our own. We must admit that the\nDivine Being, although perfect himself, has placed us in a state of life\nin which we may work together with him for good, but we are very far\nfrom having attained to it.\n\n6. Again, ideas must be given through something; and we are always prone\nto argue about the soul from analogies of outward things which may serve\nto embody our thoughts, but are also partly delusive. For we cannot\nreason from the natural to the spiritual, or from the outward to the\ninward. The progress of physiological science, without bringing us\nnearer to the great secret, has tended to remove some erroneous notions\nrespecting the relations of body and mind, and in this we have the\nadvantage of the ancients. But no one imagines that any seed of\nimmortality is to be discerned in our mortal frames. Most people have\nbeen content to rest their belief in another life on the agreement of\nthe more enlightened part of mankind, and on the inseparable connection\nof such a doctrine with the existence of a God--also in a less degree\non the impossibility of doubting about the continued existence of those\nwhom we love and reverence in this world. And after all has been\nsaid, the figure, the analogy, the argument, are felt to be only\napproximations in different forms to an expression of the common\nsentiment of the human heart. That we shall live again is far more\ncertain than that we shall take any particular form of life.\n\n7. When we speak of the immortality of the soul, we must ask further\nwhat we mean by the word immortality. For of the duration of a living\nbeing in countless ages we can form no conception; far less than a three\nyears' old child of the whole of life. The naked eye might as well try\nto see the furthest star in the infinity of heaven. Whether time and\nspace really exist when we take away the limits of them may be doubted;\nat any rate the thought of them when unlimited us so overwhelming to us\nas to lose all distinctness. Philosophers have spoken of them as forms\nof the human mind, but what is the mind without them? As then infinite\ntime, or an existence out of time, which are the only possible\nexplanations of eternal duration, are equally inconceivable to us, let\nus substitute for them a hundred or a thousand years after death, and\nask not what will be our employment in eternity, but what will happen to\nus in that definite portion of time; or what is now happening to those\nwho passed out of life a hundred or a thousand years ago. Do we imagine\nthat the wicked are suffering torments, or that the good are singing the\npraises of God, during a period longer than that of a whole life, or\nof ten lives of men? Is the suffering physical or mental? And does the\nworship of God consist only of praise, or of many forms of service? Who\nare the wicked, and who are the good, whom we venture to divide by a\nhard and fast line; and in which of the two classes should we place\nourselves and our friends? May we not suspect that we are making\ndifferences of kind, because we are unable to imagine differences\nof degree?--putting the whole human race into heaven or hell for the\ngreater convenience of logical division? Are we not at the same time\ndescribing them both in superlatives, only that we may satisfy the\ndemands of rhetoric? What is that pain which does not become deadened\nafter a thousand years? or what is the nature of that pleasure or\nhappiness which never wearies by monotony? Earthly pleasures and pains\nare short in proportion as they are keen; of any others which are both\nintense and lasting we have no experience, and can form no idea.\nThe words or figures of speech which we use are not consistent with\nthemselves. For are we not imagining Heaven under the similitude of\na church, and Hell as a prison, or perhaps a madhouse or chamber of\nhorrors? And yet to beings constituted as we are, the monotony of\nsinging psalms would be as great an infliction as the pains of hell,\nand might be even pleasantly interrupted by them. Where are the actions\nworthy of rewards greater than those which are conferred on the greatest\nbenefactors of mankind? And where are the crimes which according to\nPlato's merciful reckoning,--more merciful, at any rate, than the\neternal damnation of so-called Christian teachers,--for every ten years\nin this life deserve a hundred of punishment in the life to come?\nWe should be ready to die of pity if we could see the least of the\nsufferings which the writers of Infernos and Purgatorios have attributed\nto the damned. Yet these joys and terrors seem hardly to exercise an\nappreciable influence over the lives of men. The wicked man when old,\nis not, as Plato supposes (Republic), more agitated by the terrors of\nanother world when he is nearer to them, nor the good in an ecstasy at\nthe joys of which he is soon to be the partaker. Age numbs the sense of\nboth worlds; and the habit of life is strongest in death. Even the dying\nmother is dreaming of her lost children as they were forty or fifty\nyears before, 'pattering over the boards,' not of reunion with them\nin another state of being. Most persons when the last hour comes are\nresigned to the order of nature and the will of God. They are not\nthinking of Dante's Inferno or Paradiso, or of the Pilgrim's Progress.\nHeaven and hell are not realities to them, but words or ideas; the\noutward symbols of some great mystery, they hardly know what. Many\nnoble poems and pictures have been suggested by the traditional\nrepresentations of them, which have been fixed in forms of art and can\nno longer be altered. Many sermons have been filled with descriptions\nof celestial or infernal mansions. But hardly even in childhood did the\nthought of heaven and hell supply the motives of our actions, or at any\ntime seriously affect the substance of our belief.\n\n8. Another life must be described, if at all, in forms of thought\nand not of sense. To draw pictures of heaven and hell, whether in the\nlanguage of Scripture or any other, adds nothing to our real knowledge,\nbut may perhaps disguise our ignorance. The truest conception which\nwe can form of a future life is a state of progress or education--a\nprogress from evil to good, from ignorance to knowledge. To this we are\nled by the analogy of the present life, in which we see different races\nand nations of men, and different men and women of the same nation,\nin various states or stages of cultivation; some more and some less\ndeveloped, and all of them capable of improvement under favourable\ncircumstances. There are punishments too of children when they are\ngrowing up inflicted by their parents, of elder offenders which are\nimposed by the law of the land, of all men at all times of life,\nwhich are attached by the laws of nature to the performance of certain\nactions. All these punishments are really educational; that is to say,\nthey are not intended to retaliate on the offender, but to teach him\na lesson. Also there is an element of chance in them, which is another\nname for our ignorance of the laws of nature. There is evil too\ninseparable from good (compare Lysis); not always punished here, as good\nis not always rewarded. It is capable of being indefinitely diminished;\nand as knowledge increases, the element of chance may more and more\ndisappear.\n\nFor we do not argue merely from the analogy of the present state of this\nworld to another, but from the analogy of a probable future to which we\nare tending. The greatest changes of which we have had experience as yet\nare due to our increasing knowledge of history and of nature. They\nhave been produced by a few minds appearing in three or four favoured\nnations, in a comparatively short period of time. May we be allowed to\nimagine the minds of men everywhere working together during many ages\nfor the completion of our knowledge? May not the science of physiology\ntransform the world? Again, the majority of mankind have really\nexperienced some moral improvement; almost every one feels that he has\ntendencies to good, and is capable of becoming better. And these germs\nof good are often found to be developed by new circumstances, like\nstunted trees when transplanted to a better soil. The differences\nbetween the savage and the civilized man, or between the civilized\nman in old and new countries, may be indefinitely increased. The first\ndifference is the effect of a few thousand, the second of a few hundred\nyears. We congratulate ourselves that slavery has become industry;\nthat law and constitutional government have superseded despotism and\nviolence; that an ethical religion has taken the place of Fetichism.\nThere may yet come a time when the many may be as well off as the few;\nwhen no one will be weighed down by excessive toil; when the necessity\nof providing for the body will not interfere with mental improvement;\nwhen the physical frame may be strengthened and developed; and the\nreligion of all men may become a reasonable service.\n\nNothing therefore, either in the present state of man or in the\ntendencies of the future, as far as we can entertain conjecture of them,\nwould lead us to suppose that God governs us vindictively in this\nworld, and therefore we have no reason to infer that he will govern us\nvindictively in another. The true argument from analogy is not, 'This\nlife is a mixed state of justice and injustice, of great waste, of\nsudden casualties, of disproportionate punishments, and therefore the\nlike inconsistencies, irregularities, injustices are to be expected\nin another;' but 'This life is subject to law, and is in a state of\nprogress, and therefore law and progress may be believed to be the\ngoverning principles of another.' All the analogies of this world would\nbe against unmeaning punishments inflicted a hundred or a thousand years\nafter an offence had been committed. Suffering there might be as a\npart of education, but not hopeless or protracted; as there might be\na retrogression of individuals or of bodies of men, yet not such as to\ninterfere with a plan for the improvement of the whole (compare Laws.)\n\n9. But some one will say: That we cannot reason from the seen to the\nunseen, and that we are creating another world after the image of this,\njust as men in former ages have created gods in their own likeness. And\nwe, like the companions of Socrates, may feel discouraged at hearing\nour favourite 'argument from analogy' thus summarily disposed of. Like\nhimself, too, we may adduce other arguments in which he seems to have\nanticipated us, though he expresses them in different language. For we\nfeel that the soul partakes of the ideal and invisible; and can never\nfall into the error of confusing the external circumstances of man with\nhis higher self; or his origin with his nature. It is as repugnant to\nus as it was to him to imagine that our moral ideas are to be attributed\nonly to cerebral forces. The value of a human soul, like the value of a\nman's life to himself, is inestimable, and cannot be reckoned in earthly\nor material things. The human being alone has the consciousness of truth\nand justice and love, which is the consciousness of God. And the soul\nbecoming more conscious of these, becomes more conscious of her own\nimmortality.\n\n10. The last ground of our belief in immortality, and the strongest, is\nthe perfection of the divine nature. The mere fact of the existence of\nGod does not tend to show the continued existence of man. An evil God\nor an indifferent God might have had the power, but not the will, to\npreserve us. He might have regarded us as fitted to minister to his\nservice by a succession of existences,--like the animals, without\nattributing to each soul an incomparable value. But if he is perfect,\nhe must will that all rational beings should partake of that perfection\nwhich he himself is. In the words of the Timaeus, he is good, and\ntherefore he desires that all other things should be as like himself as\npossible. And the manner in which he accomplishes this is by permitting\nevil, or rather degrees of good, which are otherwise called evil.\nFor all progress is good relatively to the past, and yet may be\ncomparatively evil when regarded in the light of the future. Good and\nevil are relative terms, and degrees of evil are merely the negative\naspect of degrees of good. Of the absolute goodness of any finite nature\nwe can form no conception; we are all of us in process of transition\nfrom one degree of good or evil to another. The difficulties which\nare urged about the origin or existence of evil are mere dialectical\npuzzles, standing in the same relation to Christian philosophy as the\npuzzles of the Cynics and Megarians to the philosophy of Plato. They\narise out of the tendency of the human mind to regard good and evil both\nas relative and absolute; just as the riddles about motion are to be\nexplained by the double conception of space or matter, which the human\nmind has the power of regarding either as continuous or discrete.\n\nIn speaking of divine perfection, we mean to say that God is just and\ntrue and loving, the author of order and not of disorder, of good and\nnot of evil. Or rather, that he is justice, that he is truth, that he\nis love, that he is order, that he is the very progress of which we were\nspeaking; and that wherever these qualities are present, whether in the\nhuman soul or in the order of nature, there is God. We might still see\nhim everywhere, if we had not been mistakenly seeking for him apart from\nus, instead of in us; away from the laws of nature, instead of in\nthem. And we become united to him not by mystical absorption, but by\npartaking, whether consciously or unconsciously, of that truth and\njustice and love which he himself is.\n\nThus the belief in the immortality of the soul rests at last on the\nbelief in God. If there is a good and wise God, then there is a progress\nof mankind towards perfection; and if there is no progress of men\ntowards perfection, then there is no good and wise God. We cannot\nsuppose that the moral government of God of which we see the beginnings\nin the world and in ourselves will cease when we pass out of life.\n\n11. Considering the 'feebleness of the human faculties and the\nuncertainty of the subject,' we are inclined to believe that the fewer\nour words the better. At the approach of death there is not much said;\ngood men are too honest to go out of the world professing more than they\nknow. There is perhaps no important subject about which, at any time,\neven religious people speak so little to one another. In the fulness\nof life the thought of death is mostly awakened by the sight or\nrecollection of the death of others rather than by the prospect of our\nown. We must also acknowledge that there are degrees of the belief in\nimmortality, and many forms in which it presents itself to the mind.\nSome persons will say no more than that they trust in God, and that they\nleave all to Him. It is a great part of true religion not to pretend\nto know more than we do. Others when they quit this world are comforted\nwith the hope 'That they will see and know their friends in heaven.' But\nit is better to leave them in the hands of God and to be assured that\n'no evil shall touch them.' There are others again to whom the belief in\na divine personality has ceased to have any longer a meaning; yet they\nare satisfied that the end of all is not here, but that something still\nremains to us, 'and some better thing for the good than for the evil.'\nThey are persuaded, in spite of their theological nihilism, that the\nideas of justice and truth and holiness and love are realities. They\ncherish an enthusiastic devotion to the first principles of morality.\nThrough these they see, or seem to see, darkly, and in a figure, that\nthe soul is immortal.\n\nBut besides differences of theological opinion which must ever prevail\nabout things unseen, the hope of immortality is weaker or stronger in\nmen at one time of life than at another; it even varies from day to day.\nIt comes and goes; the mind, like the sky, is apt to be overclouded.\nOther generations of men may have sometimes lived under an 'eclipse of\nfaith,' to us the total disappearance of it might be compared to the\n'sun falling from heaven.' And we may sometimes have to begin again and\nacquire the belief for ourselves; or to win it back again when it is\nlost. It is really weakest in the hour of death. For Nature, like a kind\nmother or nurse, lays us to sleep without frightening us; physicians,\nwho are the witnesses of such scenes, say that under ordinary\ncircumstances there is no fear of the future. Often, as Plato tells\nus, death is accompanied 'with pleasure.' (Tim.) When the end is still\nuncertain, the cry of many a one has been, 'Pray, that I may be taken.'\nThe last thoughts even of the best men depend chiefly on the accidents\nof their bodily state. Pain soon overpowers the desire of life; old age,\nlike the child, is laid to sleep almost in a moment. The long experience\nof life will often destroy the interest which mankind have in it. So\nvarious are the feelings with which different persons draw near to\ndeath; and still more various the forms in which imagination clothes it.\nFor this alternation of feeling compare the Old Testament,--Psalm vi.;\nIsaiah; Eccles.\n\n12. When we think of God and of man in his relation to God; of the\nimperfection of our present state and yet of the progress which is\nobservable in the history of the world and of the human mind; of the\ndepth and power of our moral ideas which seem to partake of the very\nnature of God Himself; when we consider the contrast between the\nphysical laws to which we are subject and the higher law which raises us\nabove them and is yet a part of them; when we reflect on our capacity of\nbecoming the 'spectators of all time and all existence,' and of framing\nin our own minds the ideal of a perfect Being; when we see how the\nhuman mind in all the higher religions of the world, including Buddhism,\nnotwithstanding some aberrations, has tended towards such a belief--we\nhave reason to think that our destiny is different from that of animals;\nand though we cannot altogether shut out the childish fear that the soul\nupon leaving the body may 'vanish into thin air,' we have still, so far\nas the nature of the subject admits, a hope of immortality with which we\ncomfort ourselves on sufficient grounds. The denial of the belief takes\nthe heart out of human life; it lowers men to the level of the material.\nAs Goethe also says, 'He is dead even in this world who has no belief in\nanother.'\n\n13. It is well also that we should sometimes think of the forms of\nthought under which the idea of immortality is most naturally presented\nto us. It is clear that to our minds the risen soul can no longer be\ndescribed, as in a picture, by the symbol of a creature half-bird,\nhalf-human, nor in any other form of sense. The multitude of angels, as\nin Milton, singing the Almighty's praises, are a noble image, and may\nfurnish a theme for the poet or the painter, but they are no longer an\nadequate expression of the kingdom of God which is within us. Neither is\nthere any mansion, in this world or another, in which the departed can\nbe imagined to dwell and carry on their occupations. When this earthly\ntabernacle is dissolved, no other habitation or building can take them\nin: it is in the language of ideas only that we speak of them.\n\nFirst of all there is the thought of rest and freedom from pain; they\nhave gone home, as the common saying is, and the cares of this world\ntouch them no more. Secondly, we may imagine them as they were at\ntheir best and brightest, humbly fulfilling their daily round of\nduties--selfless, childlike, unaffected by the world; when the eye was\nsingle and the whole body seemed to be full of light; when the mind was\nclear and saw into the purposes of God. Thirdly, we may think of them\nas possessed by a great love of God and man, working out His will at a\nfurther stage in the heavenly pilgrimage. And yet we acknowledge that\nthese are the things which eye hath not seen nor ear heard and therefore\nit hath not entered into the heart of man in any sensible manner to\nconceive them. Fourthly, there may have been some moments in our own\nlives when we have risen above ourselves, or been conscious of our truer\nselves, in which the will of God has superseded our wills, and we have\nentered into communion with Him, and been partakers for a brief season\nof the Divine truth and love, in which like Christ we have been inspired\nto utter the prayer, 'I in them, and thou in me, that we may be all made\nperfect in one.' These precious moments, if we have ever known them, are\nthe nearest approach which we can make to the idea of immortality.\n\n14. Returning now to the earlier stage of human thought which is\nrepresented by the writings of Plato, we find that many of the\nsame questions have already arisen: there is the same tendency to\nmaterialism; the same inconsistency in the application of the idea of\nmind; the same doubt whether the soul is to be regarded as a cause or as\nan effect; the same falling back on moral convictions. In the Phaedo the\nsoul is conscious of her divine nature, and the separation from the body\nwhich has been commenced in this life is perfected in another. Beginning\nin mystery, Socrates, in the intermediate part of the Dialogue, attempts\nto bring the doctrine of a future life into connection with his theory\nof knowledge. In proportion as he succeeds in this, the individual seems\nto disappear in a more general notion of the soul; the contemplation of\nideas 'under the form of eternity' takes the place of past and future\nstates of existence. His language may be compared to that of some modern\nphilosophers, who speak of eternity, not in the sense of perpetual\nduration of time, but as an ever-present quality of the soul. Yet at\nthe conclusion of the Dialogue, having 'arrived at the end of the\nintellectual world' (Republic), he replaces the veil of mythology,\nand describes the soul and her attendant genius in the language of the\nmysteries or of a disciple of Zoroaster. Nor can we fairly demand of\nPlato a consistency which is wanting among ourselves, who acknowledge\nthat another world is beyond the range of human thought, and yet are\nalways seeking to represent the mansions of heaven or hell in\nthe colours of the painter, or in the descriptions of the poet or\nrhetorician.\n\n15. The doctrine of the immortality of the soul was not new to the\nGreeks in the age of Socrates, but, like the unity of God, had a\nfoundation in the popular belief. The old Homeric notion of a gibbering\nghost flitting away to Hades; or of a few illustrious heroes enjoying\nthe isles of the blest; or of an existence divided between the two; or\nthe Hesiodic, of righteous spirits, who become guardian angels,--had\ngiven place in the mysteries and the Orphic poets to representations,\npartly fanciful, of a future state of rewards and punishments. (Laws.)\nThe reticence of the Greeks on public occasions and in some part of\ntheir literature respecting this 'underground' religion, is not to be\ntaken as a measure of the diffusion of such beliefs. If Pericles in the\nfuneral oration is silent on the consolations of immortality, the\npoet Pindar and the tragedians on the other hand constantly assume the\ncontinued existence of the dead in an upper or under world. Darius\nand Laius are still alive; Antigone will be dear to her brethren after\ndeath; the way to the palace of Cronos is found by those who 'have\nthrice departed from evil.' The tragedy of the Greeks is not 'rounded'\nby this life, but is deeply set in decrees of fate and mysterious\nworkings of powers beneath the earth. In the caricature of Aristophanes\nthere is also a witness to the common sentiment. The Ionian and\nPythagorean philosophies arose, and some new elements were added to the\npopular belief. The individual must find an expression as well as the\nworld. Either the soul was supposed to exist in the form of a magnet, or\nof a particle of fire, or of light, or air, or water; or of a number or\nof a harmony of number; or to be or have, like the stars, a principle\nof motion (Arist. de Anim.). At length Anaxagoras, hardly distinguishing\nbetween life and mind, or between mind human and divine, attained\nthe pure abstraction; and this, like the other abstractions of Greek\nphilosophy, sank deep into the human intelligence. The opposition of\nthe intelligible and the sensible, and of God to the world, supplied an\nanalogy which assisted in the separation of soul and body. If ideas were\nseparable from phenomena, mind was also separable from matter; if the\nideas were eternal, the mind that conceived them was eternal too. As\nthe unity of God was more distinctly acknowledged, the conception of the\nhuman soul became more developed. The succession, or alternation of\nlife and death, had occurred to Heracleitus. The Eleatic Parmenides had\nstumbled upon the modern thesis, that 'thought and being are the same.'\nThe Eastern belief in transmigration defined the sense of individuality;\nand some, like Empedocles, fancied that the blood which they had shed\nin another state of being was crying against them, and that for thirty\nthousand years they were to be 'fugitives and vagabonds upon the earth.'\nThe desire of recognizing a lost mother or love or friend in the world\nbelow (Phaedo) was a natural feeling which, in that age as well as in\nevery other, has given distinctness to the hope of immortality. Nor were\nethical considerations wanting, partly derived from the necessity of\npunishing the greater sort of criminals, whom no avenging power of this\nworld could reach. The voice of conscience, too, was heard reminding\nthe good man that he was not altogether innocent. (Republic.) To these\nindistinct longings and fears an expression was given in the mysteries\nand Orphic poets: a 'heap of books' (Republic), passing under the names\nof Musaeus and Orpheus in Plato's time, were filled with notions of an\nunder-world.\n\n16. Yet after all the belief in the individuality of the soul after\ndeath had but a feeble hold on the Greek mind. Like the personality of\nGod, the personality of man in a future state was not inseparably bound\nup with the reality of his existence. For the distinction between the\npersonal and impersonal, and also between the divine and human, was far\nless marked to the Greek than to ourselves. And as Plato readily passes\nfrom the notion of the good to that of God, he also passes almost\nimperceptibly to himself and his reader from the future life of the\nindividual soul to the eternal being of the absolute soul. There has\nbeen a clearer statement and a clearer denial of the belief in modern\ntimes than is found in early Greek philosophy, and hence the comparative\nsilence on the whole subject which is often remarked in ancient writers,\nand particularly in Aristotle. For Plato and Aristotle are not further\nremoved in their teaching about the immortality of the soul than they\nare in their theory of knowledge.\n\n17. Living in an age when logic was beginning to mould human thought,\nPlato naturally cast his belief in immortality into a logical form. And\nwhen we consider how much the doctrine of ideas was also one of words,\nit is not surprising that he should have fallen into verbal fallacies:\nearly logic is always mistaking the truth of the form for the truth of\nthe matter. It is easy to see that the alternation of opposites is\nnot the same as the generation of them out of each other; and that the\ngeneration of them out of each other, which is the first argument in\nthe Phaedo, is at variance with their mutual exclusion of each other,\nwhether in themselves or in us, which is the last. For even if we admit\nthe distinction which he draws between the opposites and the things\nwhich have the opposites, still individuals fall under the latter class;\nand we have to pass out of the region of human hopes and fears to a\nconception of an abstract soul which is the impersonation of the ideas.\nSuch a conception, which in Plato himself is but half expressed, is\nunmeaning to us, and relative only to a particular stage in the history\nof thought. The doctrine of reminiscence is also a fragment of a former\nworld, which has no place in the philosophy of modern times. But Plato\nhad the wonders of psychology just opening to him, and he had not the\nexplanation of them which is supplied by the analysis of language and\nthe history of the human mind. The question, 'Whence come our abstract\nideas?' he could only answer by an imaginary hypothesis. Nor is it\ndifficult to see that his crowning argument is purely verbal, and is\nbut the expression of an instinctive confidence put into a logical\nform:--'The soul is immortal because it contains a principle of\nimperishableness.' Nor does he himself seem at all to be aware that\nnothing is added to human knowledge by his 'safe and simple answer,'\nthat beauty is the cause of the beautiful; and that he is merely\nreasserting the Eleatic being 'divided by the Pythagorean numbers,'\nagainst the Heracleitean doctrine of perpetual generation. The answer to\nthe 'very serious question' of generation and destruction is really\nthe denial of them. For this he would substitute, as in the Republic, a\nsystem of ideas, tested, not by experience, but by their consequences,\nand not explained by actual causes, but by a higher, that is, a more\ngeneral notion. Consistency with themselves is the only test which is to\nbe applied to them. (Republic, and Phaedo.)\n\n18. To deal fairly with such arguments, they should be translated as\nfar as possible into their modern equivalents. 'If the ideas of men are\neternal, their souls are eternal, and if not the ideas, then not the\nsouls.' Such an argument stands nearly in the same relation to Plato and\nhis age, as the argument from the existence of God to immortality among\nourselves. 'If God exists, then the soul exists after death; and if\nthere is no God, there is no existence of the soul after death.' For\nthe ideas are to his mind the reality, the truth, the principle of\npermanence, as well as of intelligence and order in the world. When\nSimmias and Cebes say that they are more strongly persuaded of the\nexistence of ideas than they are of the immortality of the soul, they\nrepresent fairly enough the order of thought in Greek philosophy. And we\nmight say in the same way that we are more certain of the existence\nof God than we are of the immortality of the soul, and are led by the\nbelief in the one to a belief in the other. The parallel, as Socrates\nwould say, is not perfect, but agrees in as far as the mind in either\ncase is regarded as dependent on something above and beyond herself. The\nanalogy may even be pressed a step further: 'We are more certain of our\nideas of truth and right than we are of the existence of God, and\nare led on in the order of thought from one to the other.' Or more\ncorrectly: 'The existence of right and truth is the existence of God,\nand can never for a moment be separated from Him.'\n\n19. The main argument of the Phaedo is derived from the existence of\neternal ideas of which the soul is a partaker; the other argument of the\nalternation of opposites is replaced by this. And there have not been\nwanting philosophers of the idealist school who have imagined that the\ndoctrine of the immortality of the soul is a theory of knowledge, and\nthat in what has preceded Plato is accommodating himself to the popular\nbelief. Such a view can only be elicited from the Phaedo by what may\nbe termed the transcendental method of interpretation, and is obviously\ninconsistent with the Gorgias and the Republic. Those who maintain\nit are immediately compelled to renounce the shadow which they have\ngrasped, as a play of words only. But the truth is, that Plato in his\nargument for the immortality of the soul has collected many elements of\nproof or persuasion, ethical and mythological as well as dialectical,\nwhich are not easily to be reconciled with one another; and he is as\nmuch in earnest about his doctrine of retribution, which is repeated\nin all his more ethical writings, as about his theory of knowledge.\nAnd while we may fairly translate the dialectical into the language of\nHegel, and the religious and mythological into the language of Dante or\nBunyan, the ethical speaks to us still in the same voice, and appeals to\na common feeling.\n\n20. Two arguments of this ethical character occur in the Phaedo. The\nfirst may be described as the aspiration of the soul after another state\nof being. Like the Oriental or Christian mystic, the philosopher is\nseeking to withdraw from impurities of sense, to leave the world and the\nthings of the world, and to find his higher self. Plato recognizes in\nthese aspirations the foretaste of immortality; as Butler and Addison in\nmodern times have argued, the one from the moral tendencies of mankind,\nthe other from the progress of the soul towards perfection. In using\nthis argument Plato has certainly confused the soul which has left the\nbody, with the soul of the good and wise. (Compare Republic.) Such a\nconfusion was natural, and arose partly out of the antithesis of soul\nand body. The soul in her own essence, and the soul 'clothed upon' with\nvirtues and graces, were easily interchanged with one another, because\non a subject which passes expression the distinctions of language can\nhardly be maintained.\n\n21. The ethical proof of the immortality of the soul is derived from the\nnecessity of retribution. The wicked would be too well off if their\nevil deeds came to an end. It is not to be supposed that an Ardiaeus,\nan Archelaus, an Ismenias could ever have suffered the penalty of\ntheir crimes in this world. The manner in which this retribution is\naccomplished Plato represents under the figures of mythology. Doubtless\nhe felt that it was easier to improve than to invent, and that in\nreligion especially the traditional form was required in order to give\nverisimilitude to the myth. The myth too is far more probable to that\nage than to ours, and may fairly be regarded as 'one guess among\nmany' about the nature of the earth, which he cleverly supports by the\nindications of geology. Not that he insists on the absolute truth of\nhis own particular notions: 'no man of sense will be confident in such\nmatters; but he will be confident that something of the kind is true.'\nAs in other passages (Gorg., Tim., compare Crito), he wins belief for\nhis fictions by the moderation of his statements; he does not, like\nDante or Swedenborg, allow himself to be deceived by his own creations.\n\nThe Dialogue must be read in the light of the situation. And first of\nall we are struck by the calmness of the scene. Like the spectators\nat the time, we cannot pity Socrates; his mien and his language are\nso noble and fearless. He is the same that he ever was, but milder and\ngentler, and he has in no degree lost his interest in dialectics;\nhe will not forego the delight of an argument in compliance with the\njailer's intimation that he should not heat himself with talking. At\nsuch a time he naturally expresses the hope of his life, that he has\nbeen a true mystic and not a mere retainer or wand-bearer: and he refers\nto passages of his personal history. To his old enemies the Comic\npoets, and to the proceedings on the trial, he alludes playfully; but he\nvividly remembers the disappointment which he felt in reading the books\nof Anaxagoras. The return of Xanthippe and his children indicates that\nthe philosopher is not 'made of oak or rock.' Some other traits of his\ncharacter may be noted; for example, the courteous manner in which\nhe inclines his head to the last objector, or the ironical touch, 'Me\nalready, as the tragic poet would say, the voice of fate calls;' or\nthe depreciation of the arguments with which 'he comforted himself and\nthem;' or his fear of 'misology;' or his references to Homer; or the\nplayful smile with which he 'talks like a book' about greater and less;\nor the allusion to the possibility of finding another teacher among\nbarbarous races (compare Polit.); or the mysterious reference to another\nscience (mathematics?) of generation and destruction for which he is\nvainly feeling. There is no change in him; only now he is invested with\na sort of sacred character, as the prophet or priest of Apollo the God\nof the festival, in whose honour he first of all composes a hymn,\nand then like the swan pours forth his dying lay. Perhaps the extreme\nelevation of Socrates above his own situation, and the ordinary\ninterests of life (compare his jeu d'esprit about his burial, in which\nfor a moment he puts on the 'Silenus mask'), create in the mind of the\nreader an impression stronger than could be derived from arguments that\nsuch a one has in him 'a principle which does not admit of death.'\n\nThe other persons of the Dialogue may be considered under two heads: (1)\nprivate friends; (2) the respondents in the argument.\n\nFirst there is Crito, who has been already introduced to us in the\nEuthydemus and the Crito; he is the equal in years of Socrates, and\nstands in quite a different relation to him from his younger disciples.\nHe is a man of the world who is rich and prosperous (compare the jest\nin the Euthydemus), the best friend of Socrates, who wants to know his\ncommands, in whose presence he talks to his family, and who performs\nthe last duty of closing his eyes. It is observable too that, as in the\nEuthydemus, Crito shows no aptitude for philosophical discussions. Nor\namong the friends of Socrates must the jailer be forgotten, who seems\nto have been introduced by Plato in order to show the impression made\nby the extraordinary man on the common. The gentle nature of the man\nis indicated by his weeping at the announcement of his errand and then\nturning away, and also by the words of Socrates to his disciples: 'How\ncharming the man is! since I have been in prison he has been always\ncoming to me, and is as good as could be to me.' We are reminded\ntoo that he has retained this gentle nature amid scenes of death and\nviolence by the contrasts which he draws between the behaviour of\nSocrates and of others when about to die.\n\nAnother person who takes no part in the philosophical discussion is the\nexcitable Apollodorus, the same who, in the Symposium, of which he is\nthe narrator, is called 'the madman,' and who testifies his grief by the\nmost violent emotions. Phaedo is also present, the 'beloved disciple'\nas he may be termed, who is described, if not 'leaning on his bosom,'\nas seated next to Socrates, who is playing with his hair. He too, like\nApollodorus, takes no part in the discussion, but he loves above all\nthings to hear and speak of Socrates after his death. The calmness\nof his behaviour, veiling his face when he can no longer restrain\nhis tears, contrasts with the passionate outcries of the other. At a\nparticular point the argument is described as falling before the attack\nof Simmias. A sort of despair is introduced in the minds of the company.\nThe effect of this is heightened by the description of Phaedo, who has\nbeen the eye-witness of the scene, and by the sympathy of his Phliasian\nauditors who are beginning to think 'that they too can never trust an\nargument again.' And the intense interest of the company is communicated\nnot only to the first auditors, but to us who in a distant country read\nthe narrative of their emotions after more than two thousand years have\npassed away.\n\nThe two principal interlocutors are Simmias and Cebes, the disciples of\nPhilolaus the Pythagorean philosopher of Thebes. Simmias is described\nin the Phaedrus as fonder of an argument than any man living; and\nCebes, although finally persuaded by Socrates, is said to be the most\nincredulous of human beings. It is Cebes who at the commencement of\nthe Dialogue asks why 'suicide is held to be unlawful,' and who\nfirst supplies the doctrine of recollection in confirmation of the\npre-existence of the soul. It is Cebes who urges that the pre-existence\ndoes not necessarily involve the future existence of the soul, as is\nshown by the illustration of the weaver and his coat. Simmias, on the\nother hand, raises the question about harmony and the lyre, which is\nnaturally put into the mouth of a Pythagorean disciple. It is Simmias,\ntoo, who first remarks on the uncertainty of human knowledge, and\nonly at last concedes to the argument such a qualified approval as is\nconsistent with the feebleness of the human faculties. Cebes is the\ndeeper and more consecutive thinker, Simmias more superficial and\nrhetorical; they are distinguished in much the same manner as Adeimantus\nand Glaucon in the Republic.\n\nOther persons, Menexenus, Ctesippus, Lysis, are old friends; Evenus\nhas been already satirized in the Apology; Aeschines and Epigenes\nwere present at the trial; Euclid and Terpsion will reappear in the\nIntroduction to the Theaetetus, Hermogenes has already appeared in\nthe Cratylus. No inference can fairly be drawn from the absence of\nAristippus, nor from the omission of Xenophon, who at the time of\nSocrates' death was in Asia. The mention of Plato's own absence seems\nlike an expression of sorrow, and may, perhaps, be an indication that\nthe report of the conversation is not to be taken literally.\n\nThe place of the Dialogue in the series is doubtful. The doctrine of\nideas is certainly carried beyond the Socratic point of view; in no\nother of the writings of Plato is the theory of them so completely\ndeveloped. Whether the belief in immortality can be attributed to\nSocrates or not is uncertain; the silence of the Memorabilia, and of the\nearlier Dialogues of Plato, is an argument to the contrary. Yet in the\nCyropaedia Xenophon has put language into the mouth of the dying Cyrus\nwhich recalls the Phaedo, and may have been derived from the teaching of\nSocrates. It may be fairly urged that the greatest religious interest of\nmankind could not have been wholly ignored by one who passed his life in\nfulfilling the commands of an oracle, and who recognized a Divine plan\nin man and nature. (Xen. Mem.) And the language of the Apology and of\nthe Crito confirms this view.\n\nThe Phaedo is not one of the Socratic Dialogues of Plato; nor, on the\nother hand, can it be assigned to that later stage of the Platonic\nwritings at which the doctrine of ideas appears to be forgotten. It\nbelongs rather to the intermediate period of the Platonic philosophy,\nwhich roughly corresponds to the Phaedrus, Gorgias, Republic,\nTheaetetus. Without pretending to determine the real time of their\ncomposition, the Symposium, Meno, Euthyphro, Apology, Phaedo may be\nconveniently read by us in this order as illustrative of the life of\nSocrates. Another chain may be formed of the Meno, Phaedrus, Phaedo,\nin which the immortality of the soul is connected with the doctrine of\nideas. In the Meno the theory of ideas is based on the ancient belief in\ntransmigration, which reappears again in the Phaedrus as well as in the\nRepublic and Timaeus, and in all of them is connected with a doctrine of\nretribution. In the Phaedrus the immortality of the soul is supposed to\nrest on the conception of the soul as a principle of motion, whereas in\nthe Republic the argument turns on the natural continuance of the soul,\nwhich, if not destroyed by her own proper evil, can hardly be destroyed\nby any other. The soul of man in the Timaeus is derived from the Supreme\nCreator, and either returns after death to her kindred star, or descends\ninto the lower life of an animal. The Apology expresses the same view\nas the Phaedo, but with less confidence; there the probability of death\nbeing a long sleep is not excluded. The Theaetetus also describes, in a\ndigression, the desire of the soul to fly away and be with God--'and to\nfly to him is to be like him.' The Symposium may be observed to\nresemble as well as to differ from the Phaedo. While the first notion of\nimmortality is only in the way of natural procreation or of posthumous\nfame and glory, the higher revelation of beauty, like the good in the\nRepublic, is the vision of the eternal idea. So deeply rooted in\nPlato's mind is the belief in immortality; so various are the forms of\nexpression which he employs.\n\nAs in several other Dialogues, there is more of system in the Phaedo\nthan appears at first sight. The succession of arguments is based on\nprevious philosophies; beginning with the mysteries and the Heracleitean\nalternation of opposites, and proceeding to the Pythagorean harmony and\ntransmigration; making a step by the aid of Platonic reminiscence, and\na further step by the help of the nous of Anaxagoras; until at last we\nrest in the conviction that the soul is inseparable from the ideas,\nand belongs to the world of the invisible and unknown. Then, as in\nthe Gorgias or Republic, the curtain falls, and the veil of mythology\ndescends upon the argument. After the confession of Socrates that he is\nan interested party, and the acknowledgment that no man of sense will\nthink the details of his narrative true, but that something of the kind\nis true, we return from speculation to practice. He is himself more\nconfident of immortality than he is of his own arguments; and the\nconfidence which he expresses is less strong than that which his\ncheerfulness and composure in death inspire in us.\n\nDifficulties of two kinds occur in the Phaedo--one kind to be explained\nout of contemporary philosophy, the other not admitting of an entire\nsolution. (1) The difficulty which Socrates says that he experienced in\nexplaining generation and corruption; the assumption of hypotheses which\nproceed from the less general to the more general, and are tested by\ntheir consequences; the puzzle about greater and less; the resort to the\nmethod of ideas, which to us appear only abstract terms,--these are to\nbe explained out of the position of Socrates and Plato in the history of\nphilosophy. They were living in a twilight between the sensible and\nthe intellectual world, and saw no way of connecting them. They\ncould neither explain the relation of ideas to phenomena, nor their\ncorrelation to one another. The very idea of relation or comparison was\nembarrassing to them. Yet in this intellectual uncertainty they had a\nconception of a proof from results, and of a moral truth, which remained\nunshaken amid the questionings of philosophy. (2) The other is a\ndifficulty which is touched upon in the Republic as well as in the\nPhaedo, and is common to modern and ancient philosophy. Plato is not\naltogether satisfied with his safe and simple method of ideas. He wants\nto have proved to him by facts that all things are for the best, and\nthat there is one mind or design which pervades them all. But this\n'power of the best' he is unable to explain; and therefore takes refuge\nin universal ideas. And are not we at this day seeking to discover that\nwhich Socrates in a glass darkly foresaw?\n\nSome resemblances to the Greek drama may be noted in all the Dialogues\nof Plato. The Phaedo is the tragedy of which Socrates is the protagonist\nand Simmias and Cebes the secondary performers, standing to them in the\nsame relation as to Glaucon and Adeimantus in the Republic. No Dialogue\nhas a greater unity of subject and feeling. Plato has certainly\nfulfilled the condition of Greek, or rather of all art, which requires\nthat scenes of death and suffering should be clothed in beauty. The\ngathering of the friends at the commencement of the Dialogue, the\ndismissal of Xanthippe, whose presence would have been out of place at\na philosophical discussion, but who returns again with her children to\ntake a final farewell, the dejection of the audience at the temporary\noverthrow of the argument, the picture of Socrates playing with the\nhair of Phaedo, the final scene in which Socrates alone retains his\ncomposure--are masterpieces of art. And the chorus at the end might have\ninterpreted the feeling of the play: 'There can no evil happen to a good\nman in life or death.'\n\n'The art of concealing art' is nowhere more perfect than in those\nwritings of Plato which describe the trial and death of Socrates. Their\ncharm is their simplicity, which gives them verisimilitude; and yet\nthey touch, as if incidentally, and because they were suitable to the\noccasion, on some of the deepest truths of philosophy. There is nothing\nin any tragedy, ancient or modern, nothing in poetry or history (with\none exception), like the last hours of Socrates in Plato. The master\ncould not be more fitly occupied at such a time than in discoursing of\nimmortality; nor the disciples more divinely consoled. The arguments,\ntaken in the spirit and not in the letter, are our arguments; and\nSocrates by anticipation may be even thought to refute some 'eccentric\nnotions; current in our own age. For there are philosophers among\nourselves who do not seem to understand how much stronger is the power\nof intelligence, or of the best, than of Atlas, or mechanical force.\nHow far the words attributed to Socrates were actually uttered by him we\nforbear to ask; for no answer can be given to this question. And it\nis better to resign ourselves to the feeling of a great work, than to\nlinger among critical uncertainties.\n\n\n\n\nPHAEDO\n\n\nPERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:\n\nPhaedo, who is the narrator of the dialogue to Echecrates of Phlius.\nSocrates, Apollodorus, Simmias, Cebes, Crito and an Attendant of the\nPrison.\n\nSCENE: The Prison of Socrates.\n\nPLACE OF THE NARRATION: Phlius.\n\n\n\nECHECRATES: Were you yourself, Phaedo, in the prison with Socrates on\nthe day when he drank the poison?\n\nPHAEDO: Yes, Echecrates, I was.\n\nECHECRATES: I should so like to hear about his death. What did he say in\nhis last hours? We were informed that he died by taking poison, but no\none knew anything more; for no Phliasian ever goes to Athens now, and it\nis a long time since any stranger from Athens has found his way hither;\nso that we had no clear account.\n\nPHAEDO: Did you not hear of the proceedings at the trial?\n\nECHECRATES: Yes; some one told us about the trial, and we could not\nunderstand why, having been condemned, he should have been put to death,\nnot at the time, but long afterwards. What was the reason of this?\n\nPHAEDO: An accident, Echecrates: the stern of the ship which the\nAthenians send to Delos happened to have been crowned on the day before\nhe was tried.\n\nECHECRATES: What is this ship?\n\nPHAEDO: It is the ship in which, according to Athenian tradition,\nTheseus went to Crete when he took with him the fourteen youths, and was\nthe saviour of them and of himself. And they were said to have vowed\nto Apollo at the time, that if they were saved they would send a yearly\nmission to Delos. Now this custom still continues, and the whole period\nof the voyage to and from Delos, beginning when the priest of Apollo\ncrowns the stern of the ship, is a holy season, during which the city is\nnot allowed to be polluted by public executions; and when the vessel\nis detained by contrary winds, the time spent in going and returning\nis very considerable. As I was saying, the ship was crowned on the day\nbefore the trial, and this was the reason why Socrates lay in prison and\nwas not put to death until long after he was condemned.\n\nECHECRATES: What was the manner of his death, Phaedo? What was said or\ndone? And which of his friends were with him? Or did the authorities\nforbid them to be present--so that he had no friends near him when he\ndied?\n\nPHAEDO: No; there were several of them with him.\n\nECHECRATES: If you have nothing to do, I wish that you would tell me\nwhat passed, as exactly as you can.\n\nPHAEDO: I have nothing at all to do, and will try to gratify your wish.\nTo be reminded of Socrates is always the greatest delight to me, whether\nI speak myself or hear another speak of him.\n\nECHECRATES: You will have listeners who are of the same mind with you,\nand I hope that you will be as exact as you can.\n\nPHAEDO: I had a singular feeling at being in his company. For I\ncould hardly believe that I was present at the death of a friend, and\ntherefore I did not pity him, Echecrates; he died so fearlessly, and\nhis words and bearing were so noble and gracious, that to me he appeared\nblessed. I thought that in going to the other world he could not be\nwithout a divine call, and that he would be happy, if any man ever was,\nwhen he arrived there, and therefore I did not pity him as might have\nseemed natural at such an hour. But I had not the pleasure which I\nusually feel in philosophical discourse (for philosophy was the theme\nof which we spoke). I was pleased, but in the pleasure there was also a\nstrange admixture of pain; for I reflected that he was soon to die, and\nthis double feeling was shared by us all; we were laughing and weeping\nby turns, especially the excitable Apollodorus--you know the sort of\nman?\n\nECHECRATES: Yes.\n\nPHAEDO: He was quite beside himself; and I and all of us were greatly\nmoved.\n\nECHECRATES: Who were present?\n\nPHAEDO: Of native Athenians there were, besides Apollodorus, Critobulus\nand his father Crito, Hermogenes, Epigenes, Aeschines, Antisthenes;\nlikewise Ctesippus of the deme of Paeania, Menexenus, and some others;\nPlato, if I am not mistaken, was ill.\n\nECHECRATES: Were there any strangers?\n\nPHAEDO: Yes, there were; Simmias the Theban, and Cebes, and Phaedondes;\nEuclid and Terpison, who came from Megara.\n\nECHECRATES: And was Aristippus there, and Cleombrotus?\n\nPHAEDO: No, they were said to be in Aegina.\n\nECHECRATES: Any one else?\n\nPHAEDO: I think that these were nearly all.\n\nECHECRATES: Well, and what did you talk about?\n\nPHAEDO: I will begin at the beginning, and endeavour to repeat the\nentire conversation. On the previous days we had been in the habit of\nassembling early in the morning at the court in which the trial took\nplace, and which is not far from the prison. There we used to wait\ntalking with one another until the opening of the doors (for they were\nnot opened very early); then we went in and generally passed the day\nwith Socrates. On the last morning we assembled sooner than usual,\nhaving heard on the day before when we quitted the prison in the evening\nthat the sacred ship had come from Delos, and so we arranged to meet\nvery early at the accustomed place. On our arrival the jailer who\nanswered the door, instead of admitting us, came out and told us to stay\nuntil he called us. 'For the Eleven,' he said, 'are now with Socrates;\nthey are taking off his chains, and giving orders that he is to die\nto-day.' He soon returned and said that we might come in. On entering we\nfound Socrates just released from chains, and Xanthippe, whom you know,\nsitting by him, and holding his child in her arms. When she saw us she\nuttered a cry and said, as women will: 'O Socrates, this is the last\ntime that either you will converse with your friends, or they with you.'\nSocrates turned to Crito and said: 'Crito, let some one take her home.'\nSome of Crito's people accordingly led her away, crying out and beating\nherself. And when she was gone, Socrates, sitting up on the couch, bent\nand rubbed his leg, saying, as he was rubbing: How singular is the\nthing called pleasure, and how curiously related to pain, which might be\nthought to be the opposite of it; for they are never present to a man at\nthe same instant, and yet he who pursues either is generally compelled\nto take the other; their bodies are two, but they are joined by a single\nhead. And I cannot help thinking that if Aesop had remembered them, he\nwould have made a fable about God trying to reconcile their strife, and\nhow, when he could not, he fastened their heads together; and this is\nthe reason why when one comes the other follows, as I know by my own\nexperience now, when after the pain in my leg which was caused by the\nchain pleasure appears to succeed.\n\nUpon this Cebes said: I am glad, Socrates, that you have mentioned the\nname of Aesop. For it reminds me of a question which has been asked by\nmany, and was asked of me only the day before yesterday by Evenus the\npoet--he will be sure to ask it again, and therefore if you would like\nme to have an answer ready for him, you may as well tell me what I\nshould say to him:--he wanted to know why you, who never before wrote\na line of poetry, now that you are in prison are turning Aesop's fables\ninto verse, and also composing that hymn in honour of Apollo.\n\nTell him, Cebes, he replied, what is the truth--that I had no idea of\nrivalling him or his poems; to do so, as I knew, would be no easy task.\nBut I wanted to see whether I could purge away a scruple which I felt\nabout the meaning of certain dreams. In the course of my life I have\noften had intimations in dreams 'that I should compose music.' The same\ndream came to me sometimes in one form, and sometimes in another, but\nalways saying the same or nearly the same words: 'Cultivate and make\nmusic,' said the dream. And hitherto I had imagined that this was only\nintended to exhort and encourage me in the study of philosophy, which\nhas been the pursuit of my life, and is the noblest and best of music.\nThe dream was bidding me do what I was already doing, in the same way\nthat the competitor in a race is bidden by the spectators to run when he\nis already running. But I was not certain of this, for the dream might\nhave meant music in the popular sense of the word, and being under\nsentence of death, and the festival giving me a respite, I thought that\nit would be safer for me to satisfy the scruple, and, in obedience to\nthe dream, to compose a few verses before I departed. And first I made\na hymn in honour of the god of the festival, and then considering that a\npoet, if he is really to be a poet, should not only put together words,\nbut should invent stories, and that I have no invention, I took some\nfables of Aesop, which I had ready at hand and which I knew--they were\nthe first I came upon--and turned them into verse. Tell this to Evenus,\nCebes, and bid him be of good cheer; say that I would have him come\nafter me if he be a wise man, and not tarry; and that to-day I am likely\nto be going, for the Athenians say that I must.\n\nSimmias said: What a message for such a man! having been a frequent\ncompanion of his I should say that, as far as I know him, he will never\ntake your advice unless he is obliged.\n\nWhy, said Socrates,--is not Evenus a philosopher?\n\nI think that he is, said Simmias.\n\nThen he, or any man who has the spirit of philosophy, will be willing to\ndie, but he will not take his own life, for that is held to be unlawful.\n\nHere he changed his position, and put his legs off the couch on to the\nground, and during the rest of the conversation he remained sitting.\n\nWhy do you say, enquired Cebes, that a man ought not to take his own\nlife, but that the philosopher will be ready to follow the dying?\n\nSocrates replied: And have you, Cebes and Simmias, who are the disciples\nof Philolaus, never heard him speak of this?\n\nYes, but his language was obscure, Socrates.\n\nMy words, too, are only an echo; but there is no reason why I should not\nrepeat what I have heard: and indeed, as I am going to another place,\nit is very meet for me to be thinking and talking of the nature of\nthe pilgrimage which I am about to make. What can I do better in the\ninterval between this and the setting of the sun?\n\nThen tell me, Socrates, why is suicide held to be unlawful? as I have\ncertainly heard Philolaus, about whom you were just now asking, affirm\nwhen he was staying with us at Thebes: and there are others who say the\nsame, although I have never understood what was meant by any of them.\n\nDo not lose heart, replied Socrates, and the day may come when you will\nunderstand. I suppose that you wonder why, when other things which are\nevil may be good at certain times and to certain persons, death is to\nbe the only exception, and why, when a man is better dead, he is not\npermitted to be his own benefactor, but must wait for the hand of\nanother.\n\nVery true, said Cebes, laughing gently and speaking in his native\nBoeotian.\n\nI admit the appearance of inconsistency in what I am saying; but\nthere may not be any real inconsistency after all. There is a doctrine\nwhispered in secret that man is a prisoner who has no right to open\nthe door and run away; this is a great mystery which I do not quite\nunderstand. Yet I too believe that the gods are our guardians, and that\nwe are a possession of theirs. Do you not agree?\n\nYes, I quite agree, said Cebes.\n\nAnd if one of your own possessions, an ox or an ass, for example, took\nthe liberty of putting himself out of the way when you had given no\nintimation of your wish that he should die, would you not be angry with\nhim, and would you not punish him if you could?\n\nCertainly, replied Cebes.\n\nThen, if we look at the matter thus, there may be reason in saying that\na man should wait, and not take his own life until God summons him, as\nhe is now summoning me.\n\nYes, Socrates, said Cebes, there seems to be truth in what you say. And\nyet how can you reconcile this seemingly true belief that God is our\nguardian and we his possessions, with the willingness to die which we\nwere just now attributing to the philosopher? That the wisest of men\nshould be willing to leave a service in which they are ruled by the gods\nwho are the best of rulers, is not reasonable; for surely no wise man\nthinks that when set at liberty he can take better care of himself than\nthe gods take of him. A fool may perhaps think so--he may argue that he\nhad better run away from his master, not considering that his duty is\nto remain to the end, and not to run away from the good, and that there\nwould be no sense in his running away. The wise man will want to be ever\nwith him who is better than himself. Now this, Socrates, is the reverse\nof what was just now said; for upon this view the wise man should sorrow\nand the fool rejoice at passing out of life.\n\nThe earnestness of Cebes seemed to please Socrates. Here, said he,\nturning to us, is a man who is always inquiring, and is not so easily\nconvinced by the first thing which he hears.\n\nAnd certainly, added Simmias, the objection which he is now making does\nappear to me to have some force. For what can be the meaning of a truly\nwise man wanting to fly away and lightly leave a master who is better\nthan himself? And I rather imagine that Cebes is referring to you; he\nthinks that you are too ready to leave us, and too ready to leave the\ngods whom you acknowledge to be our good masters.\n\nYes, replied Socrates; there is reason in what you say. And so you think\nthat I ought to answer your indictment as if I were in a court?\n\nWe should like you to do so, said Simmias.\n\nThen I must try to make a more successful defence before you than I\ndid when before the judges. For I am quite ready to admit, Simmias and\nCebes, that I ought to be grieved at death, if I were not persuaded in\nthe first place that I am going to other gods who are wise and good (of\nwhich I am as certain as I can be of any such matters), and secondly\n(though I am not so sure of this last) to men departed, better than\nthose whom I leave behind; and therefore I do not grieve as I might have\ndone, for I have good hope that there is yet something remaining for the\ndead, and as has been said of old, some far better thing for the good\nthan for the evil.\n\nBut do you mean to take away your thoughts with you, Socrates? said\nSimmias. Will you not impart them to us?--for they are a benefit\nin which we too are entitled to share. Moreover, if you succeed in\nconvincing us, that will be an answer to the charge against yourself.\n\nI will do my best, replied Socrates. But you must first let me hear what\nCrito wants; he has long been wishing to say something to me.\n\nOnly this, Socrates, replied Crito:--the attendant who is to give you\nthe poison has been telling me, and he wants me to tell you, that you\nare not to talk much, talking, he says, increases heat, and this is\napt to interfere with the action of the poison; persons who excite\nthemselves are sometimes obliged to take a second or even a third dose.\n\nThen, said Socrates, let him mind his business and be prepared to give\nthe poison twice or even thrice if necessary; that is all.\n\nI knew quite well what you would say, replied Crito; but I was obliged\nto satisfy him.\n\nNever mind him, he said.\n\nAnd now, O my judges, I desire to prove to you that the real philosopher\nhas reason to be of good cheer when he is about to die, and that after\ndeath he may hope to obtain the greatest good in the other world. And\nhow this may be, Simmias and Cebes, I will endeavour to explain. For I\ndeem that the true votary of philosophy is likely to be misunderstood\nby other men; they do not perceive that he is always pursuing death and\ndying; and if this be so, and he has had the desire of death all his\nlife long, why when his time comes should he repine at that which he has\nbeen always pursuing and desiring?\n\nSimmias said laughingly: Though not in a laughing humour, you have made\nme laugh, Socrates; for I cannot help thinking that the many when they\nhear your words will say how truly you have described philosophers, and\nour people at home will likewise say that the life which philosophers\ndesire is in reality death, and that they have found them out to be\ndeserving of the death which they desire.\n\nAnd they are right, Simmias, in thinking so, with the exception of the\nwords 'they have found them out'; for they have not found out either\nwhat is the nature of that death which the true philosopher deserves,\nor how he deserves or desires death. But enough of them:--let us discuss\nthe matter among ourselves: Do we believe that there is such a thing as\ndeath?\n\nTo be sure, replied Simmias.\n\nIs it not the separation of soul and body? And to be dead is the\ncompletion of this; when the soul exists in herself, and is released\nfrom the body and the body is released from the soul, what is this but\ndeath?\n\nJust so, he replied.\n\nThere is another question, which will probably throw light on our\npresent inquiry if you and I can agree about it:--Ought the philosopher\nto care about the pleasures--if they are to be called pleasures--of\neating and drinking?\n\nCertainly not, answered Simmias.\n\nAnd what about the pleasures of love--should he care for them?\n\nBy no means.\n\nAnd will he think much of the other ways of indulging the body, for\nexample, the acquisition of costly raiment, or sandals, or other\nadornments of the body? Instead of caring about them, does he not rather\ndespise anything more than nature needs? What do you say?\n\nI should say that the true philosopher would despise them.\n\nWould you not say that he is entirely concerned with the soul and not\nwith the body? He would like, as far as he can, to get away from the\nbody and to turn to the soul.\n\nQuite true.\n\nIn matters of this sort philosophers, above all other men, may be\nobserved in every sort of way to dissever the soul from the communion of\nthe body.\n\nVery true.\n\nWhereas, Simmias, the rest of the world are of opinion that to him who\nhas no sense of pleasure and no part in bodily pleasure, life is not\nworth having; and that he who is indifferent about them is as good as\ndead.\n\nThat is also true.\n\nWhat again shall we say of the actual acquirement of knowledge?--is the\nbody, if invited to share in the enquiry, a hinderer or a helper? I mean\nto say, have sight and hearing any truth in them? Are they not, as the\npoets are always telling us, inaccurate witnesses? and yet, if even\nthey are inaccurate and indistinct, what is to be said of the other\nsenses?--for you will allow that they are the best of them?\n\nCertainly, he replied.\n\nThen when does the soul attain truth?--for in attempting to consider\nanything in company with the body she is obviously deceived.\n\nTrue.\n\nThen must not true existence be revealed to her in thought, if at all?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd thought is best when the mind is gathered into herself and none of\nthese things trouble her--neither sounds nor sights nor pain nor any\npleasure,--when she takes leave of the body, and has as little as\npossible to do with it, when she has no bodily sense or desire, but is\naspiring after true being?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd in this the philosopher dishonours the body; his soul runs away from\nhis body and desires to be alone and by herself?\n\nThat is true.\n\nWell, but there is another thing, Simmias: Is there or is there not an\nabsolute justice?\n\nAssuredly there is.\n\nAnd an absolute beauty and absolute good?\n\nOf course.\n\nBut did you ever behold any of them with your eyes?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nOr did you ever reach them with any other bodily sense?--and I speak not\nof these alone, but of absolute greatness, and health, and strength,\nand of the essence or true nature of everything. Has the reality of them\never been perceived by you through the bodily organs? or rather, is not\nthe nearest approach to the knowledge of their several natures made\nby him who so orders his intellectual vision as to have the most exact\nconception of the essence of each thing which he considers?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd he attains to the purest knowledge of them who goes to each with the\nmind alone, not introducing or intruding in the act of thought sight\nor any other sense together with reason, but with the very light of the\nmind in her own clearness searches into the very truth of each; he who\nhas got rid, as far as he can, of eyes and ears and, so to speak, of the\nwhole body, these being in his opinion distracting elements which when\nthey infect the soul hinder her from acquiring truth and knowledge--who,\nif not he, is likely to attain the knowledge of true being?\n\nWhat you say has a wonderful truth in it, Socrates, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd when real philosophers consider all these things, will they not be\nled to make a reflection which they will express in words something like\nthe following? 'Have we not found,' they will say, 'a path of thought\nwhich seems to bring us and our argument to the conclusion, that while\nwe are in the body, and while the soul is infected with the evils of the\nbody, our desire will not be satisfied? and our desire is of the truth.\nFor the body is a source of endless trouble to us by reason of the mere\nrequirement of food; and is liable also to diseases which overtake and\nimpede us in the search after true being: it fills us full of loves, and\nlusts, and fears, and fancies of all kinds, and endless foolery, and\nin fact, as men say, takes away from us the power of thinking at all.\nWhence come wars, and fightings, and factions? whence but from the body\nand the lusts of the body? wars are occasioned by the love of money, and\nmoney has to be acquired for the sake and in the service of the body;\nand by reason of all these impediments we have no time to give to\nphilosophy; and, last and worst of all, even if we are at leisure and\nbetake ourselves to some speculation, the body is always breaking in\nupon us, causing turmoil and confusion in our enquiries, and so amazing\nus that we are prevented from seeing the truth. It has been proved to us\nby experience that if we would have pure knowledge of anything we\nmust be quit of the body--the soul in herself must behold things in\nthemselves: and then we shall attain the wisdom which we desire, and of\nwhich we say that we are lovers, not while we live, but after death; for\nif while in company with the body, the soul cannot have pure knowledge,\none of two things follows--either knowledge is not to be attained at\nall, or, if at all, after death. For then, and not till then, the soul\nwill be parted from the body and exist in herself alone. In this present\nlife, I reckon that we make the nearest approach to knowledge when we\nhave the least possible intercourse or communion with the body, and are\nnot surfeited with the bodily nature, but keep ourselves pure until the\nhour when God himself is pleased to release us. And thus having got rid\nof the foolishness of the body we shall be pure and hold converse with\nthe pure, and know of ourselves the clear light everywhere, which is\nno other than the light of truth.' For the impure are not permitted to\napproach the pure. These are the sort of words, Simmias, which the true\nlovers of knowledge cannot help saying to one another, and thinking. You\nwould agree; would you not?\n\nUndoubtedly, Socrates.\n\nBut, O my friend, if this is true, there is great reason to hope that,\ngoing whither I go, when I have come to the end of my journey, I shall\nattain that which has been the pursuit of my life. And therefore I go on\nmy way rejoicing, and not I only, but every other man who believes that\nhis mind has been made ready and that he is in a manner purified.\n\nCertainly, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd what is purification but the separation of the soul from the body,\nas I was saying before; the habit of the soul gathering and collecting\nherself into herself from all sides out of the body; the dwelling in\nher own place alone, as in another life, so also in this, as far as she\ncan;--the release of the soul from the chains of the body?\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nAnd this separation and release of the soul from the body is termed\ndeath?\n\nTo be sure, he said.\n\nAnd the true philosophers, and they only, are ever seeking to release\nthe soul. Is not the separation and release of the soul from the body\ntheir especial study?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd, as I was saying at first, there would be a ridiculous contradiction\nin men studying to live as nearly as they can in a state of death, and\nyet repining when it comes upon them.\n\nClearly.\n\nAnd the true philosophers, Simmias, are always occupied in the practice\nof dying, wherefore also to them least of all men is death terrible.\nLook at the matter thus:--if they have been in every way the enemies of\nthe body, and are wanting to be alone with the soul, when this desire of\ntheirs is granted, how inconsistent would they be if they trembled and\nrepined, instead of rejoicing at their departure to that place where,\nwhen they arrive, they hope to gain that which in life they desired--and\nthis was wisdom--and at the same time to be rid of the company of their\nenemy. Many a man has been willing to go to the world below animated\nby the hope of seeing there an earthly love, or wife, or son, and\nconversing with them. And will he who is a true lover of wisdom, and is\nstrongly persuaded in like manner that only in the world below he can\nworthily enjoy her, still repine at death? Will he not depart with joy?\nSurely he will, O my friend, if he be a true philosopher. For he will\nhave a firm conviction that there and there only, he can find wisdom\nin her purity. And if this be true, he would be very absurd, as I was\nsaying, if he were afraid of death.\n\nHe would, indeed, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd when you see a man who is repining at the approach of death, is not\nhis reluctance a sufficient proof that he is not a lover of wisdom, but\na lover of the body, and probably at the same time a lover of either\nmoney or power, or both?\n\nQuite so, he replied.\n\nAnd is not courage, Simmias, a quality which is specially characteristic\nof the philosopher?\n\nCertainly.\n\nThere is temperance again, which even by the vulgar is supposed to\nconsist in the control and regulation of the passions, and in the sense\nof superiority to them--is not temperance a virtue belonging to those\nonly who despise the body, and who pass their lives in philosophy?\n\nMost assuredly.\n\nFor the courage and temperance of other men, if you will consider them,\nare really a contradiction.\n\nHow so?\n\nWell, he said, you are aware that death is regarded by men in general as\na great evil.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nAnd do not courageous men face death because they are afraid of yet\ngreater evils?\n\nThat is quite true.\n\nThen all but the philosophers are courageous only from fear, and because\nthey are afraid; and yet that a man should be courageous from fear, and\nbecause he is a coward, is surely a strange thing.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd are not the temperate exactly in the same case? They are temperate\nbecause they are intemperate--which might seem to be a contradiction,\nbut is nevertheless the sort of thing which happens with this foolish\ntemperance. For there are pleasures which they are afraid of losing; and\nin their desire to keep them, they abstain from some pleasures, because\nthey are overcome by others; and although to be conquered by pleasure is\ncalled by men intemperance, to them the conquest of pleasure consists in\nbeing conquered by pleasure. And that is what I mean by saying that, in\na sense, they are made temperate through intemperance.\n\nSuch appears to be the case.\n\nYet the exchange of one fear or pleasure or pain for another fear or\npleasure or pain, and of the greater for the less, as if they were\ncoins, is not the exchange of virtue. O my blessed Simmias, is there not\none true coin for which all things ought to be exchanged?--and that\nis wisdom; and only in exchange for this, and in company with this, is\nanything truly bought or sold, whether courage or temperance or justice.\nAnd is not all true virtue the companion of wisdom, no matter what fears\nor pleasures or other similar goods or evils may or may not attend her?\nBut the virtue which is made up of these goods, when they are severed\nfrom wisdom and exchanged with one another, is a shadow of virtue only,\nnor is there any freedom or health or truth in her; but in the true\nexchange there is a purging away of all these things, and temperance,\nand justice, and courage, and wisdom herself are the purgation of them.\nThe founders of the mysteries would appear to have had a real meaning,\nand were not talking nonsense when they intimated in a figure long ago\nthat he who passes unsanctified and uninitiated into the world below\nwill lie in a slough, but that he who arrives there after initiation and\npurification will dwell with the gods. For 'many,' as they say in the\nmysteries, 'are the thyrsus-bearers, but few are the mystics,'--meaning,\nas I interpret the words, 'the true philosophers.' In the number\nof whom, during my whole life, I have been seeking, according to my\nability, to find a place;--whether I have sought in a right way or not,\nand whether I have succeeded or not, I shall truly know in a little\nwhile, if God will, when I myself arrive in the other world--such is my\nbelief. And therefore I maintain that I am right, Simmias and Cebes,\nin not grieving or repining at parting from you and my masters in this\nworld, for I believe that I shall equally find good masters and friends\nin another world. But most men do not believe this saying; if then I\nsucceed in convincing you by my defence better than I did the Athenian\njudges, it will be well.\n\nCebes answered: I agree, Socrates, in the greater part of what you say.\nBut in what concerns the soul, men are apt to be incredulous; they fear\nthat when she has left the body her place may be nowhere, and that on\nthe very day of death she may perish and come to an end--immediately on\nher release from the body, issuing forth dispersed like smoke or air\nand in her flight vanishing away into nothingness. If she could only be\ncollected into herself after she has obtained release from the evils of\nwhich you are speaking, there would be good reason to hope, Socrates,\nthat what you say is true. But surely it requires a great deal of\nargument and many proofs to show that when the man is dead his soul yet\nexists, and has any force or intelligence.\n\nTrue, Cebes, said Socrates; and shall I suggest that we converse a\nlittle of the probabilities of these things?\n\nI am sure, said Cebes, that I should greatly like to know your opinion\nabout them.\n\nI reckon, said Socrates, that no one who heard me now, not even if he\nwere one of my old enemies, the Comic poets, could accuse me of idle\ntalking about matters in which I have no concern:--If you please, then,\nwe will proceed with the inquiry.\n\nSuppose we consider the question whether the souls of men after death\nare or are not in the world below. There comes into my mind an ancient\ndoctrine which affirms that they go from hence into the other world, and\nreturning hither, are born again from the dead. Now if it be true that\nthe living come from the dead, then our souls must exist in the other\nworld, for if not, how could they have been born again? And this would\nbe conclusive, if there were any real evidence that the living are only\nborn from the dead; but if this is not so, then other arguments will\nhave to be adduced.\n\nVery true, replied Cebes.\n\nThen let us consider the whole question, not in relation to man only,\nbut in relation to animals generally, and to plants, and to everything\nof which there is generation, and the proof will be easier. Are not all\nthings which have opposites generated out of their opposites? I mean\nsuch things as good and evil, just and unjust--and there are innumerable\nother opposites which are generated out of opposites. And I want to show\nthat in all opposites there is of necessity a similar alternation;\nI mean to say, for example, that anything which becomes greater must\nbecome greater after being less.\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd that which becomes less must have been once greater and then have\nbecome less.\n\nYes.\n\nAnd the weaker is generated from the stronger, and the swifter from the\nslower.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd the worse is from the better, and the more just is from the more\nunjust.\n\nOf course.\n\nAnd is this true of all opposites? and are we convinced that all of them\nare generated out of opposites?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd in this universal opposition of all things, are there not also two\nintermediate processes which are ever going on, from one to the other\nopposite, and back again; where there is a greater and a less there is\nalso an intermediate process of increase and diminution, and that which\ngrows is said to wax, and that which decays to wane?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nAnd there are many other processes, such as division and composition,\ncooling and heating, which equally involve a passage into and out of one\nanother. And this necessarily holds of all opposites, even though not\nalways expressed in words--they are really generated out of one another,\nand there is a passing or process from one to the other of them?\n\nVery true, he replied.\n\nWell, and is there not an opposite of life, as sleep is the opposite of\nwaking?\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nAnd what is it?\n\nDeath, he answered.\n\nAnd these, if they are opposites, are generated the one from the other,\nand have there their two intermediate processes also?\n\nOf course.\n\nNow, said Socrates, I will analyze one of the two pairs of opposites\nwhich I have mentioned to you, and also its intermediate processes, and\nyou shall analyze the other to me. One of them I term sleep, the other\nwaking. The state of sleep is opposed to the state of waking, and out\nof sleeping waking is generated, and out of waking, sleeping; and the\nprocess of generation is in the one case falling asleep, and in the\nother waking up. Do you agree?\n\nI entirely agree.\n\nThen, suppose that you analyze life and death to me in the same manner.\nIs not death opposed to life?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd they are generated one from the other?\n\nYes.\n\nWhat is generated from the living?\n\nThe dead.\n\nAnd what from the dead?\n\nI can only say in answer--the living.\n\nThen the living, whether things or persons, Cebes, are generated from\nthe dead?\n\nThat is clear, he replied.\n\nThen the inference is that our souls exist in the world below?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd one of the two processes or generations is visible--for surely the\nact of dying is visible?\n\nSurely, he said.\n\nWhat then is to be the result? Shall we exclude the opposite process?\nAnd shall we suppose nature to walk on one leg only? Must we not rather\nassign to death some corresponding process of generation?\n\nCertainly, he replied.\n\nAnd what is that process?\n\nReturn to life.\n\nAnd return to life, if there be such a thing, is the birth of the dead\ninto the world of the living?\n\nQuite true.\n\nThen here is a new way by which we arrive at the conclusion that the\nliving come from the dead, just as the dead come from the living; and\nthis, if true, affords a most certain proof that the souls of the dead\nexist in some place out of which they come again.\n\nYes, Socrates, he said; the conclusion seems to flow necessarily out of\nour previous admissions.\n\nAnd that these admissions were not unfair, Cebes, he said, may be shown,\nI think, as follows: If generation were in a straight line only, and\nthere were no compensation or circle in nature, no turn or return of\nelements into their opposites, then you know that all things would at\nlast have the same form and pass into the same state, and there would be\nno more generation of them.\n\nWhat do you mean? he said.\n\nA simple thing enough, which I will illustrate by the case of sleep,\nhe replied. You know that if there were no alternation of sleeping\nand waking, the tale of the sleeping Endymion would in the end have no\nmeaning, because all other things would be asleep, too, and he would not\nbe distinguishable from the rest. Or if there were composition only,\nand no division of substances, then the chaos of Anaxagoras would come\nagain. And in like manner, my dear Cebes, if all things which partook\nof life were to die, and after they were dead remained in the form\nof death, and did not come to life again, all would at last die, and\nnothing would be alive--what other result could there be? For if the\nliving spring from any other things, and they too die, must not all\nthings at last be swallowed up in death? (But compare Republic.)\n\nThere is no escape, Socrates, said Cebes; and to me your argument seems\nto be absolutely true.\n\nYes, he said, Cebes, it is and must be so, in my opinion; and we have\nnot been deluded in making these admissions; but I am confident that\nthere truly is such a thing as living again, and that the living spring\nfrom the dead, and that the souls of the dead are in existence, and that\nthe good souls have a better portion than the evil.\n\nCebes added: Your favorite doctrine, Socrates, that knowledge is simply\nrecollection, if true, also necessarily implies a previous time in\nwhich we have learned that which we now recollect. But this would be\nimpossible unless our soul had been in some place before existing in the\nform of man; here then is another proof of the soul's immortality.\n\nBut tell me, Cebes, said Simmias, interposing, what arguments are urged\nin favour of this doctrine of recollection. I am not very sure at the\nmoment that I remember them.\n\nOne excellent proof, said Cebes, is afforded by questions. If you put\na question to a person in a right way, he will give a true answer of\nhimself, but how could he do this unless there were knowledge and right\nreason already in him? And this is most clearly shown when he is taken\nto a diagram or to anything of that sort. (Compare Meno.)\n\nBut if, said Socrates, you are still incredulous, Simmias, I would ask\nyou whether you may not agree with me when you look at the matter\nin another way;--I mean, if you are still incredulous as to whether\nknowledge is recollection.\n\nIncredulous, I am not, said Simmias; but I want to have this doctrine\nof recollection brought to my own recollection, and, from what Cebes has\nsaid, I am beginning to recollect and be convinced; but I should still\nlike to hear what you were going to say.\n\nThis is what I would say, he replied:--We should agree, if I am not\nmistaken, that what a man recollects he must have known at some previous\ntime.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd what is the nature of this knowledge or recollection? I mean to\nask, Whether a person who, having seen or heard or in any way perceived\nanything, knows not only that, but has a conception of something\nelse which is the subject, not of the same but of some other kind of\nknowledge, may not be fairly said to recollect that of which he has the\nconception?\n\nWhat do you mean?\n\nI mean what I may illustrate by the following instance:--The knowledge\nof a lyre is not the same as the knowledge of a man?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd yet what is the feeling of lovers when they recognize a lyre, or\na garment, or anything else which the beloved has been in the habit of\nusing? Do not they, from knowing the lyre, form in the mind's eye an\nimage of the youth to whom the lyre belongs? And this is recollection.\nIn like manner any one who sees Simmias may remember Cebes; and there\nare endless examples of the same thing.\n\nEndless, indeed, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd recollection is most commonly a process of recovering that which has\nbeen already forgotten through time and inattention.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nWell; and may you not also from seeing the picture of a horse or a\nlyre remember a man? and from the picture of Simmias, you may be led to\nremember Cebes?\n\nTrue.\n\nOr you may also be led to the recollection of Simmias himself?\n\nQuite so.\n\nAnd in all these cases, the recollection may be derived from things\neither like or unlike?\n\nIt may be.\n\nAnd when the recollection is derived from like things, then another\nconsideration is sure to arise, which is--whether the likeness in any\ndegree falls short or not of that which is recollected?\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nAnd shall we proceed a step further, and affirm that there is such a\nthing as equality, not of one piece of wood or stone with another, but\nthat, over and above this, there is absolute equality? Shall we say so?\n\nSay so, yes, replied Simmias, and swear to it, with all the confidence\nin life.\n\nAnd do we know the nature of this absolute essence?\n\nTo be sure, he said.\n\nAnd whence did we obtain our knowledge? Did we not see equalities of\nmaterial things, such as pieces of wood and stones, and gather from\nthem the idea of an equality which is different from them? For you will\nacknowledge that there is a difference. Or look at the matter in another\nway:--Do not the same pieces of wood or stone appear at one time equal,\nand at another time unequal?\n\nThat is certain.\n\nBut are real equals ever unequal? or is the idea of equality the same as\nof inequality?\n\nImpossible, Socrates.\n\nThen these (so-called) equals are not the same with the idea of\nequality?\n\nI should say, clearly not, Socrates.\n\nAnd yet from these equals, although differing from the idea of equality,\nyou conceived and attained that idea?\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nWhich might be like, or might be unlike them?\n\nYes.\n\nBut that makes no difference; whenever from seeing one thing you\nconceived another, whether like or unlike, there must surely have been\nan act of recollection?\n\nVery true.\n\nBut what would you say of equal portions of wood and stone, or other\nmaterial equals? and what is the impression produced by them? Are they\nequals in the same sense in which absolute equality is equal? or do they\nfall short of this perfect equality in a measure?\n\nYes, he said, in a very great measure too.\n\nAnd must we not allow, that when I or any one, looking at any object,\nobserves that the thing which he sees aims at being some other thing,\nbut falls short of, and cannot be, that other thing, but is inferior, he\nwho makes this observation must have had a previous knowledge of that to\nwhich the other, although similar, was inferior?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd has not this been our own case in the matter of equals and of\nabsolute equality?\n\nPrecisely.\n\nThen we must have known equality previously to the time when we first\nsaw the material equals, and reflected that all these apparent equals\nstrive to attain absolute equality, but fall short of it?\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd we recognize also that this absolute equality has only been known,\nand can only be known, through the medium of sight or touch, or of some\nother of the senses, which are all alike in this respect?\n\nYes, Socrates, as far as the argument is concerned, one of them is the\nsame as the other.\n\nFrom the senses then is derived the knowledge that all sensible things\naim at an absolute equality of which they fall short?\n\nYes.\n\nThen before we began to see or hear or perceive in any way, we must have\nhad a knowledge of absolute equality, or we could not have referred to\nthat standard the equals which are derived from the senses?--for to that\nthey all aspire, and of that they fall short.\n\nNo other inference can be drawn from the previous statements.\n\nAnd did we not see and hear and have the use of our other senses as soon\nas we were born?\n\nCertainly.\n\nThen we must have acquired the knowledge of equality at some previous\ntime?\n\nYes.\n\nThat is to say, before we were born, I suppose?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd if we acquired this knowledge before we were born, and were born\nhaving the use of it, then we also knew before we were born and at the\ninstant of birth not only the equal or the greater or the less, but all\nother ideas; for we are not speaking only of equality, but of beauty,\ngoodness, justice, holiness, and of all which we stamp with the name of\nessence in the dialectical process, both when we ask and when we answer\nquestions. Of all this we may certainly affirm that we acquired the\nknowledge before birth?\n\nWe may.\n\nBut if, after having acquired, we have not forgotten what in each case\nwe acquired, then we must always have come into life having knowledge,\nand shall always continue to know as long as life lasts--for knowing\nis the acquiring and retaining knowledge and not forgetting. Is not\nforgetting, Simmias, just the losing of knowledge?\n\nQuite true, Socrates.\n\nBut if the knowledge which we acquired before birth was lost by us at\nbirth, and if afterwards by the use of the senses we recovered what\nwe previously knew, will not the process which we call learning be a\nrecovering of the knowledge which is natural to us, and may not this be\nrightly termed recollection?\n\nVery true.\n\nSo much is clear--that when we perceive something, either by the help of\nsight, or hearing, or some other sense, from that perception we are\nable to obtain a notion of some other thing like or unlike which is\nassociated with it but has been forgotten. Whence, as I was saying, one\nof two alternatives follows:--either we had this knowledge at birth, and\ncontinued to know through life; or, after birth, those who are said to\nlearn only remember, and learning is simply recollection.\n\nYes, that is quite true, Socrates.\n\nAnd which alternative, Simmias, do you prefer? Had we the knowledge at\nour birth, or did we recollect the things which we knew previously to\nour birth?\n\nI cannot decide at the moment.\n\nAt any rate you can decide whether he who has knowledge will or will not\nbe able to render an account of his knowledge? What do you say?\n\nCertainly, he will.\n\nBut do you think that every man is able to give an account of these very\nmatters about which we are speaking?\n\nWould that they could, Socrates, but I rather fear that to-morrow, at\nthis time, there will no longer be any one alive who is able to give an\naccount of them such as ought to be given.\n\nThen you are not of opinion, Simmias, that all men know these things?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nThey are in process of recollecting that which they learned before?\n\nCertainly.\n\nBut when did our souls acquire this knowledge?--not since we were born\nas men?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nAnd therefore, previously?\n\nYes.\n\nThen, Simmias, our souls must also have existed without bodies before\nthey were in the form of man, and must have had intelligence.\n\nUnless indeed you suppose, Socrates, that these notions are given us at\nthe very moment of birth; for this is the only time which remains.\n\nYes, my friend, but if so, when do we lose them? for they are not in\nus when we are born--that is admitted. Do we lose them at the moment of\nreceiving them, or if not at what other time?\n\nNo, Socrates, I perceive that I was unconsciously talking nonsense.\n\nThen may we not say, Simmias, that if, as we are always repeating, there\nis an absolute beauty, and goodness, and an absolute essence of all\nthings; and if to this, which is now discovered to have existed in our\nformer state, we refer all our sensations, and with this compare them,\nfinding these ideas to be pre-existent and our inborn possession--then\nour souls must have had a prior existence, but if not, there would be\nno force in the argument? There is the same proof that these ideas must\nhave existed before we were born, as that our souls existed before we\nwere born; and if not the ideas, then not the souls.\n\nYes, Socrates; I am convinced that there is precisely the same necessity\nfor the one as for the other; and the argument retreats successfully\nto the position that the existence of the soul before birth cannot be\nseparated from the existence of the essence of which you speak. For\nthere is nothing which to my mind is so patent as that beauty, goodness,\nand the other notions of which you were just now speaking, have a most\nreal and absolute existence; and I am satisfied with the proof.\n\nWell, but is Cebes equally satisfied? for I must convince him too.\n\nI think, said Simmias, that Cebes is satisfied: although he is the most\nincredulous of mortals, yet I believe that he is sufficiently convinced\nof the existence of the soul before birth. But that after death the soul\nwill continue to exist is not yet proven even to my own satisfaction.\nI cannot get rid of the feeling of the many to which Cebes was\nreferring--the feeling that when the man dies the soul will be\ndispersed, and that this may be the extinction of her. For admitting\nthat she may have been born elsewhere, and framed out of other elements,\nand was in existence before entering the human body, why after having\nentered in and gone out again may she not herself be destroyed and come\nto an end?\n\nVery true, Simmias, said Cebes; about half of what was required has been\nproven; to wit, that our souls existed before we were born:--that the\nsoul will exist after death as well as before birth is the other half of\nwhich the proof is still wanting, and has to be supplied; when that is\ngiven the demonstration will be complete.\n\nBut that proof, Simmias and Cebes, has been already given, said\nSocrates, if you put the two arguments together--I mean this and the\nformer one, in which we admitted that everything living is born of the\ndead. For if the soul exists before birth, and in coming to life and\nbeing born can be born only from death and dying, must she not after\ndeath continue to exist, since she has to be born again?--Surely the\nproof which you desire has been already furnished. Still I suspect\nthat you and Simmias would be glad to probe the argument further. Like\nchildren, you are haunted with a fear that when the soul leaves the\nbody, the wind may really blow her away and scatter her; especially if a\nman should happen to die in a great storm and not when the sky is calm.\n\nCebes answered with a smile: Then, Socrates, you must argue us out of\nour fears--and yet, strictly speaking, they are not our fears, but there\nis a child within us to whom death is a sort of hobgoblin; him too we\nmust persuade not to be afraid when he is alone in the dark.\n\nSocrates said: Let the voice of the charmer be applied daily until you\nhave charmed away the fear.\n\nAnd where shall we find a good charmer of our fears, Socrates, when you\nare gone?\n\nHellas, he replied, is a large place, Cebes, and has many good men, and\nthere are barbarous races not a few: seek for him among them all, far\nand wide, sparing neither pains nor money; for there is no better way\nof spending your money. And you must seek among yourselves too; for you\nwill not find others better able to make the search.\n\nThe search, replied Cebes, shall certainly be made. And now, if\nyou please, let us return to the point of the argument at which we\ndigressed.\n\nBy all means, replied Socrates; what else should I please?\n\nVery good.\n\nMust we not, said Socrates, ask ourselves what that is which, as we\nimagine, is liable to be scattered, and about which we fear? and what\nagain is that about which we have no fear? And then we may proceed\nfurther to enquire whether that which suffers dispersion is or is not\nof the nature of soul--our hopes and fears as to our own souls will turn\nupon the answers to these questions.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nNow the compound or composite may be supposed to be naturally capable,\nas of being compounded, so also of being dissolved; but that which is\nuncompounded, and that only, must be, if anything is, indissoluble.\n\nYes; I should imagine so, said Cebes.\n\nAnd the uncompounded may be assumed to be the same and unchanging,\nwhereas the compound is always changing and never the same.\n\nI agree, he said.\n\nThen now let us return to the previous discussion. Is that idea or\nessence, which in the dialectical process we define as essence or true\nexistence--whether essence of equality, beauty, or anything else--are\nthese essences, I say, liable at times to some degree of change? or\nare they each of them always what they are, having the same simple\nself-existent and unchanging forms, not admitting of variation at all,\nor in any way, or at any time?\n\nThey must be always the same, Socrates, replied Cebes.\n\nAnd what would you say of the many beautiful--whether men or horses or\ngarments or any other things which are named by the same names and may\nbe called equal or beautiful,--are they all unchanging and the same\nalways, or quite the reverse? May they not rather be described as almost\nalways changing and hardly ever the same, either with themselves or with\none another?\n\nThe latter, replied Cebes; they are always in a state of change.\n\nAnd these you can touch and see and perceive with the senses, but\nthe unchanging things you can only perceive with the mind--they are\ninvisible and are not seen?\n\nThat is very true, he said.\n\nWell, then, added Socrates, let us suppose that there are two sorts of\nexistences--one seen, the other unseen.\n\nLet us suppose them.\n\nThe seen is the changing, and the unseen is the unchanging?\n\nThat may be also supposed.\n\nAnd, further, is not one part of us body, another part soul?\n\nTo be sure.\n\nAnd to which class is the body more alike and akin?\n\nClearly to the seen--no one can doubt that.\n\nAnd is the soul seen or not seen?\n\nNot by man, Socrates.\n\nAnd what we mean by 'seen' and 'not seen' is that which is or is not\nvisible to the eye of man?\n\nYes, to the eye of man.\n\nAnd is the soul seen or not seen?\n\nNot seen.\n\nUnseen then?\n\nYes.\n\nThen the soul is more like to the unseen, and the body to the seen?\n\nThat follows necessarily, Socrates.\n\nAnd were we not saying long ago that the soul when using the body as an\ninstrument of perception, that is to say, when using the sense of sight\nor hearing or some other sense (for the meaning of perceiving through\nthe body is perceiving through the senses)--were we not saying that the\nsoul too is then dragged by the body into the region of the changeable,\nand wanders and is confused; the world spins round her, and she is like\na drunkard, when she touches change?\n\nVery true.\n\nBut when returning into herself she reflects, then she passes into the\nother world, the region of purity, and eternity, and immortality, and\nunchangeableness, which are her kindred, and with them she ever lives,\nwhen she is by herself and is not let or hindered; then she ceases\nfrom her erring ways, and being in communion with the unchanging is\nunchanging. And this state of the soul is called wisdom?\n\nThat is well and truly said, Socrates, he replied.\n\nAnd to which class is the soul more nearly alike and akin, as far as may\nbe inferred from this argument, as well as from the preceding one?\n\nI think, Socrates, that, in the opinion of every one who follows the\nargument, the soul will be infinitely more like the unchangeable--even\nthe most stupid person will not deny that.\n\nAnd the body is more like the changing?\n\nYes.\n\nYet once more consider the matter in another light: When the soul and\nthe body are united, then nature orders the soul to rule and govern, and\nthe body to obey and serve. Now which of these two functions is akin to\nthe divine? and which to the mortal? Does not the divine appear to you\nto be that which naturally orders and rules, and the mortal to be that\nwhich is subject and servant?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd which does the soul resemble?\n\nThe soul resembles the divine, and the body the mortal--there can be no\ndoubt of that, Socrates.\n\nThen reflect, Cebes: of all which has been said is not this the\nconclusion?--that the soul is in the very likeness of the divine,\nand immortal, and intellectual, and uniform, and indissoluble, and\nunchangeable; and that the body is in the very likeness of the human,\nand mortal, and unintellectual, and multiform, and dissoluble, and\nchangeable. Can this, my dear Cebes, be denied?\n\nIt cannot.\n\nBut if it be true, then is not the body liable to speedy dissolution?\nand is not the soul almost or altogether indissoluble?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd do you further observe, that after a man is dead, the body, or\nvisible part of him, which is lying in the visible world, and is\ncalled a corpse, and would naturally be dissolved and decomposed and\ndissipated, is not dissolved or decomposed at once, but may remain for a\nfor some time, nay even for a long time, if the constitution be sound at\nthe time of death, and the season of the year favourable? For the body\nwhen shrunk and embalmed, as the manner is in Egypt, may remain almost\nentire through infinite ages; and even in decay, there are still\nsome portions, such as the bones and ligaments, which are practically\nindestructible:--Do you agree?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd is it likely that the soul, which is invisible, in passing to the\nplace of the true Hades, which like her is invisible, and pure, and\nnoble, and on her way to the good and wise God, whither, if God will, my\nsoul is also soon to go,--that the soul, I repeat, if this be her nature\nand origin, will be blown away and destroyed immediately on quitting the\nbody, as the many say? That can never be, my dear Simmias and Cebes.\nThe truth rather is, that the soul which is pure at departing and draws\nafter her no bodily taint, having never voluntarily during life had\nconnection with the body, which she is ever avoiding, herself gathered\ninto herself;--and making such abstraction her perpetual study--which\nmeans that she has been a true disciple of philosophy; and therefore\nhas in fact been always engaged in the practice of dying? For is not\nphilosophy the practice of death?--\n\nCertainly--\n\nThat soul, I say, herself invisible, departs to the invisible world--to\nthe divine and immortal and rational: thither arriving, she is secure of\nbliss and is released from the error and folly of men, their fears and\nwild passions and all other human ills, and for ever dwells, as they say\nof the initiated, in company with the gods (compare Apol.). Is not this\ntrue, Cebes?\n\nYes, said Cebes, beyond a doubt.\n\nBut the soul which has been polluted, and is impure at the time of her\ndeparture, and is the companion and servant of the body always, and is\nin love with and fascinated by the body and by the desires and pleasures\nof the body, until she is led to believe that the truth only exists in\na bodily form, which a man may touch and see and taste, and use for the\npurposes of his lusts,--the soul, I mean, accustomed to hate and fear\nand avoid the intellectual principle, which to the bodily eye is dark\nand invisible, and can be attained only by philosophy;--do you suppose\nthat such a soul will depart pure and unalloyed?\n\nImpossible, he replied.\n\nShe is held fast by the corporeal, which the continual association and\nconstant care of the body have wrought into her nature.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd this corporeal element, my friend, is heavy and weighty and earthy,\nand is that element of sight by which a soul is depressed and dragged\ndown again into the visible world, because she is afraid of the\ninvisible and of the world below--prowling about tombs and sepulchres,\nnear which, as they tell us, are seen certain ghostly apparitions\nof souls which have not departed pure, but are cloyed with sight and\ntherefore visible.\n\n(Compare Milton, Comus:--\n\n     'But when lust,\n     By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,\n     But most by lewd and lavish act of sin,\n     Lets in defilement to the inward parts,\n     The soul grows clotted by contagion,\n     Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose,\n     The divine property of her first being.\n     Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp\n     Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres,\n     Lingering, and sitting by a new made grave,\n     As loath to leave the body that it lov'd,\n     And linked itself by carnal sensuality\n     To a degenerate and degraded state.')\n\nThat is very likely, Socrates.\n\nYes, that is very likely, Cebes; and these must be the souls, not of the\ngood, but of the evil, which are compelled to wander about such places\nin payment of the penalty of their former evil way of life; and they\ncontinue to wander until through the craving after the corporeal which\nnever leaves them, they are imprisoned finally in another body. And they\nmay be supposed to find their prisons in the same natures which they\nhave had in their former lives.\n\nWhat natures do you mean, Socrates?\n\nWhat I mean is that men who have followed after gluttony, and\nwantonness, and drunkenness, and have had no thought of avoiding them,\nwould pass into asses and animals of that sort. What do you think?\n\nI think such an opinion to be exceedingly probable.\n\nAnd those who have chosen the portion of injustice, and tyranny, and\nviolence, will pass into wolves, or into hawks and kites;--whither else\ncan we suppose them to go?\n\nYes, said Cebes; with such natures, beyond question.\n\nAnd there is no difficulty, he said, in assigning to all of them places\nanswering to their several natures and propensities?\n\nThere is not, he said.\n\nSome are happier than others; and the happiest both in themselves and\nin the place to which they go are those who have practised the civil and\nsocial virtues which are called temperance and justice, and are acquired\nby habit and attention without philosophy and mind. (Compare Republic.)\n\nWhy are they the happiest?\n\nBecause they may be expected to pass into some gentle and social kind\nwhich is like their own, such as bees or wasps or ants, or back again\ninto the form of man, and just and moderate men may be supposed to\nspring from them.\n\nVery likely.\n\nNo one who has not studied philosophy and who is not entirely pure at\nthe time of his departure is allowed to enter the company of the Gods,\nbut the lover of knowledge only. And this is the reason, Simmias and\nCebes, why the true votaries of philosophy abstain from all fleshly\nlusts, and hold out against them and refuse to give themselves up to\nthem,--not because they fear poverty or the ruin of their families, like\nthe lovers of money, and the world in general; nor like the lovers of\npower and honour, because they dread the dishonour or disgrace of evil\ndeeds.\n\nNo, Socrates, that would not become them, said Cebes.\n\nNo indeed, he replied; and therefore they who have any care of their\nown souls, and do not merely live moulding and fashioning the body, say\nfarewell to all this; they will not walk in the ways of the blind: and\nwhen philosophy offers them purification and release from evil, they\nfeel that they ought not to resist her influence, and whither she leads\nthey turn and follow.\n\nWhat do you mean, Socrates?\n\nI will tell you, he said. The lovers of knowledge are conscious that\nthe soul was simply fastened and glued to the body--until philosophy\nreceived her, she could only view real existence through the bars of\na prison, not in and through herself; she was wallowing in the mire of\nevery sort of ignorance; and by reason of lust had become the principal\naccomplice in her own captivity. This was her original state; and\nthen, as I was saying, and as the lovers of knowledge are well aware,\nphilosophy, seeing how terrible was her confinement, of which she was\nto herself the cause, received and gently comforted her and sought to\nrelease her, pointing out that the eye and the ear and the other senses\nare full of deception, and persuading her to retire from them, and\nabstain from all but the necessary use of them, and be gathered up and\ncollected into herself, bidding her trust in herself and her own pure\napprehension of pure existence, and to mistrust whatever comes to her\nthrough other channels and is subject to variation; for such things\nare visible and tangible, but what she sees in her own nature is\nintelligible and invisible. And the soul of the true philosopher thinks\nthat she ought not to resist this deliverance, and therefore abstains\nfrom pleasures and desires and pains and fears, as far as she is\nable; reflecting that when a man has great joys or sorrows or fears or\ndesires, he suffers from them, not merely the sort of evil which might\nbe anticipated--as for example, the loss of his health or property which\nhe has sacrificed to his lusts--but an evil greater far, which is the\ngreatest and worst of all evils, and one of which he never thinks.\n\nWhat is it, Socrates? said Cebes.\n\nThe evil is that when the feeling of pleasure or pain is most intense,\nevery soul of man imagines the objects of this intense feeling to be\nthen plainest and truest: but this is not so, they are really the things\nof sight.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd is not this the state in which the soul is most enthralled by the\nbody?\n\nHow so?\n\nWhy, because each pleasure and pain is a sort of nail which nails\nand rivets the soul to the body, until she becomes like the body, and\nbelieves that to be true which the body affirms to be true; and from\nagreeing with the body and having the same delights she is obliged to\nhave the same habits and haunts, and is not likely ever to be pure at\nher departure to the world below, but is always infected by the body;\nand so she sinks into another body and there germinates and grows,\nand has therefore no part in the communion of the divine and pure and\nsimple.\n\nMost true, Socrates, answered Cebes.\n\nAnd this, Cebes, is the reason why the true lovers of knowledge are\ntemperate and brave; and not for the reason which the world gives.\n\nCertainly not.\n\nCertainly not! The soul of a philosopher will reason in quite another\nway; she will not ask philosophy to release her in order that when\nreleased she may deliver herself up again to the thraldom of pleasures\nand pains, doing a work only to be undone again, weaving instead of\nunweaving her Penelope's web. But she will calm passion, and follow\nreason, and dwell in the contemplation of her, beholding the true\nand divine (which is not matter of opinion), and thence deriving\nnourishment. Thus she seeks to live while she lives, and after death she\nhopes to go to her own kindred and to that which is like her, and to be\nfreed from human ills. Never fear, Simmias and Cebes, that a soul which\nhas been thus nurtured and has had these pursuits, will at her departure\nfrom the body be scattered and blown away by the winds and be nowhere\nand nothing.\n\nWhen Socrates had done speaking, for a considerable time there was\nsilence; he himself appeared to be meditating, as most of us were, on\nwhat had been said; only Cebes and Simmias spoke a few words to one\nanother. And Socrates observing them asked what they thought of the\nargument, and whether there was anything wanting? For, said he, there\nare many points still open to suspicion and attack, if any one were\ndisposed to sift the matter thoroughly. Should you be considering\nsome other matter I say no more, but if you are still in doubt do not\nhesitate to say exactly what you think, and let us have anything better\nwhich you can suggest; and if you think that I can be of any use, allow\nme to help you.\n\nSimmias said: I must confess, Socrates, that doubts did arise in our\nminds, and each of us was urging and inciting the other to put the\nquestion which we wanted to have answered and which neither of us liked\nto ask, fearing that our importunity might be troublesome under present\nat such a time.\n\nSocrates replied with a smile: O Simmias, what are you saying? I am\nnot very likely to persuade other men that I do not regard my present\nsituation as a misfortune, if I cannot even persuade you that I am no\nworse off now than at any other time in my life. Will you not allow that\nI have as much of the spirit of prophecy in me as the swans? For they,\nwhen they perceive that they must die, having sung all their life long,\ndo then sing more lustily than ever, rejoicing in the thought that\nthey are about to go away to the god whose ministers they are. But men,\nbecause they are themselves afraid of death, slanderously affirm of the\nswans that they sing a lament at the last, not considering that no bird\nsings when cold, or hungry, or in pain, not even the nightingale, nor\nthe swallow, nor yet the hoopoe; which are said indeed to tune a lay of\nsorrow, although I do not believe this to be true of them any more than\nof the swans. But because they are sacred to Apollo, they have the gift\nof prophecy, and anticipate the good things of another world, wherefore\nthey sing and rejoice in that day more than they ever did before. And I\ntoo, believing myself to be the consecrated servant of the same God, and\nthe fellow-servant of the swans, and thinking that I have received from\nmy master gifts of prophecy which are not inferior to theirs, would not\ngo out of life less merrily than the swans. Never mind then, if this be\nyour only objection, but speak and ask anything which you like, while\nthe eleven magistrates of Athens allow.\n\nVery good, Socrates, said Simmias; then I will tell you my difficulty,\nand Cebes will tell you his. I feel myself, (and I daresay that you have\nthe same feeling), how hard or rather impossible is the attainment of\nany certainty about questions such as these in the present life. And yet\nI should deem him a coward who did not prove what is said about them to\nthe uttermost, or whose heart failed him before he had examined them\non every side. For he should persevere until he has achieved one of two\nthings: either he should discover, or be taught the truth about them;\nor, if this be impossible, I would have him take the best and most\nirrefragable of human theories, and let this be the raft upon which he\nsails through life--not without risk, as I admit, if he cannot find some\nword of God which will more surely and safely carry him. And now, as\nyou bid me, I will venture to question you, and then I shall not have to\nreproach myself hereafter with not having said at the time what I think.\nFor when I consider the matter, either alone or with Cebes, the argument\ndoes certainly appear to me, Socrates, to be not sufficient.\n\nSocrates answered: I dare say, my friend, that you may be right, but I\nshould like to know in what respect the argument is insufficient.\n\nIn this respect, replied Simmias:--Suppose a person to use the same\nargument about harmony and the lyre--might he not say that harmony is\na thing invisible, incorporeal, perfect, divine, existing in the lyre\nwhich is harmonized, but that the lyre and the strings are matter and\nmaterial, composite, earthy, and akin to mortality? And when some one\nbreaks the lyre, or cuts and rends the strings, then he who takes this\nview would argue as you do, and on the same analogy, that the harmony\nsurvives and has not perished--you cannot imagine, he would say, that\nthe lyre without the strings, and the broken strings themselves which\nare mortal remain, and yet that the harmony, which is of heavenly and\nimmortal nature and kindred, has perished--perished before the mortal.\nThe harmony must still be somewhere, and the wood and strings will decay\nbefore anything can happen to that. The thought, Socrates, must have\noccurred to your own mind that such is our conception of the soul;\nand that when the body is in a manner strung and held together by the\nelements of hot and cold, wet and dry, then the soul is the harmony or\ndue proportionate admixture of them. But if so, whenever the strings of\nthe body are unduly loosened or overstrained through disease or other\ninjury, then the soul, though most divine, like other harmonies of music\nor of works of art, of course perishes at once, although the material\nremains of the body may last for a considerable time, until they are\neither decayed or burnt. And if any one maintains that the soul, being\nthe harmony of the elements of the body, is first to perish in that\nwhich is called death, how shall we answer him?\n\nSocrates looked fixedly at us as his manner was, and said with a smile:\nSimmias has reason on his side; and why does not some one of you who\nis better able than myself answer him? for there is force in his attack\nupon me. But perhaps, before we answer him, we had better also hear what\nCebes has to say that we may gain time for reflection, and when they\nhave both spoken, we may either assent to them, if there is truth in\nwhat they say, or if not, we will maintain our position. Please to tell\nme then, Cebes, he said, what was the difficulty which troubled you?\n\nCebes said: I will tell you. My feeling is that the argument is where it\nwas, and open to the same objections which were urged before; for I am\nready to admit that the existence of the soul before entering into\nthe bodily form has been very ingeniously, and, if I may say so, quite\nsufficiently proven; but the existence of the soul after death is still,\nin my judgment, unproven. Now my objection is not the same as that of\nSimmias; for I am not disposed to deny that the soul is stronger and\nmore lasting than the body, being of opinion that in all such respects\nthe soul very far excels the body. Well, then, says the argument to me,\nwhy do you remain unconvinced?--When you see that the weaker continues\nin existence after the man is dead, will you not admit that the more\nlasting must also survive during the same period of time? Now I will\nask you to consider whether the objection, which, like Simmias, I will\nexpress in a figure, is of any weight. The analogy which I will adduce\nis that of an old weaver, who dies, and after his death somebody\nsays:--He is not dead, he must be alive;--see, there is the coat which\nhe himself wove and wore, and which remains whole and undecayed. And\nthen he proceeds to ask of some one who is incredulous, whether a man\nlasts longer, or the coat which is in use and wear; and when he is\nanswered that a man lasts far longer, thinks that he has thus certainly\ndemonstrated the survival of the man, who is the more lasting, because\nthe less lasting remains. But that, Simmias, as I would beg you to\nremark, is a mistake; any one can see that he who talks thus is talking\nnonsense. For the truth is, that the weaver aforesaid, having woven and\nworn many such coats, outlived several of them, and was outlived by the\nlast; but a man is not therefore proved to be slighter and weaker than\na coat. Now the relation of the body to the soul may be expressed in a\nsimilar figure; and any one may very fairly say in like manner that the\nsoul is lasting, and the body weak and shortlived in comparison. He may\nargue in like manner that every soul wears out many bodies, especially\nif a man live many years. While he is alive the body deliquesces and\ndecays, and the soul always weaves another garment and repairs the\nwaste. But of course, whenever the soul perishes, she must have on her\nlast garment, and this will survive her; and then at length, when\nthe soul is dead, the body will show its native weakness, and quickly\ndecompose and pass away. I would therefore rather not rely on the\nargument from superior strength to prove the continued existence of the\nsoul after death. For granting even more than you affirm to be possible,\nand acknowledging not only that the soul existed before birth, but also\nthat the souls of some exist, and will continue to exist after death,\nand will be born and die again and again, and that there is a\nnatural strength in the soul which will hold out and be born many\ntimes--nevertheless, we may be still inclined to think that she will\nweary in the labours of successive births, and may at last succumb in\none of her deaths and utterly perish; and this death and dissolution of\nthe body which brings destruction to the soul may be unknown to any of\nus, for no one of us can have had any experience of it: and if so,\nthen I maintain that he who is confident about death has but a foolish\nconfidence, unless he is able to prove that the soul is altogether\nimmortal and imperishable. But if he cannot prove the soul's\nimmortality, he who is about to die will always have reason to fear that\nwhen the body is disunited, the soul also may utterly perish.\n\nAll of us, as we afterwards remarked to one another, had an unpleasant\nfeeling at hearing what they said. When we had been so firmly convinced\nbefore, now to have our faith shaken seemed to introduce a confusion and\nuncertainty, not only into the previous argument, but into any future\none; either we were incapable of forming a judgment, or there were no\ngrounds of belief.\n\nECHECRATES: There I feel with you--by heaven I do, Phaedo, and when you\nwere speaking, I was beginning to ask myself the same question: What\nargument can I ever trust again? For what could be more convincing than\nthe argument of Socrates, which has now fallen into discredit? That\nthe soul is a harmony is a doctrine which has always had a wonderful\nattraction for me, and, when mentioned, came back to me at once, as my\nown original conviction. And now I must begin again and find another\nargument which will assure me that when the man is dead the soul\nsurvives. Tell me, I implore you, how did Socrates proceed? Did he\nappear to share the unpleasant feeling which you mention? or did he\ncalmly meet the attack? And did he answer forcibly or feebly? Narrate\nwhat passed as exactly as you can.\n\nPHAEDO: Often, Echecrates, I have wondered at Socrates, but never more\nthan on that occasion. That he should be able to answer was nothing,\nbut what astonished me was, first, the gentle and pleasant and approving\nmanner in which he received the words of the young men, and then his\nquick sense of the wound which had been inflicted by the argument, and\nthe readiness with which he healed it. He might be compared to a general\nrallying his defeated and broken army, urging them to accompany him and\nreturn to the field of argument.\n\nECHECRATES: What followed?\n\nPHAEDO: You shall hear, for I was close to him on his right hand, seated\non a sort of stool, and he on a couch which was a good deal higher.\nHe stroked my head, and pressed the hair upon my neck--he had a way of\nplaying with my hair; and then he said: To-morrow, Phaedo, I suppose\nthat these fair locks of yours will be severed.\n\nYes, Socrates, I suppose that they will, I replied.\n\nNot so, if you will take my advice.\n\nWhat shall I do with them? I said.\n\nTo-day, he replied, and not to-morrow, if this argument dies and we\ncannot bring it to life again, you and I will both shave our locks; and\nif I were you, and the argument got away from me, and I could not hold\nmy ground against Simmias and Cebes, I would myself take an oath, like\nthe Argives, not to wear hair any more until I had renewed the conflict\nand defeated them.\n\nYes, I said, but Heracles himself is said not to be a match for two.\n\nSummon me then, he said, and I will be your Iolaus until the sun goes\ndown.\n\nI summon you rather, I rejoined, not as Heracles summoning Iolaus, but\nas Iolaus might summon Heracles.\n\nThat will do as well, he said. But first let us take care that we avoid\na danger.\n\nOf what nature? I said.\n\nLest we become misologists, he replied, no worse thing can happen to a\nman than this. For as there are misanthropists or haters of men, there\nare also misologists or haters of ideas, and both spring from the same\ncause, which is ignorance of the world. Misanthropy arises out of the\ntoo great confidence of inexperience;--you trust a man and think him\naltogether true and sound and faithful, and then in a little while he\nturns out to be false and knavish; and then another and another, and\nwhen this has happened several times to a man, especially when it\nhappens among those whom he deems to be his own most trusted and\nfamiliar friends, and he has often quarreled with them, he at last hates\nall men, and believes that no one has any good in him at all. You must\nhave observed this trait of character?\n\nI have.\n\nAnd is not the feeling discreditable? Is it not obvious that such an\none having to deal with other men, was clearly without any experience of\nhuman nature; for experience would have taught him the true state of\nthe case, that few are the good and few the evil, and that the great\nmajority are in the interval between them.\n\nWhat do you mean? I said.\n\nI mean, he replied, as you might say of the very large and very small,\nthat nothing is more uncommon than a very large or very small man; and\nthis applies generally to all extremes, whether of great and small, or\nswift and slow, or fair and foul, or black and white: and whether\nthe instances you select be men or dogs or anything else, few are the\nextremes, but many are in the mean between them. Did you never observe\nthis?\n\nYes, I said, I have.\n\nAnd do you not imagine, he said, that if there were a competition in\nevil, the worst would be found to be very few?\n\nYes, that is very likely, I said.\n\nYes, that is very likely, he replied; although in this respect arguments\nare unlike men--there I was led on by you to say more than I had\nintended; but the point of comparison was, that when a simple man who\nhas no skill in dialectics believes an argument to be true which he\nafterwards imagines to be false, whether really false or not, and\nthen another and another, he has no longer any faith left, and great\ndisputers, as you know, come to think at last that they have grown to be\nthe wisest of mankind; for they alone perceive the utter unsoundness and\ninstability of all arguments, or indeed, of all things, which, like the\ncurrents in the Euripus, are going up and down in never-ceasing ebb and\nflow.\n\nThat is quite true, I said.\n\nYes, Phaedo, he replied, and how melancholy, if there be such a thing as\ntruth or certainty or possibility of knowledge--that a man should have\nlighted upon some argument or other which at first seemed true and then\nturned out to be false, and instead of blaming himself and his own want\nof wit, because he is annoyed, should at last be too glad to transfer\nthe blame from himself to arguments in general: and for ever afterwards\nshould hate and revile them, and lose truth and the knowledge of\nrealities.\n\nYes, indeed, I said; that is very melancholy.\n\nLet us then, in the first place, he said, be careful of allowing or of\nadmitting into our souls the notion that there is no health or soundness\nin any arguments at all. Rather say that we have not yet attained to\nsoundness in ourselves, and that we must struggle manfully and do our\nbest to gain health of mind--you and all other men having regard to the\nwhole of your future life, and I myself in the prospect of death. For at\nthis moment I am sensible that I have not the temper of a philosopher;\nlike the vulgar, I am only a partisan. Now the partisan, when he is\nengaged in a dispute, cares nothing about the rights of the question,\nbut is anxious only to convince his hearers of his own assertions.\nAnd the difference between him and me at the present moment is merely\nthis--that whereas he seeks to convince his hearers that what he says is\ntrue, I am rather seeking to convince myself; to convince my hearers\nis a secondary matter with me. And do but see how much I gain by the\nargument. For if what I say is true, then I do well to be persuaded of\nthe truth, but if there be nothing after death, still, during the short\ntime that remains, I shall not distress my friends with lamentations,\nand my ignorance will not last, but will die with me, and therefore\nno harm will be done. This is the state of mind, Simmias and Cebes, in\nwhich I approach the argument. And I would ask you to be thinking of\nthe truth and not of Socrates: agree with me, if I seem to you to be\nspeaking the truth; or if not, withstand me might and main, that I may\nnot deceive you as well as myself in my enthusiasm, and like the bee,\nleave my sting in you before I die.\n\nAnd now let us proceed, he said. And first of all let me be sure that\nI have in my mind what you were saying. Simmias, if I remember rightly,\nhas fears and misgivings whether the soul, although a fairer and diviner\nthing than the body, being as she is in the form of harmony, may not\nperish first. On the other hand, Cebes appeared to grant that the soul\nwas more lasting than the body, but he said that no one could know\nwhether the soul, after having worn out many bodies, might not perish\nherself and leave her last body behind her; and that this is death,\nwhich is the destruction not of the body but of the soul, for in the\nbody the work of destruction is ever going on. Are not these, Simmias\nand Cebes, the points which we have to consider?\n\nThey both agreed to this statement of them.\n\nHe proceeded: And did you deny the force of the whole preceding\nargument, or of a part only?\n\nOf a part only, they replied.\n\nAnd what did you think, he said, of that part of the argument in which\nwe said that knowledge was recollection, and hence inferred that the\nsoul must have previously existed somewhere else before she was enclosed\nin the body?\n\nCebes said that he had been wonderfully impressed by that part of the\nargument, and that his conviction remained absolutely unshaken. Simmias\nagreed, and added that he himself could hardly imagine the possibility\nof his ever thinking differently.\n\nBut, rejoined Socrates, you will have to think differently, my Theban\nfriend, if you still maintain that harmony is a compound, and that the\nsoul is a harmony which is made out of strings set in the frame of the\nbody; for you will surely never allow yourself to say that a harmony is\nprior to the elements which compose it.\n\nNever, Socrates.\n\nBut do you not see that this is what you imply when you say that the\nsoul existed before she took the form and body of man, and was made up\nof elements which as yet had no existence? For harmony is not like\nthe soul, as you suppose; but first the lyre, and the strings, and the\nsounds exist in a state of discord, and then harmony is made last of\nall, and perishes first. And how can such a notion of the soul as this\nagree with the other?\n\nNot at all, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd yet, he said, there surely ought to be harmony in a discourse of\nwhich harmony is the theme.\n\nThere ought, replied Simmias.\n\nBut there is no harmony, he said, in the two propositions that knowledge\nis recollection, and that the soul is a harmony. Which of them will you\nretain?\n\nI think, he replied, that I have a much stronger faith, Socrates, in the\nfirst of the two, which has been fully demonstrated to me, than in\nthe latter, which has not been demonstrated at all, but rests only on\nprobable and plausible grounds; and is therefore believed by the many. I\nknow too well that these arguments from probabilities are impostors, and\nunless great caution is observed in the use of them, they are apt to\nbe deceptive--in geometry, and in other things too. But the doctrine of\nknowledge and recollection has been proven to me on trustworthy grounds;\nand the proof was that the soul must have existed before she came into\nthe body, because to her belongs the essence of which the very name\nimplies existence. Having, as I am convinced, rightly accepted this\nconclusion, and on sufficient grounds, I must, as I suppose, cease to\nargue or allow others to argue that the soul is a harmony.\n\nLet me put the matter, Simmias, he said, in another point of view: Do\nyou imagine that a harmony or any other composition can be in a state\nother than that of the elements, out of which it is compounded?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nOr do or suffer anything other than they do or suffer?\n\nHe agreed.\n\nThen a harmony does not, properly speaking, lead the parts or elements\nwhich make up the harmony, but only follows them.\n\nHe assented.\n\nFor harmony cannot possibly have any motion, or sound, or other quality\nwhich is opposed to its parts.\n\nThat would be impossible, he replied.\n\nAnd does not the nature of every harmony depend upon the manner in which\nthe elements are harmonized?\n\nI do not understand you, he said.\n\nI mean to say that a harmony admits of degrees, and is more of a\nharmony, and more completely a harmony, when more truly and fully\nharmonized, to any extent which is possible; and less of a harmony, and\nless completely a harmony, when less truly and fully harmonized.\n\nTrue.\n\nBut does the soul admit of degrees? or is one soul in the very least\ndegree more or less, or more or less completely, a soul than another?\n\nNot in the least.\n\nYet surely of two souls, one is said to have intelligence and virtue,\nand to be good, and the other to have folly and vice, and to be an evil\nsoul: and this is said truly?\n\nYes, truly.\n\nBut what will those who maintain the soul to be a harmony say of this\npresence of virtue and vice in the soul?--will they say that here is\nanother harmony, and another discord, and that the virtuous soul is\nharmonized, and herself being a harmony has another harmony within her,\nand that the vicious soul is inharmonical and has no harmony within her?\n\nI cannot tell, replied Simmias; but I suppose that something of the sort\nwould be asserted by those who say that the soul is a harmony.\n\nAnd we have already admitted that no soul is more a soul than another;\nwhich is equivalent to admitting that harmony is not more or less\nharmony, or more or less completely a harmony?\n\nQuite true.\n\nAnd that which is not more or less a harmony is not more or less\nharmonized?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd that which is not more or less harmonized cannot have more or less\nof harmony, but only an equal harmony?\n\nYes, an equal harmony.\n\nThen one soul not being more or less absolutely a soul than another, is\nnot more or less harmonized?\n\nExactly.\n\nAnd therefore has neither more nor less of discord, nor yet of harmony?\n\nShe has not.\n\nAnd having neither more nor less of harmony or of discord, one soul\nhas no more vice or virtue than another, if vice be discord and virtue\nharmony?\n\nNot at all more.\n\nOr speaking more correctly, Simmias, the soul, if she is a harmony, will\nnever have any vice; because a harmony, being absolutely a harmony, has\nno part in the inharmonical.\n\nNo.\n\nAnd therefore a soul which is absolutely a soul has no vice?\n\nHow can she have, if the previous argument holds?\n\nThen, if all souls are equally by their nature souls, all souls of all\nliving creatures will be equally good?\n\nI agree with you, Socrates, he said.\n\nAnd can all this be true, think you? he said; for these are the\nconsequences which seem to follow from the assumption that the soul is a\nharmony?\n\nIt cannot be true.\n\nOnce more, he said, what ruler is there of the elements of human nature\nother than the soul, and especially the wise soul? Do you know of any?\n\nIndeed, I do not.\n\nAnd is the soul in agreement with the affections of the body? or is she\nat variance with them? For example, when the body is hot and thirsty,\ndoes not the soul incline us against drinking? and when the body\nis hungry, against eating? And this is only one instance out of ten\nthousand of the opposition of the soul to the things of the body.\n\nVery true.\n\nBut we have already acknowledged that the soul, being a harmony, can\nnever utter a note at variance with the tensions and relaxations and\nvibrations and other affections of the strings out of which she is\ncomposed; she can only follow, she cannot lead them?\n\nIt must be so, he replied.\n\nAnd yet do we not now discover the soul to be doing the exact\nopposite--leading the elements of which she is believed to be composed;\nalmost always opposing and coercing them in all sorts of ways throughout\nlife, sometimes more violently with the pains of medicine and gymnastic;\nthen again more gently; now threatening, now admonishing the desires,\npassions, fears, as if talking to a thing which is not herself, as Homer\nin the Odyssee represents Odysseus doing in the words--\n\n'He beat his breast, and thus reproached his heart: Endure, my heart;\nfar worse hast thou endured!'\n\nDo you think that Homer wrote this under the idea that the soul is a\nharmony capable of being led by the affections of the body, and not\nrather of a nature which should lead and master them--herself a far\ndiviner thing than any harmony?\n\nYes, Socrates, I quite think so.\n\nThen, my friend, we can never be right in saying that the soul is a\nharmony, for we should contradict the divine Homer, and contradict\nourselves.\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nThus much, said Socrates, of Harmonia, your Theban goddess, who has\ngraciously yielded to us; but what shall I say, Cebes, to her husband\nCadmus, and how shall I make peace with him?\n\nI think that you will discover a way of propitiating him, said Cebes; I\nam sure that you have put the argument with Harmonia in a manner that\nI could never have expected. For when Simmias was mentioning his\ndifficulty, I quite imagined that no answer could be given to him, and\ntherefore I was surprised at finding that his argument could not sustain\nthe first onset of yours, and not impossibly the other, whom you call\nCadmus, may share a similar fate.\n\nNay, my good friend, said Socrates, let us not boast, lest some evil eye\nshould put to flight the word which I am about to speak. That, however,\nmay be left in the hands of those above, while I draw near in Homeric\nfashion, and try the mettle of your words. Here lies the point:--You\nwant to have it proven to you that the soul is imperishable and\nimmortal, and the philosopher who is confident in death appears to you\nto have but a vain and foolish confidence, if he believes that he will\nfare better in the world below than one who has led another sort of\nlife, unless he can prove this; and you say that the demonstration of\nthe strength and divinity of the soul, and of her existence prior to our\nbecoming men, does not necessarily imply her immortality. Admitting the\nsoul to be longlived, and to have known and done much in a former state,\nstill she is not on that account immortal; and her entrance into\nthe human form may be a sort of disease which is the beginning of\ndissolution, and may at last, after the toils of life are over, end in\nthat which is called death. And whether the soul enters into the body\nonce only or many times, does not, as you say, make any difference in\nthe fears of individuals. For any man, who is not devoid of sense,\nmust fear, if he has no knowledge and can give no account of the soul's\nimmortality. This, or something like this, I suspect to be your notion,\nCebes; and I designedly recur to it in order that nothing may escape us,\nand that you may, if you wish, add or subtract anything.\n\nBut, said Cebes, as far as I see at present, I have nothing to add or\nsubtract: I mean what you say that I mean.\n\nSocrates paused awhile, and seemed to be absorbed in reflection. At\nlength he said: You are raising a tremendous question, Cebes, involving\nthe whole nature of generation and corruption, about which, if you like,\nI will give you my own experience; and if anything which I say is likely\nto avail towards the solution of your difficulty you may make use of it.\n\nI should very much like, said Cebes, to hear what you have to say.\n\nThen I will tell you, said Socrates. When I was young, Cebes, I had a\nprodigious desire to know that department of philosophy which is called\nthe investigation of nature; to know the causes of things, and why\na thing is and is created or destroyed appeared to me to be a lofty\nprofession; and I was always agitating myself with the consideration of\nquestions such as these:--Is the growth of animals the result of some\ndecay which the hot and cold principle contracts, as some have said? Is\nthe blood the element with which we think, or the air, or the fire? or\nperhaps nothing of the kind--but the brain may be the originating\npower of the perceptions of hearing and sight and smell, and memory\nand opinion may come from them, and science may be based on memory and\nopinion when they have attained fixity. And then I went on to examine\nthe corruption of them, and then to the things of heaven and earth, and\nat last I concluded myself to be utterly and absolutely incapable\nof these enquiries, as I will satisfactorily prove to you. For I was\nfascinated by them to such a degree that my eyes grew blind to things\nwhich I had seemed to myself, and also to others, to know quite well; I\nforgot what I had before thought self-evident truths; e.g. such a fact\nas that the growth of man is the result of eating and drinking; for when\nby the digestion of food flesh is added to flesh and bone to bone, and\nwhenever there is an aggregation of congenial elements, the lesser\nbulk becomes larger and the small man great. Was not that a reasonable\nnotion?\n\nYes, said Cebes, I think so.\n\nWell; but let me tell you something more. There was a time when I\nthought that I understood the meaning of greater and less pretty well;\nand when I saw a great man standing by a little one, I fancied that one\nwas taller than the other by a head; or one horse would appear to\nbe greater than another horse: and still more clearly did I seem to\nperceive that ten is two more than eight, and that two cubits are more\nthan one, because two is the double of one.\n\nAnd what is now your notion of such matters? said Cebes.\n\nI should be far enough from imagining, he replied, that I knew the cause\nof any of them, by heaven I should; for I cannot satisfy myself that,\nwhen one is added to one, the one to which the addition is made becomes\ntwo, or that the two units added together make two by reason of the\naddition. I cannot understand how, when separated from the other, each\nof them was one and not two, and now, when they are brought together,\nthe mere juxtaposition or meeting of them should be the cause of their\nbecoming two: neither can I understand how the division of one is the\nway to make two; for then a different cause would produce the same\neffect,--as in the former instance the addition and juxtaposition of one\nto one was the cause of two, in this the separation and subtraction of\none from the other would be the cause. Nor am I any longer satisfied\nthat I understand the reason why one or anything else is either\ngenerated or destroyed or is at all, but I have in my mind some confused\nnotion of a new method, and can never admit the other.\n\nThen I heard some one reading, as he said, from a book of Anaxagoras,\nthat mind was the disposer and cause of all, and I was delighted at this\nnotion, which appeared quite admirable, and I said to myself: If mind\nis the disposer, mind will dispose all for the best, and put each\nparticular in the best place; and I argued that if any one desired to\nfind out the cause of the generation or destruction or existence of\nanything, he must find out what state of being or doing or suffering was\nbest for that thing, and therefore a man had only to consider the best\nfor himself and others, and then he would also know the worse, since the\nsame science comprehended both. And I rejoiced to think that I had found\nin Anaxagoras a teacher of the causes of existence such as I desired,\nand I imagined that he would tell me first whether the earth is flat or\nround; and whichever was true, he would proceed to explain the cause and\nthe necessity of this being so, and then he would teach me the nature of\nthe best and show that this was best; and if he said that the earth was\nin the centre, he would further explain that this position was the best,\nand I should be satisfied with the explanation given, and not want any\nother sort of cause. And I thought that I would then go on and ask him\nabout the sun and moon and stars, and that he would explain to me their\ncomparative swiftness, and their returnings and various states, active\nand passive, and how all of them were for the best. For I could not\nimagine that when he spoke of mind as the disposer of them, he would\ngive any other account of their being as they are, except that this was\nbest; and I thought that when he had explained to me in detail the cause\nof each and the cause of all, he would go on to explain to me what was\nbest for each and what was good for all. These hopes I would not have\nsold for a large sum of money, and I seized the books and read them as\nfast as I could in my eagerness to know the better and the worse.\n\nWhat expectations I had formed, and how grievously was I disappointed!\nAs I proceeded, I found my philosopher altogether forsaking mind or any\nother principle of order, but having recourse to air, and ether, and\nwater, and other eccentricities. I might compare him to a person who\nbegan by maintaining generally that mind is the cause of the actions\nof Socrates, but who, when he endeavoured to explain the causes of my\nseveral actions in detail, went on to show that I sit here because my\nbody is made up of bones and muscles; and the bones, as he would say,\nare hard and have joints which divide them, and the muscles are elastic,\nand they cover the bones, which have also a covering or environment of\nflesh and skin which contains them; and as the bones are lifted at their\njoints by the contraction or relaxation of the muscles, I am able\nto bend my limbs, and this is why I am sitting here in a curved\nposture--that is what he would say, and he would have a similar\nexplanation of my talking to you, which he would attribute to sound, and\nair, and hearing, and he would assign ten thousand other causes of the\nsame sort, forgetting to mention the true cause, which is, that the\nAthenians have thought fit to condemn me, and accordingly I have thought\nit better and more right to remain here and undergo my sentence; for\nI am inclined to think that these muscles and bones of mine would have\ngone off long ago to Megara or Boeotia--by the dog they would, if they\nhad been moved only by their own idea of what was best, and if I had not\nchosen the better and nobler part, instead of playing truant and running\naway, of enduring any punishment which the state inflicts. There is\nsurely a strange confusion of causes and conditions in all this. It may\nbe said, indeed, that without bones and muscles and the other parts\nof the body I cannot execute my purposes. But to say that I do as I do\nbecause of them, and that this is the way in which mind acts, and\nnot from the choice of the best, is a very careless and idle mode of\nspeaking. I wonder that they cannot distinguish the cause from the\ncondition, which the many, feeling about in the dark, are always\nmistaking and misnaming. And thus one man makes a vortex all round and\nsteadies the earth by the heaven; another gives the air as a support to\nthe earth, which is a sort of broad trough. Any power which in arranging\nthem as they are arranges them for the best never enters into their\nminds; and instead of finding any superior strength in it, they rather\nexpect to discover another Atlas of the world who is stronger and more\neverlasting and more containing than the good;--of the obligatory and\ncontaining power of the good they think nothing; and yet this is the\nprinciple which I would fain learn if any one would teach me. But as I\nhave failed either to discover myself, or to learn of any one else,\nthe nature of the best, I will exhibit to you, if you like, what I have\nfound to be the second best mode of enquiring into the cause.\n\nI should very much like to hear, he replied.\n\nSocrates proceeded:--I thought that as I had failed in the contemplation\nof true existence, I ought to be careful that I did not lose the eye of\nmy soul; as people may injure their bodily eye by observing and gazing\non the sun during an eclipse, unless they take the precaution of only\nlooking at the image reflected in the water, or in some similar medium.\nSo in my own case, I was afraid that my soul might be blinded altogether\nif I looked at things with my eyes or tried to apprehend them by the\nhelp of the senses. And I thought that I had better have recourse to the\nworld of mind and seek there the truth of existence. I dare say that\nthe simile is not perfect--for I am very far from admitting that he who\ncontemplates existences through the medium of thought, sees them only\n'through a glass darkly,' any more than he who considers them in action\nand operation. However, this was the method which I adopted: I first\nassumed some principle which I judged to be the strongest, and then I\naffirmed as true whatever seemed to agree with this, whether relating\nto the cause or to anything else; and that which disagreed I regarded\nas untrue. But I should like to explain my meaning more clearly, as I do\nnot think that you as yet understand me.\n\nNo indeed, replied Cebes, not very well.\n\nThere is nothing new, he said, in what I am about to tell you; but\nonly what I have been always and everywhere repeating in the previous\ndiscussion and on other occasions: I want to show you the nature of that\ncause which has occupied my thoughts. I shall have to go back to those\nfamiliar words which are in the mouth of every one, and first of all\nassume that there is an absolute beauty and goodness and greatness, and\nthe like; grant me this, and I hope to be able to show you the nature of\nthe cause, and to prove the immortality of the soul.\n\nCebes said: You may proceed at once with the proof, for I grant you\nthis.\n\nWell, he said, then I should like to know whether you agree with me\nin the next step; for I cannot help thinking, if there be anything\nbeautiful other than absolute beauty should there be such, that it can\nbe beautiful only in as far as it partakes of absolute beauty--and I\nshould say the same of everything. Do you agree in this notion of the\ncause?\n\nYes, he said, I agree.\n\nHe proceeded: I know nothing and can understand nothing of any other of\nthose wise causes which are alleged; and if a person says to me that\nthe bloom of colour, or form, or any such thing is a source of beauty,\nI leave all that, which is only confusing to me, and simply and singly,\nand perhaps foolishly, hold and am assured in my own mind that nothing\nmakes a thing beautiful but the presence and participation of beauty in\nwhatever way or manner obtained; for as to the manner I am uncertain,\nbut I stoutly contend that by beauty all beautiful things become\nbeautiful. This appears to me to be the safest answer which I can give,\neither to myself or to another, and to this I cling, in the persuasion\nthat this principle will never be overthrown, and that to myself or\nto any one who asks the question, I may safely reply, That by beauty\nbeautiful things become beautiful. Do you not agree with me?\n\nI do.\n\nAnd that by greatness only great things become great and greater\ngreater, and by smallness the less become less?\n\nTrue.\n\nThen if a person were to remark that A is taller by a head than B, and\nB less by a head than A, you would refuse to admit his statement, and\nwould stoutly contend that what you mean is only that the greater is\ngreater by, and by reason of, greatness, and the less is less only by,\nand by reason of, smallness; and thus you would avoid the danger of\nsaying that the greater is greater and the less less by the measure of\nthe head, which is the same in both, and would also avoid the monstrous\nabsurdity of supposing that the greater man is greater by reason of the\nhead, which is small. You would be afraid to draw such an inference,\nwould you not?\n\nIndeed, I should, said Cebes, laughing.\n\nIn like manner you would be afraid to say that ten exceeded eight by,\nand by reason of, two; but would say by, and by reason of, number; or\nyou would say that two cubits exceed one cubit not by a half, but by\nmagnitude?-for there is the same liability to error in all these cases.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nAgain, would you not be cautious of affirming that the addition of\none to one, or the division of one, is the cause of two? And you would\nloudly asseverate that you know of no way in which anything comes\ninto existence except by participation in its own proper essence,\nand consequently, as far as you know, the only cause of two is\nthe participation in duality--this is the way to make two, and the\nparticipation in one is the way to make one. You would say: I will let\nalone puzzles of division and addition--wiser heads than mine may answer\nthem; inexperienced as I am, and ready to start, as the proverb says,\nat my own shadow, I cannot afford to give up the sure ground of a\nprinciple. And if any one assails you there, you would not mind him,\nor answer him, until you had seen whether the consequences which follow\nagree with one another or not, and when you are further required to give\nan explanation of this principle, you would go on to assume a higher\nprinciple, and a higher, until you found a resting-place in the best of\nthe higher; but you would not confuse the principle and the consequences\nin your reasoning, like the Eristics--at least if you wanted to discover\nreal existence. Not that this confusion signifies to them, who never\ncare or think about the matter at all, for they have the wit to be well\npleased with themselves however great may be the turmoil of their ideas.\nBut you, if you are a philosopher, will certainly do as I say.\n\nWhat you say is most true, said Simmias and Cebes, both speaking at\nonce.\n\nECHECRATES: Yes, Phaedo; and I do not wonder at their assenting. Any\none who has the least sense will acknowledge the wonderful clearness of\nSocrates' reasoning.\n\nPHAEDO: Certainly, Echecrates; and such was the feeling of the whole\ncompany at the time.\n\nECHECRATES: Yes, and equally of ourselves, who were not of the company,\nand are now listening to your recital. But what followed?\n\nPHAEDO: After all this had been admitted, and they had that ideas exist,\nand that other things participate in them and derive their names from\nthem, Socrates, if I remember rightly, said:--\n\nThis is your way of speaking; and yet when you say that Simmias is\ngreater than Socrates and less than Phaedo, do you not predicate of\nSimmias both greatness and smallness?\n\nYes, I do.\n\nBut still you allow that Simmias does not really exceed Socrates, as\nthe words may seem to imply, because he is Simmias, but by reason of the\nsize which he has; just as Simmias does not exceed Socrates because he\nis Simmias, any more than because Socrates is Socrates, but because he\nhas smallness when compared with the greatness of Simmias?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd if Phaedo exceeds him in size, this is not because Phaedo is\nPhaedo, but because Phaedo has greatness relatively to Simmias, who is\ncomparatively smaller?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd therefore Simmias is said to be great, and is also said to be small,\nbecause he is in a mean between them, exceeding the smallness of the one\nby his greatness, and allowing the greatness of the other to exceed his\nsmallness. He added, laughing, I am speaking like a book, but I believe\nthat what I am saying is true.\n\nSimmias assented.\n\nI speak as I do because I want you to agree with me in thinking, not\nonly that absolute greatness will never be great and also small, but\nthat greatness in us or in the concrete will never admit the small or\nadmit of being exceeded: instead of this, one of two things will happen,\neither the greater will fly or retire before the opposite, which is the\nless, or at the approach of the less has already ceased to exist; but\nwill not, if allowing or admitting of smallness, be changed by that;\neven as I, having received and admitted smallness when compared with\nSimmias, remain just as I was, and am the same small person. And as the\nidea of greatness cannot condescend ever to be or become small, in like\nmanner the smallness in us cannot be or become great; nor can any other\nopposite which remains the same ever be or become its own opposite, but\neither passes away or perishes in the change.\n\nThat, replied Cebes, is quite my notion.\n\nHereupon one of the company, though I do not exactly remember which of\nthem, said: In heaven's name, is not this the direct contrary of what\nwas admitted before--that out of the greater came the less and out of\nthe less the greater, and that opposites were simply generated from\nopposites; but now this principle seems to be utterly denied.\n\nSocrates inclined his head to the speaker and listened. I like your\ncourage, he said, in reminding us of this. But you do not observe that\nthere is a difference in the two cases. For then we were speaking of\nopposites in the concrete, and now of the essential opposite which, as\nis affirmed, neither in us nor in nature can ever be at variance with\nitself: then, my friend, we were speaking of things in which opposites\nare inherent and which are called after them, but now about the\nopposites which are inherent in them and which give their name to them;\nand these essential opposites will never, as we maintain, admit of\ngeneration into or out of one another. At the same time, turning to\nCebes, he said: Are you at all disconcerted, Cebes, at our friend's\nobjection?\n\nNo, I do not feel so, said Cebes; and yet I cannot deny that I am often\ndisturbed by objections.\n\nThen we are agreed after all, said Socrates, that the opposite will\nnever in any case be opposed to itself?\n\nTo that we are quite agreed, he replied.\n\nYet once more let me ask you to consider the question from another point\nof view, and see whether you agree with me:--There is a thing which you\nterm heat, and another thing which you term cold?\n\nCertainly.\n\nBut are they the same as fire and snow?\n\nMost assuredly not.\n\nHeat is a thing different from fire, and cold is not the same with snow?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd yet you will surely admit, that when snow, as was before said, is\nunder the influence of heat, they will not remain snow and heat; but at\nthe advance of the heat, the snow will either retire or perish?\n\nVery true, he replied.\n\nAnd the fire too at the advance of the cold will either retire or\nperish; and when the fire is under the influence of the cold, they will\nnot remain as before, fire and cold.\n\nThat is true, he said.\n\nAnd in some cases the name of the idea is not only attached to the idea\nin an eternal connection, but anything else which, not being the idea,\nexists only in the form of the idea, may also lay claim to it. I will\ntry to make this clearer by an example:--The odd number is always called\nby the name of odd?\n\nVery true.\n\nBut is this the only thing which is called odd? Are there not other\nthings which have their own name, and yet are called odd, because,\nalthough not the same as oddness, they are never without oddness?--that\nis what I mean to ask--whether numbers such as the number three are not\nof the class of odd. And there are many other examples: would you not\nsay, for example, that three may be called by its proper name, and also\nbe called odd, which is not the same with three? and this may be said\nnot only of three but also of five, and of every alternate number--each\nof them without being oddness is odd, and in the same way two and\nfour, and the other series of alternate numbers, has every number even,\nwithout being evenness. Do you agree?\n\nOf course.\n\nThen now mark the point at which I am aiming:--not only do essential\nopposites exclude one another, but also concrete things, which, although\nnot in themselves opposed, contain opposites; these, I say, likewise\nreject the idea which is opposed to that which is contained in them,\nand when it approaches them they either perish or withdraw. For example;\nWill not the number three endure annihilation or anything sooner than be\nconverted into an even number, while remaining three?\n\nVery true, said Cebes.\n\nAnd yet, he said, the number two is certainly not opposed to the number\nthree?\n\nIt is not.\n\nThen not only do opposite ideas repel the advance of one another, but\nalso there are other natures which repel the approach of opposites.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nSuppose, he said, that we endeavour, if possible, to determine what\nthese are.\n\nBy all means.\n\nAre they not, Cebes, such as compel the things of which they have\npossession, not only to take their own form, but also the form of some\nopposite?\n\nWhat do you mean?\n\nI mean, as I was just now saying, and as I am sure that you know, that\nthose things which are possessed by the number three must not only be\nthree in number, but must also be odd.\n\nQuite true.\n\nAnd on this oddness, of which the number three has the impress, the\nopposite idea will never intrude?\n\nNo.\n\nAnd this impress was given by the odd principle?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd to the odd is opposed the even?\n\nTrue.\n\nThen the idea of the even number will never arrive at three?\n\nNo.\n\nThen three has no part in the even?\n\nNone.\n\nThen the triad or number three is uneven?\n\nVery true.\n\nTo return then to my distinction of natures which are not opposed, and\nyet do not admit opposites--as, in the instance given, three, although\nnot opposed to the even, does not any the more admit of the even, but\nalways brings the opposite into play on the other side; or as two does\nnot receive the odd, or fire the cold--from these examples (and there\nare many more of them) perhaps you may be able to arrive at the general\nconclusion, that not only opposites will not receive opposites, but also\nthat nothing which brings the opposite will admit the opposite of\nthat which it brings, in that to which it is brought. And here let me\nrecapitulate--for there is no harm in repetition. The number five will\nnot admit the nature of the even, any more than ten, which is the\ndouble of five, will admit the nature of the odd. The double has another\nopposite, and is not strictly opposed to the odd, but nevertheless\nrejects the odd altogether. Nor again will parts in the ratio 3:2, nor\nany fraction in which there is a half, nor again in which there is a\nthird, admit the notion of the whole, although they are not opposed to\nthe whole: You will agree?\n\nYes, he said, I entirely agree and go along with you in that.\n\nAnd now, he said, let us begin again; and do not you answer my question\nin the words in which I ask it: let me have not the old safe answer of\nwhich I spoke at first, but another equally safe, of which the truth\nwill be inferred by you from what has been just said. I mean that if any\none asks you 'what that is, of which the inherence makes the body\nhot,' you will reply not heat (this is what I call the safe and\nstupid answer), but fire, a far superior answer, which we are now in a\ncondition to give. Or if any one asks you 'why a body is diseased,' you\nwill not say from disease, but from fever; and instead of saying that\noddness is the cause of odd numbers, you will say that the monad is the\ncause of them: and so of things in general, as I dare say that you will\nunderstand sufficiently without my adducing any further examples.\n\nYes, he said, I quite understand you.\n\nTell me, then, what is that of which the inherence will render the body\nalive?\n\nThe soul, he replied.\n\nAnd is this always the case?\n\nYes, he said, of course.\n\nThen whatever the soul possesses, to that she comes bearing life?\n\nYes, certainly.\n\nAnd is there any opposite to life?\n\nThere is, he said.\n\nAnd what is that?\n\nDeath.\n\nThen the soul, as has been acknowledged, will never receive the opposite\nof what she brings.\n\nImpossible, replied Cebes.\n\nAnd now, he said, what did we just now call that principle which repels\nthe even?\n\nThe odd.\n\nAnd that principle which repels the musical, or the just?\n\nThe unmusical, he said, and the unjust.\n\nAnd what do we call the principle which does not admit of death?\n\nThe immortal, he said.\n\nAnd does the soul admit of death?\n\nNo.\n\nThen the soul is immortal?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nAnd may we say that this has been proven?\n\nYes, abundantly proven, Socrates, he replied.\n\nSupposing that the odd were imperishable, must not three be\nimperishable?\n\nOf course.\n\nAnd if that which is cold were imperishable, when the warm principle\ncame attacking the snow, must not the snow have retired whole and\nunmelted--for it could never have perished, nor could it have remained\nand admitted the heat?\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nAgain, if the uncooling or warm principle were imperishable, the fire\nwhen assailed by cold would not have perished or have been extinguished,\nbut would have gone away unaffected?\n\nCertainly, he said.\n\nAnd the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also\nimperishable, the soul when attacked by death cannot perish; for the\npreceding argument shows that the soul will not admit of death, or ever\nbe dead, any more than three or the odd number will admit of the even,\nor fire or the heat in the fire, of the cold. Yet a person may say: 'But\nalthough the odd will not become even at the approach of the even, why\nmay not the odd perish and the even take the place of the odd?' Now to\nhim who makes this objection, we cannot answer that the odd principle is\nimperishable; for this has not been acknowledged, but if this had been\nacknowledged, there would have been no difficulty in contending that\nat the approach of the even the odd principle and the number three took\ntheir departure; and the same argument would have held good of fire and\nheat and any other thing.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also\nimperishable, then the soul will be imperishable as well as immortal;\nbut if not, some other proof of her imperishableness will have to be\ngiven.\n\nNo other proof is needed, he said; for if the immortal, being eternal,\nis liable to perish, then nothing is imperishable.\n\nYes, replied Socrates, and yet all men will agree that God, and the\nessential form of life, and the immortal in general, will never perish.\n\nYes, all men, he said--that is true; and what is more, gods, if I am not\nmistaken, as well as men.\n\nSeeing then that the immortal is indestructible, must not the soul, if\nshe is immortal, be also imperishable?\n\nMost certainly.\n\nThen when death attacks a man, the mortal portion of him may be supposed\nto die, but the immortal retires at the approach of death and is\npreserved safe and sound?\n\nTrue.\n\nThen, Cebes, beyond question, the soul is immortal and imperishable, and\nour souls will truly exist in another world!\n\nI am convinced, Socrates, said Cebes, and have nothing more to object;\nbut if my friend Simmias, or any one else, has any further objection to\nmake, he had better speak out, and not keep silence, since I do not know\nto what other season he can defer the discussion, if there is anything\nwhich he wants to say or to have said.\n\nBut I have nothing more to say, replied Simmias; nor can I see any\nreason for doubt after what has been said. But I still feel and cannot\nhelp feeling uncertain in my own mind, when I think of the greatness of\nthe subject and the feebleness of man.\n\nYes, Simmias, replied Socrates, that is well said: and I may add that\nfirst principles, even if they appear certain, should be carefully\nconsidered; and when they are satisfactorily ascertained, then, with a\nsort of hesitating confidence in human reason, you may, I think, follow\nthe course of the argument; and if that be plain and clear, there will\nbe no need for any further enquiry.\n\nVery true.\n\nBut then, O my friends, he said, if the soul is really immortal, what\ncare should be taken of her, not only in respect of the portion of time\nwhich is called life, but of eternity! And the danger of neglecting her\nfrom this point of view does indeed appear to be awful. If death had\nonly been the end of all, the wicked would have had a good bargain in\ndying, for they would have been happily quit not only of their body, but\nof their own evil together with their souls. But now, inasmuch as the\nsoul is manifestly immortal, there is no release or salvation from evil\nexcept the attainment of the highest virtue and wisdom. For the soul\nwhen on her progress to the world below takes nothing with her but\nnurture and education; and these are said greatly to benefit or greatly\nto injure the departed, at the very beginning of his journey thither.\n\nFor after death, as they say, the genius of each individual, to whom\nhe belonged in life, leads him to a certain place in which the dead are\ngathered together, whence after judgment has been given they pass into\nthe world below, following the guide, who is appointed to conduct them\nfrom this world to the other: and when they have there received their\ndue and remained their time, another guide brings them back again after\nmany revolutions of ages. Now this way to the other world is not, as\nAeschylus says in the Telephus, a single and straight path--if that were\nso no guide would be needed, for no one could miss it; but there are\nmany partings of the road, and windings, as I infer from the rites and\nsacrifices which are offered to the gods below in places where three\nways meet on earth. The wise and orderly soul follows in the straight\npath and is conscious of her surroundings; but the soul which desires\nthe body, and which, as I was relating before, has long been fluttering\nabout the lifeless frame and the world of sight, is after many struggles\nand many sufferings hardly and with violence carried away by her\nattendant genius, and when she arrives at the place where the other\nsouls are gathered, if she be impure and have done impure deeds, whether\nfoul murders or other crimes which are the brothers of these, and the\nworks of brothers in crime--from that soul every one flees and turns\naway; no one will be her companion, no one her guide, but alone she\nwanders in extremity of evil until certain times are fulfilled, and\nwhen they are fulfilled, she is borne irresistibly to her own fitting\nhabitation; as every pure and just soul which has passed through life in\nthe company and under the guidance of the gods has also her own proper\nhome.\n\nNow the earth has divers wonderful regions, and is indeed in nature\nand extent very unlike the notions of geographers, as I believe on the\nauthority of one who shall be nameless.\n\nWhat do you mean, Socrates? said Simmias. I have myself heard many\ndescriptions of the earth, but I do not know, and I should very much\nlike to know, in which of these you put faith.\n\nAnd I, Simmias, replied Socrates, if I had the art of Glaucus would tell\nyou; although I know not that the art of Glaucus could prove the truth\nof my tale, which I myself should never be able to prove, and even if\nI could, I fear, Simmias, that my life would come to an end before the\nargument was completed. I may describe to you, however, the form and\nregions of the earth according to my conception of them.\n\nThat, said Simmias, will be enough.\n\nWell, then, he said, my conviction is, that the earth is a round body\nin the centre of the heavens, and therefore has no need of air or any\nsimilar force to be a support, but is kept there and hindered from\nfalling or inclining any way by the equability of the surrounding heaven\nand by her own equipoise. For that which, being in equipoise, is in the\ncentre of that which is equably diffused, will not incline any way in\nany degree, but will always remain in the same state and not deviate.\nAnd this is my first notion.\n\nWhich is surely a correct one, said Simmias.\n\nAlso I believe that the earth is very vast, and that we who dwell in\nthe region extending from the river Phasis to the Pillars of Heracles\ninhabit a small portion only about the sea, like ants or frogs about a\nmarsh, and that there are other inhabitants of many other like places;\nfor everywhere on the face of the earth there are hollows of various\nforms and sizes, into which the water and the mist and the lower\nair collect. But the true earth is pure and situated in the pure\nheaven--there are the stars also; and it is the heaven which is commonly\nspoken of by us as the ether, and of which our own earth is the sediment\ngathering in the hollows beneath. But we who live in these hollows are\ndeceived into the notion that we are dwelling above on the surface of\nthe earth; which is just as if a creature who was at the bottom of the\nsea were to fancy that he was on the surface of the water, and that the\nsea was the heaven through which he saw the sun and the other stars,\nhe having never come to the surface by reason of his feebleness and\nsluggishness, and having never lifted up his head and seen, nor ever\nheard from one who had seen, how much purer and fairer the world above\nis than his own. And such is exactly our case: for we are dwelling in a\nhollow of the earth, and fancy that we are on the surface; and the air\nwe call the heaven, in which we imagine that the stars move. But the\nfact is, that owing to our feebleness and sluggishness we are prevented\nfrom reaching the surface of the air: for if any man could arrive at the\nexterior limit, or take the wings of a bird and come to the top, then\nlike a fish who puts his head out of the water and sees this world, he\nwould see a world beyond; and, if the nature of man could sustain the\nsight, he would acknowledge that this other world was the place of the\ntrue heaven and the true light and the true earth. For our earth, and\nthe stones, and the entire region which surrounds us, are spoilt and\ncorroded, as in the sea all things are corroded by the brine, neither\nis there any noble or perfect growth, but caverns only, and sand, and an\nendless slough of mud: and even the shore is not to be compared to the\nfairer sights of this world. And still less is this our world to be\ncompared with the other. Of that upper earth which is under the heaven,\nI can tell you a charming tale, Simmias, which is well worth hearing.\n\nAnd we, Socrates, replied Simmias, shall be charmed to listen to you.\n\nThe tale, my friend, he said, is as follows:--In the first place, the\nearth, when looked at from above, is in appearance streaked like one of\nthose balls which have leather coverings in twelve pieces, and is decked\nwith various colours, of which the colours used by painters on earth are\nin a manner samples. But there the whole earth is made up of them,\nand they are brighter far and clearer than ours; there is a purple of\nwonderful lustre, also the radiance of gold, and the white which is in\nthe earth is whiter than any chalk or snow. Of these and other colours\nthe earth is made up, and they are more in number and fairer than the\neye of man has ever seen; the very hollows (of which I was speaking)\nfilled with air and water have a colour of their own, and are seen like\nlight gleaming amid the diversity of the other colours, so that the\nwhole presents a single and continuous appearance of variety in unity.\nAnd in this fair region everything that grows--trees, and flowers, and\nfruits--are in a like degree fairer than any here; and there are hills,\nhaving stones in them in a like degree smoother, and more transparent,\nand fairer in colour than our highly-valued emeralds and sardonyxes and\njaspers, and other gems, which are but minute fragments of them: for\nthere all the stones are like our precious stones, and fairer still\n(compare Republic). The reason is, that they are pure, and not, like\nour precious stones, infected or corroded by the corrupt briny elements\nwhich coagulate among us, and which breed foulness and disease both in\nearth and stones, as well as in animals and plants. They are the jewels\nof the upper earth, which also shines with gold and silver and the like,\nand they are set in the light of day and are large and abundant and in\nall places, making the earth a sight to gladden the beholder's eye.\nAnd there are animals and men, some in a middle region, others dwelling\nabout the air as we dwell about the sea; others in islands which the air\nflows round, near the continent: and in a word, the air is used by them\nas the water and the sea are by us, and the ether is to them what the\nair is to us. Moreover, the temperament of their seasons is such that\nthey have no disease, and live much longer than we do, and have\nsight and hearing and smell, and all the other senses, in far greater\nperfection, in the same proportion that air is purer than water or the\nether than air. Also they have temples and sacred places in which the\ngods really dwell, and they hear their voices and receive their answers,\nand are conscious of them and hold converse with them, and they see the\nsun, moon, and stars as they truly are, and their other blessedness is\nof a piece with this.\n\nSuch is the nature of the whole earth, and of the things which are\naround the earth; and there are divers regions in the hollows on the\nface of the globe everywhere, some of them deeper and more extended than\nthat which we inhabit, others deeper but with a narrower opening\nthan ours, and some are shallower and also wider. All have numerous\nperforations, and there are passages broad and narrow in the interior of\nthe earth, connecting them with one another; and there flows out of and\ninto them, as into basins, a vast tide of water, and huge subterranean\nstreams of perennial rivers, and springs hot and cold, and a great fire,\nand great rivers of fire, and streams of liquid mud, thin or thick (like\nthe rivers of mud in Sicily, and the lava streams which follow them),\nand the regions about which they happen to flow are filled up with them.\nAnd there is a swinging or see-saw in the interior of the earth which\nmoves all this up and down, and is due to the following cause:--There is\na chasm which is the vastest of them all, and pierces right through the\nwhole earth; this is that chasm which Homer describes in the words,--\n\n     'Far off, where is the inmost depth beneath the earth;'\n\nand which he in other places, and many other poets, have called\nTartarus. And the see-saw is caused by the streams flowing into and out\nof this chasm, and they each have the nature of the soil through which\nthey flow. And the reason why the streams are always flowing in and out,\nis that the watery element has no bed or bottom, but is swinging and\nsurging up and down, and the surrounding wind and air do the same; they\nfollow the water up and down, hither and thither, over the earth--just\nas in the act of respiration the air is always in process of inhalation\nand exhalation;--and the wind swinging with the water in and out\nproduces fearful and irresistible blasts: when the waters retire with\na rush into the lower parts of the earth, as they are called, they flow\nthrough the earth in those regions, and fill them up like water raised\nby a pump, and then when they leave those regions and rush back hither,\nthey again fill the hollows here, and when these are filled, flow\nthrough subterranean channels and find their way to their several\nplaces, forming seas, and lakes, and rivers, and springs. Thence they\nagain enter the earth, some of them making a long circuit into many\nlands, others going to a few places and not so distant; and again fall\ninto Tartarus, some at a point a good deal lower than that at which they\nrose, and others not much lower, but all in some degree lower than the\npoint from which they came. And some burst forth again on the opposite\nside, and some on the same side, and some wind round the earth with one\nor many folds like the coils of a serpent, and descend as far as they\ncan, but always return and fall into the chasm. The rivers flowing in\neither direction can descend only to the centre and no further, for\nopposite to the rivers is a precipice.\n\nNow these rivers are many, and mighty, and diverse, and there are four\nprincipal ones, of which the greatest and outermost is that called\nOceanus, which flows round the earth in a circle; and in the opposite\ndirection flows Acheron, which passes under the earth through desert\nplaces into the Acherusian lake: this is the lake to the shores of\nwhich the souls of the many go when they are dead, and after waiting an\nappointed time, which is to some a longer and to some a shorter time,\nthey are sent back to be born again as animals. The third river passes\nout between the two, and near the place of outlet pours into a vast\nregion of fire, and forms a lake larger than the Mediterranean Sea,\nboiling with water and mud; and proceeding muddy and turbid, and winding\nabout the earth, comes, among other places, to the extremities of the\nAcherusian Lake, but mingles not with the waters of the lake, and after\nmaking many coils about the earth plunges into Tartarus at a deeper\nlevel. This is that Pyriphlegethon, as the stream is called, which\nthrows up jets of fire in different parts of the earth. The fourth river\ngoes out on the opposite side, and falls first of all into a wild and\nsavage region, which is all of a dark-blue colour, like lapis lazuli;\nand this is that river which is called the Stygian river, and falls into\nand forms the Lake Styx, and after falling into the lake and receiving\nstrange powers in the waters, passes under the earth, winding round\nin the opposite direction, and comes near the Acherusian lake from the\nopposite side to Pyriphlegethon. And the water of this river too mingles\nwith no other, but flows round in a circle and falls into Tartarus over\nagainst Pyriphlegethon; and the name of the river, as the poets say, is\nCocytus.\n\nSuch is the nature of the other world; and when the dead arrive at the\nplace to which the genius of each severally guides them, first of all,\nthey have sentence passed upon them, as they have lived well and piously\nor not. And those who appear to have lived neither well nor ill, go to\nthe river Acheron, and embarking in any vessels which they may find, are\ncarried in them to the lake, and there they dwell and are purified of\ntheir evil deeds, and having suffered the penalty of the wrongs which\nthey have done to others, they are absolved, and receive the rewards of\ntheir good deeds, each of them according to his deserts. But those who\nappear to be incurable by reason of the greatness of their crimes--who\nhave committed many and terrible deeds of sacrilege, murders foul and\nviolent, or the like--such are hurled into Tartarus which is their\nsuitable destiny, and they never come out. Those again who have\ncommitted crimes, which, although great, are not irremediable--who in\na moment of anger, for example, have done violence to a father or a\nmother, and have repented for the remainder of their lives, or, who\nhave taken the life of another under the like extenuating\ncircumstances--these are plunged into Tartarus, the pains of which they\nare compelled to undergo for a year, but at the end of the year the\nwave casts them forth--mere homicides by way of Cocytus, parricides and\nmatricides by Pyriphlegethon--and they are borne to the Acherusian lake,\nand there they lift up their voices and call upon the victims whom they\nhave slain or wronged, to have pity on them, and to be kind to them,\nand let them come out into the lake. And if they prevail, then they come\nforth and cease from their troubles; but if not, they are carried back\nagain into Tartarus and from thence into the rivers unceasingly, until\nthey obtain mercy from those whom they have wronged: for that is the\nsentence inflicted upon them by their judges. Those too who have been\npre-eminent for holiness of life are released from this earthly prison,\nand go to their pure home which is above, and dwell in the purer earth;\nand of these, such as have duly purified themselves with philosophy live\nhenceforth altogether without the body, in mansions fairer still which\nmay not be described, and of which the time would fail me to tell.\n\nWherefore, Simmias, seeing all these things, what ought not we to do\nthat we may obtain virtue and wisdom in this life? Fair is the prize,\nand the hope great!\n\nA man of sense ought not to say, nor will I be very confident, that the\ndescription which I have given of the soul and her mansions is exactly\ntrue. But I do say that, inasmuch as the soul is shown to be immortal,\nhe may venture to think, not improperly or unworthily, that something of\nthe kind is true. The venture is a glorious one, and he ought to comfort\nhimself with words like these, which is the reason why I lengthen out\nthe tale. Wherefore, I say, let a man be of good cheer about his soul,\nwho having cast away the pleasures and ornaments of the body as alien to\nhim and working harm rather than good, has sought after the pleasures of\nknowledge; and has arrayed the soul, not in some foreign attire, but\nin her own proper jewels, temperance, and justice, and courage, and\nnobility, and truth--in these adorned she is ready to go on her journey\nto the world below, when her hour comes. You, Simmias and Cebes, and all\nother men, will depart at some time or other. Me already, as the tragic\npoet would say, the voice of fate calls. Soon I must drink the poison;\nand I think that I had better repair to the bath first, in order that\nthe women may not have the trouble of washing my body after I am dead.\n\nWhen he had done speaking, Crito said: And have you any commands for us,\nSocrates--anything to say about your children, or any other matter in\nwhich we can serve you?\n\nNothing particular, Crito, he replied: only, as I have always told\nyou, take care of yourselves; that is a service which you may be ever\nrendering to me and mine and to all of us, whether you promise to do so\nor not. But if you have no thought for yourselves, and care not to walk\naccording to the rule which I have prescribed for you, not now for the\nfirst time, however much you may profess or promise at the moment, it\nwill be of no avail.\n\nWe will do our best, said Crito: And in what way shall we bury you?\n\nIn any way that you like; but you must get hold of me, and take care\nthat I do not run away from you. Then he turned to us, and added with a\nsmile:--I cannot make Crito believe that I am the same Socrates who have\nbeen talking and conducting the argument; he fancies that I am the other\nSocrates whom he will soon see, a dead body--and he asks, How shall he\nbury me? And though I have spoken many words in the endeavour to show\nthat when I have drunk the poison I shall leave you and go to the joys\nof the blessed,--these words of mine, with which I was comforting you\nand myself, have had, as I perceive, no effect upon Crito. And therefore\nI want you to be surety for me to him now, as at the trial he was surety\nto the judges for me: but let the promise be of another sort; for he\nwas surety for me to the judges that I would remain, and you must be my\nsurety to him that I shall not remain, but go away and depart; and then\nhe will suffer less at my death, and not be grieved when he sees my body\nbeing burned or buried. I would not have him sorrow at my hard lot, or\nsay at the burial, Thus we lay out Socrates, or, Thus we follow him to\nthe grave or bury him; for false words are not only evil in themselves,\nbut they infect the soul with evil. Be of good cheer, then, my dear\nCrito, and say that you are burying my body only, and do with that\nwhatever is usual, and what you think best.\n\nWhen he had spoken these words, he arose and went into a chamber to\nbathe; Crito followed him and told us to wait. So we remained behind,\ntalking and thinking of the subject of discourse, and also of the\ngreatness of our sorrow; he was like a father of whom we were being\nbereaved, and we were about to pass the rest of our lives as orphans.\nWhen he had taken the bath his children were brought to him--(he had two\nyoung sons and an elder one); and the women of his family also came,\nand he talked to them and gave them a few directions in the presence of\nCrito; then he dismissed them and returned to us.\n\nNow the hour of sunset was near, for a good deal of time had passed\nwhile he was within. When he came out, he sat down with us again after\nhis bath, but not much was said. Soon the jailer, who was the servant of\nthe Eleven, entered and stood by him, saying:--To you, Socrates, whom\nI know to be the noblest and gentlest and best of all who ever came to\nthis place, I will not impute the angry feelings of other men, who rage\nand swear at me, when, in obedience to the authorities, I bid them drink\nthe poison--indeed, I am sure that you will not be angry with me; for\nothers, as you are aware, and not I, are to blame. And so fare you well,\nand try to bear lightly what must needs be--you know my errand. Then\nbursting into tears he turned away and went out.\n\nSocrates looked at him and said: I return your good wishes, and will do\nas you bid. Then turning to us, he said, How charming the man is: since\nI have been in prison he has always been coming to see me, and at times\nhe would talk to me, and was as good to me as could be, and now see how\ngenerously he sorrows on my account. We must do as he says, Crito; and\ntherefore let the cup be brought, if the poison is prepared: if not, let\nthe attendant prepare some.\n\nYet, said Crito, the sun is still upon the hill-tops, and I know that\nmany a one has taken the draught late, and after the announcement has\nbeen made to him, he has eaten and drunk, and enjoyed the society of his\nbeloved; do not hurry--there is time enough.\n\nSocrates said: Yes, Crito, and they of whom you speak are right in so\nacting, for they think that they will be gainers by the delay; but I am\nright in not following their example, for I do not think that I should\ngain anything by drinking the poison a little later; I should only be\nridiculous in my own eyes for sparing and saving a life which is already\nforfeit. Please then to do as I say, and not to refuse me.\n\nCrito made a sign to the servant, who was standing by; and he went out,\nand having been absent for some time, returned with the jailer\ncarrying the cup of poison. Socrates said: You, my good friend, who\nare experienced in these matters, shall give me directions how I am to\nproceed. The man answered: You have only to walk about until your legs\nare heavy, and then to lie down, and the poison will act. At the same\ntime he handed the cup to Socrates, who in the easiest and gentlest\nmanner, without the least fear or change of colour or feature, looking\nat the man with all his eyes, Echecrates, as his manner was, took the\ncup and said: What do you say about making a libation out of this cup\nto any god? May I, or not? The man answered: We only prepare, Socrates,\njust so much as we deem enough. I understand, he said: but I may\nand must ask the gods to prosper my journey from this to the other\nworld--even so--and so be it according to my prayer. Then raising the\ncup to his lips, quite readily and cheerfully he drank off the poison.\nAnd hitherto most of us had been able to control our sorrow; but now\nwhen we saw him drinking, and saw too that he had finished the draught,\nwe could no longer forbear, and in spite of myself my own tears were\nflowing fast; so that I covered my face and wept, not for him, but at\nthe thought of my own calamity in having to part from such a friend. Nor\nwas I the first; for Crito, when he found himself unable to restrain his\ntears, had got up, and I followed; and at that moment, Apollodorus, who\nhad been weeping all the time, broke out in a loud and passionate cry\nwhich made cowards of us all. Socrates alone retained his calmness: What\nis this strange outcry? he said. I sent away the women mainly in order\nthat they might not misbehave in this way, for I have been told that\na man should die in peace. Be quiet, then, and have patience. When we\nheard his words we were ashamed, and refrained our tears; and he walked\nabout until, as he said, his legs began to fail, and then he lay on his\nback, according to the directions, and the man who gave him the poison\nnow and then looked at his feet and legs; and after a while he pressed\nhis foot hard, and asked him if he could feel; and he said, No; and then\nhis leg, and so upwards and upwards, and showed us that he was cold and\nstiff. And he felt them himself, and said: When the poison reaches the\nheart, that will be the end. He was beginning to grow cold about the\ngroin, when he uncovered his face, for he had covered himself up,\nand said--they were his last words--he said: Crito, I owe a cock to\nAsclepius; will you remember to pay the debt? The debt shall be\npaid, said Crito; is there anything else? There was no answer to\nthis question; but in a minute or two a movement was heard, and the\nattendants uncovered him; his eyes were set, and Crito closed his eyes\nand mouth.\n\nSuch was the end, Echecrates, of our friend; concerning whom I may\ntruly say, that of all the men of his time whom I have known, he was the\nwisest and justest and best.","title":"Phaedo","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":42778}