The Phædo — Plato
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ΦΑΙΔΩΝ
Translation/edition: Thomas Taylor (1804)
Language: English
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## The Phædo

[57a] Echecrates: Were you present, Phædo, with Socrates that day when he drank the poison in prison? or did you hear an account of it from any other?
[57a] Phædo: I myself, Echecrates, was present.
[57b] Echecrates: What then was his discourse previous to his death? and how did he die? [57c] for I should be very glad to hear the account: for scarcely does any one of the Phliasian¹ citizens now visit Athens; [57d] and it is some time since any stranger has arrived from thence who might afford us some clear information about these particulars. All indeed that we heard was, that he died through drinking the poison; but he who acquainted us with this had nothing further to say about other particulars of his death.
[57e] Phædo: What! did you not hear the manner in which he was tried?
[58a] Echecrates: Yes: a certain person related this to us; and we wondered, as his sentence was passed so long ago, that he should not die till a considerable time after. What then, Phædo, was the reason of this?
[58a] Phædo: A certain fortune happened to him, Echecrates: for, the day before his trial, the stern of that ship was crowned which the Athenians send every year to Delos.
[58a] Echecrates: But what is the meaning of this?
[58b] Phædo: This is the ship, as the Athenians say, in which Theseus formerly carried the twice seven young children to Crete, and preserved both them and himself. The Athenians, therefore, as it is reported, then vowed to Apollo, that if the children were preserved, they would lead every year a sacred spectacle to Delos; which, from that time, they regularly send every year to the God. As soon, therefore, as the preparations for the sacred spectacle commence, the law orders that the city shall be purified, and that no one shall be put to death by a public decree till the ship has arrived at Delos, and again returned to Athens. But this sometimes takes a long time in accomplishing, when the winds impede their passage; but the festival itself commences when the priest of Apollo has crowned the stern of the ship. Now this, as I told you, took place on the day preceding the trial; and on this account that length of time happened to Socrates in prison between his sentence and his death.
[58c] Echecrates: And what, Phædo, were the circumstances respecting his death? what were his sayings and actions? and who of his familiars were present with him? or would not the magistrates suffer that any should be admitted to him, so that he died deprived of the presence of his friends?
[58c] Phædo: By no means; but some, and indeed many, were present with him.
[58c] Echecrates: Endeavour to relate all these particulars to us in the clearest manner, unless you have some business which may prevent you.
[58d] Phædo: But I am at leisure, and will endeavour to gratify your request: for indeed to call to mind Socrates, whether I myself speak or hear others, is to me always the most pleasant of all things.
[58d] Echecrates: Truly, Phædo, others who hear you will be affected in the same manner: but endeavour, as much as you are able, to narrate every circumstance in the most accurate manner.
[58e] Phædo: And indeed I myself, who was present, was wonderfully affected; for I was not influenced with pity, like one present at the death of a familiar: for this man, O Echecrates, appeared to me to be blessed, when I considered his manner and discourses, and his intrepid and generous death. Hence it appeared to me, that he did not descend to Hades without a divine destiny, but that there also he would be in a happy condition, if this can ever be asserted of any one. [59a] On this account I was entirely uninfluenced with pity, though apparently I ought not to have been, on so mournful an occasion; nor yet again was I influenced by pleasure through philosophical converse, as I used to be; for our discourses were of this kind. But, to speak ingenuously, a certain wonderful passion, and an unusual mixture of pleasure and grief, were present with me, produced by considering that he must in a very short time die. And, indeed, all of us who were present were nearly affected in the same manner, at one time laughing, and at another weeping: but this was eminently the case with one of us, Apollodorus; for you know the man, and his manner of behaviour.
[59b] Echecrates: How is it possible that I should not?
[59b] Phædo: He, therefore, was remarkably affected in this manner; and I myself, and others, experienced great trouble and confusion.
[59b] Echecrates: Who then, Phædo, happened to be present?
[59b] Phædo: Of the natives, Apollodorus, Critobulus, and his father Crito, were present; likewise Hermogenes, Epigenes, Æschines, and Antisthenes². And besides these, Ctesippus³ the Pœanian, Menexenus, and some other Athenians were present: but Plato I think was sick.
[59c] Echecrates: Were there no strangers?
[59c] Phædo: Yes: Simmias the Theban, Cebes⁴, and Phædondes; and among the Megarensians, Euclid and Terpsion.
[59c] Echecrates: But what! were not Aristippus⁵ and Cleombrotus there?
[59c] Phædo: By no means: for they were said to be at Ægina.
[59d] Echecrates: Was any other person present?
[59d] Phædo: I think those I have mentioned were nearly all.
[59d] Echecrates: Will you now then relate what were his discourses?
[59d] Phædo: I will endeavour to relate the whole to you from the beginning. For we were always accustomed to visit Socrates, myself and others meeting in the morning at the place where he was tried, for it was very near to the prison. Here we waited every day till the prison was opened, discoursing among ourselves, for it was not opened very early in the morning; but, as soon as we could be admitted, we went to Socrates, and generally spent the whole day with him. And then, indeed, we met together sooner than usual; for the day before, when we left the prison, we heard that the ship from Delos was returned. We determined, therefore, among ourselves, to come very early in the morning to the usual place; and we met together accordingly: [59e] but when we arrived, the goaler, who used to attend upon us, told us to wait, and not enter till he called us. For, says he, the eleven magistrates are now freeing Socrates from his bonds, and announcing to him that he must die to-day. But not long after this he returned, and ordered us to enter. When we entered, we found Socrates just freed from his fetters, but Xantippe (you know her) holding one of his children, and sitting by him. As soon, therefore, as Xantippe saw us, she began to lament in a most violent manner, and said such things as are usual with women in affliction; [60a] and among the rest, Socrates (says she), this is the last time your friends will speak to you, or you to them. But Socrates looking upon Crito, Crito (says he), let some one take her home. Upon which some of Crito’s domestics led her away, beating herself, and weeping bitterly. But Socrates, sitting upright on the bed, drew up his leg, and, stroking it with his hand, said at the same time, What a wonderful thing is this, my friends, which men call the pleasant and agreeable! [60b] and how admirably is it affected by nature towards that which appears to be its contrary, the painful! for they are unwilling to be present with us both together; and yet, if any person pursues and receives the one, he is almost always under a necessity of receiving the other, as if both of them depended from one summit. And it seems to me (says he), that if Æsop had perceived this he would have composed a fable from it, and would have informed us, that Divinity, being willing to reconcile contending natures, but not being able to accomplish this design, conjoined their summits in a nature one and the same; and that hence it comes to pass, that whoever partakes of the one is soon after connecte d with the other. And this, as it appears, is the case with myself at present; for the pain which was before in my leg, through the bond, is now succeeded by a pleasant sensation.
[60c] But here Cebes replying, said, By Jupiter, Socrates, you have very opportunely caused me to recollect: for certain persons have asked me concerning those poems which you composed, viz. the Fables of Æsop which you versified, and your exordium to Apollo, and other pieces of composition; and, among the rest, Evenus lately inquired with what design you did this after coming here, when before you have never attempted any thing of the kind. If, therefore, you have any desire that I may have an answer ready for Evenus, when he again interrogates me on this occasion (and I am certain that he will do so), tell me what I must say to him. [60d] You may truly inform him (says he), Cebes, that I did not compose these verses with any design of rivalling him, or his poems (for I knew that this would be no easy matter); but that I might try to explore the meaning of certain dreams, and that I might make a proper expiation, if this should happen to be the music which they have often ordered me to exercise. For in the past part of my life the same dream has often occurred to me, exhibiting at different times a different appearance, yet always advising me the same thing; for it said, Socrates, make and exercise music. [60e] And indeed, in the former part of my life, I considered that this dream persuaded and exhorted me respecting what I should do, in the same manner as those in the races are exhorted; for, by persuading me to exercise music, it signified that I should labour in philosophy, which is the greatest music. But now since my sentence has taken place, and the festival of the God has retarded my death, it appeared to me to be necessary, that, if the music which the dream has so often exhorted me to undertake should happen to [61a] be of the popular sort, I should by no means resist its persuasions, but comply with the exhortation: for I considered that it would be more safe for me not to depart from hence before I had made an expiation by composing verses, and obeying the dream. Thus, in the first place, I composed some verses in honour of the God to whom the present festival belongs; but after the God, considering it necessary that he who designs to be a poet should make fables and not discourses, and knowing that I myself was not a mythologist, on these accounts I versified the fables of Æsop, which were at hand, and were known to me; and began with those first, that first presented themselves to my view.
[61a] Give this answer, Cebes, to Evenus: at the same time bid him farewell for me; and tell him, if he is wise he will follow me. But I shall depart, as it seems, to-day; for such are the orders of the Athenians.—Upon this Simmias replied, What is this, Socrates, which you command me to tell Evenus? for I often meet with him; and from what I know of him, I am certain that he will never willingly comply with your request.—What then [61b] (says Socrates), is not Evenus a philosopher?—To me he appears to be so (says Simmias).—Both [61c] Evenus, therefore, will be willing to follow me, and every one who is worthy to partake of philosophy; not perhaps indeed by violently⁶ depriving himself of life, for this they say is unlawful. And at the same time, as he thus spoke, he withdrew his leg from the bed, and placed it on the ground; and afterwards continued to discourse with us, in a sitting posture, the remaining part of the time. Cebes⁸, therefore, inquired of him, How is this to be understood, Socrates, that it is not lawful to commit suicide, and yet that a philosopher should be willing to follow one who is about to die?—What (says he), Cebes, have not you and Simmias heard your familiar Philolaus⁹ discourse concerning things of this kind?— We have not, Socrates, heard [61d] any thing clearly on this subject.—But I (says Socrates) speak in consequence of having heard; and what I have heard I will not enviously conceal from you. And perhaps it is becoming in the most eminent degree, that he who is about to depart thither should consider and mythologize about this departure: I mean, what kind of a thing we should think it to be. For what else can such a one be more properly employed about, till the setting¹⁰ of the sun?
[61e] On what account then, Socrates, says Cebes, do they say that it is unlawful for a man to kill himself? for I myself have some time since heard from Philolaus, when he resided with us, and from some others, that it was not proper to commit such an action; [62a] but I never heard any thing clear upon the subject from any one.—Prepare yourself, then (says Socrates), for perhaps you may be satisfied in this particular: and perhaps it may appear to you wonderful, if this alone of everything else is something simple, and by no means happens to a man like other events, but still remains the same, even with respect to those to whom it is better to die than to live; though, perhaps, it may seem wonderful to you, that it should be better for those men to die, in whom it would be unholy to benefit themselves by suicide, and who ought to expect some other, as a benefactor on this occasion.— Then Cebes, gently laughing, Jupiter knows that (says he, speaking in his own tongue).—For this indeed (says Socrates) appears to be irrational; [62b] and yet, perhaps, it is not so, but has a certain reason on its side. For the discourse which is delivered about these particulars, in the arcana of the mysteries, that we are placed as in a certain prison secured by a guard, and that it is not proper for any one to free himself from this confinement, and make his escape, appears to me to be an assertion of great moment, and not easy to be understood. But this appears to me, O Cebes, to be well said, that the Gods take care of us, and that we who are men are one of the possessions belonging to the Gods. Or does not this appear to you to be the case?—It does to me (says Cebes).—Would not you, therefore, if any one of your servants¹¹ should destroy himself, when at the same time you did not signify that you was willing he should die, would you not be angry with him? and if you had any punishment, would you not chastise him?—Entirely so (says he).—Perhaps, therefore, it is not irrational to assert, that a man ought not to kill himself before Divinity lays him under a certain necessity¹² of doing so, such as I am subject to at present.
[62c] This, indeed (says Cebes), appears to be reasonable. [62d] But that which you said just now, Socrates, that philosophers would very readily be willing to die, appears to be absurd, if what we have asserted is agreeable to reason, that Divinity¹³ takes care of us, and that we are one of his possessions; for it is irrational to suppose that the most prudent men should not be grieved, when departing from that servitude in which they are taken care of by the Gods, who are the best of govenors. For such a one will by no means think that he shall be better taken care of when he becomes free: [62e] but some one who is deprived of intellect may perhaps think that he should fly from his master, and will not consider that he ought not to fly from a good master, but that he should by all means abide in his service. Hence he will depart from him in a most irrational manner: but he who is endowed with intellect will desire to live perpetually with one who is better than himself. And thus, Socrates, it is reasonable that the contrary of what you just now said should take place: for it is proper that the prudent, when about to die, should be sorrowful, but that the foolish should rejoice. [63a] —Socrates, therefore, upon hearing this, seemed to me to be pleased with the reasoning of Cebes; and loking upon us, Cebes (says he) never suffers any thing to pass without investigation, and is by no means willing to admit immediately the truth of an assertion.—But indeed (says Simmias), Cebes, O Socrates, appears to me to say something now to the purpose. For with what design can men, truly wise, fly from masters who are better than themselves, and, without any reluctance, free themselves from their servitude? And Cebes appears to me to direct his discourse to you, because you so easily endure to leave us, and those beneficent rulers the Gods, as you yourself confess.— You speak justly (says Socrates); for I think you mean that I ought to make my defence, as if I was upon my trial.—By all means, says Simmias.
[63b] Be it so then (says Socrates): and I shall endeavour that this my apology may appear more reasonable to you than it did to my judges. For, with respect to myself (says he), O Simmias and Cebes, unless I thought that I should depart, in the first place, to other¹⁴ Gods who are wise and good, and, in the next place, to men who have migrated from the present life, and are better than any among us, it would be unjust not to be troubled at death: [63c] but now believe for certain, that I hope to dwell with good men; though this, indeed, I will not confidently assert: but that I shall go to Gods who are perfectly good rulers, you may consider as an assertion which, if any thing of the kind is so, will be strenuously affirmed by me. So that, on this account, I shall not be afflicted at dying, but shall entertain a good hope that something remains for the dead; and, as it was formerly said, that it will be much better hereafter for the good than the evil.
[63d] —What then, Socrates (says Simmias), would you have departed with such a conception in your intellect, without communicating it to us? Or will you not render us also partakers of it? For it appears to me, that this will be a common good; and at the same time it will be an apology for you, if you can persuade us to believe what you say.
[63d] —I will endeavour to do so (says he). But let us first consider what that is which it appears to me Crito some time since was desirous of saying. What else (says Crito) should it be, Socrates, except what he who is to give you the poison has long ago told me, that you ought to speak as little as possible? For he says that those who dispute become too much heated, and that nothing of this kind ought to be introduced with the poison, since those who do not observe this caution are sometimes obliged to drink the poison twice or thrice.
[63d] —Let him (says [63e] Socrates) only take care of his proper employment, as one who must administer the poison twice; and even, if occasion requires, thrice. I was almost certain (says Crito) that this would be your answer; but he enjoined me to do this, as I said, some time since. Permit him to do so (says Socrates); but I am desirous of rendering to you, as my judges, the reason, as it appears to me, why a man who has truly passed his life in the exercise of philosophy should with great propriety be confident when about to die, and should possess good hopes of obtaining the greatest advantages after death; and in what manner this takes place I will endeavour, Simmias and Cebes, to explain:
[63e] Those who are conversant with philosophy in a proper manner, seem to have concealed from others that the whole of their study is nothing else than how to die and be dead¹⁵. If this then is true, it would certainly be absurd, that those who have made this alone their study through the whole of life, should when it arrives be afflicted at a circumstance upon which they have before bestowed all their attention and labour. [64a] But here Simmias laughing, By Jupiter (says he), Socrates, you cause me to laugh, though I am very far from desiring to do so at present: for I think that the multitude, if they heard this, would consider it as well said respecting philosophers; and that men of the present day would perfectly agree with you, that philosophers should in reality desire death, and that they are by no means ignorant that men of this description deserve to suffer death. [64b] And indeed, Simmias, they would speak the truth, except in asserting that they are not ignorant of it: for both the manner in which true philosophers desire to die, and how they are worthy of death, is concealed from them. But let us bid farewell to such as these (says he), and discourse among ourselves: and to begin, Do you think that death is any thing? Simmias replied, Entirely so. Is it any thing else than a liberation of soul from body? and is not this to die¹⁶, for the body to be liberated from the soul, and to subsist apart by itself? and likewise for the soul to be liberated from the body, and to be essentially separate? Is death any thing else but this?
[64b] —It is no other (says Simmias).
[64c] — Consider then, excellent man, whether the same things appear to you as to me; for from hence I think we shall understand better the subjects of our investigation. Does it appear to you that the philosopher is a man who is anxiously concerned about things which are called pleasures, such as meats and drinks?
[64d] —In the smallest degree, Socrates (says Simmias).
[64d] —But what, is he sedulously employed in venereal concerns?
[64d] —By no means.
[64d] —Or does such a man appear to you to esteem other particulars which regard the observance of the body, such as the acquisition of excellent garments and sandals, and other ornaments of the body? whether does he appear to you to esteem or despise such particulars, employing them only so far as an abundant necessity requires?
[64d] —A true philosopher (says Simmias) appears to me to be one who will despise every thing of this kind.
[64e] —Does it, therefore, appear to you (says Socrates), that the whole employment of such a one will not consist in things which regard the body, but in separating himself from the body as much as possible, and in converting himself to his soul?
[64e] —It does appear so to me.
[65a] —Is it not, therefore, first of all evident, in things of this kind, that a philosopher, in a manner far surpassing other men, separates his soul in the highest degree from communion with the body?
[65a] —It appears so.
[65a] —And to the many, O Simmias, it appears that he who accounts nothing of this kind pleasant, and who does not partake of them, is not worthy to live; but that he nearly approaches to death who is not concerned about the pleasures which subsist through the body.
[65a] —You entirely speak the truth.
[65a] But what with respect to the acquisition¹⁷ of wisdom? Is the body an impediment or not, if any one associates it in the investigation of wisdom? What I mean is this: Have sight and hearing in men any truth¹⁸? or is the case such as the poets perpetually sing, that
[65b] “We nothing accurate or see or hear?”
[65b] Though if these corporeal senses are neither accurate nor clear, by no means can the rest be so: for all the others are in a certain respect more depraved than these. Or does it not appear so to you?
[65b] —Entirely so, says he.
[65c] — When then does the soul touch upon the truth? for, when it endeavours to consider any thing in conjunction with the body, it is evidently then deceived by the body.
[65c] —You speak the truth.
[65c] —Must not, therefore, something of reality become manifest to the soul, in the energy of reasoning, if this is ever the case?
[65c] —It must.
[65c] —But the soul then reasons in the most beautiful manner, when it is disturbed by nothing belonging to the body, neither by hearing, nor sight, nor pain, nor any pleasure, but subsists in the most eminent degree, itself by itself, bidding farewell to the body, and, as much as possible neither communicating nor being in contact with it, extends itself towards real being.
[65c] —These things are so.
[65c] —Does not the soul of a philosopher, therefore, in these employments, despise the body in the most eminent degree, and, flying from it, seek to become essentially subsisting by itself?
[65d] —It appears so.
[65d] —But what shall we say, Simmias, about such things as the following? Do we say that the just itself¹⁹ is something or nothing?
[65d] —By Jupiter, we say it is something.
[65d] —And do we not also say, that the beautiful and the good are each of them something?
[65d] —How is it possible we should not?
[65d] —But did you ever at any time behold any one of these with your eyes?
[65d] —By no means, says he.
[65d] —But did you ever touch upon these with any other corporeal sense? (but I speak concerning all of them; as for instance, about magnitude, health, strength, and, in one word, about the essence of all the rest, and which each truly possesses.) Is then the most true nature of these perceived through the ministry of the body? or rather shall we not say, that whoever among us prepares himself to think dianoëtically in the most eminent and accurate manner about each particular object of his speculation, such a one will accede the nearest possible to the knowledge of each?
[65d] —Entirely so. —Will [65e] not he, therefore, accomplish this in the most pure manner, who in the highest degree betakes himself to each through his dianoëtic power, neither employing sight in conjunction with the dianoëtic energy, nor attracting any other sense, together with his reasoning; but who, exercising a dianoëtic energy by itself sincere, at the same time endeavours to hunt²¹ after every thing which has true being subsisting by itself separate and pure; and who in the most eminent degree is liberated from the eyes and ears, and in short from the whole body, as disturbing the soul, and not suffering it to acquire truth and wisdom by its conjunction? Will not such a man, Simmias, procure for himself real being, if this can ever be asserted of any one?
[65e] —You speak the truth, Socrates (says Simmias), in a transcendent²² manner.
[66a] Is it not necessary, therefore (says Socrates), from hence, that an opinion of this kind should be present with genuine philosophers in such a manner, that they will speak among themselves as follows: In the consideration of things, this opinion, like a certain path, leads us in conjunction with reason from the vulgar track, that, as long as we are connected with a body, and our soul is contaminated with such an evil, we can never sufficiently obtain the object of our desire; and this object we have asserted to be truth? [66b] For the body²³ subjects us to innumerable occupations through necessary aliment, and fills us with love, desire, fear, all various images, and a multitude of trifling concerns; not to mention that, if we are invaded by certain diseases, we are hindered by them in our hunting after real being; so that, as it is said, we can never truly, and in reality, acquire wisdom through the body. [66c] For nothing else but the body and its desires cause wars, seditions, and contests, of every kind: for all wars arise through the possession of wealth; and we are compelled to acquire riches through the body, becoming subservient to its cultivation; so that on all these accounts we have no leisure for the exercise of philosophy. But this is the extremity of all evils, that if at any time we are at leisure from its attendance, and betake ourselves to the speculation of any [66d] thing, then invading us on all sides in our investigations, it causes agitations and tumults, and so vehemently impels us, that we are not able through its presence to perceive the truth; but it is in reality demonstrated to us, that, if we are designed to know any thing purely, we must be liberated from the body, and behold things with the soul itself. And then, as it appears, we shall obtain the object of our desire, and of which we profess ourselves lovers, viz. wisdom, when we are dead, as our discourse evinces; but by no means²⁴ while we are alive: [66e] for, if we can know nothing purely in conjunction with the body, one of these two consequences must ensue, either that we can never possess knowledge, or that we must obtain it after death; for then the soul will subsist apart by itself, separate from the body, but never before this takes place; and while we live in the body, as it appears, we shall approach in the nearest manner possible to knowledge, if in the most eminent degree we have no association with the body, nor any communication with it (except what the greatest necessity²⁵ requires), nor are filled with its nature, but purify ourselves from its defiling connection, till Divinity itself dissolves our bonds. And thus being pure, and liberated from the madness of body, it is proper to believe that we shall then associate with others who are similarly pure, and shall through ourselves know every thing genuine and sincere: and this perhaps is the truth itself; for it is by no means lawful that the pure should be touched by that which is impure. And such, O Simmias, in my opinion, ought to be the discourse and sentiments of all such as are lovers of learning in a proper manner. Or does it not seem so to you?
[67a] —It does, Socrates, more so than any thing.
[67b] If all this then (says Socrates) is true, my friend, much hope remains for him who arrives at that place to which I am now departing, that he shall there, if ever any where, sufficiently obtain that for the sake of which we take so much pains in the present life: so that the journey which is now assigned me will be accompanied with good hope; as will likewise be the case with any other man who thinks that he ought to prepare his dianoëtic part in such a manner that it may become as it were pure.
[67b] —Entirely so (says Simmias).
[67c] —But does not purification consist in this, as we formerly asserted in our discourse: I mean, in separating the soul from the body in the most eminent degree, and in accustoming it to call together and collect itself essentially on all sides from the body, and to dwell as much as possible, both now and hereafter, alone by itself, becoming by this mean liberated from the body as from detaining bonds?
[67d] —Entirely so (says he).
[67d] —Is not death called a solution and separation of the soul from body?
[67d] —Perfectly so (says he).
[67d] —But those alone who philosophize rightly²⁶, as we have said, always and especially providentially attend to the solution of the soul: and this is the meditation of philosophers, a solution and separation of the soul from the body; or do you not think so?
[67d] —I do.
[67e] —Would it not, therefore, as I said at first, be ridiculous for a man who has so prepared himself in the present life as to approach very near to death, to live indeed in the manner we have described, and yet, when death arrives, be afflicted? would not this this be ridiculous?
[67e] —How indeed should it not?
[67e] —In reality, therefore (says he), O Simmias, those who philosophize rightly will meditate how to die; and to be dead will be to them of all men a thing the least terrible. But from hence consider as follows: for, if they are on all sides enemies to the body, but desire to possess the soul subsisting by itself, would it not be very irrational for them to be terrified and troubled when death approaches, and to be unwilling to depart to that place, where when they have arrived they may hope to enjoy that which they were lovers of in the present life (but they were lovers of wisdom), and to be liberated from the association of that nature to which they were always inimical? Or do you think it possible, that many should be willing, of their own accord, to descend into Hades, allured by [68a] the hope of seeing and conversing with departed beautiful youths, wives and children whom they have loved; and that the true lover of wisdom, who has exceedingly nourished this hope, that he shall never possess wisdom as he ought any where but in Hades, should be afflicted when dying, and should not depart thither with readiness and delight? For it is necessary, my friend, to think in this manner of one who is a true philosopher; since such a one is very much of opinion, that he shall never any where, but in that place, acquire the possession of wisdom with purity; and if this be the case, would it not be very irrational, as we just now said, for a man of this kind to be terrified at death?
[68b] —Very much so, by Jupiter, says he.
[68b] This then will be an argument sufficient to convince you, that he whom you behold afflicted, when about to die, is not a philosopher, but a lover of body; and this same person is a lover of riches and honours, either desiring the possession of one of these, or of both.
[68b] —The case is entirely so (says he) as you represent it.
[68c] —Does not then, O Simmias, that which is called fortitude eminently belong to such as are thus disposed?
[68c] —Entirely so, (says he).
[68c] —Does not temperance also, which even the multitude thus denominate as a virtue, through which we are not agitated by desires, but regard them with moderation and contempt; does it not, I say, belong to those only who despise the body in the most eminent degree, and live in the exercise of philosophy?
[68c] —It is necessary, says he.
[68d] —For, if you are willing (says Socrates) to consider the fortitude and temperance of others, they will appear to you to be absurdities.
[68d] —But how, Socrates? You know (says he) that all others look upon death as the greatest of evils.
[68d] —In the highest degree so, says he.
[68d] —Those who are bold, therefore, among these, sustain death when they do sustain it, through the dread of greater evils.
[68d] —They do so.
[68d] —All men, therefore, except philosophers, are bold through fearing and dread, though it is absurd that any one should be bold through fear or cowardice.
[68d] —Entirely so.
[68d] —But what, are not the moderate among these affected in the same manner? [68e] and are they not temperate by a certain intemperance? Though this is in a certain respect impossible, yet a passion similar to this happens to them with respect to this foolish temperance: for, fearing to be deprived of other pleasures which at the same time they desire, they abstain from others, by others being vanquished. And though they call intemperance a subjection to pleasures; yet at the same time it happens to them, that, being vanquished by certain pleasures, they rule over others; and this is similar to what I just now said, that after a certain manner they become temperate through intemperance.
[68e] —It seems so, indeed.
[68e] —But, O blessed Simmias, this is by [69a] no means the right road to virtue, to change pleasures for pleasures, pains for pains, fear for fear, and the greater for the lesser, like pieces of money: but that alone is the proper coin, I mean wisdom, for which all these ought to be changed. And indeed, for the sake of this, and with this every thing must in reality be bought and sold, both fortitude and temperance, justice, and, in one word, true virtue, which subsists with wisdom, whether pleasures and pains, and every thing else of this kind, are present or absent: [69b] but if these are separated from wisdom, and changed from one another, such virtue does not merit to be called even a shadowy description, but is in reality servile, and possesses nothing salutary and true. But that which is in reality true virtue²⁸ is a purification from every thing of this kind; and temperance and justice, fortitude, and prudence itself, are each of them a certain purification. And those who instituted the mysteries for us appear to have been by no means contemptible persons, but to have really signified formerly, in an obscure manner, that whoever descended²⁹ into Hades uninitiated, and without being a partaker of the mysteries, should be plunged into mire; but that whoever arrived there, purified and initiated, should dwell with the Gods. For, as it is said by those who write about the mysteries,
[69c] “The thyrsus-bearers³⁰ numerous are seen,
But few the Bacchuses have always been.”
[69d] These few are, in my opinion, no other than those who philosophize rightly; and that I may be ranked in the number of these, I shall leave nothing unattempted, but exert myself in all possible ways. But whether or not my exertions will be properly directed, and whether I shall accomplish any thing when I arrive thither, I shall clearly know, very shortly, if Divinity pleases, as it appears to me. And this (says he), Simmias and Cebes, is my apology³¹, why upon leaving you, and the rulers of the present life, I ought not to be afflicted and indignant, since I am persuaded that I shall there meet with masters and companions not less good than such as are here. This indeed is incredible to many; but if my apology shall have more influence with you than with the judges of the Athenians, it will have a good effect.
[69e] When Socrates had thus spoken, Cebes, renewing the discourse, said, Other things, Socrates, appear to me to be well spoken; but what you have asserted about the soul will produce in men much incredulity, who think, when it is liberated from the body, that it is no longer any where, but that, on that very day in which a man dies, it is corrupted³² and perishes, and this immediately as it is freed from the body; and, besides this, that on its departure it becomes dissipated like wind or smoke, makes its escape, and flies away, and is no longer any where: [70a] for if it remained any where essentially collected in itself, and liberated from those evils which you have now enumerated, there would be an abundant and fair hope, Socrates, that what you have asserted is true. But it will perhaps require no small allurement and faith, in order to be persuaded that the soul remains, though the man dies, and that it possesses a certain power and prudence.—You speak the truth, Cebes (says Socrates); [70b] but what shall we do? Are you willing that we should discourse about these particulars, whether it is proper that this should be the case with the soul, or not?—Indeed (says Cebes), I shall hear with great pleasure your opinion on this subject.—For I do not think (answered Socrates) that any one who should hear this discussion, even though he should be a comic poet, could say that I trifled, and discoursed about things not accommodated to my condition. If it is agreeable to you, therefore, and it is requisite to investigate these particulars, let us consider whether the souls of dead men survive in Hades, or not.
[70c] The assertion indeed, which we now call to mind, is an antient one, I mean that souls departing from hence exist in Hades, and that they again return hither, and are generated from the dead. And if the case is such, that living³³ natures are again generated from the dead, can there be any other consequence than that our souls are there? for they could not be again generated if they had no subsistence; and this will be a sufficient argument that these things are so, if it is really evident that the living cannot be generated from any thing else than the dead. But, if this is not the case, it will be necessary to adduce some other reason.
[70c] —Entirely so (says Cebes).
[70c] —You should not, therefore (says he), consider [70d] this assertion with respect to men alone, if you wish to learn with facility; [70e] but we should survey it as connected with all animals and plants, and, in one word, with every thing which is endued with generation. Are not all things, therefore, so generated, that they are produced no otherwise than contraries from contraries, I mean those to which any thing of this kind happens? as the beautiful is contrary to the base, and the just to the unjust; and a thousand other particulars subsist in the same manner. We should consider, therefore, whether it is necessary, respecting every thing which has a contrary, that this contrary should be generated from nothing else than that which is its contrary. As for instance, is it not necessary that, when any thing becomes greater, it should become so from being before smaller?
[71a] —It is so (says he).
[71a] —And is not the weaker generated from the stronger, and the swifter from the slower?
[71a] — Entirely so.
[71a] —But what if any thing becomes worse, must it not become so from the better? and if more just, must it not be generated from the more unjust?
[71a] —How should it not?
[71a] —We have then (says he) sufficiently determined this, that every thing is thus generated, viz. contraries from contraries.
[71a] —Entirely so.
[71a] —But what, is there any thing among these which has a middle subsistence between both (since all contraries are two), so as to cause two generations from this to that, and from that again to this? for between a greater and a lesser thing there is increase and diminution; and hence we say that the one is increased, but the other diminished.
[71b] —It is so (says he).
[71b] —And must not to be separated and mingled, to be cooled and heated, and every thing in the same manner, though sometimes we do not distinguish the several particulars by names, must they not in reality be every where thus circumstanced, be generated from each other, and be subject to a mutual generation of each into one another?
[71c] —Entirely so (says he).
[71c] What then (says Socrates), is there any thing contrary to the being alive, as sleeping is contrary to waking?
[71c] —Entirely so (says he).
[71c] —But what is this contrary?
[71d] —To be dead.
[71d] —Are not these, therefore, generated from each other, since they are contraries? and since they are two, are there not two generations between them?
[71d] —How should there not?
[71d] —I will, therefore (says Socrates), tell you what one of these conjunctions is which I have just now spoken of, and what its generations are; do you tell me what the other is. But I say, that the one of these is to sleep, but the other to awake; and from sleeping awaking is generated, and from awaking sleeping; and the generations of these are on the one hand to be laid asleep, and on the other to be roused. Have I sufficiently explained this to you or not?
[71d] —Perfectly so.
[71d] — Do you, therefore (says he), inform me, in a similar manner, concerning life and death.
[71e] —Do you not say that living is the contrary of to be dead? — I do.
[71e] —And that they are generated from each other?
[71e] —Certainly.
[71e] —What then is generated from that which is alive?
[71e] —That which is dead (says he).
[71e] — But what (says Socrates) is generated from the dead? —It is necessary to confess (says he) that this must be the living.
[71e] —From the dead, therefore (says he), O Cebes, living things, and men who are alive, are generated.
[71e] —It appears so, (says he).
[71e] —Our souls therefore (says Socrates) subsist in Hades.
[71e] — So it seems.
[71e] —Is not, therefore, one of the generations subsisting about these manifest? for to die is, I think, sufficiently clear; is it not?
[71e] — Entirely so (says he).
[72a] —What then shall we do? shall we not render back a contrary generation in its turn, but say that nature is defective and lame in this particular? Or is it necessary to assign a certain contrary generation to the being dead? —Entirely so, says he.
[72a] —But what is this?—To be restored back again to life.
[72a] —But (says Socrates), if there is such a thing as to revive again, will not this reviving be a generation from the dead to the living?
[72a] —Perfectly so.
[72a] —This then is agreed upon by us, that the living are generated from the dead no less than the dead from the living: but, this being the case, it is a sufficient argument to prove that the souls of the dead must necessarily exist somewhere, from whence they may again be generated.
[72a] —It appears to me (says he), Socrates, that this must necessarily follow from what has been admitted.
[72b] Take notice then (says he), O Cebes! that we have not unjustly made these concessions, as it appears to me: for if other things, when generated, were not always restored in the place of others, revolving as it were in a circle, but generation subsisted according to a right line, proceeding from one thing alone into its opposite, without recurring again to the other, and making an inflection, you know that all things would at length possess the same form, would be affected with the same passion, and would cease to be generated.—How do you say? (says he.)—It is by no means difficult (replies Socrates) to understand what I assert; but just as if there should be such a thing as falling asleep without recurring again to a vigilant state, generated from a sleepy condition, you know that all things would at length exhibit the delusions of Endymion, and would nowhere present themselves to the view, because every thing else would suffer the same as happened to him, viz. would be laid asleep. And if all things were mingled together, without ever being separated, the doctrine of Anaxagoras would soon be verified; [72c] for all things would be at once collected in a heap. In the same manner, my dear Simmias, if all such things as participate of life should die, and after they are dead should abide in that lifeless form, and not revive again, would there not be a great necessity that all things should at length die, and that nothing should live? for if living beings are generated from other things, and living beings die, how can it be otherwise but that all things must be extinguished through being dead?—It appears to me, Socrates (says Cebes), that it can not be otherwise; [72d] and in my opinion you perfectly speak the truth:—for to me, Cebes (says Socrates), it seems to be so more than any thing, and that we have not assented to this through deception; but that there is such a thing in reality as reviving again; that the living are generated from the dead; that the souls of the dead have a subsistence; and that the condition of the good after this life will be better than at present; but of the evil, worse.
[72e] But (says Cebes, interrupting him), according to that doctrine, Socrates, which you are frequently accustomed to employ (if it is true), that learning, with respect to us, is nothing else than reminiscence³⁴; according to this, it is necessary that we must have learned the things which we now call to mind in some former period of time. But this is impossible, unless our soul subsisted somewhere before it took up its residence in this human form; so that from hence the soul will appear to be a certain immortal nature.
[73a] —But, Cebes (says Simmias, interrupting him), recall into my memory what demonstrations there are of these particulars; for I do not very much remember them at present.
[73a] —The truth of this (says Cebes) is evinced by one argument, and that a most beautiful one; that men, when interrogated, if they are but interrogated properly, will speak about every thing just as it is. At the same time, they could never do this unless science and right reason resided in their natures. And, in the second place, if any one leads them to diagrams, or any thing of this kind, he will in these most clearly discover that this is really the case.
[73b] —But if you are not persuaded from this, Simmias (says Socrates), see if, from considering the subject in this manner, you will perceive as we do. For you do not believe how that which is called learning is reminiscence.
[73b] —I do not disbelieve it (says Simmias); but I desire to be informed concerning this, which is the subject of our discourse, I mean reminiscence; and indeed, from what Cebes has endeavoured to say, I almost now remember, and am persuaded: but nevertheless I would at present hear how you attempt to support this opinion.
[73b] —We defend it then (says Socrates) as follows: we confess without doubt, that if any one calls any thing to mind, it is necessary that at some time or other he should have previously known this.
[73c] —Entirely so (says he).
[73c] —Shall we not confess this also (says Socrates), that when science is produced in us, after some particular manner, it is reminiscence? But I mean by a particular manner, thus: If any one, upon seeing or hearing any thing, or apprehending it through the medium of any other sense, should not only know it, but should also think upon something else, of which there is not the same, but a different science, should we not justly say, that he recollects or remembers the particular, of which he receives a mental conception?
[73d] —How do you mean?
[73d] —Thus (says Socrates): In a certain respect the science of a man is different from that of a lyre.
[73d] —How should it not?
[73d] —Do you not, therefore, know that lovers when they see a lyre, or a vestment, or any thing else which the objects of their affection were accustomed to use, no sooner know the lyre, than they immediately receive in their dianoëtic part the form of the beloved person to whom the lyre belonged? But this is no other than reminiscence: just as any one, upon seeing Simmias, often recollects Cebes; and in a certain respect an infinite number of such particulars continually occur.
[73d] —An infinite number indeed, by Jupiter (says Simmias).
[73e] —Is not then (says Socrates) something of this kind a certain reminiscence; and then especially so, when any one experiences this affection about things which, through time, and ceasing to consider them, he has now forgotten?
[73e] —Entirely so (says Simmias).
[73e] —But what (says Socrates), does it happen, that when any one sees a painted horse and a painted lyre, he calls to mind a man? and that when he beholds a picture of Simmias, he recollects Cebes?
[73e] —Entirely so.
[73e] —And will it not also happen, that on seeing a picture of Simmias he will recollect Simmias himself?
[73e] —It certainly will happen so (says he).
[74a] Does it not therefore follow, that in all these instances reminiscence partly takes place from things similar, and partly from such as are dissimilar?
[74a] —It does.
[74a] —But when any one recollects any thing from similars, must it not also happen to him, that he must know whether this similitude is deficient in any respect, as to likeness, from that particular of which he has the remembrance?
[74a] —It is necessary (says he).
[74a] —Consider then (says Socrates) if the following particulars are thus circumstanced: Do we say that any thing is in a certain respect equal? I do not say one piece of wood to another, nor one stone to another, nor any thing else of this kind; but do we say that equal itself, which is something different from all these, is something or nothing?
[74a] —We say it is something different, by Jupiter, Socrates (says Simmias), and that in a wonderful manner.
[74b] —Have we also a scientific knowledge of that which is equal itself?
[74b] —Entirely so (says he).
[74b] —But from whence do we receive the science of it? Is it not from the particulars we have just now spoken of, viz. on seeing wood, stones, or other things of this kind, which are equals, do we not form a conception of that which is different from these? But consider the affair in this manner: Do not equal stones and pieces of wood, which sometimes remain the same, at one time appear equal, and at another not?
[74b] —Entirely so.
[74c] —But what, can equals themselves ever appear to you unequal? or can equality seem to be inequality?
[74c] —By no means, Socrates.
[74c] —These equals, therefore, are not the same with equal itself.
[74c] —By no means, Socrates, as it appears to me.
[74c] —But from these equals (says he), which are different from equal itself, you at the same time understand and receive the science of equal itself.
[74c] —You speak most true (says he).
[74c] —I it not, therefore, either similar to these or dissimilar?
[74c] —Entirely so.
[74c] —But indeed (says Socrates) this is of no consequence: for while, in consequence of seeing one thing, you understand another, from the view of this, whether it is dissimilar or similar, it is necessary that this conception of another thing should be reminiscence.
[74c] —Entirely so.
[74c] —But what will you determine concerning this (says Socrates)?
[74d] —Do we suffer any thing of this kind respecting the equality in pieces of wood, and other such equals as we have just now spoken of? and do they appear to us to be equal in the same manner as equal itself? and is something or nothing wanting, through which they are less equal than equal itself?
[74d] —There is much wanting (says he).
[74d] —Must we not, therefore, confess, that when any one, on beholding some particular thing, understands that he wishes this which I now perceive to be such as something else is, but that it is deficient, and falls short of its perfection; must we not confess that he who understands this, necessarily had a previous knowledge of that to which he asserts this to be similar, but in a defective degree?
[74d] —It is necessary.
[74d] —What then, do we suffer something of this kind or not about equals and equal itself?
[74e] —Perfectly so.
[74e] —It is necessary, therefore, that we must have previously known equal itself before that time, in which, from first seeing equal things, we understood that we desired all these to be such as equal itself, but that they had a defective subsistence.
[75a] —It is so.
[75a] —But this also we must confess, that we neither understood this, nor are able to understand it, by any other means than either by the sight, or the touch, or some other of the senses.
[75a] —I speak in the same manner about all these. For they are the same, Socrates, with respect to that which your discourse wishes to evince. But indeed, from the senses, it is necessary to understand that all equals in sensible objects aspire after equal itself, and are deficient from its perfection. Or how shall we say?
[75b] —In this manner: Before, therefore, we begin to see, or hear, and to perceive other things, it necessarily follows, that we must in a certain respect have received the science of equal itself, so as to know what it is, or else we could never refer the equals among sensibles to equal itself, and be convinced that all these desire to become such as equal itself, but fall short of its perfection.
[75b] —This, Socrates, is necessary, from what has been previously said.
[75b] —But do we not, as soon as we are born, see and hear, and possess the other senses?
[75c] —Entirely so.
[75c] —But we have said it is necessary that prior to these we should have received the science of equal itself.
[75c] —Certainly.
[75c] —We must necessarily, therefore, as it appears, have received it before we were born.
[75c] —It appears so.
[75c] If, therefore, receiving this before we were born, we were born possessing it; we both knew prior to our birth, and as soon as we were born, not only the equal, the greater, and the lesser, but every thing of this kind: for our discourse at present is not more concerning the equal than the beau- tiful, the good, the just, and the holy, and in one word, about every thing which we mark with the signature of that which is, both in our interrogations when we interrogate, and in our answers when we reply: [75d] so that it is necessary we should have received the science of all these before we were born.—All this is true.—And if, since we receive these sciences, we did not forget each of them, we should always be born knowing, and should always know them, through the whole course of our life: for to know is nothing else than this, to retain the science which we have received, and not to lose it. [75e] Or do we not call oblivion the loss of science?—Entirely so (says he), Socrates.—But if, receiving science before we were born, we lose it at the time of our birth, and afterwards, through exercising the senses about these particulars, receive back again those sciences which we once before possessed, will not that which we call learning be a recovery of our own proper science? [76a] and shall we not speak rightly when we call this a certain reminiscence?—Entirely so.—For this appears to be possible, that when any one perceives any thing, either by seeing or hearing, or employing any other sense, he may at the same time know something different from this, which he had forgotten, and to which this approaches, whether it is dissimilar or similar. So that, as I said, one of these two things must be the consequence: either that we were born knowing these, and possess a knowledge of all of them, through the whole of our life; or that we only remember what we are said to learn afterwards; and thus learning will be reminiscence.—The case is perfectly so, Socrates.
[76b] Which, therefore, will you choose, Simmias: that we are born knowing, or that we afterwards remember the particulars of which we formerly received the science?—At present, Socrates, I have no choice.—But what will be your choice in the following instance, and what will be your opinion about it? Can a man, who possesses science, render a reason concerning the objects of his knowledge, or not?—There is a great necessity (says he), Socrates, that he should.—And does it also appear to you, that all men can render a reason of the particulars concerning which we have just now spoken? [76c] —I wish they could, says Simmias; but I am much more afraid, that to-morrow there will no longer be any one here who can accomplish this in a becoming manner.—You do not therefore think, Simmias, that all men know these particulars?—By no means.—They remember, therefore, the things which they have once learned.—It is necessary.—But when did our souls receive this science? for they did not receive them from those from whom we are born men.—Certainly not.—Before this period, therefore.—Certainly.—Our souls therefore, Simmias, had a subsistence before they were in a human form, separate from bodies, and possessed intellectual prudence. —Unless, Socrates, we received these sciences while we were making our entrance into the present life; for that space of time is yet left for us.—Let it be so, my friend. But in what other time did we lose these? for we were not born possessing them, as we have just now acknowledged. Did we lose them at the very time in which we received them? Or can you mention any other time?—By no means, Socrates: but I was ignorant that I spoke nothing to the purpose.
[76d] Will then the case remain thus for us, Simmias? For if those things have a subsistence which we perpetually proclaim, viz. a certain something beautiful and good, and every such essence; and if we refer to this all sensible objects, as finding it to have a prior subsistence, and to be ours, and assimilate these to it, as images to their exemplar; it is necessary that, as these have a subsistence, so likewise that our soul should have subsisted before we were born: but if these are not, this discourse will have been undertaken in vain. Is it not so? and is there not an equal necessity, both that these should have a subsistence, and that our souls should have had a being before we were born, and that the one cannot be without the other?
[76e] —The same necessity, Socrates (says Simmias), appears to me to take place in a most transcendent manner; and the discourse flies to a beautiful circumstance, I mean that our soul subsisted before we were born, in a manner similar to that essence which you now speak of. For I possess nothing which is so clear to me as this, that all such things as the beautiful and the good subsist, in the most eminent degree, together with every thing else which you now mention; and, with respect to myself, it is sufficiently demonstrated.
[76e] —But how does it appear to Cebes? says Socrates: for it is necessary that Cebes also should be persuaded.
[77a] —In my opinion he is sufficiently so (says Simmias), although he is the most resolute of all men in not assenting to what is said, Yet I think he is sufficiently persuaded that our soul had a subsistence before we were born. But whether or not the soul remains after death, does not appear to me, Socrates (says he), to be yet demonstrated; [77b] but that doubt of the multitude, which Cebes mentioned, still presses hard upon me, whether, when a man dies, the soul is not dissipated, and this is the end of its existence. For what hinders but that it may be born, and may have had a subsistence elsewhere, and this before it came into a human body; and yet, after it departs, and is liberated from this body, may then die and be corrupted?
[77c] —You speak well, Simmias (says Cebes); for it appears that the half only of what was necessary has been demonstrated, I mean that our soul subsisted before we were born: but it is necessary that you should demonstrate, besides this, that it no less subsists after we are dead, than it did before we were born, in order that the demonstration may be complete.
[77c] —This, Simmias and Cebes (says Socrates), is even now demonstrated, if you are only willing to connect into one and the same the present discourse and that which we before assented to; I mean that every vital nature is generated from that which is dead. For if the soul had a prior subsistence, and it is necessary when it proceeds into the present life, and is generated man, that it should be generated from nothing else than death, and to be dead; how is it not necessary that it should also subsist after death, since it is requisite that it should be generated again? [77d] Its existence therefore, after death, is even now, as I said, demonstrated. But you and Simmias appear to me still more earnestly to discuss this assertion in a very pleasant manner, and to be afraid like boys, lest on the soul’s departure from the body the winds should tear it in pieces, and widely disperse it, especially if any one should die during a stormy blast, and not when the heavens are serene.
[77e] —Upon this Cebes laughing, Endeavour (says he), O Socrates, to persuade us of the contrary, as if we were afraid, or rather as if we were not afraid; though, perhaps, there is some boy among us, by whom circumstances of this kind may be dreaded: him, therefore, we should endeavour to persuade not to be terrified at death, as if it was some dreadful spectre.
[77e] —But it is necessary (says Socrates) to charm him every day till he becomes well.
[77e] —But from whence (says he), O Socrates, can a man acquire skill in such enchantment, since you are about to leave us?
[78a] —Greece (says he), Cebes, is very spacious, in some part of which good men may be found: and there are many barbarous nations, all which must be wandered over, inquiring after an enchanter of this kind, without sparing either riches or labour, as there is nothing for which wealth can be more seasonably bestowed. But it is necessary that you should inquire among yourselves; for perhaps you will not easily find any one who is more able to accomplish this than yourselves.
[78b] —Let these things be so (says Cebes): but, if you please, let us return from whence we made this digression. —It will be agreeable to me (says Socrates): for how should it not be so?
[78b] —You speak well, says Cebes.
[78b] Some such thing, therefore (says Socrates), we ought to inquire of ourselves, viz. to what being the passion of becoming dissipated belongs; and respecting what we ought to fear, lest this should take place; and to whom a fear of this kind is proper: and after this, we should consider whether it is soul or not; and, as the result of these speculations, should either be confident or fearful concerning our soul.
[78b] —You speak true (says he).
[78b] —Is it not, therefore, a passion natural to that which is collected together, and a composite, that it should be dissolved so far as it is a composite; and that, if there is any thing without composition, to this alone, if to any other, it belongs not to suffer affections of this kind?
[78c] —This (says Cebes) appears to me to be the case. But does it not follow, that things which always subsist according to the same, and in a similar manner, are in the most eminent degree incomposites; but that such things as subsist differently at different times, and never according to the same, are composites?
[78c] —To me it appears so.
[78c] —Let us return, therefore (says he), to the particulars of our former discourse: Whether is essence itself (which both in our inquiries and answers we established as having a being) that which always subsists similarly, and according to the same, or that which subsists differently at different times? And does the equal itself, the beautiful itself, and every thing which truly is, ever receive any kind of mutation? Or does not every thing which always truly is, and has a uniform subsistence, essentially abide in a similar manner according to the same, and never in any respect receive any mutation?
[78d] —It is necessary, Socrates (says Cebes), that it should subsist similarly, and according to the same.
[78d] —But what shall we say concerning many beautiful things, such as men, horses, garments, or other things of this kind, which are either equal, or beautiful; and of all such as are synonymous to these? Do these also subsist according to the same, or rather are they not entirely contrary to those, so that they neither subsist similarly according to the same, either with respect to themselves or to one another, or, in one word, in any manner whatever?
[78e] —These (says Cebes) never subsist in a similar condition. These, therefore, may be touched, may be seen and perceived by the other senses; but those natures which always subsist according to the same, cannot be apprehended by any other means than the discursive energy of the dianoëtic power. But things of this kind are invisible, and cannot be seen. Are you willing, therefore (says he), that we should establish two species of beings, the one visible, and the other invisible?
[79a] —Let us establish them (says he).
[79a] —And that the invisible subsists always according to the same, but the visible never according to the same.
[79a] —And this also (says he) we will establish.
[79a] —Come then (says Socrates), is there any thing else belonging to us, than on the one hand body, and on the other soul?
[79a] —Nothing else (says he).
[79b] —To which species, therefore, shall we say the body is more similar and allied?
[79b] —It is manifest to every one (says he), that it is allied to the visible species.
[79b] —But what shall we say of the soul? Is it visible, or invisible?
[79b] —It is certainly not visible to men, Socrates (says he).
[79b] —But we speak of things which are visible or not so, with respect to the nature of men. Or do you think we speak of things visible to any other nature?
[79b] —Of those which regard the nature of men.
[79b] —What then shall we say respecting the soul, that it is visible, or cannot be seen?
[79b] —That it cannot be seen.
[79b] —The soul, therefore, is more similar to the invisible species than the body, but the body is more similar to the visible.
[79b] —It is perfectly necessary it should be so, Socrates.
[79b] And have we [79c] not also formerly asserted this, that the soul, when it employs the body in the speculation of any thing, either through sight, or hearing, or some other sense (for to speculate through sense is to speculate through body), then, indeed, it is drawn by the body to things which never subsist according to the same, wanders³⁸ and is agitated, and becomes giddy like one intoxicated, through passing into contact with things of this kind?—Entirely so.—But when [79d] it speculates any thing, itself subsisting by itself, then it departs to that which is pure, eternal, and immortal, and which possesses a sameness of subsistence: and, as being allied to such a nature, it perpetually becomes united with it, when it subsists alone by itself, and as often as it is lawful for it to obtain such a conjunction: and then, too, it rests from its wanderings, and perpetually subsists similarly according to the same, about such natures, as passing into contact with them; [79e] and this passion³⁹ of the soul is denominated prudence.—You speak (says he), Socrates, in every respect beautifully and true.—To which species, therefore, of things, formerly and now spoken of, does the soul appear to you to be more similar and allied?—It appears to me, Socrates (says he), that every one, and even the most indocile, must admit, in consequence of this method of reasoning, that the soul is both totally and universally more similar to that which subsists perpetually the same, than to that which does not so.—But to which is the body most similar?—To the other species.
[80a] But consider also as follows⁴⁰: that, since soul and body subsist together, nature commands that the one should be subservient and obey, but that the other should rule and possess dominion. And in consequence of this, which again of these appears to you to be similar to a divine nature, and which to the mortal nature? Or does it not appear to you that the divine nature is essentially adapted to govern and rule, but the mortal to be governed and be subservient?—To me it does so.—To which, therefore, is the soul similar?—It is manifest, Socrates, that the soul is similar to the divine, but the body to the mortal nature.—But consider (says he), Cebes, whether, from all that has been said, these conclusions will result to us, that the soul is most similar to the divine, immortal, intelligible, uniform and indissoluble nature, and which always subsists similarly according to the same; but that the body is most similar to the nature which is human, mortal, void of intellect, multiform, dissoluble, and which never subsists according to the same. Can we, my dear Cebes, produce any arguments to show that this is not the case?—We cannot.
[80b] What then? in consequence of all this, must it not be the property of the body, to be swiftly dissolved; but of the soul, on the contrary, to be entirely indissoluble, or something bordering on such an affection?
[80c] —How should it not?
[80c] —Do you conceive, therefore (says he), that when a man dies, the visible part of him, or the body, which is situated in a visible region (and which we call a dead body subject to dissolution, ruin, and dissipation), does not immediately suffer any of these affections, but remains for a considerable space of time; and if any one dies possessing a graceful body, that it very much retains its elegant form? for, when the body is bound and buried according to the manner in which the Egyptians bury their dead, it remains almost entire for an incredible space of time; and though some parts of the body may become rotten, yet the bones and nerves, and every thing of this kind, are preserved as one may say immortal. Is it not so?
[80c] — Certainly.
[80c] —Can the soul, [80d] therefore, which is invisible, and which departs into another place of this kind, a place noble, pure, and invisible, viz. into Hades⁴¹, to a beneficent and prudent God (at which place, if Divinity is willing, my soul will shortly arrive); can the soul, I say, since it is naturally of this kind, be immediately dissipated and perish on its being liberated from the body, as is asserted by the many? This is certainly, my dear Cebes and Simmias, far from being the case. [80e] But this will much more abundantly take place, if it is liberated in a pure condition, attracting to itself nothing of the body, as not having willingly communicated with it in the present life, but fled from it and collected itself into itself; an employment of this kind having been the subject of its perpetual meditation. But this is nothing else than to philosophize rightly, and to meditate with facility, how to be dead in reality. Or will not this be a meditation of death?
[81a] —Entirely so.
[81a] —Will not the soul, therefore, when in this condition, depart to that which is similar to itself, a divine nature, and which is likewise immortal and prudent? and when it arrives thither, will it not become happy, being liberated from wandering and ignorance, terror and insane love, and from all other evils belonging to the human nature; and so, as it is said of the initiated⁴², will in reality pass the rest of its time in the society of the Gods? Shall we speak in this manner, Cebes, or otherwise?
[81a] —In this manner, by Jupiter (says Cebes).
[81b] But I think that if the soul departs polluted and impure from the body, as having always been its associate, attending upon and loving the body, and becoming enchanted by it, through its desires and pleasures, in such a manner as to think that nothing really is, except what is corporeal, which can be touched and seen, eaten and drunk, and employed for the purposes of venereal occupations, and at the same time is accustomed to hate, dread and avoid, that which is dark and invisible to the eye of sense, which is intelligible and apprehended by philosophy; do you think that a soul thus affected can be liberated from the body, so as to subsist sincerely by itself?— By no means (says he).—But [81c] I think that it will be contaminated by a corporeal nature, to which its converse and familiarity with the body, through perpetual association and abundant meditation, have rendered it similar and allied.—Entirely so.—But it is proper, my dear Cebes, to think that such a nature is ponderous and heavy, terrestrial and visible⁴³; and that a soul of this kind, through being connected with such a nature, is rendered heavy, and drawn down again into the visible region from its dread of that which is invisible and Hades, and, as it is said, wanders about monuments and tombs; about which indeed certain shadowy phantoms of souls appear, being the images produced by such souls as have not been purely liberated from the body, but which participate of the visible nature; and on this account they become visible.—It is very reasonable to suppose so, Socrates.—It is reasonable indeed, Cebes: and likewise that these are not the souls of the worthy, but of the depraved, who are compelled to wander about such places; by these means suffering the punishment of their former conduct, which was evil; and they are compelled thus to wander⁴⁴ till, through the desire of a corporeal nature, which attends them, they are again bound to a body.
[81d] They are bound, however, as it is proper they should be, to such manners as they have exercised in the present life.—But what do you say these manners are, Socrates?—As [81e] for example, that such as are addicted to gluttony, arrogant injuries, and drinking, and this without any fear of consequences, shall enter into the tribes of asses and brutes of this kind. Or do you not think it proper that they should?—You speak in a manner perfectly becoming.—But shall we not say, that such [82a] as held in the highest estimation injustice, tyranny, and rapine shall enter into the tribes of wolves, hawks, and kites? Or where else can we say such souls depart?—Into tribes of this kind, certainly (says Cebes).—It will, therefore, be manifest concerning the rest into what nature each departs, according to the similitudes of manners which they have exercised.—It is manifest (says he); for how should it not be so?—Are not, therefore (says he), those among these the most happy, and such as depart into the best place, who have made popular and political⁴⁵ virtue their study, which they call indeed temperance and justice, and which is produced from custom and exercise, without philosophy and intellect?—But how are these the most happy?—Because it is fit that these should again migrate into a political and mild tribe of this kind; such as bees, wasps, or ants, or into the same human tribe again, and from these become moderate men.—It is fit.
[82b] But it is not lawful for any to pass into the genus of Gods, except such as, through a love of learning, have philosophized, and departed from hence perfectly pure. And for the sake of this, my dear Simmias and Cebes, those who have philosophized rightly abstain from all desires belonging to the body, and strenuously persevere in this abstinence, without giving themselves up to their dominion; [82c] nor is it because they dread the ruin of their families, and poverty, like the multitude of the lovers of wealth; nor yet because they are afraid of ignominy and the infamy of improbity, like those who are lovers of dominion and honours, that they abstain from these desires. [82d] —For it would not, Socrates, become them so to do (says Cebes).— It would not, by Jupiter (says he).—Hence those (says he), O Cebes! who take care of their soul, and do not live in a state of subserviency to their bodies, bidding farewell to all such characters as we have mentioned above, do not proceed in the same path with these during the journey of life, because such characters are ignorant how they should direct their course; but considering that they ought not to act contrary to philosophy, and to its solution and purification, they give themselves up to its direction, and follow wherever it leads.—In what manner, Socrates?—I will tell you (says he).
[82e] The lovers of learning well know, that when philosophy receives their soul into her protection (and when she does so, she finds it vehemently bound and agglutinated to the body, and compelled to speculate things through this, as through a place of confinement, instead of beholding herself through herself; and besides this, rolled in every kind of ignorance: philosophy likewise beholds the dire nature of the confinement, that it arises through desire; so that he who is bound in an eminent degree assists in binding himself); the lovers of learning therefore, I say, know that philosophy, receiving their soul in this condition, endeavours gently to exhort it, and dissolve its bonds; [83a] and this she attempts to accomplish, by showing that the inspection of things through the eyes is full of deception, and that this is likewise the case with perception through the ears and the other senses. [83b] Philosophy too persuades the soul to depart from all these fallacious informations, and to employ them no further than necessity requires; and exhorts her to call together and collect herself into one. And besides this, to believe in no other than herself, with respect to what she understands, herself subsisting by herself, of that which has likewise a real subsistence by itself; and not to consider that as having a true being which she speculates through others, and which has its subsistence in others. And lastly, that a thing of this kind is sensible and visible; but that what she herself perceives is intelligible and invisible. The soul of a true philosopher, therefore, thinking that he ought not to oppose this solution, abstains as much as possible from pleasures and desires, griefs and fears, considering that when any one is vehemently delighted or terrified, afflicted or desirous, he does not suffer any such mighty evil from these as some one may perhaps conceive, I mean such as disease and a consumption of wealth, through indulging his desires; but that he suffers that which is the greatest, and the extremity of all evils, and this without apprehending that he does so.
[83b] —But what is this evil, Socrates (says Cebes)?
[83c] —That the soul of every man is compelled at the same time to be either vehemently delighted or afflicted about some particular thing, and to consider that about which it is thus eminently passive, as having a most evident and true subsistence, though this is by no means the case; and that these are most especially visible objects. Is it not so?
[83c] — Entirely.
[83c] —In this passion, therefore, is not the soul in the highest degree bound to the body?
[83d] —In what manner?
[83d] —Because every pleasure and pain, as if armed with a nail, fasten and rivet the soul to the body, cause it to become corporeal, and fill it with an opinion, that whatever the body asserts is true. For, in consequence of the soul forming the same opinions with the body, and being delighted with the same objects, it appears to me that it is compelled to possess similar manners, and to be similarly nourished, and to become so affected, that it can never pass into Hades in a pure condition; but always departs full of a corporeal nature; and thus swiftly falls again into another body, and, becoming as it were sown, is engendered; and lastly, that from these it becomes destitute of a divine, pure, and uniform association.
[83d] —You speak most true, Socrates (says Cebes).
[83e] For the sake of these things therefore, O Cebes! those who are justly lovers of learning are moderate and brave, and not for the sake of such as the multitude assert. Or do you think it is?—By no means; [84a] for it cannot be.—But the soul of a philosopher reasons in this manner; and does not think that philosophy ought to free him from the body, but that when he is freed he may give himself up to pleasures and pains, by which he will again be bound to the body, and will undertake a work which it is impossible to finish, reweaving a certain web of Penelope⁴⁶. But procuring tranquillity with respect to these, and following the guidance of the reasoning power, and being always conversant with this, contemplating at the same time that which is true, divine, and not the subject of opinion, and [84b] being likewise nourished by such an object of contemplation, he will think that he ought to live in this manner while he lives, and that when he dies he shall depart to a kindred essence, and an essence of this kind, being liberated from the maladies of the human nature. But from a nutriment of this kind the soul has no occasion to fear (while it makes these, O Simmias and Cebes! its study) lest, in its liberation from the body, it should be lacerated, and, being blown about and dissipated by the winds, should vanish, and no longer have anywhere a subsistence.
[84c] When Socrates had thus spoken, a long silence ensued; and Socrates seemed to revolve with himself what had been said; as likewise did the greatest part of us: but Cebes and Simmias discoursed a little with each other. And Socrates at length looking upon them, What (says he), do our assertions appear to you to have been not sufficiently demonstrated? for many doubts and suspicions yet remain, if any one undertakes to investigate them sufficiently. If, therefore, you are considering something else among yourselves, I have nothing to say; but if you are doubting about those particulars which we have just now made the subject of our discourse, do not be remiss in speaking about and running over what has been said, if it appears to you in any respect that we might have spoken better; and receive me again as your associate, if you think that you can be any ways benefited by my assistance. [84d] Upon this Simmias said, Indeed, Socrates, I will tell you the truth: for some time since each of us being agitated with doubts, we impelled and exhorted one another to interrogate you, through our desire of hearing them solved; but we were afraid of causing a debate, lest it should be disagreeable to you in your present circumstances. But Socrates, upon hearing this, gently laughed, and said, This is strange, indeed, Simmias; for I shall with difficulty be able to persuade other men that I do not consider the present fortune as a calamity, since I am not able to persuade even you; but you are afraid lest I should be more morose now than I was prior to the present event. [84e] And, as it seems, I appear to you to be more despicable than swans with respect to divination, who, when they perceive that it is necessary for them to die, sing not only as usual, but then more than ever; rejoicing that they are about to depart to that Deity in whose service they are engaged. [85a] But men, because they themselves are afraid of death, falsely accuse the swans, and assert that, in consequence of their being afflicted at death, their song is the result of grief. Nor do they consider that no bird sings when it is hungry or cold, or is afflicted with any other malady; neither the nightingale, nor the swallow, nor the lapwing, all which they say sing lamenting through distress. But neither do these birds, as it appears to me, sing through sorrow, nor yet the swans; but in my opinion these last are prophetic, as belonging to Apollo; [85b] and in consequence of foreseeing the good which Hades contains, they sing and rejoice at that period more remarkably than at any preceding time. But I consider myself as a fellow-servant of the swans, and sacred to the same Divinity. I possess a divining power from our common master no less than they; nor shall I be more afflicted than the swan in being liberated from the present life. Hence it is proper that you should both speak and inquire about whatever you please, as long as the eleven magistrates will permit. You speak excellently well (says Simmias); [85c] and as you give me permission, I will both tell you what are my doubts, and how far Cebes does not admit what has been said. For, as to myself, Socrates, I am perhaps of the same opinion about these particulars as yourself; that to know them clearly in the present life is either impossible, or a thing very difficult to obtain. But not to argue about what has been said in every possible way, and to desist before by an arduous investigation on all sides weariness is produced, can only take place among indolent and effeminate men. For it is necessary, in things of this kind, either to learn or to discover the manner of their subsistence; [85d] or, if both these are impossible, then, by receiving the best of human reasons, and that which is the most difficult of confutation, to venture upon this as on a raft, and sail in it through the ocean of life, unless some one should be able to be carried more safely, and with less danger, by means of a firmer vehicle, or a certain divine reason⁴⁷. I shall not, therefore, now be ashamed to interrogate, in consequence of the confession which you have made; nor shall I blame myself hereafter, that I have not spoken what appears to me at present: for, upon considering what has been said, both with myself and together with Cebes, your doctrine did not seem to be sufficiently confirmed.
[85e] And perhaps, my friend (says Socrates), you have the truth on your side; but inform me in what respect it did not seem to be sufficiently confirmed.—In this (says he); because any one may assert the same about harmony⁴⁸, and a lyre, and its chords; that, for instance, harmony is something invisible and incorporeal, all-beautiful and divine, in a wellmodulated lyre: but the lyre and its chords are bodies, and of a corporeal nature; are composites and terrestrial, and allied to that which is mortal. When any one, therefore, shall either have broken the lyre, or cut and burst the chords, some person may contend [86a] from the same reasoning as yours, that it is necessary the harmony should yet remain, and not be destroyed (for it cannot in any respect be possible that the lyre should subsist when the chords are burst, and the chords themselves are of a mortal nature; but the harmony, which is connate and allied to that which is divine and immortal, will become extinct, and perish prior to the mortal nature itself); because it is necessary that harmony should be somewhere, and that the wood and chords must suffer putrefaction, before this can be subject to any passion. [86b] For I think, Socrates, that you yourself have also perceived this, that we consider the soul in the most eminent degree, as something of such a kind as to become the temperament of hot and cold, moist and dry, and such-like affections, for the reception of which our body is extended, and by which it is contained: and that the soul is the harmony of all these, when they are beautifully and moderately tempered with each other. [86c] If, therefore, the soul is a certain harmony, it is evident that when our body suffers either intension or remission, through diseases and other maladies, the soul must from necessity immediately perish, though of the most divine nature (in the same manner as other harmonies perish, which either subsist in sounds or in the works of artificers); but the remaining parts of the body of each person must subsist for a long time, till they are either burnt or become rotten. Consider then what we shall say to this discourse, if any one should think, since the soul is the temperament of things subsisting in the body, that it perishes the first, in that which is called death.
[86d] Socrates, therefore, beholding us, and laughing as he was accustomed to do very often, Simmias (says he) speaks justly. If any one of you, therefore, is more prompt than I am, why does he not reply to these objections? for he seems not to have handled this affair badly. But it appears to me, that before we make our reply we should first hear Cebes, and know what it is which he objects to our discourse; [86e] that, in consequence of some time intervening; we may deliberate what we shall say; and that afterwards, upon hearing the objections, we may either assent to them, if they appear to assert any thing becoming; or, if they do not, that we may defend the discourse we have already delivered. But (says he) tell me, Cebes, what it is which so disturbs you, as to cause your unbelief.
[87a] —I will tell you (says Cebes): your discourse seems to me to be yet in the same state, and to be liable to the same accusation as we mentioned before. For, that our soul had a subsistence before it came into the present form, is an assertion, I will not deny, of a very elegant kind, and (if it is not too much to say) sufficiently demonstrated: but that it still remains when we are dead, does not appear to me to have been clearly proved; nor do I assent to the objection of Simmias, that the soul is not stronger and more lasting than the body, for it appears to me to be much more excellent than all these. Why then, says reason, do you yet disbelieve? for, since you see that when a man dies that which is more imbecil still remains, does it not appear to you to be necessary that the more lasting nature should be preserved during this period of time? [87b] Consider, therefore, whether I shall say any thing to the purpose in reply. For I, as well as Simmias, as it seems, stand in need of a certain similitude: for to me these things appear to be asserted in the same manner, as if any one should say concerning an aged dead weaver, that the man has not yet perished, but perhaps still survives somewhere; and should exhibit as an argument in proof of this assertion a vestment woven by himself, which he wore, and which is yet safe and entire. And if he should ask some one not crediting his assertion, which is the more lasting, the genus of man or of a garment, whose subsistence consists in its use and in being worn; [87c] then should it be replied, that the genus of man is much more lasting, he might think it demonstrated, that the man is by a much stronger reason preserved, since that which is of a shorter duration has not yet perished. But I do not think, Simmias, that this is the case. For consider with yourself what I say: since every person must apprehend, that he who asserts this speaks foolishly. For this weaver, having worn and woven many such vestments, died after them being many, but I think before the last; and yet it cannot be any thing the more inferred on this account, that the man is viler or more imbecil than a vestment. [87d] And I think that the soul, with respect to the body, will receive the same similitude; and he who shall assert the same concerning these, will appear to me to speak in a very equitable manner; I mean that the soul is of a lasting nature, but the body more debile and lets durable. But I should say that each soul wears many bodies, especially if it lives many years; for, if the body glides away like a stream, and is dissolved while the man yet lives, but the soul perpetually re-weaves that which is worn and consumed, it will be necessary indeed, that when the soul is destroyed it should then be clothed with the last vestment, and should perish prior to this alone. [87e] But the soul having perished, then the body will evince the nature of its imbecility, and, becoming rapidly rotten, will be perfectly dissolved: [88a] so that, in consequence of this reasoning, it is not yet proper that we should be persuaded to believe with confidence, that our soul subsists somewhere after we are dead. For, if any one should assent to him who asserts even more than you have done, and should grant that not only our soul had an existence before we were born into the present life, but that nothing hinders us from admitting that certain souls after death may still have a subsistence, exist in some future period, and often be born, and again perish (for so naturally strong is the soul, that it will preserve itself through frequent births); but this being granted, it may still follow, that it will not only labour in those many generations, but that, finishing its course, in some one of these deaths, it will entirely perish. [88b] But no one should say that this death and dissolution of the body, which also introduces destruction to the soul, can be known: for it is impossible that it can be perceived by any one of us. If this, however, be the case, it will not follow that he who possesses the confidence of good hope concerning death is not foolishly confident, unless he can demonstrate that the soul is perfectly immortal and undecaying: for otherwise it will be necessary, that he who is about to die should always fear for his soul, lest in the death, which is at hand, he should entirely perish through the separation of his body.
[88c] When we heard them, therefore, speak in this manner, we were all of us very disagreeably affected, as we afterwards declared to each other; because, as we were in the highest degree persuaded by the former discourse, they again seemed to disturb us and to cast us into unbelief; and this in such a manner, as not only to cause us to deny our assent to the arguments which had been already adduced, but to such as might afterwards be asserted, fearing lest either we should not be proper judges of any thing, or that the things themselves should be unworthy of belief.
[88c] Echecrates: By the Gods, Phædo, I can easily pardon you: for, while I am now hearing you, I cannot refrain from saying to myself, In what arguments can we any longer believe? For the discourse of Socrates, which a little before was exceedingly credible, is now fallen into unbelief. For the assertion, that our soul is a certain harmony, gained my assent both now and always in a wonderful manner; and now it is mentioned, it recalls as it were into my memory a knowledge that I formerly was of the same opinion. [88d] And thus I am perfectly indigent again of some other reason, as if from the very beginning, which may persuade me that the soul of a dead man does not die together with the body. Tell me therefore, by Jupiter, how Socrates pursued the discourse; and whether he, as you confess was the case with yourself, seemed troubled at these objections; or, on the contrary, answered them with facility; and whether he defended his doctrine sufficiently, or in a defective manner. Relate all these particulars to us as accurately as you can.
[88e] Phædo: Indeed, Echecrates, I have often admired Socrates; but never more so than at that time. That he should be able indeed to say something in reply, is perhaps not wonderful; but I especially admired, in the first place, this in him, that he received the discourse of the young men in such a pleasant, benevolent and wonderful manner; and, in the next place, that he so acutely perceived how we were affected by their objections; and lastly, that he so well cured our disturbance, recalled us, as if flying and vanquished, and caused us, in conjunction with himself, to pursue and consider the discourse.
[88e] Echecrates: But how did [89a] he do this?
[89b] Phædo: I will tell you: I happened at that time to sit at his right hand, upon a low seat near his bed; but he himself sat much higher than I did. Stroking me on the head, therefore, and compressing the hair which hung on my neck (for he used sometimes to play with my hairs), To-morrow (says he), Phædo, you will perhaps cut off these beautiful locks.—It seems so, indeed (says 1), Socrates.—But you will not (says he), if you will be persuaded by me.—But why not [89c] (says I)?—For both you and I (says he) ought to cut off our hair to-day, if our discourse must die, and we are not able to recall it to life again. And I indeed, if I was you, and I found that discourse fled from me, would take an oath after the manner of the Argives, that I would never suffer my hair to grow, till, by contesting in disputation, I had vanquished the objections of Simmias and Cebes.—But (says I) Hercules is reported not to have been sufficient against two.—Call upon me, therefore (says he), as your Iolaus⁴⁹ while the light yet lasts.—I call then (says I), not as Hercules upon Iolaus, but as Iolaus upon Hercules.—It is of no consequence (says he).
[89c] But, in the first place, we must be careful that we are not influenced by a certain passion.
[89c] —What passion (says I)?
[89c] —That we do not become (says he) haters⁵⁰ of reason, in the same manner as some become haters of men. [89d] For no greater evil can happen to any one than to be a hater of reasons. But a hatred of reason and a hatred of mankind are both produced in the same manner. For misanthropy is produced in us through very much believing without art in some particular person, and considering him as a man true, sincere, and faithful, whom in the course of a short acquaintance we find to be depraved and unfaithful; and that this is the case again with another. And when any one often suffers this disappointment, and especially from those whom he considered as his most intimate familiars and friends, at length, through finding himself thus frequently hurt, he hates all men, and thinks that there is nothing in any respect sincere in any one. Or have you never perceived that this is the case?
[89d] —Entirely so (says I).
[89e] —But is not this base (says he)? and is it not evident that such a one attempts to make use of men, without possessing the art which respects human affairs? For if, in a certain respect, he employed them with art, he would think, as the case really is, that men very good, or very bad, are but few in number; and that the greater part of mankind are those which subsist between these.
[89e] — How do you mean (says I)?
[89e] —In the same manner (says he) as about things very small and very great. Do you think that any thing is more rare than to find a very large or a very small man, or dog, or any thing else; and again any thing excessively swift or slow, beautiful or base, white or black? Or do you not perceive that the summits of the extremes of all these are rare and few, but that things subsisting between these are copious and many?
[90a] — Entirely so (says I).
[90b] —Do you not, therefore, think (says he) that if a contest of improbity should be proposed, those who hold the first rank among the base would be found to be but few?
[90b] —It is agreeable to reason to think so (says I).
[90c] —It is so, indeed (says he); but in this respect reasons are not similar to men (for I shall now follow you as the leader); but in this they are similar, when any one, for instance, without possessing the art belonging to discourse, believes that a certain discourse is true, and shortly after it appears to him to be false, as it is sometimes the one and sometimes the other, and the same thing happens to him about different discourses. And this is particularly the case with those who are familiar with contradictory arguments; for these you know think that they at length become most wise, and alone perceive that there is nothing sound and stable either in things or reasons; but that every thing is whirled upwards and downwards, as if existing in the river Euripus, and does not abide in any one condition for any portion of time whatever.
[90c] —You speak perfectly true (says I).
[90c] —Would it not then (says he), Phædo, be a passion worthy of commiseration, if, when a certain reason is true and firm, and is capable of being understood, yet some one falling from this should be involved in doubt, because he has heard reasons, which, though remaining the same, yet have at one time appeared to be true, and at another false; and should not accuse himself and his own want of skill, but at length through grief should transfer all the blame from himself to the reasons; and thus should pass the remainder of his life, hating and slandering reasons, and deprived of the truth and science of things?
[90d] —By Jupiter (says I), such a one would be miserable indeed.
[90e] In the first place, therefore (says he), we should be very careful against admitting an opinion, that no reasoning appears to be valid; but we should much rather think that we are not yet in a healthy condition, and that we ought vigorously and cheerfully to study how to be well. And this indeed ought to be the case with you and others, for the sake of the whole remainder of your life, but with me, for the sake of death itself; as there is danger at the present time, lest I should not behave philosophically, but, like those who are perfectly unskilled, contentiously. [91a] For such as these, when they controvert any particular, are not at all concerned how that subsists about which they dispute; but are alone anxious, that what they have established may appear to the persons present to be true. And I seem to myself at present to differ alone in this respect from such as these: for I am not solicitous that my discourse may appear true to those who are present (except just as it may happen in passing), but that it may appear to be so in the most eminent degree to me myself. For I thus reason, my dear friend (and see in how fraudulent a manner), that if my assertions are true, it will be a beautiful circumstance to be persuaded of their truth; but that if nothing remains for the dead, I shall at least have the advantage of being less afflicted with my present condition than others. But this ignorance of mine will not continue long (for it would be bad if it should), but shortly after this will be dissolved; and being thus prepared (says he), Simmias and Cebes, I shall now return to the discourse. [91b] But, that you may be persuaded by me, pay no attention to the person of Socrates, but be much more solicitous in assenting to the truth, if I should appear to you to assert any thing true; but if this should not be the case, oppose me with all your might, and beware, lest through too much ardour I should deceive both myself and you, and, acting in this respect like bees, should depart from you, leaving my sting behind.
[91c] But to begin (says he): In the first place, remind me of what you have said, if it should appear that I have forgotten it. For Simmias, I think, distrusted and was afraid lest the soul, though it is at the same time more divine and beautiful than the body, should perish before it, as subsisting in the form of harmony. [91d] But Cebes appears to me to have admitted this, that the soul is more lasting than the body; but yet that it is perfectly uncertain, whether after the soul has worn out many bodies, and this often, it may not at length, leaving body behind, itself also perish; so that this will be death itself, I mean the destruction of the soul, since the body perpetually perishes without ceasing. Are not these the things, Simmias and Cebes, which we ought to consider?
[91e] —They both confessed that the particulars were these.
[91e] —Whether, therefore (says he), do you reject the whole of our former discourse, or do you reject some things and not others?
[91e] — They replied, We admit some things, and not others.
[92a] —What then (says he) do you say about that discourse, in which we asserted that learning is reminiscence; and that, this being the case, our soul must necessarily have subsisted somewhere before it was bound in the body?
[92a] —I indeed (says Cebes) was both then wonderfully persuaded by that discourse, and now firmly abide in the same opinion.
[92a] —And I also (says Simmias) am affected in the same manner; and I should very much wonder should I ever conceive otherwise about this particular.
[92a] —But (says Socrates) it is necessary, my Theban guest, that it should appear otherwise to you, if you still continue of the opinion, that harmony is something composite, and that the soul is a certain harmony, composed from things extended through the body. For you will never assent to yourself asserting, that harmony was composed prior to the things from which it ought to be composed; or do you think you can?
[92b] —By no means (says he), Socrates.
[92b] —Do you perceive, therefore (says he), that you will not be consistent in your assertions, when you say that the soul had a subsistence before it came into a human form and into body, but that at the same time it was composed from things which then had not a being? For neither is harmony such as that to which you assimilate it; but the lyre, and the chords, and the sounds yet unharmonized, have a prior existence; but harmony is composed the last of all, and is the first dissolved. How, therefore, can this discourse be consonant with that?
[92b] —In no respect (says Simmias).
[92b] —But it certainly is proper (says he) that a discourse about harmony should be consonant, if this can ever be asserted of any other.
[92c] —It is proper, indeed (says Simmias).
[92c] —But this discourse of yours is not consonant. Consider, therefore, which of these assertions you will choose, that learning is reminiscence, or that the soul is harmony. [92d] I prefer the former, Socrates, by much; for the latter gained my assent without a demonstration, through nothing more than a certain probability and specious appearance; from whence also it appears evident to the multitude of mankind. But I well know, that the discourses which frame their demonstrations from assimilative reasons only are nothing more than empty boastings; and unless a man defends himself against them, they will very much deceive him, both in geometry and all other speculations. [92e] But the discourse about reminiscence and learning was delivered through an hypothesis highly worthy of reception. For in this it was said that our soul had a subsistence somewhere before it came into the present body, as it is an essence possessing the appellation of that which truly is. But, as I persuade myself, I assent to this doctrine in a manner sufficient and proper; and hence it is necessary, as it appears to me, that I should neither assent to myself nor to any other asserting that the soul is harmony.
[93a] But what (says he), Simmias? Does it appear to you that it can either belong to this harmony, or to any composition, to subsist differently from the things from which it is composed?
[93a] —By no means.
[93a] —And indeed, as it appears to me, it can neither perform nor suffer any thing else, besides what these perform and suffer.
[93a] —He agreed it could not.
[93a] —It does not, therefore, belong to harmony to be the leader of the materials from which it is composed, but to follow them.
[93a] —This also he granted.
[93a] —It is far, therefore, from being the case, that harmony will either be moved or found contrary, or in any other respect be adverse to its parts.
[93b] —Very far, indeed, (says he).
[93b] — But what, does not every harmony naturally subsist in such a manner as to be harmony, so far as it receives a congruous temperament?
[93b] —I do not understand you.
[93b] —But (says he) if it were possible that it could be congruously tempered with still greater vehemence, and more in quantity, would it not be more vehemently harmony and more in quantity; but if less vehemently and less in quantity, just the contrary?
[93b] —Entirely so.
[93b] —But can it be said of the soul, that, even in the smallest circumstance, one soul is more vehemently and more in quantity, or less vehemently and less in quantity, soul, than another?
[93b] —By no means (says he).
[93c] —Consider then (says he), by Jupiter, is it truly said, that one soul possesses intellect and virtue, and is good; but that another is foolish and vicious, and is bad?
[93c] —It is truly said.
[93c] — Among those, therefore, who establish the soul as harmony, what can any one call virtue and vice in the soul? Will he call the one harmony, and the other discord? And that the one, that is to say the good soul, is harmonized; and, as it is harmony, possesses another harmony in itself; but that the other is discord, and does not contain in itself another harmony?
[93d] —I know not what to reply (says Simmias); but it is manifest, that he who establishes this would make some such reply. But it has been granted (says he), that one soul is not more or less soul than another; and this is no other than to confess, that one harmony is not more vehemently and more in quantity, nor less vehemently and less in quantity, harmony, than another: is it not so?
[93d] —Entirely so.
[93d] —But that which is neither more nor less harmony, is neither more nor less harmonized: is it not so?
[93d] —It is.
[93d] —But can that which is neither more nor less harmonized participate more or less of harmony⁵¹? or does it equally participate?
[93e] —Equally.
[93e] —The soul, therefore, since it is not more or less soul than another, is not more or less harmonized.
[93e] —It is not.
[93e] —But since it is thus affected, it will neither participate more of discord nor of harmony.
[93e] —By no means.
[93e] —And again, in consequence of this passion, can one soul participate more of vice or virtue than another, since vice is discord, but virtue harmony?
[93e] —It cannot.
[93e] —But rather, Simmias, according to right reason, no soul will participate of vice, since it is harmony: for doubtless the harmony, which is perfectly such, can never participate of discord.
[93e] —It certainly cannot.
[93e] —Neither, therefore, can the soul, which is perfectly soul, participate of vice: [94a] for how can it, in consequence of what has been said? In consequence of this reasoning, therefore, the souls of all animals will be similarly good; since they are naturally similarly souls, with respect to the essence of soul.
[94b] —To me it appears so, Socrates (says he).
[94b] —If the hypothesis therefore was right, would it appear to you to be beautifully said, and that this consequence ensued, that the soul is harmony?
[94b] —By no means (says he).
[94b] But what (says Socrates), among all the things which are inherent in man, would you say that any thing else governed except soul, if he be a prudent man?—I should not.—But whether [94c] does the soul govern, by assenting to the passions belonging to the body, or by opposing them? My meaning is this, that when heat and thirst are present, the soul, if it governs, will frequently draw the body to the contrary, i. e. not to drink; and hunger being present, that it shall not eat; and in a thousand other instances we may behold the soul opposing the desires of the body: may we not?—Entirely so.—Have we not above confessed, that if the soul was harmony, it would never found contrary to the intensions, remissions, or vibrations, or any other passion belonging to its component parts, but that it would follow, and never rule over them?—We have granted this (says he); [94d] for how could we do otherwise?—But what, does not the soul now appear to act just the contrary to this, ruling over all those particulars, from which it may be said it subsists, nearly opposing all of them through the whole of life, and exercising absolute dominion over them all manner of ways, punishing some of these indeed with greater difficulty, and accompanied with pain; some through gymnastic and medicine, and some by milder methods, and some again by threats, and others by admonishing desire, anger, and fear; addressing that which it opposes, as being itself of a different nature? just as Homer does in the Odyssey⁵², where he says of Ulysses:
[94d] “His breast he struck, and cried, My heart, sustain
This ill! for thou hast borne far greater pain.”
[94e] Do you think that Homer devised this in consequence of thinking that the soul is harmony, and of such a kind as to be led by the passions of the body, and not such as is naturally adapted to lead and govern, and which is something much more divine than harmony?—By Jupiter, Socrates, I do not think that he did.—By no means, therefore, most excellent man, shall we do well, in asserting that the soul is a certain⁵³ harmony: for by thus asserting, as it appears, we shall neither agree with Homer, that divine poet, nor be consistent with ourselves.—It is so, indeed (says he).
[95a] Let it then be so (says Socrates); and thus, as it appears, we have sufficiently appeased the patrons of the Theban harmony. But how, Cebes, and by what discourse shall we appease the patrons of Cadmus⁵⁴?
[95a] —You appear to me (says Cebes) to be likely to find out a way: for you have delivered this discourse against harmony in a wonderful manner, and beyond what I expected. For, while Simmias related his doubts, I thought it would be a most admirable thing, should any one be able to reply to his discourse. He therefore appears to me, in a manner perfectly extraordinary, not to have sustained the very first assault of your discourse. I should not, therefore, be surprised if the arguments of Cadmus met with the same fate.
[95b] — My good friend (says Socrates), do not speak so magnificently, lest a certain envy should subvert our future discourse. These things, indeed, will be taken care of by Divinity. But we, approaching near in an Homeric manner, will try whether you say any thing to the purpose. This then is the sum of what you inquire: you think it proper to demonstrate that our soul is without decay, and immortal; that a philosopher who is about to die with all the confidence of hope, and who thinks that after death he shall be far more happy than in the present life, may not indulge a stupid and foolish confidence. But you say, though it should be shown that the soul is something robust and deiform, and that it subsisted before we were born, [95c] yet nothing hinders but that all these arguments may not evince its immortality, but only that the soul is more lasting than the body, that it formerly existed somewhere for an immense period of time, and that it knew and performed a multitude of things. But that, for all this, it will be nothing the more immortal; but that, entering into the body of a man, it will be the principle of destruction to itself, as if connected with a disease: so that it will both lead a miserable life in the body, and at last will perish in that which is called death. [95d] But you say it is of no consequence whether it comes into body once or often, with respect to our occasion of fear: for it is very proper that he who neither knows, nor is able to render a reason, why the soul is immortal, should be afraid of death, unless he is deprived of intellect. This, I think, Cebes, is the sum of what you say; and I have repeated it often, that nothing may escape our observation; and that, if you are willing, you may either add or take away from our statement of the objections. But Cebes replied, I have nothing at present either to add or take away; but these are the objections which I make.
[95e] Socrates, therefore, after he had been silent for a long time, and considering something by himself, said, You require, Cebes, a thing of no small importance: for it is perfectly necessary to treat concerning the cause of generation and corruption. If you are willing, therefore, I will relate to you what happened to me in this investigation; and afterwards, if any thing which I shall say shall appear to you useful, with respect to persuading you in the present inquiry, employ it for this purpose.
[96a] —But I am most assuredly willing (says Cebes).
[96a] —Hear then my narration: When I was a young man, Cebes, I was in a wonderful manner desirous of that wisdom which they call a history⁵⁵ of nature: for it appeared to me to be a very superb affair to know the causes of each particular, on what account each is generated, why it perishes, and why it exists. And I often tossed myself as it were upwards and downwards; considering, in the first place, whether after that which is hot and cold has received a certain rottenness, as some say, then animals are nourished; [96b] and whether the blood is that through which we become prudent, or air, or fire; or whether none of these, but the brain, is that which affords the senses of hearing, seeing, and smelling; so that memory and opinion are generated from these, and that from memory and opinion obtaining tranquillity, science is accordingly produced? And again considering the corruptions of these, and the properties which take place about the heavens and the earth, I at length appeared to myself so unskilful in the speculation of these, as to receive no advantage from my inquiries. [96c] But I will give you a sufficient proof of the truth of this: for I then became so very blind, with respect to things which I knew before with great clearness (as it appeared both to myself and others) through this speculation, as to want instruction both in many particulars, which I thought I had known before, and in this, why a man is increased. For I thought it was evident to every one that this took place through eating and drinking: for when, from the aliment, flesh accedes to flesh, bone to bone, and every where kindred to kindred parts, then the bulk which was small becomes afterwards great; and thus a little man becomes a large one. Such was then my opinion; does it appear to you a becoming one?
[96d] —To me, indeed, it does (says Cebes).
[96d] —But still further, consider as follows: for I thought that I seemed to myself sufficiently right in my opinion, when, on seeing a tall man standing by a short one, I judged that he was taller by the head; and in like manner one horse than another: and still more evident than these, ten things appeared to me to be more than eight, because two is added to them, and that a bicubital is greater than a cubital magnitude, through its surpassing it by the half.
[96e] —But now (says Cebes) what appears to you respecting these?
[97a] —By Jupiter (says he), I am so far from thinking that I know the cause of these, that I cannot even persuade myself, when any person adds one to one, that then the one to which the addition was made becomes two; or that the added one, and that to which it is added, become two, through the addition of the one to the other. For I should wonder, since each of these, when separate from one another, was one, and not then two; if, after they have approached nearer to each other, this should be the cause of their becoming two, viz. the association through which they are placed nearer to each other. [97b] Nor yet, if any person should divide one, am I able to persuade myself that this division is the cause of its becoming two. For that former⁵⁶ cause of two being produced is contrary to this. For then this took place, because they were collected near to each other, and the one was applied to the other; but now, because the one is removed and separated from the other. Nor do I any longer persuade myself, that I know why one is produced; nor, in one word, why any thing else is either generated or corrupted, or is, according to this method of proceeding: but, in order to obtain this knowledge, I venture to mingle another method of my own, by no means admitting this which I have mentioned.
[97c] But having once heard a person reading from a certain book, composed, as he said, by Anaxagoras⁵⁷—when he came to that part, in which he says that intellect orders and is the cause of all things, I was delighted with this cause, and thought that, in a certain respect⁵⁸, it was an excellent thing for intellect to be the cause of all; and I considered that, if this was the case, disposing intellect would adorn all things, and place every thing in that situation in which it would subsist in the best manner. If any one, therefore, should be willing to discover the cause through which every thing is generated, or corrupted, or is, he ought to discover how it may subsist in the best manner, or suffer, or perform any thing else. In consequence of this, therefore, it is proper that a man should consider nothing else, either about himself or about others, except that which is the most excellent and the best: but it is necessary that he who knows this should also know that which is subordinate, since there is one and the same science of both. [97d] But thus reasoning with myself, I rejoiced, thinking that I had found a preceptor in Anaxagoras, who would instruct me in the causes of things agreeably to my own conceptions; and that he would inform me, in the first place, whether the earth is flat or round; and afterwards explain the cause and necessity of its being so, adducing for this purpose that which is better, and showing that it is better for the earth to exist in this manner. [97e] And if he should say it is situated in the middle, that he would, besides this, show that it is better for it to be in the middle; and if he should render all this apparent to me, I was so disposed as not to require any other species of cause. [98a] I had likewise prepared myself in a similar manner for an inquiry respecting the sun, and moon, and the other stars, their velocities and revolutions about each other, and all their other properties; so as to be able to know why it is better for each to operate in a certain manner, and to suffer that which it suffers. For I by no means thought, after he had said that all these were orderly disposed by intellect, he would introduce any other cause of their subsistence, except that which shows⁵⁹ that it is best for them to exist as they do. Hence I thought that in assigning the cause common to each particular, and to all things, he would explain that which is best for each, and is the common good of all. And indeed I would not have exchanged these hopes for a mighty gain! but having obtained his books with prodigious eagerness, I read them with great celerity, that I might with great celerity know that which is the best, and that which is base.
[98a] From this admirable [98b] hope however, my friend, I was forced away, when, in the course of my reading, I saw him make no use of intellect, nor employ certain causes, for the purpose of orderly disposing particulars, but assign air, æther, and water, and many other things equally absurd, as the causes of things. And he appeared to me to be affected in a manner similar to him who should assert, that all the actions of Socrates are produced by intellect; and afterwards, endeavouring to relate the causes of each particular action, should say, that, in the first place, I now sit here because my body is composed from bones and nerves, and that the bones are solid, and are separated by intervals from each other; but that the nerves, which are of a nature capable of intension and remission, cover the bones, together with the flesh and skin by which they are contained. [98c] The bones, therefore, being suspended from their joints, the nerves, by straining and relaxing them, enable me to bend my limbs as at present; and through this cause I here sit in an inflected position—and again, should assign other such-like causes of my conversation with you, viz. voice, and air, and hearing, and a thousand other such particulars, neglecting to adduce the true cause, that since it appeared to the Athenians better to condemn me, on this account, it also appeared to me to be better and more just to sit here, and, thus abiding, sustain the punishment which they have ordained me. [98e] For otherwise, by the dog, as it appears to me, these nerves and bones would have been carried long ago either into Megara or Bœotia, through an opinion of that which is best, if I had not thought it more just and becoming to sustain the punishment ordered by my country, whatever it might be, than to withdraw myself and run away. But to call things of this kind causes is extremely absurd. [99a] Indeed, if any one should say that without possessing such things as bones and nerves, and other particulars which belong to me, I could not act in the manner I appear to do, he would speak the truth: but to assert that I act as I do at present through these, and that I operate with this intellect, and not from the choice of that which is best, would be an assertion full of extreme negligence and sloth. For this would be the consequence of not being able to collect by division, that the true cause of a thing is very different from that without which a cause would not be a cause. [99b] And this indeed appears to me to be the case with the multitude of mankind, who, handling things as it were in darkness, call them by names foreign from the truth, and thus denominate things causes which are not so. Hence, one placing round the earth a certain vortex, produced by the celestial motion, renders by this mean the earth fixt in the centre; but another places air under it, as if it was a basis to a broad trough. But they neither investigate that power through which things are now disposed in the best manner possible, nor do they think that it is endued with any dæmoniacal strength: but they fancy they have found a certain Atlas, more strong and immortal than such a strength, and far more sustaining all things; and they think that the good and the becoming do not in reality connect and sustain any thing. With respect to myself, indeed, I would most willingly become the disciple of any one; so that I might perceive in what manner a cause of this kind subsists. But since I am deprived of this advantage, and have neither been able to discover it myself, nor to learn it from another, are you willing, Cebes, that I should show you the manner in which I made a prosperous voyage to discove r the cause of things?
[99c] —I am willing (says he) in a most transcendent degree.
[99d] It appeared to me therefore (says Socrates) afterwards, when I was wearied with such speculations, that I ought to take care lest I should be affected in the same manner as those are who attentively behold the sun in an eclipse: for some would be deprived of their sight, unless they beheld its image in water, or in a similar medium. And something of this kind I perceived with respect to myself, and was afraid lest my soul should be perfectly blinded through beholding things with the eyes of my body, and through endeavouring to apprehend them by means of the several senses. Hence I considered that I ought to fly to reasons, and in them survey the truth of things. [99e] Perhaps, indeed, this similitude of mine may not in a certain respect be proper: for I do not entirely admit that he who contemplates things in reasons, surveys them in images, more than he who contemplates them in external effects. This method, therefore, I have adopted; and always establishing that reason as an hypothesis, which I judge to be the most valid, whatever appears to me to be consonant to this, I fix upon as true, both concerning the cause of things and every thing else; but such as are not consonant I consider as not true. But I wish to explain to you what I say in a clearer manner: for I think that you do not at present understand me.—Not very much, by Jupiter, says Cebes.
[100a] However (says he), [100b] I now assert nothing new, but what I have always asserted at other times, and in the preceding disputation. For I shall now attempt to demonstrate to you that species of cause which I have been discoursing about, and shall return again to those particulars which are so much celebrated; beginning from these, and laying down as an hypothesis, that there is a certain something beautiful, itself subsisting by itself; and a certain something good and great, and so of all the rest; which if you permit me to do, and allow that such things have a subsistence, I hope that I shall be able from these to demonstrate this cause to you, and discover that the soul is immortal.
[100c] —But (says Cebes), in consequence of having granted you this already, you cannot be hindered from drawing such a conclusion.
[100c] —But consider (says he) the things consequent to these, and see whether you will then likewise agree with me. For it appears to me, that if there be any thing else beautiful, besides the beautiful itself, it cannot be beautiful on any other account than because it participates of the beautiful itself; and I should speak in the same manner of all things. Do you admit such a cause?
[100c] —I admit it (says he).
[100c] —I do not therefore (says Socrates) any longer perceive, nor am I able to understand, those other wise causes; but if any one tells me why a certain thing is beautiful, and assigns as a reason, either its possessing a florid colour, or figure, or something else of this kind, I bid farewell to other hypotheses (for in all others I find myself disturbed); but this I retain with myself, simply, unartificially, and perhaps foolishly, that nothing else causes it to be beautiful, than either the presence, or communion, or in whatever manner the operations may take place, of the beautiful itself. For I cannot yet affirm how this takes place; but only this, that all beautiful things become such through the beautiful itself. For it appears to me most safe thus to answer both myself and others; and adhering to this, I think that I can never fall, but that I shall be secure in answering, that all beautiful things are beautiful through the beautiful itself. Does it not also appear so to you?
[100d] —It does.
[100d] —And that great things, therefore, are great, and things greater, greater through magnitude itself; and things lesser, lesser through smallness itself?
[100d] —Certainly.
[100d] — Neither, therefore, would [100e] you assent, if it should be said that some one is larger than another by the head, and that he who is lesser is lesser by the very same thing, i. [101a] e, the head: but you would testify that you said nothing else than that, with respect to every thing great, one thing is greater than another by nothing else than magnitude, and that through this it is greater, i. e. through magnitude; and that the lesser is lesser through nothing else than smallness, and that through this it is lesser, i. e. through smallness. For you would be afraid, I think, lest, if you should say that any one is greater and lesser by the head, you should contradict yourself: first, in asserting that the greater is greater, and the lesser lesser, by the very same thing; and afterwards that the greater is greater by the head, which is a small thing; and that it is monstrous to suppose, that any thing which is great can become so through something which is small. Would you not be afraid of all this?
[101b] —Indeed I should (says Cebes, laughing). —Would you not also (says he) be afraid to say that ten things are more than eight by two, and that through this cause ten transcends eight, and not by multitude and through multitude? And in like manner, that a thing which is two cubits in length is greater than that which is but one cubit, by the half, and not by magnitude? for the dread is indeed the same.
[101b] —Entirely so (says he).
[101b] — But what? one being added to one, will the addition be the cause of their becoming two? [101c] or if one is divided, and two produced, would you not be afraid to assign division as the cause? Indeed you would cry with a loud voice, that you know no other way by which any thing subsists, than by participating the proper essence of every thing which it participates; and that in these you can assign no other cause of their becoming two, than the participation of the duad; and that it is proper all such things as are about to become two, should participate of this, and of unity, whatever is about to become one. But you would bid farewell to these divisions and additions, and other subtilties of this kind, and would leave them to be employed in answering, by those who are wiser than yourself. And fearing, as it is said, your own shadow, and your own unskilfulness, you would adhere to this safe hypothesis, and answer in the manner I have described. [101d] But if any one should adhere to this hypothesis, you would refrain from answering him till you had considered the consequences resulting from thence, and whether they were consonant or dissonant to one another. But when it is necessary for you to assign a reason for your belief in this hypothesis, you will assign it in a similar manner, laying down again another hypothesis, which shall appear to be the best among supernal natures, till you arrive at something sufficient. At the same time you will by no means confound things by mingling them together, after the manner of the contentious, when you discourse concerning the principle and the consequences arising from thence, if you are willing to discover any thing of true beings. For by such as these, perhaps, no attention is paid to this. For these, through their wisdom, are sufficiently able to mingle all things together, and at the same time please themselves. But you, if you rank among the philosophers, will act, I think, in the manner I have described.
[101e] —Both Simmias and Cebes said, You speak most truly.
[102a] Echecrates: By Jupiter, Phædo, they assented with great propriety: for he appears to me to have asserted this in a manner wonderfully clear; and this even to one endued with the smallest degree of intellect.
[102a] Phædo: And so indeed, Echecrates, it appeared in every respect to all who were present.
[102a] Echecrates: And well it might: for it appears so to us, now we hear it, who were not present. But what was the discourse after this?
[102b] If I remember right, after they had granted all this, and had confessed that each of the several species was something, and that others participating of these received the same denomination, he afterwards interrogated them as follows: If then you allow that these things are so, when you say that Simmias is greater than Socrates, but less than Phædo, do you not then assert that both magnitude and parvitude are inherent in Simmias?
[102b] —I do.
[102b] —And yet (says he) you must confess, that this circumstance of Simmias surpassing Socrates does not truly subsist in the manner which the words seem to imply. For Simmias is not naturally adapted to surpass Socrates, so far as he is Simmias, but by the magnitude which he possesses: nor, again, does he surpass Socrates so far as Socrates is Socrates, but because Socrates possesses parvitude with respect to his magnitude.
[102b] —True.
[102c] —Nor, again, is Simmias surpassed by Phædo, because Phædo is Phædo, but because Phædo possesses magnitude with respect to the parvitude of Simmias.
[102c] —It is so.
[102c] —Simmias, therefore, is allotted the appellation of both small and great, being situated in the middle of both; exhibiting his smallness to be surpassed by the greatness of the one, and his greatness to the other’s smallness; which it surpasses. And at the same time, gently laughing, I seem (says he) to have spoken with all the precision of an historian; but, notwithstanding this, it is as I say.
[102d] —He allowed it.
[102d] —But I have mentioned these things, in order that you may be of the same opinion as myself. For to me it appears, not only that magnitude is never willing to be at the same time both great and small, but that the magnitude which we contain never desires to receive that which is small, nor be surpassed; but that it is willing to do one of these two things, either to fly away, and gradually withdraw itself, when its contrary the small approaches to it, or to perish when it arrives; [102e] but that it is unwilling, by sustaining and receiving parvitude, to be different from what it was: In the same manner as I myself receiving and sustaining parvitude, and still remaining that which I am, am nevertheless small. But that being great dares not to be small. And in like manner the small, which resides in us, is not willing at any time to subsist in becoming to be great, or to be great: nor does any thing else among contraries, while it remains that which it was, wish at the same time to subsist in becoming to be, and to be, its contrary; but it either departs or perishes in consequence of this passion.
[103a] —It appears so to me (says Cebes) in every respect.
[103a] But a certain person, who was present, upon hearing this (I do not clearly remember who it was), By the Gods (says he), was not the very contrary of what you now assert admitted by you in the former part of your discourse, viz. that the greater was generated from the less, and the less from the greater; and that generation among contraries plainly took place from contraries? But now you appear to me to say, that this can never be the case. [103b] Upon this Socrates, after he had extended his head a little further, and had listened to his discourse, said, You very manfully put me in mind; yet you do not understand the difference between what is now and what was then asserted. For then it was said, that a contrary thing was generated from a contrary; but now, that a contrary can never become contrary to itself, neither that contrary which subsists in us, nor that which subsists in nature. For then, my friend, we spoke concerning things which possess contraries, calling the contraries by the appellation of the things in which they reside; but now we speak of things which receive their denomination from the contraries residing in them. And we should never be willing to assert that these contraries receive a generation from one another. And at the same time, beholding Cebes, he said, Did any thing which has been said by this person disturb you also?—Indeed (says Cebes) it did not; and at such a time as this there are not many things which can disturb me.—We ingenuously, therefore (says he), assent to this, that a contrary can never become contrary to itself.—Entirely so (says Cebes).
[103c] But still further (says he), consider whether you agree with me in this also. Do you call the hot and the cold any thing?
[103d] —I do.
[103d] —Are they the same with snow and fire?
[103d] —They are not, by Jupiter.—The hot, therefore, is something different from fire, and the cold from snow.
[103d] —Certainly.
[103d] —But this also is, I think, apparent to you, that snow, as long as it is such, can never, by receiving heat, remain what it was before, viz. snow, and at the same time become hot; but, on the accession of heat, must either withdraw itself from it, or perish.
[103e] —Entirely so.
[103e] —And again, that fire, when cold approaches to it, must either depart or perish; but that it will never dare, by receiving coldness, still to remain what it was, i. e. fire, and yet be at the same time cold.
[104a] —You speak truly (says he).
[104a] —But (says Socrates) it happens to some of these, that not only the species itself is always thought worthy of the same appellation, but likewise something else, which is not indeed that species, but which perpetually possesses the form of it as long as it exists. But in the following instances my meaning will perhaps be more apparent: for the odd number ought always to possess that name by which we now call it: should it not?
[104a] —Entirely so.
[104a] —But is this the case with the odd number alone (for this is what I inquire)? or is there any thing else which is not indeed the same with the odd, but yet which ought always to be called odd, together with its own proper name, because it naturally subsists in such a manner, that it can never desert the form of the odd? But this is no other than what happens to the number three, and many other things. For consider, does not the number three appear to you to be always called by its proper name, and at the same time by the name of the odd, though the odd is not the same as the triad? Yet the triad, and the pentad, and the entire half of number, naturally subsist in such a manner, that though they are not the same as the odd, yet each of them is always odd. And again, two and four, and the whole other order of number, though they are not the same as the even, yet each of them is always even: do you admit this or not?
[104b] —How should I not (says he)?
[104b] —See then (says Socrates) what I wish to evince. But it is as follows: It has appeared, not only that contraries do not receive one another, but that even such things as are not contrary to each other, and yet always possess contraries, do not appear to receive that idea which is contrary to the idea which they contain; but that on its approach they either perish or depart. Shall we not, therefore, say that three things would first perish, and endure any thing whatever, sooner than sustain to be three things, and at the same time to be even?
[104c] —Entirely so (says Cebes).
[104c] —And yet (says Socrates) the duad is not contrary to the triad.
[104c] —Certainly not.
[104c] —Not only, therefore, do contrary species never sustain the approach of each other, but certain other things likewise cannot sustain the accession of contraries.
[104c] —You speak most true (says he).
[104c] Are you willing, therefore (says he), that, if we are able, we should define what kind of things these are?—Entirely so.—Will [104d] they not then, Cebes (says he), be such things as compel whatever they occupy, not only to retain their idea, but likewise not to receive a contrary to it?—How do you mean?—Exactly as we just now said. For you know it is necessary, that whatever things the idea of three occupies should not only be three, but likewise odd.—Entirely so.—To a thing of this kind, therefore, we assert, that an idea contrary to that form, through which it becomes what it is, will [104e] never approach.—It cannot.—But it becomes what it is through the odd: [105a] does it not?—Certainly.—But is not the contrary to this the idea of the even?—It is.—The idea of the even, therefore, will never accede to three things.—Never.—Are not three things, therefore, destitute of the even?— Destitute.—The triad, therefore, is an odd number.—It is.—The things which I mentioned then are defined, viz. such things, which, though they are not contrary to some particular nature, yet do not at the same time receive that which is contrary; just as the triad in the present instance, though it is not contrary to the even, yet does not any thing more receive it on this account: for it always brings with it that which is contrary to the even; and in like manner the duad to the odd, and fire to cold, and an abundant multitude of other particulars. But see whether you would thus define, not only that a contrary does not receive a contrary, but likewise that the nature which brings with it a contrary to that to which it approaches, will never receive the contrariety of that which it introduces. But recollect again, for it will not be useless to hear it repeated often. Five things will not receive the form of the even; neither will ten things, which are the double of five, receive the form of the odd. This⁶⁰, therefore, though it is itself contrary to something⁶¹ else, yet will not receive the form of the odd; nor will the sesquialter, nor other things of this kind, such as the half and the third part, ever receive the form of the whole, if you pursue and assent to these consequences.—I most vehemently (says he) pursue and assent to them.
[105b] Again, therefore (says Socrates), speak to me from the beginning; and this not by answering to what I inquire, but, in a different manner, imitating me. For I say this, in consequence of perceiving another mode of answering, arising from what has now been said, no less secure than that which was established at first. For, if you should ask me what that is, which, when inherent in any body, causes the body to be hot, I should not give you that cautious and unskilful answer, that it is heat, but one more elegant deduced from what we have just now said; I mean, that it is fire. Nor, if you should ask me what that is, which when inherent in a certain body, the body is diseased, I should not say that it is disease, but a fever. Nor, if you should ask what that is, which when inherent in a number, the number will be odd, I should not say that it is imparity, but unity, and in a similar manner in other particulars. [105c] But see whether you sufficiently understand my meaning.—Perfectly so (says he).—Answer me then (says Socrates), what that is, which when inherent in the body, the body will be alive?—Soul⁶² (says he).—Is this then always the case?—How should it not (says he)?— Will soul, therefore, always introduce life to that which it occupies?—It will truly (says he).—But is there any thing contrary to life, or not?—There is.—But what?—Death.—The soul, therefore, will never receive the contrary to that which it introduces, in consequence of what has been already admitted.—And this most vehemently so (says Cebes).
[105d] But what? how do we denominate that which does not receive the idea of the even?
[105d] —Odd (says he).
[105d] —And how do we call that which does not receive justice, and that which does not receive music?
[105d] —We call (says he) the one unjust, and the other unmusical.
[105e] —Be it so.
[105e] —But what do we call that which does not receive death?
[105e] —Immortal (says he).
[105e] — The soul does not receive death?
[105e] —It does not.
[105e] —The soul, therefore, is immortal.
[105e] —Immortal.
[106a] —Let it be so (says he).
[106a] —And shall we say that this is now demonstrated? Or how does it appear to you?
[106a] —It appears to me, Socrates, to be most sufficiently demonstrated.
[106a] —What then (says he), Cebes, if it were necessary to the odd that it should be free from destruction, would not three things be indestructible?
[106a] —How should they not?
[106a] —If, therefore, it was also necessary that a thing void of heat should be indestructible, when any one should introduce heat to snow, would not the snow withdraw itself, safe and unliquefied? For it would not perish; nor yet, abiding, would it receive the heat.
[106b] —You speak the truth (says he).
[106b] —In like manner, I think if that which is void of cold was indestructible, that when any thing cold approached to fire, the fire would neither be extinguished nor destroyed, but would depart free from damage.
[106b] —It is necessary (says he).
[106b] —Hence (says Socrates) it is necessary to speak in this manner concerning that which is immortal: [106c] for, if that which is immortal is indestructible, it is impossible that the soul, when death approaches to it, should perish. For it follows, from what has been said, that it does not receive death, and of course it will never be dead. Just as we said, that three things will never be even, nor will this ever be the case with that which is odd: nor will fire ever be cold, nor yet the heat which is inherent in fire. But some one may say, What hinders but that the odd may never become the even, through the accession of the even, as we have confessed; and yet, when the odd is destroyed, the even may succeed instead of it? We cannot contend with him who makes this objection, that it is not destroyed: for the odd is not free from destruction; since, if this was granted to us, we might easily oppose the objection, and obtain this concession, that the odd and three things would depart, on the approach of the even; and we might contend in the same manner about fire and heat, and other particulars: might we not?
[106c] —Entirely so.
[106d] —And now, therefore, since we have confessed respecting that which is immortal, that it is indestructible, it must follow that the soul is, together with being immortal, likewise indestructible: but if this be not admitted, other arguments will be necessary for our conviction. But there is no occasion for this (says he). For it is scarcely possible that any thing else should be void of corruption, if that which is immortal and eternal is subject to dissolution.
[106d] But I think (says Socrates) that Divinity, and the form itself of life, and if any thing else besides this is immortal, must be confessed by all beings to be entirely free from dissolution. All men, indeed (says he), by Jupiter, must acknowledge this; and much more, as it appears to me, must it be admitted by the Gods. [106e] Since, therefore, that which is immortal is also incorruptible, will not the soul, since it is immortal, be indestructible?—It is perfectly necessary.—When, therefore, death invades a man, the mortal part of him, as it appears, dies; [107a] but the immortal part departs safe and uncorrupted, and withdraws itself from death.—It appears so.—The soul, therefore (says he), O Cebes, will, more⁶³ than any thing, be immortal and indestructible; and our souls will in reality subsist in Hades. And therefore (says he), Socrates, I have nothing further to object to these arguments, nor any reason why I should disbelieve their reality: but if either Simmias, or any person present, has any thing to say, he will do well not to be silent: for I know not what other opportunity he can have, besides the present, if he wishes either to speak or hear about things of this kind.—But indeed (says Simmias) I have nothing which can hinder my belief in what has been said. But yet on account of the magnitude⁶⁴ of the things about which we have discoursed, and through my despising human imbecility, I am compelled to retain with myself an unbelief about what has [107b] been asserted.—Indeed, Simmias (says Socrates), you not only speak well in the present instance, but it is necessary that even those first hypotheses which we established, and which are believed by us, should at the same time be more clearly considered: and if you sufficiently investigate them, you will follow reason, as it appears to me, in as great a degree as is possible to man. And if this becomes manifest, you will no longer make any further inquiry.—You speak true (says he).
[107c] But it is just, my friends (says he), to think that if the soul is immortal, it requires our care and attention, not only for the present time, in which we say it lives, but likewise with a view to the whole of time: and it will now appear, that he who neglects it must subject himself to a most dreadful danger. For, if death were the liberation of the whole man, it would be an unexpected gain to the wicked to be liberated at the same time from the body, and from their vices together with their soul: but now, since the soul appears to be immortal, no other flight from evils, and no other safety remains for it, than in becoming the best and most prudent possible. For when the soul arrives at Hades, it will possess nothing but discipline and education, which are said to be of the greatest advantage or detriment to the dead, in the very beginning of their progression thither. [107d] For thus it is said: that the dæmon⁶⁵ of each person, which was allotted to him while living, endeavours⁶⁶ to lead each to a certain place, where it is necessary that all of them, being collected together, after they have been judged, should proceed to Hades, together with their leader, who is ordered to conduct them from hence thither. But there receiving the allotments proper to their condition, and abiding for a necessary time, another leader brings them back hither again, in many and long periods of time. [107e] The journey, therefore, is not such as Telephus asserts it to be in Eschylus. For he says that a simple path leads to Hades: but it appears to me that the path is neither simple nor one. For there would be no occasion of leaders, nor could any one ever wander from the right road, if there was but one way. But now it appears to have many divisions and dubious turnings: and this I conjecture from our holy and legal rites. The soul, therefore, which is properly adorned with virtue, and which possesses prudence, willingly follows its leader, and is not ignorant of its present condition: [108a] but the soul which still adheres to body through desire (as I said before), being for a long space of time terrified about it, and struggling and suffering abundantly about the visible place, is with violence and great difficulty led away by its presiding dæmon. And when it arrives at that place where other souls are assembled, all the rest fly from and avoid this unpurified soul, which has been guilty either of unjust slaughter, or has perpetrated such deeds as are allied to this, and are the works of kindred souls; [108b] nor is any one willing to become either its companion or leader. But such a soul wanders about, oppressed with every kind of anxiety and trouble, till certain periods of time are accomplished: and these being completed, it is driven by necessity to an abode accommodated to its nature. But the soul which has passed through life with purity and moderation, obtaining the Gods for its companions and leaders, will reside in a place adapted to its purified condition.
[108c] There are indeed many and admirable places belonging to the earth⁶⁷; and the earth itself is neither of such a kind, nor of such a magnitude, as those who are accustomed to speak about it imagine, as I am persuaded from a certain person’s account.
[108d] —How is this, Socrates (says Simmias)? For I myself also have heard many things about the earth; and yet perhaps not these particulars which have obtained your belief. I should therefore be glad to hear you relate them.
[108d] —Indeed, Simmias (says he), the art of Glaucus does not appear to me to be necessary, in order to relate these particulars; but to evince their truth, seems to me to be an undertaking beyond what the art of Glaucus can accomplish. Besides, I myself perhaps am not able to accomplish this; and even though I should know how, the time which is allotted me to live, Simmias, seems by no means sufficient for the length of such a discourse. However, nothing hinders me from informing you what I am persuaded is the truth, respecting the form of the earth, and the places which it contains.
[108e] —And this information (says Simmias) will be sufficient.
[108e] —I am persuaded, therefore (says he), in the first place, that if the earth is in the middle of the heavens, and is of a spherical figure, it has no occasion of air, nor of any other such-like necessity, to prevent it from falling: but that the perfect similitude of the heavens to themselves, and the equilibrity of the earth, are sufficient causes of its support. For that which is equally inclined, when placed in the middle of a similar nature, cannot tend more or less to one part than another; but, subsisting on all sides similarly affected, it will remain free from all inclination. This is the first thing of which I am persuaded.
[108e] —And very properly so (says Cebes).
[109a] —But yet further (says he), that the earth is prodigiously⁶⁹ great; that we who dwell in places extending from Phasis to the pillars of Hercules, inhabit only a certain small portion of it, about the Mediterranean sea, like ants or frogs about a marsh; and that there are many others elsewhere, who dwell in many such-like places. [109b] For I am persuaded, that there are every where about the earth many hollow places of all-various forms and magnitudes; into which there is a confluence of water, mists, and air: but that the earth itself, which is of a pure nature, is situated in the pure heavens, in which the stars are contained, and which most of those who are accustomed to speak about such particulars denominate æther. [109c] But the places which we inhabit are nothing more than the dregs of this pure earth, or cavities into which its dregs continually flow. We are ignorant, therefore, that we dwell in the cavities of this earth, and imagine that we inhabit its upper parts. Just as if some one dwelling in the middle bottom of the sea, should think that he resided on its surface, and, beholding the sun and the other stars through the water, should imagine that the sea is the heavens; but through sloth and imbecility having never ascended to the top of the sea, nor emerged from its deeps into this region, has never perceived how much purer and more beautiful it is than the place which he inhabits, nor has received this information from any other who has beheld this place of our abode. In the very same manner are we affected: for, dwelling in a certain hollow of the earth, we think that we reside on its surface; and we call the air heaven, as if the stars passed through this, as through the heavens themselves. [109d] And this likewise, in the same manner as in the above instance, happens to us through our imbecility and sloth, which render us incapable of ascending to the summit of the air. For, otherwise, if any one could arrive at its summit, or, becoming winged, could fly thither, he would be seen emerging from hence; [109e] and just as fishes, emerging hither from the sea, perceive what our region contains, in the same manner would he behold the several particulars belonging to the summit of the earth. And besides this, if his nature was sufficient for such an elevated survey, he would know that the heavens which he there beheld were the true heavens, and that he perceived the true light and the true earth. [110a] For this earth which we inhabit, the stones which it contains, and the whole region of our abode, are all corrupted and gnawed, just as things in the sea are corroded by the salt: for nothing worthy of estimation grows in the sea, nor does it contain any thing perfect; but caverns and sand, and immense quantities of mud and filth, are found in it wherever there is earth. Nor are its contents to be by any means compared with the beauty of the various particulars in our place of abode. But those upper regions of the earth will appear to be yet far more excellent than these which we inhabit. For, if it is proper to tell you a beautiful fable, it is well worth hearing, Simmias, what kind of places those are on the upper earth, situated under the heavens.
[110b] It is reported then, my friend (says he), in the first place, that this earth, if any one surveys it from on high, appears like globes covered with twelve skins, various⁷⁰, and distinguished with colours; a pattern of which are the colours found among us, and which our painters use. But there the whole earth is composed from materials of this kind, and such as are much more splendid and pure than our region contains: [110c] for they are partly indeed purple, and endued with a wonderful beauty; partly of a golden colour; and partly more white than plaster or snow; and are composed from other colours in a similar manner, and those more in number and more beautiful than any we have ever beheld. For the hollow parts of this pure earth, being filled with water and air, exhibit a certain species of colour, shining among the variety of other colours in such a manner, that one particular various form of the earth continually presents itself to the view. [110d] Hence, whatever grows in this earth grows analogous to its nature, such as trees, and flowers, and fruits: and again, its mountains and stones possess a similar perfection and transparency, and are rendered beautiful through various colours; of which the stones so much honoured by us in this place of our abode are but small parts, such as sardin-stones, jaspers, and emeralds, and all of this kind. But there nothing subsists which is not of such a nature as I have described; and there are other things far more beautiful than even these. But the reason of this is because the stones there are pure, and not consumed and corrupted, like ours, through rottenness and salt, from a conflux of various particulars, which in our places of abode cause filthiness and disease to the stones and earth, animals and plants, which are found among us. [110e] But this pure earth is adorned with all these, and with gold and silver, and other things of a similar nature: for all these are naturally apparent, since they are both numerous and large, and are diffused every where throughout the earth; so that to behold it is the spectacle of blessed spectators. This earth too contains many other animals⁷¹ and men, some of whom inhabit its middle parts; [111a] others dwell about the air, as we do about the sea; and others reside in islands which the air flows round, and which are situated not far from the continent. And in one word, what water and the sea are to us, with respect to utility, that air is to them: but what air is to us, that æther is to the inhabitants of this pure earth. [111b] But the seasons there are endued with such an excellent temperament, that the inhabitants are never molested with disease, and live for a much longer time than those who dwell in our regions; and they surpass us in sight, hearing, and prudence, and every thing of this kind, as much as air excels water in purity—and æther, air. And besides this, they have groves and temples of the Gods, in which the Gods dwell in reality; and likewise oracles and divinations, and sensible perceptions of the Gods, and such-like associations with them. The sun too, and moon, and stars, are seen by them such as they really are; and in every other respect their felicity is of a correspondent nature.
[111c] And in this manner indeed the whole earth naturally subsists, and the parts which are situated about it. But it contains about the whole of its ambit many places in its concavities; some of which are more profound and extended than the region which we inhabit: but others are more profound, indeed, but yet have a less chasm than the places of our abode; and there are certain parts which are less profound⁷², but broader than ours. But all these are in many places perforated into one another under the earth, according to narrower and [111d] broader avenues, and have passages of communication through which a great quantity of water flows into the different hollows of the earth, as into bowls; and besides this, there are immense bulks of ever-flowing rivers under the earth, and of hot and cold waters; likewise a great quantity of fire, mighty rivers of fire, and many of moist mire, some of which are purer, and others more muddy; as in Sicily there are rivers of mud, which flow before a stream of fire, which is itself a flaming torrent. And from these the several places are filled, into which each flows at particular times. But all these are moved upwards and downwards, like a hanging vessel, situated in the earth. This hanging vessel too, through a certain nature of this kind, is one of the chasms of the earth; and this the greatest, and totally perforated through the whole earth. And of this Homer⁷³ thus speaks:
[111e] Far, very far, where under earth is found
A gulf, of every depth, the most profound:
[112a] which he elsewhere and many other poets denominate Tartarus⁷⁴. For into this chasm there is a conflux of all rivers, from which they again flow upwards. But each derives its quality from the earth through which it flows. And the reason why they all flow into, and again out of this chasm, is because this moisture cannot find either a bottom or a basis. Hence it becomes elevated, and fluctuates upwards and downwards: and this too is the case with the air and spirit⁷⁵ which are situated about it. For they follow this moisture, both when they are impelled to more remote places of the earth, and when to the places of our abode. And as in respiration the flowing breath is perpetually expired and inspired, so there the spirit, which is elevated together with the moisture, causes certain vehement and immense winds during its ingress and departure. [112b] When the water, therefore, being impelled, flows into that place which we call downwards, then the rivers flow through the earth into different channels, and fill them; just as those who pour into another vessel the water which they have drawn. But when this water, departing from thence, is impelled hither, it again fills the rivers on the earth; and these, when filled, flow through channels and through the earth; [112c] and when they have severally passed through the avenues, which are open to each, they produce seas, lakes, rivers, and fountains. Flowing back again from hence under the earth, and some of them streaming round longer and more numerous places, but others round such as are shorter and less numerous, they again hurl themselves into Tartarus; and some indeed much more profoundly, but others less so, than they were drawn: but the influxions of all of them are deeper than the places from which they flow upwards. [112d] And the effluxions of some are in a direction contrary to their influxions, but in others both take place according to the same part. There are some again which entirely flow round in a circle, folding themselves like snakes, once or often about the earth; and being bent downwards as much as possible, they are again hurled forth on each side till they arrive at the middle, but never beyond this. For each part of the earth becomes steep to both these streams.
[112e] The other rivers, indeed, are many, great, and various: but among this abundance there are certain streams, four⁷⁶ in number, of which the greatest, and which circularly flows round the earth the outermost of all, is called the Ocean. But that which flows opposite, and in a contrary direction to this, is Acheron; [113a] which, flowing through other solitary places, and under the earth, devolves its waters into the Acherusian marsh, into which many souls of the dead pass; and abiding there for certain destined spaces of time, some of which are more and others less extended, they are again sent into the generations of animals. [113b] The third river of these hurls itself forth in the middle, and near its source falls into a mighty place, burning with abundance of fire, and produces a lake greater than our sea, and hot with water and mud. But it proceeds from hence in a circle, turbulent and miry, and, surrounding the earth, arrives both elsewhere and at the extremities of the Acherusian marsh, with the water of which it does not become mingled; but, often revolving itself under the earth, flows into the more downward parts of Tartarus. And this is the river which they still denominate Pyriphlegethon; the streams of which send forth dissevered rivers to various parts of the earth. [113c] But the fourth river, which is opposite to this, first falls as it is said into a place dreadful and wild, and wholly tinged with an azure colour, which they denominate Styx: and the influxive streams of this river form the Stygian marsh. But falling into this, and receiving vehement powers in its water, it hides itself under the earth, and, rolling round, proceeds contrary to Pyriphlegethon, and meets with it in the Acherusian marsh, in a contrary direction. Nor is the water of this river mingled with any thing, but, revolving in a circle, it hurls itself into Tartarus, in a course opposite to Pyriphlegethon. But its name, according to the poets, is Cocytus.
[113c] These being thus naturally constituted, when [113d] the dead arrive at that place into which the dæmon leads each, in the first place they are judged, as well those who have lived in a becoming manner, and piously, and justly, as those who have not. And those who appear to have passed a middle kind of life, proceeding to Acheron, and ascending the vehicles⁷⁸ prepared for them, arrive in these at the Acherusian lake, and dwell there; till being purified, and having suffered punishment for any injuries they may have committed, they are enlarged; and each receives the reward of his beneficence, according to his deserts. [113e] But those who appear to be incurable, through the magnitude of their offences, because they have perpetrated either many and great sacrileges, or many unjust slaughters, and such as are contrary to law, or other things of this kind—these, a destiny adapted to their guilt hurls into Tartarus, from which they will never⁷⁹ be discharged. [114a] But those who are found to have committed curable, but yet mighty crimes, such as those who have been guilty through anger of any violence against their father or mother, and have lived the remainder of their lives penitent for the offence, or who have become homicides in any other similar manner; with respect to these, it is necessary that they should fall into Tartarus: but after they have fallen, and have dwelt there for a year, the waves hurl them out of Tartarus; and the homicides indeed into Cocytus, but the violators of fathers and mothers into Pyriphlegethon. But when, being borne along by these rivers, they arrive at the Acherusian marsh, they here bellow and invoke one part those whom they have slaughtered, and another part those whom they have injured. [114b] But, invoking these, they suppliantly entreat that they would suffer them to enter into the lake, and forgive them. And if they persuade them to do this, they depart, and find an end to their maladies: but if they are unable to accomplish this, they are carried back again into Tartarus, and from thence again into the rivers. And they do not cease from suffering this, till they have persuaded those they have injured to forgiveness. For this punishment was ordained them by the judges. But those who shall appear to have lived most excellently, with respect to piety—these are they, who, being liberated and dismissed from these places in the earth, as from the abodes of a prison, shall arrive at the pure habitation on high, and dwell on the ætherial earth⁸⁰. And among these, those who are sufficiently purified by philosophy shall live without bodies, through the whole of the succeeding time, and shall arrive at habitations yet more beautiful than these, which it is neither easy to describe, nor is the present time sufficient for such an undertaking.
[114c] But for the sake of these particulars which we have related, we should undertake every thing, Simmias, that we may participate of virtue and prudence in the present life. For the reward is beautiful, and the hope mighty. [114d] To affirm, indeed, that these things subsist exactly as I have described them, is not the province of a man endued with intellect. But to assert that either these or certain particulars of this kind take place, with respect to our souls and their habitations—since our soul appears to be immortal—this is, I think, both becoming, and deserves to be hazarded by him who believes in its reality. For the danger is beautiful; and it is necessary to allure ourselves with things of this kind, as with inchantments: and, on this account, I produced the fable which you have just now heard me relate. [114e] But, for the sake of these, it is proper that the man should be confident about his soul, who in the present life bidding farewell to those pleasures which regard the body and its ornaments, as things foreign from his nature, has earnestly applied himself to disciplines, as things of far greater consequence; and who having adorned his soul not with a foreign but its own proper ornament, viz. with temperance and justice, fortitude, liberty and truth, expects a migration to Hades, as one who is ready to depart whenever he shall be called upon by Fate. You, therefore (says he), Simmias and Cebes, and the rest who are here assembled, will each depart in some period of time posterior to the present; but
[115a] Me now calling, Fate demands:
[115a] (as some tragic poet would say) and it is almost time that I should betake myself to the bath. For it appears to me better to wash myself before I drink the poison, and not to trouble the women with washing my dead body.
[115b] When, therefore, he had thus spoken,—Be it so, Socrates (says Crito): but what orders do you leave to these who are present, or to myself, or respecting your children, or any thing else in the execution of which we can particularly oblige you?
[115b] —None such as are new (says he), Crito, but that which I have always said to you; that if you take care of yourselves, you will always perform in whatever you do that which is acceptable to myself, to my family, and to your own selves, though you should not promise me any thing at present. But if you neglect yourselves, and are unwilling to live according to what has been now and formerly said, as vestiges of direction in your course, you will accomplish nothing, though you should now promise many things, and in a very vehement manner.
[115c] —We shall take care, therefore (says Crito), to act as you desire. But how would you be buried?
[115d] — Just as you please (says he), if you can but catch me, and I do not elude your pursuit. And at the same time gently laughing, and addressing himself to us, I cannot persuade Crito (says he), my friends, that I am that Socrates who now disputes with you, and methodizes every part of the discourse; but he thinks that I am he whom he will shortly behold dead, and asks how I ought to be buried. But all that long discourse which some time since I addressed to you, in which I asserted that after I had drunk the poison I should no longer remain with you, but should depart to certain felicities of the blessed, this I seem to have declared to him in vain, though it was undertaken to console both you and myself. Promise, therefore (says he), for me to Crito, just the contrary of what he promised to my judges. For he promised that I should not run away; but do you engage that when I die I shall not stay with you, but shall depart and entirely leave you; that Crito may more easily bear this separation, and may not be afflicted when he sees my body either burnt or buried, as if I suffered some dreadful misfortune; and that he may not say at my interment, that Socrates is laid out, or is carried out, or is buried. For be well assured of this (says he), excellent Crito, that when we do not speak in a becoming manner, we are not only culpable with respect to our speech, but likewise affect our souls with a certain evil. [115e] But it is proper to be confident, and to say that my body will be buried, and in such a manner as is pleasing to you, and which you think is most agreeable to our laws.
[116a] When he had thus spoken he rose, and went into a certain room, that he might wash himself, and Crito followed him: but he ordered us to wait for him. We waited, therefore, accordingly, discoursing over and reviewing among ourselves what had been said; and sometimes speaking about his death, how great a calamity it would be to us; and sincerely thinking that we, like those who are deprived of their father, should pass the rest of our life in the condition of orphans. But when he had washed himself, his sons were brought to him (for he had two little ones, and one considerably advanced in age), and the women belonging to his family likewise came in to him: but when he had spoken to them before Crito, and had left them such injunctions as he thought proper, he ordered the boys and women to depart; and he himself returned to us. [116b] And it was now near the setting of the sun: for he had been absent for a long time in the bathing-room. But when he came in from washing, he sat down; and did not speak much afterwards. [116c] For then the servant of the eleven magistrates came in, and standing near him, I do not perceive that in you, Socrates, says he, which I have taken notice of in others; I mean, that they are angry with me, and curse me, when, being compelled by the magistrates, I announce to them that they must drink the poison. But, on the contrary, I have found you at the present time to be the most generous, mild, and the best of all the men that ever came into this place: and, therefore, I am well convinced that you are not angry with me, but with the authors of your present condition. You know those whom I allude to. Now, therefore (for you know what I came to tell you), farewell, and endeavour to bear this necessity as easily as possible. [116d] And at the same time bursting into tears, and turning himself away, he departed. But Socrates looking after him, And thou too (says he), farewell; and we shall take care to act as you advise. And at the same time turning to us, How courteous (says he) is the behaviour of that man! During the whole time of my abode here, he has visited and often conversed with me, and proved himself to be the best of men; and now how generously he weeps on my account! But let us obey him, Crito, and let some one bring the poison, if it is bruised; but if not, let the man whose business it is bruise it himself. [116e] But, Socrates (says Crito), I think that the sun still hangs over the mountains, and is not yet set. And at the same time I have known others who have drunk the poison very late, after it was announced to them; who have supped and drunk abundantly; and who have enjoyed the objects of their love. Therefore, do not be in such haste; for there is yet time enough. Upon this Socrates replied, Such men, Crito, act with great propriety in the manner you have described (for they think to derive some advantage by so doing), and I also with great propriety shall not act in this manner. For I do not think I shall gain any thing by drinking it later, except becoming ridiculous to myself through desiring to live, and being sparing of life when nothing of it any longer remains. Go, then (says he), be persuaded, and comply with my request.
[117a] Then Crito, hearing this, gave the sign to the boy that stood near him. And the boy departing, and having staid for some time, came, bringing with him the person that was to administer the poison, and who brought it properly prepared in a cup. But Socrates, beholding the man—It is well, my friend (says he); but what is proper to do with it? for you are knowing in these affairs.
[117a] —You have nothing else to do (says he), but when you have drunk it to walk about, till a heaviness takes place in your legs; and afterwards lie down: this is the manner in which you should act. And at the same time he extended the cup to Socrates. But Socrates received it from him—and indeed, Echecrates, with great cheerfulness; neither trembling, nor suffering any alteration for the worse in his colour or countenance: but, as he was accustomed to do, beholding the man with a bull-like aspect, What say you (says he) respecting this potion? Is it lawful to make a libation of it, or not?
[117b] —We only bruise (says he), Socrates, as much as we think sufficient for the purpose.
[117c] —I understand you (says he): but it is certainly both lawful and proper to pray to the Gods, that my departure from hence thither may be attended with prosperous fortune; which I entreat them to grant may be the case. And at the same time ending his discourse, he drank the poison with exceeding facility and alacrity. And thus far, indeed, the greater part of us were tolerably well able to refrain from weeping: but when we saw him drinking, and that he had drunk it, we could no longer restrain our tears. But from me, indeed, notwithstanding the violence which I employed in checking them, they flowed abundantly; so that, covering myself with my mantle, I deplored my misfortune. I did not indeed weep for him, but for my own fortune; considering what an associate I should be deprived of. But Crito, who was not able to restrain his tears, was compelled to rise before me. And Apollodorus, who during the whole time prior to this had not ceased from weeping, then wept aloud with great bitterness; so that he infected all who were present, except Socrates. [117d] But Socrates, upon seeing this, exclaimed—What are you doing, excellent men? For, indeed, I principally sent away the women, lest they should produce a disturbance of this kind. For I have heard that it is proper⁸¹ to die joyfully and with propitious omens. Be quiet, therefore, and summon fortitude to your assistance.
[117e] —When we heard this we blushed, and restrained our tears. But he, when he found during his walking that his legs felt heavy, and had told us so, laid himself down in a supine position. For the man had ordered him to do so. And at the same time he who gave him the poison, touching him at intervals, considered his feet and legs. And after he had vehemently pressed his foot, he asked him if he felt it. But Socrates answered he did not. And after this he again pressed his thighs: and thus ascending with his hand, he showed us that he was cold and stiff. And Socrates also touched himself, and said, that when the poison reached his heart he should then leave us. [118a] But now his lower belly was almost cold; when uncovering himself (for he was covered), he said (which were his last words): Crito, we owe a cock⁸² to Æsculapius. Discharge this debt, therefore, for me, and do not neglect it —It shall be done (says Crito): but consider whether you have any other commands. To this inquiry of Crito he made no reply; but shortly after moved himself, and the man covered him. And Socrates fixed his eyes. Which when Crito perceived, he closed⁸³ his mouth and eyes. This, Echecrates, was the end of our associate; a man, as it appears to me, the best of those whom we were acquainted with at that time, and, besides this, the most prudent and just.

## Notes

[1] Phlius was a city of Peloponnesus situated not far from the Isthmus. Vid. Strab. lib. viii. Pausan. in Corinth. et Steph. de Urb. et Pop.
[2] This Antisthenes, as principally imitating Socrates in his endurance and contempt of pleasure, was the author of the Cynic sect, and the preceptor of Diogenes.
[3] See the Euthydemus, in which the disposition of Ctesippus is described.
[4] This Cebes is the author of the allegorical table now extant.
[5] A philosopher of Cyrene, and founder of the Cyrenaic sect. What is here said concerning the absence of Aristippus and Cleombrotus is well explained by Demetrius in his book περι Ερμηνειας. “Plato, he observes, says this in order to reprove Aristippus and Cleombrotus, who were feasting in Ægina at the time that Socrates was in prison, and did not fail to see their friend and master, though they were then at the entrance of the Athenian harbour. Plato however does not clearly relate these particulars, because his narration would have been an open defamation.”
[6] Socrates says, that perhaps the philosopher will not destroy himself, for this is not lawful. This the text shows through two arguments, the one mythical and Orphic, but the other dialectic and philosophic. But before we consider the text, says Olympiodorus, let us show by appropriate arguments that suicide is not lawful. Divinity possesses twofold powers, anagogic and providential; and the powers which are providential of things secondary are not impeded by the anagogic, and which are converted to them, but he energizes at once according to both. In like manner, nothing hinders but that a philosopher, since he is an imitator of Divinity, (for philosophy is an assimilation to Deity,) may at once energize cathartically, and with a providential care of secondary natures: for there is nothing great in living cathartically when separated from the body after death; but, while detained in the body, it is generous to be intent on purification. The second argument is this: As a divine nature is always present to all things, and some things participate of it more or less, through their proper aptitude or inaptitude; so also it is necessary that the soul should be present to the body, and should not separate itself from it. But the body participates or does not participate of it, through its proper aptitude or inaptitude. Thus, in the Theætetus, the Coryphæan philosopher is represented as not knowing where the Forum is situated, but as being even ignorant that he is ignorant of sensible particulars; and this while he is in the body. The third argument is as follows: It is necessary that a voluntary bond should be voluntarily dissolved; but that an involuntary bond should be dissolved with an involuntary solution, and not in a promiscuous manner. Hence a physical life, being involuntary, must be dissolved with an involuntary solution, i. e. by a physical death; but the impassioned life in us, which subsists according to pre-election or free will, must be dissolved with a voluntary solution, i. e. with purification, or the exercise of the cathartic virtues. With respect to the text, it shows through two arguments, as we have observed, that suicide is not lawful; and of these the mythical argument, according to Olympiodorus, is as follows:—According to Orpheus, there are four governments: the first that of Heaven, which Saturn received, cutting off the genitals of his father. After Saturn, Jupiter reigned, who hurled his father into Tartarus. And after Jupiter Bacchus reigned, who they say was lacerated by the Titans, through the stratagems of Juno. It is also said that the Titans tasted his flesh, and that Jupiter being enraged hurled his thunder at them; and that from the ashes of their burnt bodies men were generated⁷. Suicide, therefore, is not proper, not, as the text seems to say, because we are in a certain bond the body, (for this is evident, and he would not have called this arcane,) but suicide is not lawful, because our body is Dionysiacal: for we are a part of Bacchus, if we are composed from the ashes of the Titans who tasted his flesh. Socrates, therefore, fearful of disclosing this arcane narration, because it pertained to the mysteries, adds nothing more than that we are in the body, as in a prison secured by a guard; but the interpreters, when the mysteries were declining, and almost extinct, owing to the establishment of a new religion, openly disclosed the fable. But the allegory of this fable, says Olympiodorus, is of that kind as when Empedocles asserts that the intelligible and sensible worlds were generated according to parts; not that they were produced at different times, for they always are, but because our soul at one time lives according to the intelligible, and then the intelligible world is said to be generated, and at another time according to the sensible world, and then the sensible world is said to be generated. So likewise with Orpheus, those four governments do not subsist at one time, and at another not, for they always are; but they obscurely signify the gradations of the virtues according to which our soul contains the symbols of all the virtues, the theoretic and cathartic, the politic and ethic. For it either energizes according to the theoretic virtues, the paradigm of which is the government of Heaven, and on this account Heaven receives its denomination παρα του τα ανω ορᾳν, from behold- ing the things above; or it lives cathartically, the paradigm of which is the kingdom of Saturn, and on this account Saturn is denominated as a pure intellect, through behold- ing himself, οἱον ὁ κορονους τις ὡν δια το ἑαυτον ορᾳν; and hence he is said to devour his own offspring, as converting himself to himself: or it energizes according to the political virtues, the symbol of which is the government of Jupiter; and hence Jupiter is the demiurgus, as energizing about secondary natures: or it lives according to the ethical and physical virtues, the symbol of which is the kingdom of Bacchus; and hence it is lacerated, because the virtues do not alternately follow each other. But Bacchus being lacerated by the Titans signifies his procession to the last of things; for of these the Titans are the artificers, and Bacchus is the monad of the Titans. This was effected by the stratagems of Juno, because this goddess is the inspective guardian of motion and progression; and hence, in the Iliad, she continually excites Jupiter to a providential attention to secondary
[7] Παρα τῳ Ορφει τεσσαρες βασιλειαι παραδιδονται. πρωτη μεν ἡ του Ουρανου, ην ὁ Κρονος διεδεξατο εκτεμων τα αιδοια του πατερος. μετα δε τον Κρονον ὁ Ζευς εβασιλευσε καταταρταρωσας τον πατερα. επειτα τον Δια διεδεξατο ὁ Διονυσος, ὁν φασι κατ’ επιβουλην της Ἡρας τους περι αυτον Τιτανας σπαραττειν, και των σαρκων αυτου απογευεσθαι· και τουτους οργισθεις ὁ Ζευς εκεραυνωσε, και εκ της αιθαλης των ατμων των αναδοθεντων εξ αυτων ὑλης γενομενης γενεσθαι τους ανθρωπους. natures. Bacchus also, says Olympiodorus, presides over generation, because he presides over life and death. Over life, because over generation; but over death, because wine produces an enthusiastic energy, and at the time of death we become more enthusiastic, as Proclus testifies together with Homer; for he became prophetic when he was dying. Tragedy and comedy also are referred to Bacchus; comedy from its being the sport of life, and tragedy through the calamities and the death in it. Comic, therefore, do not properly accuse tragic writers as not being Dionysiacal, when they assert that these things do not pertain to Bacchus. But Jupiter hurled his thunder at the Titans, the thunder manifesting conversion: for fire moves upwards. Jupiter, therefore, converts them to himself. And this is the mythical argument. But the dialectic and philosophic argument is as follows:—The Gods take care of us, and we are their possessions: it is not proper, therefore, to free ourselves from life, but we ought to convert ourselves to them. For if one of these two things took place, either that we are the possessions of the Gods, but they take no care of us; or, on the contrary, that we are not the possessions of the Gods, it might be rational to liberate ourselves from the body: but now, as neither of these takes place, it is not proper to dissolve our bonds. On the contrary, however, it may be said that suicide according to Plato is neeessary. And, in the first place, he here says that a philosopher will not perhaps commit suicide, unless Divinity sends some great necessity, such as the present: for the word perhaps affords a suspicion that suicide may sometimes be necessary. In the second place, Plato admits that suicide may be proper to the worthy man, to him of a middle character, and to the multitude and depraved: to the worthy man, as in this place; to the middle character, as in the Republic, where he says that suicide is necessary to him who is afflicted with a long and incurable disease, as such a one is useless to the city, because Plato’s intention was that his citizens should be useful to the city, and not to themselves; and to the vulgar eharacter, as in the Laws, when he says that suicide is necessary to him who is possessed with certain incurable passions, such as being in love with his mother, sacrilege, or any thing else of this kind. Again it may be said, from the authority of Plotinus, that suicide is sometimes necessary, and also from the authority of the Stoics, who said that there were five ways in which suicide was rational. For they assimilated, says Olympiodorus, life to a banquet, and asserted that it is necessary to dissolve life through such-like causes as occasion the dissolution of a banquet. A banquet, therefore, is dissolved either through a great necessity unexpectedly intervening, as through the presence of a friend suddenly coming; or it is dissolved through intoxieation taking place; and through what is placed on the table being morbid. Further still, it is dissolved after another manner through a want of things necessary to the entertainment; and also through obscene and base language. In like manner life may be dissolved in five ways. And, in the first place, as at a banquet, it may be dissolved through some great necessity, as when a man sacrifices himself for the good of his country. In the second place, as a banquet is dissolved through intoxication, so likewise it is necessary to dissolve life through a delirium following the body: for a delirium is a physical intoxication. In the third place, as a banquet is dissolved through what is placed on the table being morbid, thus too it is necessary that life should be dissolved when the body labours under incurable diseases, and is no longer capable of being ministrant to the soul. In the fourth place, as a banquet it dissolved through a want of things necessary to the entertainment, so suicide is proper when the necessaries of life are wanting. For they are not to be received from depraved characters; since gifts from the defiled are small, and it is not proper for a man to pollute himself with these. And, in the fifth place, as a banquet is dissolved through obscene language, so likewise it is necessary to dissolve life when compelled by a tyrant to speak things arcane, or belonging to the mysteries, which a certain female Pythagorean is said to have done. For, being compelled to tell why she did not eat beans, she said, I may eat them if I tell. And afterwards being compelled to eat them, she said, I may tell if I eat them; and at length bit off her tongue, as the organ of speech and taste. What then shall we say? for the discourse is brought to a contradiction. And how can it be admitted that suicide is unlawful? Or, may we not say that a liberation from life is not necessary so far as pertains to the body; but that it is rational when it contributes a greater good to the soul? Thus, for instance, suicide is lawful when the soul is injured by the body. As, therefore, it is unholy not to give assistance to a friend when he is scourged, but, if he is scourged by his father, it is not becoming to assist him; so here suicide is unlawful when committed for the sake of the body, but rational when committed for the sake of the soul; since this is sometimes advantageous to it. I only add, that according to Macrobius it is said, in the arcane discourses concerning the return of the soul, “that the wicked in this life resemble those who fall upon smooth ground, and who cannot rise again without difficulty; but that souls departing from the present life with the defilements of guilt are to be compared to those who fall from a lofty and precipitous place, from whence they are never able to rise again.” “Nam in arcanis de animæ reditu disputationibus fertur, in hac vita delinquentes similes esse super æquale solum cadentibus, quibus denuo sine difficultate præsto sit surgere: animas vero ex hac vita cum delictorum sordibus reccdentes, æquandas his, qui in abruptum ex alto præcipitique delapsi sunt, unde facultas nunquam sit resurgendi. Somn. Scip. cap. xiii. Suicide, therefore, is in general unlawful, because it is not proper to depart from life in an unpurified state.
[8] Socrates and Cebes are here speaking about two different kinds of death; the latter about a physical, and the former about a pre-elective or free-will death.
[9] Philolaus, says Olympiodorus, was a Pythagorean, and it was usual with the Pythagoreans to speak through ænigmas. Hence silence was one of the peculiarities of this sect; through silence indicating the arcane nature of Divinity, which it is necessary a philosopher should imitate. But Philolaus said in ænigmas that suicide is not proper: for he says, we ought not to turn back when going to a temple, nor cut wood in the way. By the latter of these he manifests that we should not divide and cut life; for life is a way: and by the former he indicates the meditation of death. For the life of a future state is sacred; since our father and country are there. He says, therefore, that he who lives cathartically should not turn back, i. e. should not cut off the cathartic life. But Cebes met with Philolaus in Bœotia; for he associated with him in Thebes. Olympiodorus also, after observing that it was the custom of the Pythagoreans to live as in a common life, making all their possessions common, adds as follows:—“If, therefore, any one among them was found to be unadapted to philosophy, they led him out together with his property, made a cenotaph or empty tomb, and lamented as if it were for one who was going a journey. But a certain person named Cylo coming among them, and experiencing this treatment, set fire to the school, and all the disciples were burnt except two, Philolaus and Hipparchus. Philolaus, therefore, came to Thebes in order to perform funeral sacrifices to his deceased preceptor. He also performed them to Lysias, who was there buried, and in whose name Plato has written a dialogue, which is inscribed, Lysias, or Concerning Friendship.” Ει τις ουν ανεπιτηδειος ευρεθη προς φιλοσοφιαν, εξηγον αυτον μετα της ουσιας, και κενοταφιον εποιουν, και ὡσπερ περι αποιχομενον αποδυροντο. Κυλων δε τις εισελθων και πεπονθως τουτο ὑφηψε πυρ τῳ διδασκαλειῳ, και παντες εκαυθησαν πλην δυο Φιλολαον και Ἱππαρχον. ηλθεν ουν ὁ Φιλολαος εις Θηβας αφειλον χοας τῳ οικειῳ διδασκαλῳ τεθνεοτι, και εκει τεθαμμενῳ ποιησασθαι τῳ Λυσιδι, ου και κατα ομωνυμιαν γεγραπται τῳ Πλατωνι διαλογος, Λυσις ἤ Περι φιλιας.
[10] It was a law, says Olympiodorus, with the Athenians, to put no one to death in the day, just as it was an injunction with the Pythagoreans, not to sleep in mid-day, when the sun exhibits his most strenuous energy.
[11] How from human affairs, says Olympiodorus, do we conjecture that things pertaining to the Gods subsist in a similar manner? For they are not like us, passive. May we not say that he assimilates them analogously, but politically and œconomically? For it is evident that the paradigms of every mundane providential care are previously comprehended in the Gods. But reconciliation and vengeance must be conceived to take place in a very different manner in the Gods. For the former is the rising of their proper light when the darkness of guilt is dispersed; and the latter is a secondary punishing providence, about the apostatizing soul.
[12] Necessity is four-fold: for one kind is internal, and the other external; and each of these is twofold, viz. good and evil. But the paradigms of that which is inwardly good are the will of Divinity, and that of the just man; and of that which is inwardly evil, the pre-election of the depraved man. But of that necessity which is externally good, the paradigm is the will of Fate imparting precedaneous goods; and of that which is externally evil, the bestowing of things violent, contrary to nature, and corruptive.
[13] Every thing naturally provides for things subordinate; but the Gods exert a providential energy prior to all things, and according to hyparxis. For each is a goodness, because the highest God is the good, and providence is the energy of goodness, and imparts essential good. Divinity too may be said to take care of man, because from being worse he makes him better; but man cultivates Divinity because he is made better by him. Observe too, that as, in the universe, intellect subsisting after the Gods is first converted to them, so likewise in us intellect is extended to Divinity, but ignorance turns from a divine nature. By intellect, however, here, we must understand, not that alone which is gnostic, but also that which is orectic or appetitive, both in the universe and in us: for intellect possesses both desire and knowledge, because it is the first animal. This being admitted, we shall no longer be disturbed by the doubt, whether orectic is better than gnostic perfection; or, in other words, whether virtue is better than science: for the one is not perfect without the other. Should it be inquired how the Gods are our masters, since a master, so far as a master, does not consider the good of his servant, but his own good; for in this he differs from a governor; and should it also be said, What good can the Gods derive from man? we reply with Olympiodorus, that the Gods make all things precedaneously on account of themselves; and that they are excellent in proportion as they are exempt from other things. But they govern according to a certain coordination with us; and by how much the more we subject ourselves to, by so much the more do we participate of them, as wholly giving ourselves up to them, and neglecting that which is properly our own.
[14] By other Gods, Socrates means such as are supermundane, or of an order superior to the ruling divinities of the world. In short, those Gods are here signified that are unconnected with body.
[15] It is well observed by Olympiodorus, that to die (αποθνησκειν) differs from to be dead (τεθναναι). For the cathartic philosopher dies in consequence of meditating death; but the theoretic philosopher is dead, in consequence of being separated from the passions.
[16] Plato beautifully defines death to be a separation of the body from the soul, and of the soul from the body. For, with respect to souls that are enamoured with body, the body is indeed separated from the soul, but not the soul from the body, because it is yet conjoined with it through habitude or alliance, from which those shadowy phantasms are produced that wander about sepulchres.
[17] Socrates having shown from life that the philosopher is willing to die, now proves this from knowledge as follows:—The philosopher despises the senses: he who does this despises also the body, in which the senses reside: he who despises the body is averse to it: he who is averse to it separates himself from the body: and he who separates himself from the body is willing to die; for death is nothing else than a separation of the soul from the body. But it is here necessary to observe, that there are three energies of the soul: for it either converts itself to things subordinate, and acquires a knowledge of sensibles; or it converts itself to itself, and sees all things in itself, because it is an omniform image containing the reasons of all things; or it extends itself to the intelligible, and beholds ideas. As there are, therefore, three energies of the soul, we must not suppose that the politic, cathartic and theoretic characters differ from each other in this, that the political character knows sensibles; the cathartic, the reasons in the soul; and the theoretic, ideas—since no one is in reality a philosopher who has not a knowledge of all things: but they differ in this, that the political philosopher is conversant with pleasures and pains; for he attends to the body as an instrument, and his end is not a privation, but a moderation of the passions. But the cathartic and theoretic philosophers attend to the body as a neighbouring trifle, that it may not become an impediment to their energies; and the end with them is a liberation from the passions.
[18] Plato says that there is no truth in the senses, because they do not properly know: for passion is mingled with their knowledge, in consequence of being obtained through media. For intellect is said to know accurately, because that which understands is the same with the intelligible, or the object of intellection. Besides, sense cannot sustain the accuracy of sensibles. Thus, for instance, the eye cannot bear to look at that which is white in the extreme. For sensible objects, when they are transcendent, destroy the senses. Sense, however, may be said to be always true and accurate when it is compared with assimilative knowledge, such as that of images in mirrors. When, therefore, sense is said, as it is by Aristotle, to be the principle of science, it must not be considered as the producing principle, but as agitating the soul to a recollection of universals, and as performing the office of a messenger and herald, by exciting our soul to the evolution of the sciences. The poets who assert that the senses know nothing accurately are Parmenides, Empedocles, and Epicharmus.
[19] The energy of our soul, as we have before observed, is triple: for it either converts itself to things subordinate, obtaining a knowledge of and adorning them, or it converts itself to itself, and acquires a knowledge of itself, or it converts itself to natures more excellent than its own. Socrates, therefore, having shown that the philosopher is willing to die, from a conversion to things subordinate, because he flies from the body, despising it; and having also shown this from a conversion to himself, because he attends to the body no further than extreme necessity obliges him; he now also shows that he is willing to die, from a conversion to things more excellent. For he wishes to know ideas; but it is impossible for the soul to know these while energizing with the body, or having this communicating with it in the investigation of them. For, if sense possesses something impartible, as is evident from the collected nature of its perception: for it knows, for instance, at once, that this particular thing is white, and not black; since, if it knew this divisibly, it would be just as if I should perceive one part of a thing, and you another²⁰;— much more therefore does the rational soul perceive impartibly. It differs however from sense in this, that sense knows, but does not know that it knows; for it is not converted to itself, since neither body, nor things which possess their being in body, are converted to themselves; but the rational soul knows both sensibles and itself: for it knows that it knows. If this then be the case, the soul will not receive, as its associate in investigation, either the body or the senses, or the instruments of sense, if it wishes to know things accurately.
[20] For these partible perceptions would never produce a perception of that which is white, as one thing.
[21] The term hunting, says Olympiodorus, is adapted to intelligibles, because these are known by an unapparent power of the soul, in the same manner as hunters study to be invisible to the objects of their pursuit. Οικειον το θηρευειν επι των νοητων, διοτι αφανει δυναμει της ψυχης γινωσκεται ταυτα, καθαπερ και οι θηραται αφανες σπουδουσιν ειναι τοις θηραμασιν.
[22] The word in the original is ὑπερφυως, which is literally supernaturally. And, as Olympiodorus says, it is very properly used here, because the discourse is about intelligibles.
[23] The vital irrational part of our nature is an impediment to the rational soul. But this is twofold: for it is either beheld about the body alone, as fears, desires and loves, or about things external, as wars, and the accumulation of wealh. The gnostic irrational part also becomes an impediment, as, for instance, the phantasy, which is always a hindrance to our intellectual conceptions. For there are two passions which it is difficult to wipe away; in knowledge the phantasy, and in life ambition; since these are the things with which the soul becomes first invested, and which she, in the last place, lays aside. For the first vital vehicle of the soul is ambition, and the first gnostic is the phantasy. Hence, says Olympiodorus, Ulysses required the assistance of the mercurial moly, and right reason, in order to fly from Calypso, or the phantasy which like a cloud becomes an impediment to reason, the sun of the soul. For the phantasy is a veil; and hence some one calls it long-veiled. On this account, Ulysses first came to Circe, that is, Sense, as being the daughter of the Sun. The phantasy, therefore, is an impediment to our intellectual conceptions; and hence (Olympiodorus adds), when we are agitated by the inspiring influence of Divinity, if the phantasy intervenes, the enthusiastic energy ceases: for enthusiasm and the phantasy are contrary to each other. Should it be asked, whether the soul is able to energize without the phantasy? we reply, that its perceptions of universals prove that it is able. It has perceptions, therefore, independent of the phantasy; at the same time, however, the phantasy attends it in its energies, just as a storm pursues him who sails on the sea.
[24] Socrates says this in consequence of looking to the knowledge which the soul can participate in the present life, and to that which it possesses when it obtains hereafter the supreme perfection of its nature. For that it is possible according to Plato to live while connected with this body not only cathartically but theoretically, and this through the whole of life, is evident from his Coryphæan philosopher in the Theætetus, who is represented as continually astronomizing above the heavens (του ουρανου ὑπεραστρονομουντες), and investigating the nature of every whole in the universe; and also from those guardians in his Republic who ascend through dialectic as far as to the good itself. To live here however theoretically in perfection is impossible, on account of the occupations and molestations of the body, which do not permit us to enjoy the theoretic energy without impediment and distracted attention.
[25] There are three energies pertaining to the irrational nature; viz. physical and necessary, as to be nourished and to sleep; physical but not necessary, as venereal enjoyments; and those which are neither physical nor necessary, as the decoration of the body, and such things as pertain to variety of clothing: for that these last are neither physical nor necessary is evident from their not being used by other animals. As there are, therefore, these three energies, the philosopher, says Olympiodorus, neither uses those which are physical and not necessary, nor those which are neither physical nor necessary. For emissions in sleep are sufficient to him for the discharge of the seed; and he pays no attention to external decoration. He likewise uses those which are physical and necessary, no further than necessity requires. This being the case, the philosopher is willing to die, and consequently meditates death.
[26] Those only, says Olympiodorus, who philosophize rightly, i. e. with an undeviating energy, especially and always providentially attend to a solution from the body; possessing the providential energy from Prometheus, but the especially and the always from Hercules. For the never-failing and the strenuous make the solution strong. In consequence, too, of being deprived of good we are afflicted, and fall into evil. We rejoice, therefore, when we are liberated from evil, and meet with good; so that, according to each of these, it is necessary to be delighted with death, both as liberating us from the hated body, and as affording us the enjoyment of what we truly desire. As fire too tends downwards by violence and through a certain artifice, but spontaneously ascends, because its wholeness²⁷ is on high; in like manner the soul’s attention to the body is the effect of compulsion, and its ascent to true being spontaneous, because its separate wholeness is there.
[27] See the Introduction to the Timæus.
[28] The first of the virtues are the physical, which are common to brutes, being mingled with the temperaments, and for the most part contrary to each other; or rather pertaining to the animal. Or it may be said that they are illuminations from reason, when not impeded by a certain bad temperament: or that they are the result of energies in a former life. Of these Plato speaks in the Politicus and the Laws. The ethical virtues, which are above these, are ingenerated by custom and a certain right opinion, and are the virtues of children when well educated. These virtues also are to be found in some brute animals. They likewise transcend the temperaments, and on this account are not contrary to each other. These virtues Plato delivers in The Laws. They pertain however at the same time both to reason and the irrational nature. In the third rank above these are the political virtues, which pertain to reason alone; for they are scientific. But they are the virtues of reason adorning the irrational part as its instrument; through prudence adorning the gnostic, through fortitude the irascible, and through temperance the desiderative power; but adorning all the parts of the irrational nature through justice. And of these virtues Plato speaks much in the Republic. These virtues, too, follow each other. Above these are the cathartic virtues, which pertain to reason alone, withdrawing from other things to itself, throwing aside the instruments of sense as vain, repressing also the energies through these instruments, and liberating the soul from the bonds of generation. Plato particularly delivers to us these virtues in this dialogue. Prior to these, however, are the theoretic virtues, which pertain to the soul, introducing itself to natures superior to itself, not only gnostically, as some one may be induced to think from the name, but also orectically: for it hastens to become, as it were, intellect instead of soul; and intellect, as we have before observed, possesses both desire and knowledge. These virtues are the converse of the political: for, as the latter energize about things subordinate according to reason, so the former about things more excellent according to intellect. These virtues Plato delivers in the Theætetus. According to Plotinus, there is also another gradation of the virtues besides these, viz. the paradigmatic. For, as our eye, when it is first illuminated by the solar light, is different from that which illuminates, as being illuminated, but afterwards is in a certain respect united and conjoined with it, and becomes as it were solar form; so also our soul at first indeed is illuminated by intellect, and energizes according to the theoretic virtues, but afterwards becomes, as it were, that which is illuminated, and energizes uniformly according to the paradigmatic virtues. And it is the business indeed of philosophy to make us intellect; but of theurgy to unite us to intelligibles, so as that we may energize paradigmatically. And as, when possessing the physical virtues, we know mundane bodies (for the subjects to virtues of this kind are bodies); so, from possessing the ethical virtues, we know the fate of the universe, because fate is conversant with irrational lives. For the rational soul is not under fate; and the ethical virtues are irrational. According to the political virtues we know mundane affairs, and according to the cathartic supermundane; but as possessing the theoretic we know intellectual, and from the paradigmatic intelligible natures. Temperance also pertains to the ethical virtues; justice to the political, on account of compacts; fortitude to the cathartic, through not verging to matter; and prudence to the theoretic. Observe too, that Plato calls the physical virtues servile, because they may subsist in servile souls; but he calls the ethical σκιογραφιαι, because their possessors only know that the energies of such virtues are right, but do not know why they are so. It is well observed too here, by Olympiodorus, that Plato calls the cathartic and theoretic virtues, those which are in reality true virtues. He also separates them in another way, viz. that the politic are not telestic, i. e. do not pertain to mystic ceremonies, but that the cathartic and theoretic are telestic. Hence, says Olympiodorus, the cathartic are denominated from the purification which is used in the mysteries; but the theoretic from perceiving things divine, απο του τα θεια οραν. On this account he accords with the Orphic verses, that

The soul that uninitiated dies,
Plung’d in the blackest mire in Hades lies.

For initiation is the Bacchic mysteries of the virtues (τελετη γαρ εστιν ἡ των αρετων βακχεια). Olympiodorus also further observes, that by the thyrsus-bearers, Plato means those that energize according to the political virtues, but by the Bacchuses those that exercise the cathartic virtues. For we are bound in matter as Titans, through the great partibility of our nature; but we rise from the dark mire as Bacchuses. Hence we become more prophetic at the time of death: and Bacchus is the inspective guardian of death, because he is likewise of every thing pertaining to the Bacchic sacred rites. It is here too necessary to observe, that all the virtues exhibit their proper characters, these being every where common, but subsisting appropriately in each. For the characteristic property of fortitude is the not declining to things subordinate; of temperance, a conversion from an inferior nature; of justice, a proper energy, and adapted to being; and of prudence, the election and selection of things good and evil. Observe too, with Olympiodorus, that all the virtues are in the Gods: for many Gods, says he, are adorned with their appellations; and all goodness originates from the Gods. Likewise prior to things which sometimes participate the virtues, as is our case, it is necessary there should be natures which always participate them. In what order, therefore, do the virtues first appear? Shall we say in the psychical? For virtue is the perfection of the soul; and election and pre-election are the energies and projections of the soul. Hence the Chaldæan oracles conjoin fontal virtue with fontal soul, or, in other words, with soul subsisting according to cause. But may it not also be said, that the virtues naturally wish to give an orderly arrangement to disorder? If this be admitted, they will originate from the demiurgic order. How then will they be cathartic there? May we not say, that through the cathartic virtues considered according to their causal subsistence in Jupiter the demiurgus, he is enabled to abide in his accustomed mode, as Plato says in the Timæus? And further still, according to antient theologists, he ascends to the tower of Saturn.
[29] It is requisite, says Olympiodorus, that dialectic conceptions should either begin from divine ænigmas, unfolding the arcane truth which they contain; or that they should become established in them as in a port, and rest in the demonstrations of them; or that they should accomplish both these. Olympiodorus further observes that what is here said imitates the mystic and mundane circle of souls; for these, says he, flying from an impartible and Bacchic life, and energizing according to that which is Titannic, become fettered and imprisoned. Abiding however in punishment, and attending to themselves, they are purified from Titannic defilements, and, passing into a collected from a dispersed subsistence, they become Bacchuses, i. e. entire and perfect, according to the Bacchus that abides on high. In the mysteries too, says Olympiodorus, popular purifications first take the lead; in the next place, such as are more arcane than these; in the third place, things permanently abiding are introduced; in the fourth place, perceptions with the eyes closed (μυησεις); and, in the last place, an inspection of the things themselves (εποπτειαι). ὁτι εν τοις ἱεροις ηγουντο μεν αἱ πανδημοι καθαρσεις· ειτα επι ταυταις απορρητοτεραι· μετα δε ταυτας συστασεις παρελαμβανοντο· και επι ταυταις μυησεις· εν τελει δε εποπτειαι. Hence, says he, the ethical and political virtues are analogous to the apparent purifications; but such of the cathartic virtues as reject every thing external, to the more arcane purifications. The energies also which are theoretic about intelligibles, are analogous to the things which permanently abide; but the contractions of these energies into the impartible are analogous to the perceptions with the eyes closed; and the simple intuitive perceptions of simple forms, to epoptic vision, or an inspection of the things themselves. Olympiodorus further observes, that the scope of the mysteries is to lead back souls to that end from which as a principle they made their first descent; and in which also Bacchus established them, seating them in the throne of his proper father; or, in other words, in the whole of that life of which Jupiter is the source. He, therefore, who is initiated, necessarily dwells with the Gods, according to the scope of the initiating deities. But the greatest and most mystical sacrifices (τελεται), says he, are twofold; the one here, being certain preparations; and the other hereafter. The latter also, he adds, are in his opinion twofold; some taking place about the pneumatic vehicle, as here about the shelly body (περι τον οστρεινον), and others about the luciform vehicle. For there are three gradations of mystic as well as of philosophic ascent. For philosophers are led back to their pristine condition in the three thousandth year, as it is said in the Phædrus; and a chiliad, or a thousand, signifies a perfect and periodic life. He, therefore, who is uninitiated, as remaining most remote from his proper end, lies in mire here, and much more there; for he is merged in the impurity of matter.
[30] The thyrsus, says Olympiodorus, is a symbol of material and partible fabrication, on account of its divulsed continuity, whence also it is a Titannic plant. For it is extended before Bacchus instead of his paternal sceptre, and through this they call him into a partial nature. Besides, says he, the Titans are thyrsus-bearers; and Prometheus concealed fire in a reed, whether by this we are to understand that he draws down celestial light into generation, or impels soul into body, or calls forth divine illumination, the whole of which is ungenerated, into generation. Hence Socrates Orphically calls the multitude thyrsus-bearers, as living Titannically. Olympiodorus further adds, that he who lives Bacchically, now rests from his labours, is liberated from his bonds, and dismisses his guard, or rather his confined life; and such a one is a cathartic philosopher. Some too, says he, prefer philosophy, as Porphyry and Plotinus, and many other philosophers; but others prefer the hieratic discipline, or the discipline pertaining to sacred ceremonies, as Jamblichus, Syrianus, and Proclus, and all the hieratic philosophers. Plato, however, knowing that much may be said on both sides, collects the arguments into one, by calling the philosopher a Bacchus.
[31] The apology of Socrates is twofold, one to the Athenian judges, and the other to the most genuine of his associates. The one contending for the safety of the animal, i. e. of the composite of soul and body, but the other for the separate and proper life of the soul. The one also being a mixture of science and opinion, but the other of intellect and science. The one proceeding from the political life, but the other from the cathartic life. And the one evincing that the death which is apparent and known to all men is good; but the other, that this must be asserted of the true death, and which is only known to philosophers.
[32] Some, says Olympiodorus, immortalize the soul from the rational part as far as to the animated habit, as the Pythagorean Numenius. Others as far as to nature, as Plotinus. Others as far as to the irrational part, as among the antients Xenocrates and Speusippus, but among the moderns Jamblichus and Plutarch. Others again as far only as to the rational soul, as Proclus and Porphyry. Others as far only as to intellect; for they suppose that the doxastic part is corrupted, as many of the Peripatetics. And others as far as to the whole soul; for they admit that partial souls are corrupted into the whole soul of the universe.
[33] The design of what is here said is not to show that the soul is immortal, but that it continues for a certain time after the dissolution of the body. Jamblichus, however, as we are informed by Olympiodorus, thought that each of the arguments in the Phædo demonstrated the immortality of the soul. But, as Olympiodorus justly observes, Jamblichus said this in consequence of energizing according to intellect enthusiastically, which, says he, was usual with him. Proclus, or rather Syrianus, as we learn from Olympiodorus, collects that life and death are generated from each other, because life is a conjunction and death a disjunction. But these are contraries; and contraries change into each other; for that contraries change into each other, the text shows in a threefold respect. First, from induction. Secondly, from generations themselves, and the ways which lead to them: for if the ways change into each other, as for instance whitening into blackening, much more must the ends change into each other, viz. the white into the black. Thirdly, because nature would be mutilated, if one of two contraries changed into the other, and the other not; and also because in time the other would fail, and nothing would be contrary, the remainder not having any thing into which it can change. Just as if a vigilant should be changed into a sleepy state, but not on the other hand a sleepy into a vigilant state, the delusion of Endymion, as Socrates says, would take place; for not only he, but all things, would sleep. Endymion, however, is said to have slept perpetually, because he applied himself in solitude to the study of astronomy. Hence, too, he is said to have been beloved by the moon. It is likewise necessary to observe that Plato here speaks of things which are properly contraries; and that, if he also makes mention of relatives, these, from the participation of contraries, change into each other.
[34] Socrates, having shown from life and death that the soul remains after its separation from the body, now shows, from discipline being reminiscence, that it subsisted prior to the body; so that from both these positions it may be collected that the soul endures for a much longer time than the body. Olympiodorus however again informs us that Jamblichus thought that each of these positions evinced the immortality of the soul. For, says he, if life and death are always from each other, the soul is perpetual; and if also disciplines are reminiscences, according to this also the soul lives for ever. So that, by uniting both the arguments, he concludes that the soul is without generation and incorruptible. However, as Olympiodorus justly observes, neither nor both of these positions demonstrate that the soul is immortal, but that it subsists for a certain time prior and posterior to the body. Hence Plato, perceiving that he had not yet sufficiently demonstrated the thing proposed, introduces other arguments in proof of it; and the fifth alone properly demonstrates the immortality of the soul from its essence. Since however, says Olympiodorus, the discourse is now about reminiscence, and memory is proximate to reminiscence, and oblivion is opposed to memory, let us define what each of these three is, from their appellations. Reminiscence, therefore, is renewed memory³⁵, as its name evinces. But memory is permanency of intellect³⁶. And oblivion is as it were a certain dimness of the sight³⁷. For as dimness is an impediment to the sight, so oblivion is a dimness of our knowledge, as it were of our sight. For memory, which is permanency of intellect, is first beheld in intellect; since it is a stable collection of knowledge: just as the ever is stability of being, and immortality is stability of life; for it is inextinguishable life. In like manner memory is stability of knowledge. As, therefore, our soul does not possess infinite power according to knowledge, though it does according to life, hence oblivion intervening, reminiscence is a certain regeneration as it were of knowledge. Memory likewise first subsists in intellect, because intellect always understands and abides in itself; but secondarily in divine souls, as possessing transitive intellections, and not knowing all things without time, and collectively; and it subsists, in the third place, in our souls, in which oblivion also intervenes. Memory likewise is similar to eternity, perpetually subsisting about the same; but reminiscence, to time, through its transition. But as Socrates shows from reminiscence that the soul subsisted prior to the body, the following Platonic arguments in defence of the soul’s pre-existence are offered to the earnest consideration of the reader. Unless the soul then had a being prior to her connexion with the present body, she never would be led to search after knowledge. For if the objects of her investigation were things which she had never before been acquainted with, how could she ever be certain that she detected them? Indeed it would be as impossible on this hypothesis for the soul to know any thing about them, even when she perceived them, as it would be to tell the meaning of the words of an unknown language on hearing them pronounced. The Peripatetics, in order to subvert this consequence, have recourse to an intellect in capacity, which is the passive recipient of all forms. The doubt however still remains. For how does this intellect understand? For it must either understand the things which it already knows, or things which it does not know. But the Stoics assert, that natural conceptions are the causes of our investigating and discovering truth. If, therefore, these conceptions are in capacity, we ask the same question as before; but if they are in energy, why do we investigate things which we know? Lastly, the Epicureans affirm that anticipations are the causes of our investigations. If then they say that these anticipations subsist distinctly, investigation must be vain; but if indistinctly, why do we seek after any thing besides these anticipations? Or, in other words, why do we seek after distinct knowledge, of which we have no anticipation? Again, there are numberless instances of persons that are terrified at certain animals, such as cats, lizards, and tortoises, without knowing the cause of their terror. Thus the nephews of Berius, says Olympiodorus, that were accustomed to hunt bears and lions, could not endure the sight of a cock. The same author adds, that a certain apothecary could look undisturbed at asps and snakes, but was so exceedingly frightened at a wasp, that he would run from it crying aloud, and stupefied with terror. Thus too, says he, Themison the physician could apply himself to the cure of every disease except the hydrophobia; but if any person only mentioned this disease, he would be immediately agitated, and suffer in a manner similar to those afflicted with this malady. Now it is impossible to assign any other satisfactory cause of all this, than a reminiscence of having suffered through these animals in a prior state of existence. Further still, infants are not seen to laugh for nearly three weeks after their birth, but pass the greatest part of this time in sleep; however, in their sleep they are often seen both to laugh and cry. But how is it possible that this can any otherwise happen than through the soul being agitated by the whirling motions of the animal nature, and moved in conformity to the passions which it had experienced in another life? Besides, our looking into ourselves, when we are endeavouring to discover any truth, evinces that we inwardly contain truth, though concealed in the darkness of oblivion. The delight too which attends our discovery of truth, sufficiently proves that this discovery is nothing more than a recognition of something most eminently allied to our nature, and which had been, as it were, lost in the middle space of time, between our former knowledge of the truth and the recovery of that knowledge. For the perception of a thing perfectly unknown and unconnected with our nature, would produce terrror instead of delight; and things are pleasing only in proportion as they possess something known and domestic to the natures by which they are known.
[35] Αναμνησις εστι ανανεωσις μνημης.
[36] Μνημη δε μονη του νου.
[37] Ληθη δε ὁιον λημη τις.
[38] The term wandering, says Olympiodorus, is common both to life and knowledge; but the term agitated belongs to life alone; and the term giddiness to knowledge alone. But giddiness is an evil. For as those who are thus affected, through the inward whirl which they experience, think that things external to them are in a similar condition, so the soul, through alone beholding sensibles, thinks that all things flow and are in motion.
[39] Olympiodorus here inquires how Plato calls prudence a passion of the soul. To which he replies, that all the virtues are passions. For it is evident, says he, that things which participate suffer. Hence also being, considered as participating the one, is said by Plato to suffer or be passive to the one. Since, therefore, the soul participates of the prudence which subsists in intellect, or, in other words, of intellectual prudence, on this account he calls prudence the passion of the soul. Or we may say, that since the whole soul is through the whole of itself self-motive, so far as it moves itself it acts, but so far as it is moved it suffers.
[40] This is the third argument derived from life, that the soul rules over the body. For that which uses an instrument possesses dominion over it.
[41] Pluto, says Olympiodorus, is celebrated as prudent and good, because he imparts to souls the virtue and science which they lost in the realms of generation. He is also Hades, because he wipes away the visible, which is, as it were, burnt in in the nature of the soul.
[42] The soul when living with Divinity may be said to be truly initiated, as flying both to its own one or summit, and that of divine natures.
[43] The irrational nature is the image of the rational soul. This nature also is corporeal, consisting of a corporeal life, and a certain body more attenuated than this visible body. This image, Plato says, becomes heavy, and is seen about sepulchres. Hence souls that are still bound to the visible nature through a strong propensity to body, are said to follow this phantom; and thus they become visible through participation of the visible, or sympathy towards it. But such souls, says Olympiodorus, are not only willing, but are compelled to wander about sepulchres, as a punishment of their sympathy about the body. He adds, that the image having a connate desire towards the outward body, sometimes also draws to it the soul, with the consent of Justice.
[44] “Guilty souls,” says the philosopher Sallust (De Diis et Mundo, cap. 19.), “are punished on their departure from the present body; some by wandering about this part of the earth; others about certain of its hot or cold regions; and others are tormented by avenging dæmons. But, universally, the rational soul suffers punishment in conjunction with the irrational soul, the partner of its guilt; and through this that shadowy body derives its subsistence which is beheld about sepulchres, and especially about the tombs of such as have lived an abandoned life.”
[45] It must here be obvious to the most careless reader, that, according to Plato, the political are not the true virtues.
[46] As Penelope, who is the image of Philosophy, unwove by night what she had woven by day, so Ignorance reweaves what Philosophy unweaves. Hence Philosophy dissolves the soul from, but Ignorance weaves it to, the body.
[47] See the Introduction to this Dialogue.
[48] Harmony has a triple subsistence. For it is either harmony itself, or it is that which is first harmonized, and which is such according to the whole of itself; or it is that which is secondarily harmonized, and which partially participates of harmony. The first of these must be assigned to intellect, the second to soul, and the third to body. This last too is corruptible, because it subsists in a subject; but the other two are incorruptible, because they are neither composites, nor dependent on a subject. Simmias, therefore, reasons falsely in what he here says, in consequence of looking to the third species of harmony only. Hence, the rational soul is analogous to a musician, but the animated body to harmonized chords: for the former has a subsistence separate, but the latter inseparable from the musical instrument.
[49] Iolaus was the son of Iphiclus king of Thessaly. He assisted Hercules in conquering the Hydra, and burnt with a hot iron the place where the heads had been cut off, to prevent the growth of others.
[50] Four inevitable consequences attend the man who hates reason. In the first place, he must hate himself; for he is essentially rational. In the second place, he must hate truth; for this can only be discovered by the exercise of reason. In the third place, he must be a lover of that which is irrational. And, in the fourth place, he must be brutalized, as far as this is possible to man.
[51] As every rational soul is an incorporeal harmony separate from a subject, it does not admit of intensions and remissions; and, therefore, one rational soul is neither more nor less harmony than another, so far as each is essentially harmony. One soul, however, may be more similar to intellect, or harmony itself, than another, and, so far as it is more similar, will be more harmony in energy. Hence, virtue may be considered as the concord, and vice as the discord, of the rational and irrational nature; the former being produced from the rational harmonizing the irrational part, in consequence of being a harmony more energetic; and the latter arising from the irrational being unharmonized by the rational part, because in this case the essential harmony of the soul is more dormant than energetic. The reasoning, therefore, of Socrates does not apply to that harmony which is separate, but to that which is inseparable from body.
[52] Lib. xix. ver. 15.
[53] That is, a harmony subsisting in, and therefore inseparable from, a subject.
[54] “Cadmus,” says Olympiodorus, “is the sublunary world, as being Dionysiacal, on which account Harmony is united to the God, and as being the father of the four Bacchuses. But they make the four elements to be Dionysiacal, viz. fire, to be Semele; earth, Agave, tearing in pieces her own offspring; water, Ino; and lastly, air, Autonoe.” There is great beauty in conjoining Harmonia, or Harmony, the daughter of Venus and Mars, with Cadmus. For Venus is the cause of all the harmony and analogy in the universe, and beautifully illuminates the order and communion of all mundane concerns. But Mars excites the contrarieties of the universe, that the world may exist perfect and entire from all its parts. The progeny, therefore, of these two Divinities must be the concordant discord or harmony of the sublunary world. But Socrates (as Forster well observes in his notes on this dialogue) represents Cebes as another Cadnius, because, according to his doctrine, men after they are buried, like the teeth of the serpent slain by Cadmus, will revive in another form, and in a short time like the Cadmæan men will entirely perish.
[55] What Socrates here calls a history of nature, is what the moderns call experimental phi- losophy. The danger of directing the attention solely to this study is, as Socrates justly observes, truly great. For by speculating no other causes than such as are instrumental, and which are involved in the darkness of matter, the mental eye becomes at length incapable of beholding true and primary causes, the splendid principles of all things.
[56] Addition is no more the proper cause of two than division; but each of these is nothing but a concause. For one and one by junction become the subject or matter of the participation of the incorporeal duad; and this is likewise the case when one thing is divided.
[57] See an extract of some length from that work of Anaxagoras to which Plato here alludes, in the Notes on the first book of my translation of Aristotle’s Metaphysics.
[58] Socrates here uses the words in a certain respect with the greatest accuracy: for intellect, considered according to its highest subsistence in the intelligible order, may be said to be the cause of all things posterior to the one; but the one, being above intellect, is truly in every respect the cause of all.
[59] Concauses can never show that it is best for things to exist as they do; but this can only be effected by primary, viz. effective, paradigmatic, and final causes.
[60] That is, the double.
[61] That is, the half.
[62] This, which is the fifth argument, properly and fully demonstrates the immortality of the soul from its essence.
[63] Socrates says, with great propriety, that the soul will be immortal more than any thing. For soul is essentially vital; and immortality is stability of life.
[64] Simmias says this, in consequence of not having arrived at the summit of philosophical attainments, and, therefore, not seeing the full force of this fifth argument of Socrates. For it possesses a most wonderful and invincible strength; and by those that understand it will be acknowledged to have all the force of geometrical demonstration. Socrates himself insinuates as much as this, when he says in reply to Simmias, that by sufficiently investigating the hypotheses on which this argument is founded, we shall follow reason in as great a degree as is possible to man, and at length make no further inquiry. That is, we shall at length perceive this truth by the projecting energies of intellect, which is a degree of evidence, as I have already observed in the Introduction to this dialogue, superior to that of any tradition however divine.
[65] Since there are in the universe, says Olympiodorus, things which subsist differently at different times, and since there are also natures which are conjoined with the superessential unities, it is necessary that there should be a certain middle genus, which is neither immediately suspended from Deity, nor subsists differently at different times according to better and worse, but which is always perfect, and does not depart from its proper virtue; and is immutable indeed, but is not conjoined with the superessential. The whole of this genus is dæmoniacal. There are also different genera of dæmons: for they are placed under the mundane Gods. The highest of these subsists according to the one of the Gods, which is called an unific and divine genus of dæmons. The next according to the intellect which is suspended from Deity, and is called intellectual. The third subsists according to soul, and is called rational. The fourth according to nature, which is denominated physical. The fifth according to body, which is called corporealformed. And the sixth according to matter, and this is denominated material. Or after another manner it may be said, Olympiodorus adds, that some of these are celestial, others ethereal, others aërial, others aquatic, others terrestrial, and others subterranean. With respect to this division, it is evident that it is derived from the parts of the universe. But irrational dæmons originate from the aërial governors, whence also the Oracle says, “being the charioteer of the aërial, terrestrial and aquatic dogs.”

ηεριων ελατηρα κυνων χθονιων τε και ὑγρων.

Our guardian dæmons, however, belong to that order of dæmons which is arranged under the Gods that preside over the ascent and descent of souls.
[66] Olympiodorus observes here, that the dæmon endeavours to lead the soul, as exciting its conceptions and phantasies; at the same time, however, yielding to the self-motive power of the soul. But in consequence of the dæmon exciting, one soul follows voluntarily, another violently, and another according to a mode subsisting between these. Olympiodorus further observes that there is one dæmon who leads the soul to its judges from the present life; another, who is ministrant to the judges, giving completion, as it were, to the sentence which is passed; and a third who is again allotted the guardianship of life.
[67] With respect to the earth which is here mentioned, Olympiodorus informs us, that some of the antients considered it as incorporeal, others as corporeal, and each of these in a twofold respect. For those who considered it as incorporeal said that it was either an idea, or nature; but of those who considered it as corporeal, some asserted that it was the whole world, and others the sublunary region. Plato, however, as is evident from the text, appears to speak of this our earth. Olympiodorus adds, that as the earth is a pleroma⁶⁸ of the universe, it is a God. For, if the universe is a God, it is evident that the parts from which it derives its completion must also be Gods. Besides, if the earth contains Divinities, much more must it be itself a God, as Timæus also says. Hence, intellect and a rational soul must be suspended from it, and consequently it must have a luciform prior to this apparent body. Again, that the universe is spherical, may be shown from its final cause. For a sphere imitates the one, because it is the best and most indissoluble of figures, as being free from angles, and the most capacious of all things. This is also evident from its paradigmatic cause, because animal itself, or the extremity of the intelligible order, to which looking, the demiurgus fabricated the world, is all-perfect. And further still, this is evident from its producing cause. For the demiurgus made it to be perpetual and indissoluble, and both the circle and sphere are figures of this kind. Further still, as every part of the whole, which ranks as a whole, imitates the universe in the whole and the all, so likewise in figure. Every whole, therefore, in the universe, is spherical, and consequently this must also be true of the earth. It is likewise evident that the earth is in the middle. For, if the universe is spherical, it subsists about the centre: the parts of the universe, therefore, which rank as wholes will also subsist about centres, and consequently this will be the case with the earth. Let it, however, be admitted, that it subsists about a centre, but whence is it evident that it subsists about the centre of the universe? We reply, that if it is the most gross of all the bodies, it will be the last of them; for the most attenuated of bodies, as being able to pervade through each other, possess the higher place, conformably to the order of attenuation; and the earth the lower.
[68] i. e. A whole, which gives completion to the universe.
[69] That the earth is very great, says Olympiodorus, is evident from the Atlantic island surpassing in magnitude both Asia and Libya. It is also evident from the putrefaction of the places which we inhabit, since such places cannot rank as first. It is likewise evident from the summits of things secondary wishing to be assimilated to the extremities of things prior to them; so that the summit of earth must be attenuated and pellucid, similar to the most precious stones and metals. And lastly, this is evident from the profundity of the hollows in which we dwell, and the height of the mountains; for these evince that the spheric superficies of the earth is larger than that which is generally considered as its surface. On this summit of the earth, therefore, the true heavens are visible. They are also seen near, and not through æther only, and with more beautiful eyes. According to Ammonius Hermeas, too, whom Olympiodorus calls the Interpreter, the stars themselves, as I have before observed, are not seen by us here, but inflammations of them in the air. And perhaps, says he, this is the meaning of that assertion of Heraclitus, “enkindling measures and extinguishing measures.” For he certainly did not say this of the sun itself, but of the sun with reference to us. Olympiodorus further observes, that there is a triple division of the earth, according to the three Saturnian deities Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto: for to these, says Homer, heaven and earth are common. But if common, it is evident that these two are divided among them. Hence, in the heavens, the inerratic sphere belongs to Jupiter; from thence, as far as to the sphere of the sun, to Neptune; and the remaining part of the heavens to Pluto. If there is also a division of the earth according to the universe, it must be divided into celestial, terrestrial, and middle. For Olympian earth is honoured, as well as that which is properly terrestrial. There must, therefore, be a certain middle earth. If, likewise, there is a division of the earth conformably to that of an animal, for the earth is an animal, it must be divided into the head, middle parts, and feet. It is also beautifully observed by Olympiodorus, that each of the elements has the dodecahedron in common, as preparatory to becoming a sphere. Hence, says he, the earth has from itself the cubic, water the icosahedric, air the octahedric, and fire the pyramid; but from the supermundane Gods the dodecahedron is imparted to all of them, as preparatory to intellectual participation, which is sphericity, or the reception of a spherical figure.
[70] The earth is distinguished with colours, says Olympiodorus, according to the physical variety of colours; according to the defluxions of celestial illuminations from Mars and the Sun; and according to incorporeal lives, which proceed as far as to sensible beauty. With respect to the elements likewise on the summit of the earth, water there is as vapour, and as moist air; but air is æther, and æther is the summit of æther. If, also, there are mountains there, it is evident, says he, that from their nearness they reach the heavens. In short, he adds, the æthers of the elements are there, as the Chaldæan oracles say.
[71] These forms of life, says Olympiodorus, on the summit of the earth, subsist between the forms of perpetual animals and those that live but for a short time. For a medium is every where necessary. But the excellent temperature of the seasons and the elements causes the inhabitants there to die easily, and to live long. And what is there wonderful in this, says Olympiodorus, since this in a certain respect is the case with the Æthiopians, through the symmetry of the air? He adds, if also Aristotle relates, that a man lived here without sleep, and nourished by the solar-form air alone, what ought we to think of the inhabitants which are there? Και τι θαυμαστον, ὁτι και οἱ Αιθιοπες ᾡδε πως εχουσι δὶα την των αἔρων συμμετριαν. και ει ενταυθα ἱστορει Αριστοτελης ανθρωπον αϋπνον και μονῳ τῳ ἡλιοειδει τρεφομενον αἔρι, τι χρη περι των εκει οιεσθαι.
[72] Plato, says Olympiodorus, directs his attention to the four quarters of the globe: for since there are two which we inhabit, viz. Europe and Asia, there must also be two others according to the antipodes. Καταστοχαζεται δε των τεσσαρων τμηματων, επειδὴ δυο καθ’ ἡμας εισιν, ἡ Ευρωπη και ἡ Ασια· ὡστε δυο αλλοι κατα τους αντιποδας.
[73] Iliad. lib. viii.
[74] Tartarus, says Olympiodorus, is the extremity of the universe, and subsists oppositely to Olympus. But Tartarus is a deity, the inspective guardian of that which is last in every order. Hence, says he, we have a celestial Tartarus, in which Heaven concealed his offspring; a Saturnian Tartarus, in which also Saturn concealed his offspring; and also a Jovian of this kind, which is demiurgic.
[75] As fire, water, and air, are in the middle of the earth, much vapour must be there, as Olympiodorus justly observes, water being analysed into vapour through fire. Earth also being an animal, and living, must be willing to respire, as it were, and must make certain refluxes by its inspirations and expirations. Further still, its luciform must be its first vehicle, and its apparent must be this corporeal bulk. It must, therefore, require a middle, or aërial vehicle, the province of which is to cherish and move more attenuated bodies, through its all-various motion. Olympiodorus further observes, that of Tartarus, and Earth which is conjoined with Heaven, Typhon, Echidna, and Python, form as it were a certain Chaldaïc triad, the inspective guardian of all inordinate fabrication.
[76] The four rivers which are here mentioned are, says Olympiodorus, according to the Interpreter (i. e. Ammonius Hermeas), the four elements in Tartarus. Of these Ocean is water; Cocytus, or rather Styx, is earth; Pyriphlegethon is fire; and Acheron is air. But Styx is opposed to Pyriphlegethon, as heat to cold; and Acheron to Ocean, as air to water. Hence also Orpheus⁷⁷ calls the Acherusian lake aërial. However, says Olympiodorus, the position of the rivers does not correspond to this interpretation. For Ocean is first, and in the higher place. Under this is Acheron. Under this again, Pyriphlegethon; and in the last place, Cocytus. Besides, all of them are called rivers, though the elements are different. It is better therefore, says he, to consider the allotments, and the places themselves of souls, as receiving a fourfold division, according to depth. And prior to the places, we should consider the divine idioms, viz. the definitive, according to Ocean; the cathartic, according to Acheron; that which punishes through heat, according to Pyriphlegethon: and that which punishes through cold, according to Cocytus.
[77] Διο και Ορφευς την Αχερουσιαν λιμνην αἔριαν καλει.
[78] These vehicles are aërial: for souls are moved locally according to the vehicles which are suspended from them. And these aërial vehicles, as being corruptible, are naturally adapted to receive punishment.
[79] Let not the reader imagine, that by the word never, here, an eternal duration is implied; for Divinity does not punish the soul as if influenced by anger, but, like a good physician, for the sake of healing the maladies which she has contracted through guilt. We must say, therefore, as Olympiodorus well observes, that the incurable soul is punished eternally, calling eternity her life and the partial period of her existence. “For, in reality (says he), souls which have offended in the highest degree cannot be sufficiently purified in one period, but are continually in life, as it were, in Tartarus; and this period is called by Plato eternity.”
[80] Observe here, that those who have lived a holy and guiltless life, without philosophy, will after death dwell on the summit of the earth; and their bodies will consequently consist of the most attenuated air. Those who have philosophized politically, says Olympiodorus, will live in the heavens with luciform bodies. And those that are perfectly purified will be restored to the supermundane place, without bodies.
[81] The Pythagoreans, says Olympiodorus, thought it proper to die joyfully, because death is a good and sacred thing; and because sometimes a contrary conduct destroys that impulse by which the soul is led back to her true felicity. Besides this, when the soul departs in sorrow, a crowd of dæmons who are lovers of body are by this mean evocated; and who, in consequence of rejoicing in a life conversant with generation, render the pneumatic vehicle of the soul heavy.
[82] Should it be asked, says Olympiodorus, why Socrates desired that a cock might be offered for him to Æsculapius, we reply, that by this mean he might heal the diseases which his soul had contracted in generation. Perhaps too, says he, according to the oracle, he was willing to return to his proper principles, celebrating Pæon. Olympiodorus adds, that Socrates is said by Plato to have been the best of men, because he was in every respect good; the most prudent, according to knowledge; and the most just, according to desire.
[83] The meaning of the Attic symbols respecting those that die is, according to Olympiodorus, as follows: The closing of the mouth and eyes signifies the cessation of external energy, and the conversion of the soul to that which is inward. The being laid on the earth recalls to our memory, that the soul is conjoined with wholes. The washing of the dead body indicates purification from generation. The anointing the parts of the body signifies a divulsion from the dark mire of matter, and that divine inspiration is evocated. But the burning signifies the being led to that which is on high, and to an impartible nature. And the being laid in the earth indicates a conjunction with intelligibles. Τινων συμβολα τα περι τους αποιχομενους πατρια αττικα. το μεν ουν καμμυειν, του παυειν μεν της εξω ενεργειας, προς δε την εισω επιστρεφειν. το δε επι γης τιθεναι του αναμιμνησκειν ὁπως αν τοις ὁλοις ἡ ψυχη συναφθειη. το δε λουειν, το αποκαθαιρειν της γενεσεως. το δε μυριζειν, το αποσπαν μεν του βορβορου της ὑλης, την δε θειαν επιπνοιαν προκαλεισθαι. το δε καιειν, το περιαγειν εις το ανω, και το αμεριστον. το δε εντιθεναι τῃ γῃ το συναπτειν τοις νοητοις. = THE END OF THE PHÆDO.