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CRITO AND PHADO.
Dialogues of Socrates before his
Death.
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INTRODUCTION.
OOO
Socrates lives for us in the works of Plato as the
loftiest expression of the spiritual life of ancient
Greece. Plato, a philosopher with the mind of a
poet, was able to feel and to share the aspirations
of his teacher, and gave in dialogues a_half-
dramatic expression of the personality and of the
doctrines of the man who wrote no book himself,
but whose best wisdom is enshrined in the works
of two great writers who drew strength from his
friendship—Xenophon and Plato.
Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, a sculptor,
was born just outside Athens in the year 468 B.c,
—more than two thousand three hundred and
fifty years ago. He studied life by communion
with men, loved Athens, and, when young, fought
in her battles. But he avoided political conflict,
because he resolved to devote his life to the
awakening of the best powers of men for the
battle towards a higher life than that he saw
around him. Without teaching formally in any
school, he seized every opportunity he found of
lifting the thoughts of old and young with whom
6 INTRODUCTION.
he came in contact in the workshops, or in the
gymnasium, in their homes, or in the market-
place. He sought to make them look straight
down into themselves, see clearly what they
thought they knew, and then rise to the height of
their best aspirations, “ knighted from kneeling.”
Socrates had no faith in the wisdom of the
multitude, and while he exhorted men to worship
the gods in the form ordained’ by the state, his
spiritual teaching all pointed to one great First
Cause in a way that drew attention from religious
symbols to the soul of truth that they embodied.
He was attacked, therefore, by politicians and by
priests. Condemned as an innovator, by a majority
of six votes, he justified himself instead of pleading
against a heavy sentence. Sentenced then by a
majority of eighty votes to death, he declared that
he would rather die because he had defended
himself honestly, than live because he had appealed
to pity. For thirty days after his sentence,
Socrates lived in prison conversing with his
friends, because a law forbade executions during
the time of the annual voyage of the sacred ship,
the Theoris, with offerings to the shrine at Deios.
The dialogues in this volume represent the
reasonings of Socrates in the last hours of his life,
in the year 399 B.c., when his age was seventy.
Plato was born at Athens in the year 430 B.c.,
and was, therefore, thirty-one years old at the
INTRODUCTION, 7
time of the death of Socrates. He was born of a
' distinguished family ; his rare gift of genius was
aided by the most liberal culture, and at the age
of twenty he became the devoted follower of
Socrates. After the death of Socrates, he and
other disciples of the Master went, for safety, to
Megara. ,
Crito, whom Plato represents in dialogue with
Socrates immediately before the return of the ~
sacred ship, was a very rich Athenian who was
devoted to Socrates, and who himself wrote
seventeen philosophical dialogues, which are now
lost. | He used his wealth in doing good; kept
Socrates free from care about means of subsistence,
and had made all arrangements for his escape
from death, as is shown here in Plato’s dialogue
of Duty, which bears the name of Crito.
Phedo, who gives his name to the closing
dialogue of Immortality, was a philosopher, born
of a good family at Elis, who was taken prisoner
in war, and brought as a slave to Athens about a
year before the death of Socrates. It was as a
slave that he first talked with the Master to whom
he became devoted. Other disciples of Socrates pur-
chased Pheedo’s freedom. He was then a beautiful
youth scarcely eighteen years old, for he still wore
the long hair that it was usual to cut short at
eighteen. He was received kindly by the friends
of Socrates, and we see how Plato gives him pro-
8 INTRODUCTION.
minence in that last dialogue of Immortality—the
other dialogue in this volume—which has been
often said to paint to us the Christian before
Christ. The reader will not fail to observe that
» when Plato records as the last words of Socrates
the reminder that he owed a cock to Atsculapius,
_ his purpose is to show that, however Socrates was
accused. of neglect of the gods, he was punctual
in observance of the religious rites by which his
countrymen declared that they could lift their
eyes above the earth on which they trod.
The translation here given of the “ Crito” and
the “‘Phedo” is one that was published in 1783, a
year before the death of Samuel Johnson.
CRITO;
OR, OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO.
became“ sganead
SOCRATES and CRITO.
Soc. What’s the occasion of your coming here
so soon, Crito? As I take it, ’tis very early.
Crit. Indeed it is.
Soc. What o’clock may it be then?
Crit. A little before the break of day.
Soc. I wonder that the gaoler permitted you to
come in.
Crit. He is one I know very well. I have
been with him here frequently ; and he is in some
measure obliged to me. |
Soc. Are you but just come? Or is it long
since you came ?
Crit. I have been here a good while.
Soc. Why did you not awaken me then when
you came in?
ea
10 : CRITO: |
Crit. Pray God forbid, Socrates. For my own
part, I would gladly shake off the cares and
anxiety that keep my eyes from shutting. But
when I entered this room, I wondered to find you
so sound asleep, and was loth to awaken you, that
I might not deprive you of those happy minutes.
Indeed, Socrates, ever since I became acquainted
with you, I have been always delighted with your .
patience and calm temper: but in a distinguishing
manner in this juncture, since, in the circumstances
you are in, your eye looks so easy and uncon-
cerned.
Soc. Indeed, Crito, it would be very unbecoming
in one of my age to be fearful of death.
Crit. Ay! And how many do we see every
day, under the like misfortunes, whom age does
not free from those dreads ?
Soc. That is true. But after all what made you
come hither so early %
Crit. I came to tell you a perplexing piece of
news, which, though it may not seem to affect
“you, yet it overwhelms both me and your relations
and friends with insupportable grief. In short, I
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 11
bring the most terrible news that ever could be
brought.
Soc. What news } Is the ship arrived from
Delos, upon whose return I am to die ?
Crit. It is not yet arrived ; but doubtless it will
be here this day, according to the intelligence we
have from some persons that came from Sunium,
and left it there. For at that rate it cannot fail of
being here to-day ; and to-morrow you must un- —
avoidably die.
Soc. Why not, Crito? Be it so, since ’tis the
will of God. | However, I do not think that the
vessel will arrive this day.
Crit. What do you ground that adnjectve
upon ?
Soc. [ll tell you: I am not to die till the day
after the arrival of the vessel.
Crit. At least, those who are to execute the
sentence say So. 3
Soc. That vessel will not arrive till to-morrow,
as I conjecture from a certain dream I had this
night about a minute ago. And it seems to mea
pleasure that you did not awaken me.
12 CRITO:
Crit. Well, what is this dream ?
Soc. I thought I saw a very gentle comely
woman, dressed in white, come up to me, who
calling me by name, said, “In three days thou
shalt be in the fertile Phthia.”
Crit. That is a very remarkable dream, Socrates.
Soc. "Tis a very significant one, Crito.
Crit. Yes, without doubt. But for this time,
_ prithee, Socrates, take my advice, and make your
escape, For my part, if you die, besidez the
irreparable loss of a friend, which I shall ever
bewail, I am afraid that numbers of people, who
are not well acquainted either with you or me,
will believe that I have forsaken you, in not
employing my interest for promoting your escape,
now that it is in my power. Is there anything
more base than to lie under the disrepute of being
wedded to my money more than to my friend? For,
in fine, the people will never believe that ’twas
you who refused to go from hence, when we urged
you to be gone.
Soc. My dear Crito, why should we be so much
concerned for the opinion of the people? Is it not
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 13
enough that the more sensible part, who are the
only men we ought to regard, know how the case
stands ?
Crit. But you see, Socrates, there’s a necessity
of being concerned for the noise of the mob; for
your example is sufficient instance that they are
capable of doing, not only small, but the greatest
of injuries, and display their passion in an out-
rageous manner against those who are once run
down by the vulgar opinion.
Soc. I wish, Crito, that the people were able to
do the greatest of injuries. Were it so, they
would likewise be capable of doing the greatest
good. That would be a great happiness. But
neither the one nor the other is possible. For they
cannot make men either wise men or fools.
Crit. I grant it. But pray answer me: Is it
out of tenderness to me and your other friends
that you will not stir from hence? Is it fear lest
upon your escape we should be troubled, and
charged with carrying you off, and by that means
be obliged to quit our possession, or pay a large
sum of money, or else suffer something more fatal
14 CRITO:
than either? If that be your fear, shake it off,
Socrates, in the name of the gods. Is not it highly
reasonable that we should purchase your escape at
the rate of exposing ourselves to these dangers,
and greater ones, if there be occasion? Once more,
my dear Socrates, believe me, and go along with
me.
Soc. I own, Crito, that I have such thoughts,
and several others besides in my view.
Crit. Fear nothing, I entreat you; for, in the
first place, they require no great sum to let you
out. And on the other hand, you see what a piti-
ful condition those are in who probably might
arraign us. A small sum of money will stop their
mouths: my estate alone will serve for that. If
you scruple to accept of my offer, here are a great
many strangers who desire nothing more than to
furnish you with what money you want. Simmias
the Theban himself has brought up very con-
siderable sums. Cebes is capable of doing as
much, and so are several others. Let not your
fears then stifle the desire of making your escape.
And as for what you told me the other day, in
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 1h
court, that if you made your escape, you should not
know how to live—pray let not that trouble you.
Whithersoever you go, you'll be beloved in all
parts of the world. If you'll go to Thessaly, |
have friends there, who will honour you according
to your merit, and think themselves happy im
supplying you with what you want, and cover-
ing you from all occasions of fear in their country.
Besides, Socrates, without doubt you are guilty éf
a very unjust thing in delivering up yourself,
while ’tis in your power to make your escape, and
promoting what your enemies so passionately wish
for. For you not only betray yourself, but like-
wise your children by abandoning them, when you
might make a shift to maintain and educate them.
You are not at all concerned at what may befall
them, though at the same time they are like to be
in as dismal a condition as ever poor orphans were.
A man ought either to have no children, or else to
expose himself to the care and trouble of breeding
them. You seem to me to act the softest and
most insensible part in the world; whereas you
ought to take up a resolution worthy of a generous
16 CRITO:
soul ; above all, you who boast that you pursued
nothing but virtue all the days of your life. I tell
you, Socrates, [ am ashamed upon the account of
you and your relations, since the world will believe
‘twas owing to our cowardliness that you did not
get off. In the first place, they will charge you with
standing a trial that you might have avoided ;
then they will censure your conduct in making your
defences ; and at last, which is the most shameful
of all, they will upbraid us with forsaking you
through fear or cowardice, since we did not ac-
complish your escape. Pray consider of it, my dear
Socrates ; if you do not prevent the approaching
evil, you'll bear a part in the shame that will cover
us all, Pray advise with yourself quickly. But
now I think on it, there is not time for advising,
there’s no choice left, all must be put in execution.
Soc. My dear Crito, your good-will is very com-
mendable, provided it agree with right reason ;
but if it swerve from that, the stronger it is, the
more is it blameworthy. The first thing to be
considered is, whether we ought to do as you say,
or not? For you know, ’tis not of yesterday that
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 17
I’ve accustomed myself only to follow the reasons
that appear most just after a mature examination.
Though fortune frowns upon me, yet Ill never
part with the principles I have all along professed.
‘These principles appear always the same, and I
esteem them equally at all times. So, if your
advice be not backed by the strongest reasons,
assure yourself I will never comply, not if all the
power of the people should arm itself against me,
or offer to frighten me like a child; by laying on
fresh chains, and threatening to deprive me of the
greatest good, and oblige me to suffer the cruellest
death.
(Ca Now, how shall we manage this inquiry
justly? .
Soc. To be sure, the fairest way is to resume
what you have been saying of the vulgar opinions ;
that is, to inquire whether there are some reports
that we ought to regard, and others that are to
be slighted ; or, whether the saying so is only a
groundless and childish proposition. I have a
strong desire, upon this occasion, to try, in your
presence, whether this principle will appear to me
18 CRITO:
in different colours from what it did while I was
in other circumstances, or whether I shall always
find it the same, in order to determine me to
compliance or refusal.
If I mistake not, ’tis certain that several persons,
who thought themselves men of sense, have often
maintained in this place, that of all the opinions
of men, some are to be regarded and others to be >
slighted. In the name of the gods, Crito, do not
you think that was well said? In all human ap-
pearance you are in no danger of dying to-morrow ;
and therefore ’tis presumed that the fear of the
present danger cannot work any change upon you.
Wherefore, pray consider it well: do not you think
they spoke justly who said that all the opinions
of men are not always to be regarded, but only
some of them; and those not of all men, but only
of some? What do you say? Do not you think
tis very true %
Crit. Very true.
Soc. At any rate, then, ought not we to esteem
the good opinions and slight the bad ones 4
Crit. Ay, doubtless.
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 19
Soc. Are not the good opinions then those of
wise men, and the bad ones those of fools ?
Crit. It cannot be otherwise.
Soc. Let us see, then, how you will answer this.
A man who makes his exercises, when he comes to
have his lesson, whether shall he regard the com-
mendation or censure of whoever comes first, or
only of him that is either a physician or a master ¢
_ Crit. Of the last, to be sure.
Soc. Then he ought to fear the censure and
value the commendation of that man alone, and
slight what comes from others.
Crit. Without doubt.
Soc. For that reason this young man must
neither eat nor drink, nor do anything, without the
orders of that master, that man of sense, and he is
not at all to govern himself by the caprices of others.
Crit. That is true. |
Soc. Let us fix upon that, then. But suppose he
disobeys this master, and disregards his applause
or censure, and suffers himself to be blinded by the
caresses and applauses of the ignorant mob, will
not he come to some harm by this means ?
20 CRITO:
Crit. How is it possible it should be other-
wise ?
Soc. But what will be the nature of this harm
that will accrue to him thereupon? where will it
terminate ? and what part of him will it affect ?
Crit. His body, without doubt; for by that
means he'll ruin himself.
Soc. Very well, but is not the case the same all
over? Upon the point of justice or injustice,
honesty or dishonesty, good or evil, which at pre-
sent are the subject of our dispute, shall we rather
refer ourselves to the opinion of the people than
to that of an experienced wise man, who justly
challenges more respect and deference from us than
all the world besides? And if we do not act con-
formably to the opinion of this one man, is it not
certain that we shall ruin ourselves, and entirely
lose that which only lives and gains new strength
by justice, and perishes only through injustice ?
Or must we take all«that for a thing of no ac-
count !
Crit. I am of your opinion.
Soc. Take heed, I entreat you; if, by following
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 21
the opinions of the ignorant, we destroy that which
is only preserved by health and wasted by sickness,
can we survive the corruption of that, whether it
be our body or somewhat else ?
Crit, That’s certain.
Soc. Can one live then after the corruption and
destruction of the body ?
Crit. No, to be sure.
Soc. But can one survive the corruption of that
which lives only by justice, and dies only through
injustice? Or is this thing (whatever it be) that
has justice or injustice for its object, to be less
valued than the body ?
Crit. Not at all.
Soc. What, is it much more valuable then ?
Crit. A great deal more.
Soc. Then, my dear Crito, we ought not to be
concerned at what the people say, but what he
says, who knows what is just and unjust ; and that
alone is nothing else but the truth. Thus you see
you established false principles at first, in saying
that we ought to pay a deference to the opinions
of the people upon what is just, good, honest, and
m
22, CRITO:
its contraries. Some, perhaps, will object that the
people are able to put us to death.
Crit. To be sure they will start that objection.
Soc. "Tis also true. But that does not alter the
nature of what we were saying ; that is still the
same. For you must still remember that ’tis not
life, but a good life, that we ought to court.
Crit. That is a certain truth.
Soc. But is it not likewise certain that this good
life consists in nothing else but honesty and
justice ?
Crit. Yes.
Soc. Now, before we go farther, let us examine,
upon the principles you have agreed to, whether my
departure from hence, without the permission of
the Athenians, is just or unjust. If it be found
just, we must do our utmost to bring it about ; but
if it be unjust, we must lay aside the design. For
as to the considerations you alleged just now of
money, reputation, and family, these are only the
thoughts of the baser mob, who put innocent
persons to death, and would afterwards bring them
to life if ’twere possible. But as for us who bend
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 93
our thoughts another way, all that we are to mind
is whether we do a just thing in giving money, and
lying under an obligation to those who promote our
escape ; or whether both we and they do not com-
mit a piece of injustice in so doing? If this be an
unjust thing, we need not reason much upon the
point, since ’tis better to abide here and die than
to undergo somewhat more terrible than death.
Crit. You are in the right, Socrates ; let us see
then how it will fall.
Soc. We shall go hand in hand in the inquiry.
If you have anything of weight to answer, pray do
it when I have spoken, that so I may comply Saf
not, pray forbear any farther to press me to go
hence without the consent of the Athenians. I
shall be infinitely glad if you can persuade me to
do it ; but I cannot do it without being first con-
vinced. Take notice then whether my way of
pursuing this inquiry satisfies you, and do your
utmost to make answer to my questions.
Crit. I will.
Soc. Is it true that we ought not to do an un-
just thing to any man? Or is it lawful in any
24 CRITO:
measure to do it to one when we are forbidden to do
it to another? Or is it not absolutely true that
all manner of injustice is neither good nor honest,
as we were saying but now? Or, in fine, are all
these sentiments which we formerly entertained,
vanished ina few days? And is it possible, Crito,
that those of years, our most serious conferences,
should resemble those of children, and we at the
same time not be sensible that ’tis sot Ought not
we rather to stand to what we have said, as being
a certain truth, that all injustice is scandalous and
fatal to the person that commits it, let men say
what they will, and let our fortune be never so
good or bad ? fe
Crit. That’s certain.
Soc. Then must we avoid the least measure of
injustice ?
Crit. Most certainly.
Soc. Since we are to avoid the least degree of it,
then we ought not to do it to those who are unjust
to us, notwithstanding that this people think it
lawful ?
Crit. So I think.
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 25
Soc. But what! Ought we to do evil or not ?
Crit. Without doubt we ought not.
Soc. But is it justice to repay evil with evil,
pursuant to the opinion of the people, or is it un-
just ¢
Crit. ’Tis highly unjust.
Soc. Then there’s no difference between doing
evil and being unjust ?
Crit. I own it.
Soc, Then we ought not to do the least evil or
injustice to any man, let him do by us as he
will. But take heed, Crito, that by this con-
- cession you do not speak against your own senti-
ments. For I know very well there are few that
will go this length: and ’tis impossible for those
who. vary in their sentiments upon this point
to agree well together. Nay, on the contrary, the
contempt of one another’s opinions leads them.
to a reciprocal contempt of one another’s persons.
Consider well then if you are of the same opinion
with me; and let us ground our reasonings upon
this principle, that we ought not to do evil for
evil, or treat those unjustly who are unjust to us.
26 CRITO:
For my part, I never did, nor ever will, entertain
any other principle. Tell me then if you have
changed your mind; if not, give ear to what
follows.
Crit. I give ear.
Soc. Well: a man that has made a just promise,
ouzht he to keep it, or to break it ?
Crit. He ought to keep it.
Soc. If I go hence without the consent of the
Athenians, shall not I injure some people, and
especially those who do not deserve it? Or shall
we in this follow what we think equally just to
everybody ! .
Crit. I cannot answer you, for I do not under-
stand you.
Soc. Pray take notice; when we put our-
selves in a way of making our escape, or going
- hence, or how you please to call it, suppose the
law and the republic should present themselves
in a body before us, and accost us in this manner :
“ Socrates, what are you going todo? To put in
execution what you now design, were wholly to
ruin the laws and the state. Do you think a city
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 27
can subsist when justice has not only lost its force,
but is likewise perverted, overturned, and trampled
under foot by private persons?” What answer
could we make to such and many other questions ?
For what is it that an orator cannot say upon the
overturning of that law which provides that
sentences once pronounced shall not be infringed ?
Shall we answer, that the republic has judged
amiss, and passed an unjust sentence upon us?
Shall that be our answer ?
Crit. Ah, without any scruple, Socrates,
Soc. What will the laws say then? ‘Socrates,
is it not true that you agreed with us to submit
yourself to a public trial?” And if we should
seem to be surprised at such language, they’ll
continue, perhaps, “ Be not surprised, Socrates,
but make an answer, for you yourself used to
insist upon question and answer. ‘Tell then what
occasion you have to complain of the republic and
of us, that you are so eager upon destroying it?
Are not we the authors of your birth? Is it not
by our means that your father married her who
brought you forth 1 What fault can you find with
e
28 CRITO
‘the laws we have established as to marriage ?”
** Nothing at all,” should I answer. ‘As to the
nourishing and bringing up of children, and the
manner of your education, are not the laws just that
we enacted upon that head, by which. we obliged
your father to bring you up to music and the
exercises ?”” ‘“ Very just,” I’d say. ‘Since you were
born, brought up, and educated under our influence,
durst you maintain that you are not our nursed
child and subject as well as your father? And if
you are, do you think to have equal power with
us, as if it were lawful for you to inflict upon
us all we enjoin you to undergo? But since you
cannot lay claim to any such right against your
father or your master, so as to repay evil for evil,
injury for injury, how can you think to obtain
that privilege against your country and the laws,
insomuch that if we endeavour to put you to
death, you'll counteract us, by endeavouring to
prevent us and to ruin your country and its law?
Can you call such an action just, you that
are an inseparable follower of true virtue? Are
you ignorant that your country is more con-
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 29
siderable, and more worthy of respect and vene-
ration before God and man than your father,
mother, and all your relations together? That
you ought to honour your country, yield to it,
and humour it more than an angry father? That
you must either reclaim it by your counsel, or
obey its injunctions, and suffer without grumbling
all that it imposes upon you? If it orders you to
be whipped, or laid in irons, if it sends you to
the wars, there to spend your blood, you ought
to do it without demurring ; you must not shake
off the yoke, or flinch or quit your post; but in
the army, in prison, and everywhere else, ought
equally to obey the orders of your country, or else
assist it with wholesome counsel. For if offering
violence to a father or mother be a piece of grand
impiety, to put force upon one’s country is a much
greater.” What shall we answer to all this, Crito ?
Shall we acknowledge the truth of what the laws
advance /
Crit. How can we avoid it?
Soc. ‘ Do you see, then, Socrates,” continue they,
“what reason we have to brand your enterprise
30 - GRITO:
against us as unjust? Of us you hold your birth,
your maintenance, your education; in fine, we
have done you all the good we are capable of,
as well.as the other citizens. Indeed, we do not
fail to make public proclamation, that ’tis lawful
for every private man, if he does not find his
account in the laws and customs of our republic,
after a mature examination, to retire with all his
effects whither he pleases. And if any of you
cannot comply with our customs, and desires
to remove and live elsewhere, not one of us shall
hinder him, he may go where he pleases. But on
the other hand, if any one of you continues to live
here, after he has considered our way of adminis-
tering justice, and the policy observed in the
state, then, we say, he is in effect obliged to obey
all our commands, and we maintain that his
disobedience is unjust on a three-fold account :
for not obeying those to whom he owes his birth ;
for trampling under foot those that educated him ;
and for violating his faith after he engaged to
obey us, and not taking the pains to make remon-
strances to us, if we happen to do any unjust
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 31
thing. For notwithstanding that we only propose
things without using any violence to procure
obedience, and give every man his choice whether
to obey us, or reclaim us by his counsel or remon-
strances, yet he does neither the one nor the
other. And we maintain, Socrates, that if you
execute what you are now about, you will stand
charged with all these crimes, and that in a much
higher degree than if another private man had
committed the same injustice.” If I asked them
the reason, without doubt they would stop my
mouth by telling me that I submitted myself in
a distinguishing: manner to all these conditions.
‘“‘And we,” continue they, “have great evidence that
you were always pleased with us and the republic ;
for if this city had not been more agreeable to
you than any other, you had never continued in
it, no more than the other Athenians. None of
the shows could ever tempt you to go out of the
city, except once, that you went to see the games
at the Isthmus: you never went anywhere else,
excepting your military expeditions, and never
undertook a voyage, as others are wont to do.
32 CRITO:
You never had the curiosity to visit other cities,
or inquire after other laws, as being contented
with us and our republic. You always made
a distinguishing choice of us, and on all occasions
testified that you submitted with all your heart to
live according to our maxims. Besides, your
having had children in this city is an infallible
evidence that you like it. In fine, in this very
last juncture you might have been sentenced to
banishment if you would, and might then have
done, with the consent of the republic, what you
now attempt without their permission. But you
were so stately, so unconcerned at death, that
in your own terms you preferred death to banish-
ment. But now you have no regard to these fine
words, you are no further concerned for the laws,
since you are going to overturn them. You do
just what a pitiful slave would offer to do, by
endeavouring to make your escape contrary to
the laws of the treaty you have signed, by which
you obliged yourself to live according to our rules.
Pray answer us: Did not we say right in affirming
that you agreed to this treaty, and submitted
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 383
yourself to these terms, not only in words but in
deeds?” What shall we say to all this, Crito ?
And what can we do else but acknowledge that
tis so ? |
Crit. How can we avoid it, Socrates ?
Soc. “What else then,” continue they, ‘is this
action of yours but a violation of that treaty, and
all its terms? That treaty that you were not made
to sign either by force or surprise, not without
time to think on it: for you had the whole course
of seventy years to have removed in, if you had
been dissatisfied with us, or unconvinced of the
justice of our proposals, You neither pitched upon
Lacedeemon nor Crete, notwithstanding that you
always cried up their laws; nor any of the other
Grecian cities, or strange countries. You have been
less out of Athens than the lame and the blind ;
which is an invincible proof that the city pleased
you in a distinguishing manner, and consequently
that we did, since a city never can be agreeable if
its laws are not such. And yet at this time you
counteract the treaty. But, if you will take our
advice, Socrates, we would have you to stand to
B—125
34, ; CRITO:
your treaty, and not expose yourself to be ridiculed
by the citizens, by stealing out from hence. Pray
consider what advantage can redound either to
you or your friends by persisting in that goodly
design. Your friends will infallibly be either
exposed to danger or banished their country, or
have their estates forfeited. And as for yourself,
if you retire to any neighbouring city, such as
Thebes or Megara, which are admirably well
governed, you'll there be looked upon as an enemy.
All that have any love for their country will look
upon you as a corrupter of the laws. Besides, you'll
fortify in them the good opinion they have of your
judges, and move them to approve the sentence
given against you ; for a corrupter of the law will
at any time pass for a debaucher of the youth, and
of the vulgar people. What, will you keep out of
these well-governed cities, and these assemblies of
just men? But pray will you have enough to live
upon in that condition ? Or will you have the face
to go and live with them? And pray what will
you say to them, Socrates? Will you preach to
them, as you did here, that virtue, justice, the laws
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. 35
and orainances ought to be reverenced by men ?
Do you not think that this will sound very ridiculous
in their ears? You ought to think so. But per-
haps you'll quickly leave those well-governed cities,
and go to Thessaly, to Crito’s friends, where there
is less order, and more licentiousness ; and doubtless
in that country they'll take a singular pleasure in
hearing you relate in what equipage you made your
escape from this prison, that is, covered with some
old rags, or a beast’s skin, or disguised some other
way, as fugitives are wont to be. Everybody will
say, ‘ This old fellow, that has scarce any time to
live, had such a strong passion for living, that he
did not stand to purchase his life by trampling
under foot the most sacred laws.’ Such stories will
be bandied about of you at a time when you offend
no man; but upon the least occasion of complaint,
they'll tease you with a thousand other reproaches
unworthy of you. You'll spend your time in
sneaking and insinuating yourself into the favour
of all men, one after another, and owning an equal
subjection to them all. For what can you do!
Will you feast perpetually in Thessaly, as if the
36 CRITO:
good cheer had drawn you thither? But what will
become then of all your fine discourses upon justice
and virtue? Besides, if you design to preserve
your life for the sake of your children, that cannot
be in order to bring them up in Thessaly, as if you
could do them no other service but make them
strangers. Or if you design to leave them here,
do you imagine that during your life they’ll be
better brought up here, in your absence, under the
care of your friends? But will not your friends
take the same care of them after your death that
they would do in your absence? You ought to be
persuaded that all those who call themselves your
friends, will at all times do them all the service
they can. To conclude, Socrates, submit yourself
to our reasons, follow the advice of those who
brought you up, and do not put your children,
your life, or anything whatsoever, in the balance
with justice; to the end that when you come
before the tribunal of Pluto, you may be able to
clear yourself before your judges. For do not
deceive yourself: if you perform what you now
design, you will neither better your own cause, nor
OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO. > 37
that of your party ; you will neither enlarge its jus-
tice nor sanctity either here or in the regions below.
But if you die bravely, you owe your death to the
injustice, not of the laws, but of men ; whereas if
you make your escape by repulsing so shamefully
the injustice of your enemies, by violating at once
both your own faith and our treaty, and injuring
-s0 many innocent persons as yourself, your friends,
‘and your country, together with us, we will still be
your enemies as long as you live; and when you
are dead, our sisters, the laws in the other world,
will certainly afford you no joyful reception, as
knowing that you endeavoured to ruinus. Where-
fore do not prefer Crito’s counsel to ours.”
I think, my dear Crito, I hear what I have
now spoken, just as the priests of Cybele imagine
they hear the cornets and flutes ; and the sound of
these words makes so strong an impression in my
ears, that it stops me from hearing anything else. -
These are the sentiments I like ; and all you can
say to take me off them will be in vain. However,
if you think to succeed, I do not prevent you from
speaking.
38 CRITO: OF WHAT WE OUGHT TO DO.
Crit. I have nothing to say, Socrates.
Soc. Then be quiet, and let us courageously run
this course, since God calls and guides us to it.
PHADO;
OR, A DIALOGUE OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
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OR, A DIALOGUE OF THE IMMORTALITY
OF THE SOUL.
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ECHECRATES and PHEDO.
Echec. Phedo, were you present when Socrates
drank the poison? Or did any one give you an
account how he behaved in that juncture ?
Phedo. I was present.
Echec. What were his last words then, and how
expired he? You'll oblige me much with the
narration; for the Philasians have but little
correspondence with the Athenians, and ’tis a long
time since we had any stranger from Athens to
inform us how things went. We only heard that
he died after drinking the poison, but could not
understand any particulars concerning his death.
Phedo. What! Did you not hear how he was.
arraigned %
42 PHEDO:
Echec. Yes, truly, somebody told us that; and
we thought it strange that his sentence was so
long in being put in execution after his trial.
Phedo. That happened only accidentally, for
the day before his trial, the stern of the sacred ship
which the Athenians send every year to Delos, was
crowned for the voyage.
Echec, What is that sacred ship ?
Phedo. If you credit the Athenians, it is the
same ship in which Theseus transported the four-
teen young children to Crete, and brought them
safe back again; and ’tis said the Athenians at
that time vowed to Apollo, that if the children
were preserved from the impending danger, they
would send every year to Delos presents and
victims aboard the vessel, and this they do ever
since. As soon as the ship is cleared, and ready
to put to sea, they purify the city, and observe an
inviolable law for putting none to death before the
return of the ship. Now sometimes it stays long
out, especially if the winds be contrary. This
festival, which is properly called Theoria, com-
mences when the priest of Apollo has crowned
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 43
the stern of the ship: Now, as I told you, this
happened ‘on the day preceding Socrates’ trial.
And ’twas upon that account that he was kept so
long in prison after his commitment.
Echec. And during his imprisonment, what did
he do? What said he? Who was with him?
Did the judges order him to be kept from visits?
and did he die without the assistance of his
_ friends ?
Phedo. Not at all: several of his friends stayed
with him to the last minute.
Echec. If you're at leisure, pray relate the whole .
story.
Phedo. At present I have nothing to do, and
so shall endeavour to satisfy your demands, Be-
sides, I take the greatest pleasure in the world in
speaking, or hearing others speak, of Socrates.
Echec. Assure yourself, Phedo, you shall not
take more pleasure in speaking than I in hearing.
Begin, pray; and above all, take care to omit
nothing. |
Phedo. Yowll be surprised when you hear what
a condition I was then in. I was so far from
44, PHEDO:
being sensibly touched with the misfortune of a
friend whom I loved very tenderly, and who died
before my eyes, that I envied his circumstances,
and could not forbear to admire the goodness,
sweetness, and tranquillity that appeared in all
his discourses, and the bravery he showed upon the
approach of death.
Everything that I saw furnishes me with a
proof that he did not pass to the shades below .
without the assistance of some deity, that took
care to conduct him, and put him in possession of
that transcendent felicity of the blessed. But as,
on one hand, these thoughts stifled all the senti-
ments of compassion that might seem due at such
a mortifying sight; so, on ‘the other hand, they
lessened the pleasure I was wont to have in hearing
all his other discourses, and affected me with that
sorrowful reflection that, in the space of a minute,
this divine man would leave us for ever. Thus
was my heart crossed with contrary motions, that
I could not define. “Iwas not properly either
pleasure or grief, but a confused mixture of these
two passions, which produced almost the same
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 45
effect in all the bystanders. One while we melted
into tears, and another while gave surprising signs
of real joy and sensible pleasure, Above all,
Apollodorus distinguished himself upon this oc-
casion ; you know his humour.
Echec. Nobody knows it better.
Phedo. In him was the difference of these
indtions most observable. As for me, and all the
rest, our behaviour was not so distinguishing, as
being mixed with the trouble and confusion I spoke
of just now.
Echec. Who was there then besides yourself ?
Phedo. There were no other Athenians, but
Apoilodorus, Critobulus, and his father Crito,
Hermogenes, Epigenes, ‘schines, Antisthenes,
Otesippus, Menexemus, and a few more. Plato
was sick.
Echec. Were there no strangers?
Phedo. Yes; Simmias the Theban, with Cebes
and Phedondes; and from Megara, Euclides and
Terpsion.
Echec. What! were not Aristippus and Cleom-
brotus there ?
46 PH/=DO:
Phedo. No, sure; for tis said, they were at
Aigina.
Echec. Who was there besides ?
Phedo. 1 believe I have named most of those
that were there. ,
Echec. Let me hear then what his last discourses
were. |
Phedo. I shall endeavour to give you a full
account, for we never missed one day in visiting
Socrates. ‘To this end, we met every morning in
the place where he was tried, which joined to the
prison ; and there we waited till the prison doors
were opened ; at which time we went straight to
him, and commonly passed the whole day with
him. On the day of his execution, we came
thither sooner than ordinary, having heard, as we
came out of the city, that the ship was returned
from Delos. When we arrived, the gaoler that
used to let us in came to us, and desired we would
stay a little, and not go in till he came to conduct
us. “For,” said he, “the eleven magistrates are
now untying Socrates, and acquainting him that
he must die on this day.”. When we came in, we
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 47
found Socrates untied, and his wife Xantippe (you
know her) sitting by him with one of his children
in her arms ; and as soon as she spied us, she fell
a-crying and making a noise, as you know women
commonly do on such occasions. ‘ Socrates,” said
she, “‘this is the last time your friends shal] see
” Upon which Socrates, turning to Crito,
you.
said, “ Crito, pray send this woman home.” Ac-
cordingly ’twas done. Crito’s folks carried Xan-
tippe off, who beat her face and cried bitterly.
In the meantime, Socrates, sitting upon the bed,
softly strokes the place of his leg where the chain
had been tied, and says, “To my mind what men
call pleasure is a pretty odd sort of a thing, which
agrees admirably well with pain; though people
believe ‘tis quite contrary, because they cannot
meet in one and the same subject. For whoever
enjoys the one, must unavoidably be possessed of
the other, as if they were naturally joined.
‘“‘Had “Ksop been aware of this truth, perhaps
he had made a fable of it; and had told us that
God designing to reconcile these two enemies, and
not being able to compass His end, contented Him-
48 . PHEDO:
self with tying them to one chain: so that ever
since the one follows the other, according to my
experience at this minute. For the pain occasioned
by my chain is now followed with a great deal of
pleasure.”
“T am infinitely glad,” replies Cebes, inter-
rupting him, “ that you have mentioned AXsop, for
by so doing you have put it in my head to ask
you a question that many have asked me of late,
especially Evenus. The question relates to your
poems in turning the fables of Aisop into verse,
and making a hymn to Apollo. They want to
know what moved you, that never made verses
before, to turn poet since you came into the
prison. If Evenus asks the same question of me
again, as I know he will, what would you have me
to say?” 7
‘“You have nothing to do,” says Socrates, “ but
to tell him the plain matter of fact as it stands,
namely, that I did not at all mean to rival him in
poetry, for I knew such an attempt was above my
reach; but only to trace the meaning of some
dreams, and put myself in a capacity of obeying,
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 49
in case poetry happened to be the inusic that they
allotted for my exercise. ~ For you must know that
all my lifetime I have had dreams which always re-
commended the same thing to me, sometimes in one
form, and sometimes in another. ‘Socrates,’ said
they, ‘apply yourself to music.’ This I always
took for a simple exhortation, like that commonly
_ given to those who run races, ordering me to pursue
my wonted course of life, and carry on the study
of wisdom, that I made my whole business, which
is the most perfect music. But since my trial,
the festival of Apollo having retarded the
execution of my sentence, I fancied these dreams
might have ordered me to apply myself to that
vulgar and common sort of music: and since I
was departing this world, I thought it safer to
sanctify myself by obeying the gods, and essaying
to make verses, than to disobey them. Pursuant
to this thought, my first essay was a hymn to the
god whose festival was then celebrated. After
that, I considered that a true poet ought not only
to make discourses in verse, but likewise fable.
Now finding myself not disposed to invent new
50 PHEDO:
fables, I applied myself to those of ZEsop, and
turned those into verse that came first into my
mind.
“This, my dear Cebes, is the answer you're to
give Evenus; assuring him that I wish him all
happiness ; and teil him that if he be wise he'll
follow me. For in all appearance I am to make
my exit this day, since the Athenians have given
orders to that effect.”
“What sort. of counsel is that you give to
Evenus?” replies Simmias, “TI have seen that
man often; and by what I know of him, I can
promise you, he’ll never follow you with his will.”
“What!” says Socrates; ‘“‘is not Evenus a
philosopher ¢ ”
“T think so,” says Simmias.
“Then,” replies Socrates, “he, and all others
that are worthy of that profession, will be willing
to follow me. I know he will not kill himself, for
that, they say, is not lawful.” Having spoken
these words, he drew his legs off the bed, and sat
down upon the ground, in which posture he enter-
tained us the whole remaining part of the day.
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 51
Cebes put the first question to him, which was
this: ‘“‘How do you reconcile this, Socrates, that
tis not lawful to kill one’s self, and at the same
time that a philosopher ought to follow you?”
« What!” replies Socrates, “‘ did neither you nor
-Simmias ever hear your friend Philolaus discourse
that point ?” one.
*‘ No,” replied they ; “he never explained him-
self clearly upon that point.”
“ As for me,” replies Socrates, ‘‘ I know nothing
but what I have heard, and shall not grudge to
communicate all that I have learned. Besides,
there’s no exercise so suitable for a man upon the
point of death, as that of examining and endeavour-
ing thoroughly to know what voyage this is that
we must all make, and making known his own
opinion upon it.”
“ What is the ground of that assertion,” says
Cebes, ‘“‘ that ’tis not lawful for a man to kill him-
self? I have often heard Philolaus and others say
that it was an ill action, but I never heard them
Say more.”
“Have patience,” says Socrates; “you shall
52 PHAEDO:
know more presently, and perhaps you'll be sur-
prised to find it an eternal truth that never
changes, whereas most other things in this world
alter according to their circumstances ; this is still
the same, even in the case of those to whom death
would be more agreeable than life. Is it not a
surprising thing that such men are not allowed to
possess themselves of the good they want, but are
obliged to wait for another deliverer ?”
“Jupiter only knows that,” replies Cebes,
smiling.
‘This may seem unreasonable to you,” says
Socrates, “but after all, it is not so. The dis-
courses we are entertained with every day in our
ceremonies and mysteries, viz., that God has put us
in this life, as in a post which we cannot quit with-
out His leave, etc.—these, I say, and such-like
expressions, may seem hard, and surpass our
understanding. But nothing is easier to be
understood or better said than this, that the
gods take care of men, and that men are one of
the possessions that belong to the gods. Is not
this true ?”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL, 53
“ Very true,” replies Cebes.
“Would not you yourself,” continues Socrates,
“be angry if one of your slaves killed himself
without your order ; and would not you punish him
severely if you could?”
“Yes, doubtless,” replies Cebes.
“By the same reason,” says Socrates, “a man
should not kill himself, but should wait for an
express order from God for making his exit, like
this sent me now.”
“That stands to reason,” says Cebes; ‘“ but
your saying that a philosopher ought nevertheless
to die, is what I think strange, and I cannot
reconcile these two opinions, especially if it be true
what you said but now, that the gods take care of
men, as being their property ; for that a philosopher
should not be troubled to be without the gods for
his guardians, and to quit a life where such perfect
beings—the better governors of the world—take
care of him, seems very unreasonable to me. Do
they imagine they will be more capable to govern
themselves when left to themselves? I can easily
conceive that a fool may think it his duty to flee
54: PHEDO:
from a good master, at any rate; and will not
be convinced that he ought to stick to what is
good, and never lose sight of it. But I affirm that
a wise man will desire never to quit a dependence
upon a perfecter being than himself. From whence
I infer the contrary of what you advanced, and
conclude that the wise are sorry to die, and fools
ave fond of death.”
Socrates seemed to be pleased with Cebes’ wit:
and, turning to us, told us that Cebes has always
something to object, and takes care not to assent at
first to what is told him.
“‘—Indeed,” replies Simmias, ‘‘I must say I find a
great deal of reason in what Cebes advances. What
can the sages pretend to gain by: quitting better
‘masters than themselves, and willingly depriving
themselves of their aid? Do you mind that? ‘Tis
you alone that he addresses himself to, meaning
to reprove you for your insensibility in being so
willing to part with us, and quit the gods, who,
according to your own words, are such good and
wise governors.”
“You are in the right of it,” says Socrates. “I
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 55
‘gee you mean to oblige me to make formal defences,
such as I gave in at my trial.”
‘‘ That’s the very thing,” replies Simmias.
“Then,” says Socrates, ‘‘ you must satisfy your-
selves, so that this my last apology may have more
influence upon you than my former had upon my
judges. For my part,” continues he, “if I thought
I should not find in the other world gods as good,
and as wise, and men infinitely better than we,
*twould be a piece of injustice in me not to be
troubled at death. But be it known to you, Sim-
mias, and you, Cebes, that I hope to arrive at the
assembly of the just. Indeed, in this point, I may
flatter myself; but as for my finding, in the other
world, matters infinitely good and wise, that I can
assure you of, as much as things of that nature >
will bear; and therefore it is that death is no
trouble to me, hoping that there is something -
reserved for the dead after this life, and that the }
good meet with better treatment in the world to
‘come than the bad.” |
“How!” replies Simmias, “would you have
quitted this life without communicating those sen-
56 _ PHADO:
timents to us? This methinks will be a common
good ; and if you convince us of all that you be-
lieve with reference to this point, you have made a
sufficient apology.”
“That is what I design to try,” says Socrates ;
“but I would first hear what Crito has to say. I
thought he had a mind to offer something a short
time ago.”
“‘T have nothing to say,” replies Crito, “ but
what your executioner has been pushing me on to
tell you this great while, that you ought to speak as
little as you can, for fear of over-heating yourself,
since nothing is more contrary to the operation
of poison ; insomuch that, if you continue to speak
so, you'll be obliged to take two or three doses.”
“Let him do his office,” says Socrates. ‘ Let
him make ready two doses of poison, or three if he
will.”
“7 knew you would give me that answer,”
replies Crito ; “but still he importunes me to
speak to you.”
‘Pray let that alone,” says Socrates, “and suffer
me to explain before you, who are my judges, for
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 57
what reasons a man enlightened by philosophy
ought to die with courage, and a firm hope that in
‘the other world he shall enjoy a felicity beyond
anything in this. Pray do you, Simmias and
‘Cebes, listen to my arguments.
Be True philosophers make it the whole business of
‘their lifetime to learn to die. Now, ’tis extremely
‘ridiculous for them, after they run out a whole
‘course incessantly in order to compass that one
‘end, to flinch and be afraid when it comes up to
them, when they are justin a capacity of obtaining
it after a long and painful search.”
‘Whereupon Simmias laughed, and told him:
“Tn earnest, Socrates, you make me laugh, not-
withstanding the small occasion I have to laugh in
this juncture. For I am certain the greatest part.
of those who hear you talk so, will say you talk
much better of the philosophers than you believe.
Above all, the Athenians would be glad that all the
philosophers would learn that lesson so well as to
die in effect ; and they'll be ready to tell you death
is the only thing they are worthy of.”
“Simmias,” replied Socrates, “our Athenians
58 PHEDO:
would so speak the truth without knowing it to be
such, For they are ignorant in what manner
philosophers desire to die, or how they are worthy
of it. But let us leave the Athenians to them.
selves, and talk of things within our own company.
Does death appear to be anything to you ?”
‘Yes, without doubt,” replies Simmias. -
‘Is it not,” continues Socrates, “ the separation
of soul and body ; so that the body has one separate
being, and the soul another ?” |
Just so,” says Simmias.
“Tet’s try, then, my dear Simmias, if your
thoughts and mine agree, by what means we shall
set the object of our present inquiry in a clearer
light. Do you think a philosopher courts what the
world calls pleasure, as that of eating and drink-
- Ing, &e, ?”
“ Not at all, Socrates,”
“Nor that of love?”
“ By no means,”
“Do you think that they pursue or mind the
other pleasures relating to the body, such as good
clothes, handsome shoes, and the other ornaments
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 59
of the body? Whether do you think they value
or slight those things, when necessity does not
enforce their use ?”
“In my mind,” replies Simmias, “a true philo-
sopher must needs contemn them.”
“Then you believe,” continues Socrates, “ that
the body is not at all the object of the care and
business of a philosopher; but, on the contrary,
that his whole business is to separate himself from
it, and mind only the concerrfs of his soul ?”
“Most certainly.”
Thus,” continues Socrates, ‘’tis plain upon
the whole that a philosopher labours in a more
distinguishing manner than other men to purchase
the freedom of his soul, and cut off all commerce
between it and the body. I am likewise of the
opinion, Simmias, that most men will grant that
whoever avoids those corporeal things, and takes
no pleasure in them, is not worthy to live ; and that
he who does not use the pleasures of the body is
near to death.”
“You speak truth, Socrates.’
“ But what shall we say of the acquiring of pru-
~ 60 PHAEDO:
dence? Is the body an obstacle or not, when em-
ployed in that work? Tl explain my meaning by
an example: Have seeing and hearing anything of
truth in them, ‘and is their testimony faithful? Or
are the poets in the right in singing that we neither
see nor hear things truly? For, if these two senses
of seeing and hearing are not true and trusty, the
others which are much weaker, will be far less
such. Do not you think so ?”
“ Yes, without doubt,” replies Simmias.
“When does the soul, then,” continues Socrates,
“find out the truth? We see that while the body is
joined in the inquiry, this body plainly cheats and
seduces it.”
“ That is true,” says Simmias.
‘Ts it not by reasoning that the soul embraces
truth? And does it not reason better than before,
when ‘tis not encumbered by seeing or hearing,
pain or pleasure? When shut up within itself, it
bids adieu to the body, and entertains as little cor-
respondence with it as possible, and pursues the
knowledge of things without touching them.”
“ That is incomparably well spoken.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 6)
“Ts it not, especially upon this occasion, that
the soul of a philosopher despises and avoids the
body, and wants to be by itself?”
“ T think so.”
“‘ What shall we say, then, my dear Simmias, of
all the objects of the soul? For instance, shall we
call justice something or nothing ?”
‘We must certainly give it the title of Some-
thing.”
“ Shall we not likewise call it Good and Fine ?”
“« Ay, doubtless.”
“ But did you ever see these objects with ‘the
eye of your body? Or with any other sense? Did
you ever touch any of those things I now speak of,
such as magnitude, health, fortitude, and, in a word,
the essence of all other things? Is the truth of them
discovered by the body? Or is it not certain that
whoever puts himself in a condition to examine
them more narrowly, and trace them to the bottom,
will better compass the end, and know more of
them ?”
“ That’s very true.”
“ Now the simplest and purest way of examining
62 PHEDO:
things is to pursue every particular thought alone,
without offering to support our meditation by seeing,
or backing our reasonings by any other corporeal
sense ; by employing the naked thought without
any mixture, and so endeavouring to trace the
pure and genuine essence of things without the
ministry of the eyes or ears: the soul being, if I
may so speak, entirely disengaged from the whole
mass of body, which only cumbers the soul, and
cramps it in the quest of wisdom and truth, as
often as it is admitted to the least correspondence
with it. If the essence of things be ever known,
must it not be in the manner above mentioned ?”
“Right, Socrates : you have spoke incomparably
well.”
“Ts it not a necessary consequence from this
principle,” continues Socrates, “that true philoso-
phers should have such language among themselves ?
‘This life is a road that’s apt to mislead us and our
reason in our inquiries, because, while we have a
body, and while our soul is drowned in so much
corruption, we shall never attain the object of our
wishes, 7.¢., truth. The body throws a thousand
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 63
obstacles and crosses in our way, by demanding
necessary food ; and then the diseases that ensue
do quite disorder our inquiry. Besides, it fills us
with love, desires, fears, and a thousand foolish
imaginations, insomuch that there is nothing truer
than the common saying, ‘That the body will
never conduct us to wisdom.’ What is it that gives
rise to wars, and occasions seditions and duelling ?
Is it not the body and its desires? In effect, all
wars take rise from the desire of riches, which we
are forced to heap up for the sake of our body, in
order to supply its wants, and serve it like slaves,
’Tis this that cramps our application to philosophy.
And the greatest of all our evils is that when it has
given us some respite, and we are set upon medita-
tion, it steals in and interrupts our meditation all
of a sudden. It cumbers, troubles, and surprises
us in such a manner that it hinders us from de-
scrying the truth. Now we have made it out, that
in order to trace the purity and truth of anything,
we should lay aside the body, and only employ the
soul to examine the objects we pursue. So that we
can never arrive at the wisdom we court till after
43°
64 PHEDO:
death. Reason is on our side. For if it is impos-
sible to know anything purely while we are in the
body, one of these two things must be true: either
the truth is never known, or it is known after death ;
because at that time the soul will be left to itself,
and freed of its burden, and not before. And
while we are in this life, we can only approach to
the truth in proportion to our removing from the
body, and renouncing all correspondence with it
that is not of mere necessity, and keeping ourselves
clear from the contagion of its natural corruption,
and all its filth, till God Himself comes to deliver
us. Then, indeed, being freed from all bodily folly,
we shall converse, in all probability, with men that
enjoy the same liberty, and shall know within our-
selves the pure essence of things, which perhaps is
nothing but the truth. But he who is not pure is
not allowed to approach to purity itself. This, my
dear Simmias, as I take it, should be the thought
and language of true philosophers. Are not you
of the same mind?”
‘Most certainly, Socrates.
‘Then, my dear Simmias, whoever shall arrive
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 65
where I am now going, has great reason to hope
‘that he will there be possessed of what we look for
alere with so much care and anxiety ; so that the
‘voyage I am now sent upon fills me with a sweet
rand agreeable hope. And it will have the same
‘effect upon all who are persuaded that the soul
must be purged before it knows the truth. Now
the purgation of the soul, as we were saying but
jjust now, is only its separation from the body, its
saccustoming itself to retire and lock itself up, re-
nouncing all commerce with it as much as possible,
and living by itself, whether in this or the other
‘world, without being chained to the body.”
* All that is true, Socrates.”
“ Well! what we call death, is not that the
(disengagement and separation of the body from the
‘soul ?”
“* Most certainly.”
“Are not the true philosophers the only men
that seek after this disengagement ? and is not that
‘separation and deliverance their whole business ?”
**So I think, Socrates.”
“Ts it not a ridiculous fancy, that a man that
c—125
66 PHEDO:
has lived in the expectation of death, and during
his whole lifetime has been preparing to die, upon
his arrival at the point of desired death, should)
think to retire, and be afraid of it. Would not
that be a very scandalous apostasy ¢”
** How should it be otherwise ?”
“Tis certain, then, Simmias, that death is so
far from being terrible to true philosophers that:
tis their whole business to die ; which may be easily
inferred thus: if they slight and contemn their body,
and passionately desire to enjoy their soul by itself,
is it not a piece of extravagance to decline going to
that place, where those who get to it, hope to obtain
the good things they have wished for all their life-
time? For they desired wisdom, and a deliverance
from the body, as being their burden, and the
object of their hatred and contempt. Do not many
upon the loss of their mistresses, wives, or children,
willingly cut the thread of life, and convey them-
selves into the other world, merely upon the hope
of meeting there, and cohabiting with the persons
they love? And shall a true lover of wisdom, and
one that firmly hopes to attain the perfection of it in
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. — 67
the other world, shall he be startled by death, and
be unwilling to go to the place that will furnish him
with what his soul loves? Doubtless, my dear
Simmias, if he be a true philosopher, he’ll go with a
great deal of pleasure; as being persuaded that
_there’s no place in the regions below that can fur-
nish him with that pure wisdom that he’s in quest
of. Now, if things stand thus, would it not be a
piece of extravagance in such a man to fear
death ¢”
“To be sure,” says Simmias, “it would be so
with a witness.”
‘“¢ And consequently,” continues Socrates, “‘ when
a man shrinks and retires at the point of death, it
is a certain evidence that he loves not wisdom, but
his own body, or honour, or riches, or perhaps all
three together.”
‘Tis so, Socrates.”
“Then, Simmias, does not what we call Fortitude
belong in a peculiar manner to philosophers? And
does not Temperance, or that sort of wisdom that
consists in controlling our desires, and living
soberly and modestly, suit admirably well with
68 PHEDO:
those who contemn their bodies, and live philo-
sophically ? ”
‘That is certain, Socrates.”
“Were you to inspect the fortitude and tempe-
rance of other men, you'll find ’em very ridiculous,”
“ How so, Socrates?”
“You know,” says he, “all other men look upon
death as the greatest affliction.”
‘“ That’s true,” replies Simmias.
‘When those you call stout suffer death with
some courage, they do it only for fear of some
greater evil.”
“That I must grant.”
“ And by consequence, all men, ae the phi-
losophers, are only stout and valiant through fear.
And is it not ridiculous to believe a man to be
brave and valiant that is only influenced by fear
and timorousness ?”
‘“‘-You are in the right, Socrates.”
“Ts not the case the same with your temperate
persons? ’Tis only intemperance makes them such,
Though at first view this may seem impossible, yet
it is no more than what daily experience shows to
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 69
be the result of that foolish and ridiculous tempe-
rance. For such persons disclaim one pleasure
only for fear of being robbed of other pleasures
that they covet, and which have an ascendant over
them. They'll cry out to you as long as you will,
that intemperance consists in being ruled and over-
awed by our passions ; but at the same time that
they give you this fine definition, ’tis only their
subjection to some predominant pleasures that make
them discard others. Now this is much what I
have just said, that they are only temperate through
intemperance.”
*‘ That is very clear, Socrates.”
‘Let us not be imposed upon, my dear Simmias :
the straight road to virtue does not lie in shifting
pleasures for pleasures, fears for fears, or one
melancholy thought for another, and imitating
those who change a large piece of money for many
small ones. But wisdom is the only true and un- -
alloyed coin, for which all others must be given in
exchange. With that piece of money we purchase
all fortitude, temperance, justice. In a word, that
virtue is always true that accompanies wisdom,
70 PHZDO:
without any dependence upon pleasures, grief,
fears, or any other passions. Whereas all other
virtues stripped of wisdom, which run upon a per-
petual exchange, are only shadows of virtue.
True virtue is really and in effect a purgation from
all these sorts of passions. Temperance, justice,
fortitude, and prudence, or wisdom itself, are not
exchanged for passions, but cleanse us of them.
And it is pretty evident, that those who instituted
the purifications called by us Teletes, 2.¢., perfect
expiations, were persons of no contemptible rank,
men of great genius, who in the first ages meant
by such riddles to give us to know that whoever
enters the other world without being initiated
and purified shall be hurled headlong into the vast
‘ abyss; and that whoever arrives there after due
purgation and expiation shall be lodged in the
| apartment of the gods. For, as the dispensers of
these expiations say, ‘There are many who bear
the Thyrsus, but few that are possessed by the
spirit of God.’ Now those who are thus possessed,
as I take it, are the true philosophers. I have tried
all means to be lifted in that number, and have made
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 71
it the business of my whole life to compass my end.
‘If it please God, I hope to know in a minute that
my efforts have not been ineffectual, and that suc-
‘cess has crowned my endeavours. ‘This, my dear
‘Simmias, and my dear Cebes, is the apology with
which I offer to justify my not ibeing troubled or
vfficted for parting with you, and quitting my
governors in this life ; hoping to find good friends.
vand rulers there, as well as here. This the vulgar
‘cannot digest. However, I shall be satisfied if my
defences take better with you than they did with 64 @
my judges.”
Socrates having thus spoken, Cebes took up the
discourse to this purpose. ‘Socrates, I subscribe
‘to the truth of all you have said, There is only
one thing that men look upon as incredible, viz.,
what you advanced of the soul. For almost every-
‘oody fancies that when the soul parts from the
‘oody it is no more, it dies along with it; in the
very minute of parting it vanishes, like a vapour
or smoke which flies off, and disperses, and has no
existence. For if it subsisted by itself, were
yathered and retired into itself, and freed from all
72 PHEDO:
the above-mentioned evils, there were a fair and
promising prospect ascertaining the trath of what
you have said. But, that the soul lives after the
death of a man, that it is sensible, that it acts and
thinks, that, I say, needs both insinuation and
solid proofs to make it go down.”
“ You say right, Cebes,” replies Socrates, ‘ but
how shall we manage the affair? Shall we in this
interview examine whether that is probable or
not?”
“J shall be very glad,” says Cebes, “to hear
your thoughts upon the matter.”
‘At least,” says Socrates, “I cannot think that
any man hearing us, though he were a comedian,
would upbraid me with raillery, and charge me with
not speaking of such things as concern us very
much. If you have a mind that we should trace
this affair to the bottom, my opinion is that we
should proceed in the following method, in order to
know whether the souls of the dead have a being:
in the other world or not.
“Tis a very ancient opinion, that souls quitting
this world repair to the infernal regions, and
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 73
return after that to live in the world. If it be so,
that men return to life after death, it follows
necessarily that during that interval their souls
are lodged in the lower regions ; for if they had not
a being they could not return to this world. For
this will be a sufficient proof of what we affirm, if
we be convinced that the living spring from the
dead: if otherwise, then we must look out for
other proofs.”
“That is certain,” says Cebes.
* But to assure ourselves of this truth,” replies
Socrates, “tis not sufficient to examine the point
upon the comparison with men: but likewise upon
that with other animals, plants, and whatever has
a vegetable principle. By that means we shall be
convinced that all things are born after the same
manner—that is, whatever has a contrary—owes
its first rise to its contrary. For instance, hand-
some is the contrary to ugly, and just to unjust.
And the same is the case of an infinite number of
other things. Now, let’s see if it be absolutely
necessary that whatever has a contrary should
spring from that contrary. As when a thing
74 PHAEDO:
becomes bigger, of necessity it must formerly have |
been lesser before it acquired that magnitude, |
And when it dwindles into a lesser form, it must
needs have been greater before its diminution. In
like manner the strongest arises from the weakest,
and the swiftest from the slowest.”
“That’s a plain truth,” says Cebes.
*« And pray,” continues Socrates, “‘ when a thing
becomes worse, was it not formerly better? and
when it grows just, is it not because it was formerly
more unjust?”
‘“‘ Yes, surely, Socrates.”
“Then it is sufficiently proved that everything
is generated by its contrary.”
“ Sufficiently, Socrates.”
*“ But is not there always a certain medium
between these two contraries? There are two
births, or two processions, one of this from that,
and another of that from this. The medium
between a greater and a lesser thing is increase
and diminution. ‘The same is the case of what we
call mixing, separating, heating, cooling, and all
other things in infinitum. For though it some-
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 75
times falls out that we have not terms to express
those changes and mediums, yet experience shows
that by an. absolute necessity things take rise from
one another, and pass reciprocally from one to
another through a medium.
**'There’s no doubt of that.”
“ And what,” continues Socrates, ‘ has not life
likewise its contrary, as awaking has sleeping ?”
“ Without doubt,” says Cebes.
** ‘What is the contrary ?”
«“ Death.”
“Since these two things are contrary, do not they
take rise one from the other? And between these
two are there not two generations, or two processions?
“ Why not?”
“ But,” says Socrates, “I am about to tell you
how the new-mentioned combination stands, and to
show you the origin and progress of each of these
two things which make up the compound. Pray
tell {me how awaking and sleeping are’ related ?
Does not sleep beget watchfulness.and watching
sleep? And is not the generation of sleep the
falling asleep? and that of watching the awaking ?
76 PHZEDO:
«‘ All very clear.” |
“Now, pray view the combination of life and —
death. Is not death the contrary of life ? .
os.”
“ And does not the one breed the other ?”
“Ves,”
“ What is it that life breeds?”
“ Death.”
“What is it that death breeds ?”
“Tt must certainly be life.”
“Then,” says Socrates, “all living things and
men are bred from death.”
“So I think,” says Cebes.
‘And, by consequence,” continues Socrates,
“ our souls are lodged in the infernal world after our
death.”
“The consequence seems just.”
“ But of these two generations, one, viz., death,
is very palpable: it discovers itself to the eye, and
is touched by the hand.”
“ Most certainly.”
“ Shall we not then attribute to death the virtue
of producing its contrary, as well as to life? Or
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 77
shall we say that nature is lame and maimed on
that score ?”
“There’s an absolute necessity,” replies Cebes,
* of ascribing to death the generation of its con-
trary.”
«What is that contrary ?
‘‘ Reviving, or returning to life.”
“Tf there is such a thing as returning to life,
’tis nothing else but the birth of the dead return-
ing to life. And thus we agree that the living
are as much the product of the dead, as the
dead are of the living. Which is an incontes-
table proof that the souls of the dead must remain
in some place or other, from whence they return
to life.”
“That, as I take it, Cebes, is a necessary conse-
quence from the principles we have agreed on.
“ And, as I take it, Cebes, these principles are well
grounded. Consider them yourself. If all these
contraries had not their productions and generations
in their turns, which make a circle; and if there
were nothing but one birth, and one direct product
from one to the other contrary, without the return
78 PHEDO:
of the last contrary to the first that produce it ;
were it not so, all things would terminate in the
same figure, and be affected in the same manner,
and at last cease to be born.”
“* How do you say, Socrates ?”
*“There’s no difficulty in conceiving what I now
say. If there was nothing but sleep, and if sleep
did not produce watching, ’tis plain that everything
would be an emblem of the fable of Endymion, and
nothing would be seen anywhere, because the same
thing must happen to them which happened to
Endymion, viz., they must alwayssleep. If every-
thing were mingled without any subsequent separa-
tion, we should quickly see Anaxagoras’s doctrine
fulfilled, and all things jumbled together. At the
same rate, my dear Cebes, if all living things died,
and being dead, continued such without reviving,
would not all things unavoidably come to an end at
last, insomuch that there would not be a living
thing left in being? For if living things did not
arise from dead ones when the living ones die, of
necessity all things must at last be swallowed up
by death, and entirely annihilated.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 79
“Tt is necessarily so,” replies Cebes; “all that
you have said seems to be incontestable.”
«“ As [take it, Cebes, there is no objection made
against those truths, neither are we mistaken in re-
ceiving them ; for ’tis certain there is a return to
life ; ’tis certain that the living rise out of the dead ;
that the souls departed have a being, and upon
their returning to this life, the good souls are in a
better, and the bad ones in a worse condition.”
“ What you now advance,” says Cebes, interrupt-
ing Socrates, “‘is only a necessary consequence of
another principle that I have often heard you lay
down, viz., that all our acquired knowledge is
only remembrance. For if that principle be true,
we must necessarily have learnt at another time
what we call to mind in this. Now that’s impos-
sible, unless our soul had a being before its being
invested with this human form. So that this same
principle concludes the immortality of the soul.”
“ But, Cebes,” says Simmias, interrupting him,
‘what demonstration have we of that principle ?
Pray refresh my memory with it, for at present it
is out of my head.”
80 PHAEDO:
‘“There’s a very pretty demonstration for it,
replies Cebes: “all men being duly interrogated,
find out all things of themselves, which they could
never do without knowledge and right reason, Put
them at unawares upon the figure of geometry, and
other things of that nature, they'll presently per-
ceive that ’tis as ’tis said.”
“‘Simmias,” says Socrates, ‘if you will not rely
upon this experience, pray try, whether the same
method will not bring you over to our sentiments.
Do you find great difficulty in believing that
learning is only remembering ?”
“T do not find very much,” replies Simmias ;
‘but I would gladly learn that remembrance you
speak of. By what Cebes has said, I almost re-
member it, and I begin to believe it ; but that shall
not hinder me from hearing with pleasure the argu-
ments you can offer for it.”
“T argue thus,” replies Socrates : “We all agree,
that in order to remember, a man must have known
before what he then calls to mind.”
“ Most certainly.”
‘«¢ And let us likewise agree upon this, that know-
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 81
ledge coming in a certain manner is remembrance.
I say, in a certain manner: for instance, when a
man by feeling, hearing, or perceiving a thing by
any of the senses knows what it is that thus strikes
the senses, and at the same time imagines to him-
self another thing, independent of that knowledge,
by virtue of a quite different knowledge, do not
we justly say that the man remembers the thing
that comes thus into his mind ?”
“‘ How do you say ?” replies Simmias.
‘“T say,” replies Socrates, ‘‘ for example, that we
know a man by one sort of knowledge, and a harp
by another.”
“ That’s certain,” quoth Simmias.
‘“‘ Well, then,” continues Socrates, ‘‘do not you
know what happens to lovers, when they see the
harp, habit, or any other thing, that their friends
or mistresses used to make use of? It is just as I
said but now. Upon seeing and knowing the harp
_ they form in their thoughts the image of the person
to whom the harp belongs. This is remembrance.
Thus it often falls out that one seeing Simmias,
thinks of Cebes. I could cite a thousand instances.
82 PHEDO:
This, then, is remembrance, especially when the
things called to mind are such as had been forgot
through length of time, or being out of sight.”
“That is very certain,” quoth Simmias.
“ But,” continues Socrates, ‘upon seeing the
picture of a horse or harp, may not one call to mind
the man? and upon seeing the picture of Simmias,
may not one think of Cebes?” |
“Sure enough,” says Simmias.
“ Much more,” continues Socrates, “upon seeing
the picture of Simmias, will he call to mind Sim-
mias himself?”
“‘ Ay, with ease.”
“From all these instances we infer that remem-
brance is occasioned sometimes by things that are
like the thing remembered, and sometimes by things
that are unlike. But when one remembers a thing
by virtue of a likeness, does it not necessarily come
to pass that the mind at first view discovers whether
the picture does resemble the thing designed lamely
or perfectly ?”
‘“‘Tt must needs be so,” replies Simmias.
“Then pray mind whether your thoughts of
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 83
what I am about to say agree with mine. Is not
there something that we call equality? Ido not
speak of the equality between one tree and another,
one stone and another, and several other things
that are alike: I speak of the abstracted equality
of things. Shall we call that something or
nothing ?”
“Surely, we must call it something; but that
will only come to pass when we mean to speak
philosophically and of marvellous things.”
“But then do we know this equality ?”
“ Without doubt.”
“From whence do we derive that knowledge ?
Is it not from the things we mentioned but now ?
"Tis upon seeing equal trees, equal stones, and
several other things of the nature, that we form the
idea of that equality, which is not either the trees
or the stones, but something abstracted from all
subjects. Do not you find it such? Pray take
notice. The stones and the trees are always the
same, and yet do not they sometimes appear un-
equal ?”
“Sure enough.”
84. PHEDO:
“What! Do equal things appear unequal? Or,
does equality take up the form of inequality ?”
‘“* By no means, Socrates.”
“Then equality, and the thing which is equal,
are two different things /”
“ Most certainly.”
“But after all, these equal things, which are
different from equality, furnish us with the idea
and knowledge of that abstracted equality.”
“ That’s true,” replies Simmias.
“The case is the same, whether this equality
bears a resemblance to the things that occasioned
its idea or not.”
* Most certainly.”
*‘ When, upon seeing one thing, you call to mind
another, ’tis no matter if it be like it or not ; still it
is remembrance.”
** Without doubt.”
* But what shall we say to this,” continues
Socrates, “when we behold trees or other things
that are equal, are they equal according to the idea
or not?”
“Very far from it.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 85
“ Then we agree upon this. When a man sees a
thing before him, and thinks it would be equal to
another thing, but at the same time is far from
being so perfectly equal as the equality of which he
has the idea, then, I say, he who thinks thus must
necessarily have known beforehand this intellectual
being which the thing resembles, but imperfectly.”
‘“‘There’s an absolute necessity for that.”
* And is not the case the same when we com-
pare things equal with the equality ?”
“Sure enough, Socrates.”
“Then of necessity we must have known that
equality before the time in which we saw the
equal things, and thereupon thought that they all
tender to be equal as equality itself, but could not
reach it,”
“ That is certain.”
‘‘But we likewise agree upon this, that this
thought can be derived from nothing else but
one of our senses, from seeing, touching, or feeling
one way or other. And the same conclusion
will hold of all things, whether intellectual or
sensible,”
85 PHAEDO:
“ All things will equally conclude for what you
design.”
“Then ’tis from the senses themselves that we
derive this thought; that all the objects of our
senses have a tendency towards this intellectual
equality, but come short of it. Is it not?”
“Yes, without doubt, Socrates.”
“In effect, Simmias, before we began to see,
feel, or use our senses, we must have had the
knowledge of this intellectual equality, else we
could not be capable to compare it with the
sensible things, and perceive that. they have all
a tendency towards it, but fall short of its per-
fection.”
“That is a necessary consequence from the pre-
mises.”
«But it is not certain, that immediately after
our birth we saw, we heard, and made use of our
other senses ?”
“ Very true.”
“Then it follows, that before that time we had
the knowledge of that equality ?”
“Without doubt.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 87
“ And by consequence we were possessed of it
_ before we were born.”
“So I think.”
“Tf we possessed it before we were born, then
we knew things before we were born, and im-
mediately after our birth; knew not only what is
equal, what great, what small, but all other things of
that nature. For what we now, advance of equality
is equally applicable to goodness, justice, sanctity,
and, in a word, to all other things that have a real ex-
istence. So that of necessity we must have known
all these things before we came into this world.”
“That’s certain.”
“ And being possessed of that knowledge, if we
did not forget apace every day, we should not only
be born with it, but retain it all our lifetime. For
to know is only to preserve the knowledge we have
received, and to lose it. And to forget is to lose
the knowledge we enjoy before.”
“ That’s certain, Socrates.”
“Now if, after having possessed that knowledge
before we were born, and haying lost it since, we
come to retrieve it by the ministry of our senses
88 PHEDO:
which we call learning, shall we not justly entitle
it Remembrance ?”
“ With a great deal of reason, Socrates.”
“For we have agreed upon this, that ’tis very
possible that a man seeing, hearing, or perceiving
one thing by any one of his senses, should frame to
himself the imagination of another thing that he had
forgot; to which the thing perceived by the senses
has some relation, whether it resembles the other
or not. So that one of two things must necessarily
follow ; either we were born with that knowledge,
and preserved it all along, or else retrieved it after-
wards by way of remembrance. Which of these
two do you pitch upon, Simmias? Are we born
with that knowledge, or do we call it to mind after
having had it, and forgot it?”
‘Tndeed, Socrates, I do not know which to
choose at present.”
“ But mind what I am about to say to you, and
then let us see which you'll choose. A man that
knows anything, can he give a reason for his know-
ledge or not?”
“ Doubtless he can, Socrates.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 89
“ And you think all men can give a reason for
what we have been speaking of ?”
“T wish they could,” replies Simmias ; “ but I’m
afraid to-morrow we shall have none here that’s
capable to do it.”
“Then you think all men have not this know-
ledge?”
* No, surely.”
“Do they call to mind, then, the things they
have known ?”
“That may be.”
« At what time did our souls learn that know-
ledge? It cannot be since we were men.”
“No, surely.”
“Then it must be. some time before that.”
“Yes, without doubt.”
‘* And, by consequence, Simmias, our souls had
a being before that time, that is to say, before they
were invested with a human form, while they knew
and understood.”
* Unless you'll allow, Socrates, that we learned
it in the minute of our birth. There is no other
time left.”
90 PHADO:
** Be it so, my dear Simmias, but at what other
time did we lose it? For we did not bring it into
the world with us, as we concluded but now. Did
we lose it in the same minute that we obtained it?
Or can you assign any other time ?”
** No, Socrates, I did not perceive that what I
said was to no purpose.”
“Then, Simmias, this must be a standing truth.
That if the objects of our daily conversation have
a real existence, I mean, if justice, goodness, and
all that essence with which we compare the objects
of our senses, and which having an existence before
us, proves to be of the same nature with our own
essence, and is the standard by which we measure
all things. I say, if all these things have a real
existence, our soul is likewise entitled to exist-
ence, and that before we were born ; and if these
things have no being, then all our discourses are.
useless. Is it not a standing truth, and withal a
just and necessary consequence, that the existence
of our souls before our birth stands and falls with
that of those things?”
“That consequence,” replies Simmias, “seems to
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 91
me to be equally just and wonderful, and the result
of the whole discourse affords something very
glorious and desirable on our behalf, since it con-
cludes that before we were born our souls had an
existence, as well as that intelligible essence you
mentioned but now. ‘For my part, I think there’s
nothing more evident, and more sensible, than the
existence of all these things, goodness, justice, &c.,
and you have sufficiently made it out.”
‘“¢ Now for Cebes,” says Socrates; “for Cebes must
likewise be convinced.”
*T believe,” replies Simmias, “ though he is the
stiffess man upon earth, and very much proof
against arguments, yet he'll own your proof to be
very convincing. In-the meantime, though I am
sutliciently convinced that our souls had a being
before we were born, I have not yet heard suffi-
cient proof for its continuing after our death. For
that popular opinion, which Cebes mentioned but
now, remains in all its force, viz, that after the
death of men the soul disperses and ceases to be,
And indeed I cannot see why the soul should not
be born, or proceed from some part or other, and -
92 PHEDO:
have a being before it animates the body in this
life ; and when it removes from the body, ceases to
be, and makes its exit as well as the body.”
“You speak well, Simmias,” says Cebes ; “ to my
mind, Socrates has only proved the half of what he
proposed. ’Tis true he demonstrated that the soul
has a being before the body; but to complete his
demonstration he should have proved that our soul
has an existence after death, as well as before this
life.”
“But I have demonstrated it to you both,”
replies Socrates; ‘“‘and you'll be sensible of it, if
you join this last proof with what you acknowledge
before, viz., that the living rise from the dead. For
if ’tis true that our soul was in being before we
were born, then, of necessity, when it comes to
life it proceeds, so to speak, from the bosom of
death ; and why should it not lie under the same
necessity of being after death, since it must return
to life? Thus, what you speak of is made out.
But I perceive both of you desire to sound this
matter to the bottom ; and are apprehensive, like
children, that when the soul departs the body the
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 93
winds run away with it, and disperses it, especially
when a man dies in an open country, in a place
exposed to the winds.”
Whereupon Cebes, smiling, replied, ‘‘ Pray, then,
Socrates, try to discuss our fears, or rather con-
vince us, as if we feared nothing. Though,
indeed, there be some among us who lie under
those childish apprehensions. Persuade us, then,
not to fear death as a vain phantom.”
“As for that,” says Socrates, “you must
employ spells and exorcisms every day till you
be cured.”
“But pray, Socrates, where shall we meet with
an excellent conjurer, since you are going to leave
us 9”
“Greece is large enough,” replies Socrates, “and
well stored with learned men. Besides, there are
a great many barbarous nations which you must
scour in order to find out the conjurer, without
sparing either labour or charges, for you cannot
employ your money in a better cause. You
must likewise look for one among yourselves,
for “tis possible there may be none found more
94, PHZDO:
capable to perform those enchantments than your-
selves.”
“We shall obey your order, Socrates, in looking
out for one; but in the meanwhile, if you please,
let us resume our former discourse.”
‘With all my heart, Cebes.”
“Well said, Socrates.”
“The first question we ought to ask ourselves,”
says Socrates, “is, What sort of things they are
that are apt to be dissipated, what things are
liable to that accident, and what part of those
things? Then we must inquire into the nature
of the soul, and form our hopes or fears accord-
ingly.”
‘“‘'That’s very true.”
“Ts it not certain, that only compounded things,
or such as are of a compoundable nature, admit of
being dissipated at the same rate that they were
compounded? If there are any uncompounded
beings, they alone are free from this accident, and
naturally incapable of dissipation.”
“That, I think, is very clear,” replies Cebes.
“Ts it not very likely that things which are
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 95
always the same, and in the same condition, are
not at all compounded ? and that those which are
liable to perpetual changes, and are never the same,
are certainly compounded.”
“ T am of your mind, Socrates.”
‘‘ Let us betake ourselves to the things we were
speaking of but now, the existence whereof. is
never contested either in question or answer. Are
these always the same, or do they sometimes
change? Equality, beauty, goodness, and every
singular thing—z.e., the essence itself—do these
receive the least alteration, or are they so pure
and simple that they continue always the same,
without undergoing the least change ?”
“Of necessity,” replies Cebes, “they must con-
tinue still the same without alteration.”
‘‘ And all these fine things,” says Socrates, ‘‘ such
as men, horses, habits, movables, and a great
many other things of the same nature, are they
entirely opposite to the former, that they never
continue in the same condition, either with re-
ference to themselves or others, but are subject to
perpetual alterations? ”
96 ; PHEDO:
“They never continue in the same condition,”
replies Cebes,
“Now these are the things that are visible,
touchable, perceptible by some other sense ;
whereas the former, which continue still the same,
can only be reached by thought, as being im-
material and invisible.”
“ That’s true, Socrates.”
“Tf you please,” continues Socrates, “ [ll in-
stance in two things—the one visible, the other
invisible; one still the same, and the other be-
traying continual alterations.”
“With all my heart,” says Cebes.
“Let us see, then. Are not we compounded of
a body and a soul; or is there any other in-
gredient in our composition ?”
“No, surely.”
“ Which of the two kinds of things does our
body most resemble ?”
“ All men own that it is most conformable to
the visible sort.”
“ And pray, my dear Cebes, is our soul visible
or invisible ?”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 97
At least ’tis not visible to men.’
“But when we speak of visible or invisible
things, we mean with reference to men, without
minding any other nature. Once more, then, is
the soul visible or not ?”
“?Tis not visible.”
. “Then ’tis immaterial and invisible ?”
$V oa.”
_“ And by consequence the soul is more con-
formable than the body to the invisible kind of
things, and the body suits better with the
visible ?” :
. “There is an absolute necessity for that.”
- “When the soul makes use of the. body in con-
sidering anything, by seeing, hearing, or any other
sense (that being the sole function of the body, to
consider things by the senses), should not we then
say that the body draws the soul upon mutable
things? In this condition it strays, frets, staggers,
and is giddy like a man in drink, by reason of its
being engaged in matter. Whereas,’ when it
pursues things by itself, without calling in the
body, it betakes itself to what is pure, immortal,
p-125
98 PHEDO:
immutable; and as being of the same nature,
dwells constantly upon it while it is master of
itself. Then its errors are at an end, and it is
always the same, as being united to what never
changes ; and this passion of the soul is what we
call wisdom or prudence.”
“‘That’s admirably well spoken, Socrates, and a
very great truth.”
“ After all, then, what sort of things does the
soul seem to resemble most ?”
“To my mind, Socrates, there is no man so stupid
and stiff as not to be obliged, by your method of
arguing, to acknowledge that the soul bears a
greater resemblance and conformity to the im-
mutable being, than to that which is always upon
the change.”
« And as for the body ?”
“‘Tt bears a greater resemblance to the other.”
“Tet’s try another way. During the conjunc-
tion of body and soul, nature orders the one to
obey and be a slave, and the other to command
and hold the empire. Which of these two cha-
racters is most suitable to the Divine Being, and
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 99
which to that is mortal? Are not you sensible
that the divine is only capable of commanding and
ruling, and what mortal is only worthy of obedience
and slavery ?”
“Sure enough.”
“Which of these two, then, agrees best with
the soul 4”
‘Tis evident, Socrates, that our soul resembles
what is divine, and our body what is mortal.”
“You see, then, my dear Cebes, the necessary
result of all is, that our soul bears a strict re-
semblance to what is divine, immortal, intellectual,
simple, indissolvable ; and is always the same, and
always like, and that our body does perfectly
resemble what is human, mortal, sensible, com-
pounded, dissolvable, always changing, and never
like itself. Oan anything be alleged to destroy
that consequence or to make out the contrary ?”
“No, surely, Socrates.”
“Does not it, then, suit with the body to be
quickly dissolved, and with the soul to be always
indissolvable, or something very near it?”
“That is a standing truth.”
7
100 PHEDO:
“ Accordingly you see every day, when a man
dies, his visible body, that continues exposed to
our view, and which we call the corpse, that alone
admits of dissolution, alteration, and dissipation :
this, I say, does not immediately undergo any of
these accidents, but continues a pretty while in its
entire form, or in its flower, if I may so speak, es-
pecially in this season. Bodies embalmed after the
manner of those in Egypt remain entire for an
infinity of years, and even in those that corrupt,
there are always some parts, such as the bones,
nerves, and the like, that continue in a manner im-
mortal. Is not this true?”
“ Very true.”
“ Now as for the soul, which is an invisible
being, that goes to a place like itself, marvellous,
pure, and invisible, in the infernal world ; and re-
turns to a God full of goodness and wisdom, which
I hope will be the fate of my soul in a minute, if
it please God. Shall a soul of this nature, and
created with all these advantages, be dissipated and
annihilated, as soon as it parts from the body, as
most men believe? No such thing, my dear
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 101
Simmias, and my dear Cebes. I'll tell you what will
rather come to pass, and what we ought to believe
steadily. If the soul retain its purity without any
mixture of filth from the body, as having enter-
tained no voluntary correspondence with it, but
on the contrary, having always avoided it, and re-
collected itself within itself in continual medita-
tions ; that is, in studying the true philosophy, and
effectually learning to die ; for philosophy is a pre-
paration to death: I say, if the soul departs in this
condition, it repairs to a being like itself, a being
that’s divine, immortal, and full of wisdom; in
which it enjoys an inexpressible felicity, as being
freed from its errors, its ignorance, its fears, its
amours, that tyrannised over it, and all the other
evils pertaining to human nature: and as ’tis said
of those who have been initiated into holy mys-
teries, it truly passes a whole course of eternity
with the gods? Ought not this to be the matter
of our belief ?”
** Sure enough, Socrates.”
* But if the soul depart full of uncleanness and
unpurity, as having been all along mingled with
102 PHEDO:
the body, always employed in its service, always
possessed by the love of it, wheedled and charmed
by its pleasures and lusts, insomuch that it is be-
lieved there was nothing real or true beyond what
is corporeal, what may be seen, touched, drank,
or eaten, or what is the object of carnal pleasures,
that it hated, dreaded, and avoided what the eyes
of the body could not descry, and all that is intel-
ligible, and can only be enjoyed by philosophy. Do
you think, I say, that a soul in this condition can
depart pure and simple from the body ?”
** No, surely, Socrates, that’s impossible.”
On the contrary, it departs stained with cor-
poreal pollution, which was rendered natural to it
by its continual commerce and too intimate union
with the body, at a time when it was its constant
companion, and was still employed in serving and
gratifying it.”
* Most certainly.”
“This pollution, my dear Cebes, is a gross,
heavy, earthy, and visible mass ; and the soul loaded
with such a weight, is dragged into that visible
place, not only by the weight, but by its own
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 103
dreading the light and the invisible place; and, as
we commonly say, it wanders in the churchyards,
round the tombs, where dark phantoms and appa-
ritions are often seen, such as these souls that did
not depart the body in purity or simplicity, but
polluted with that earthy and visible matter that
makes them degenerate into a visible form.”
“That is very likely, Socrates.”
“Yes without doubt, Cebes ; and ’tis also likely
that ’tis not the good but the bad souls that are
forced to wander in those places of impurity,
where they suffer for their former ill-life, and con-
tinue to wander, till through the love they have to
this corporeal mass, which always follows them,
they engage again in a new body, and in all proba-
bility plunge themselves into the same manners
and passions as were the occupation of the first
life.” .
How do you say, Socrates ?”
“T say, Cebes, that for instance those who made
their belly their god, and loved nothing but indo-
lence and impurity, without any shame, and without
any reserve ; those enter into the bodies of asses or
104 PHEDO:
such like creatures. Do not you think this very
probable ?”
“ Yes, surely, Socrates.”
“ And those souls which loved. only injustice,
tyranny, and rapine, are employed to animate the
bodies of wolves, hawks, and falcons, Where else
should souls of that stamp go?”
““ Nowhere else, Socrates.”
“The case of all the rest is much the same. They
go to animate the bodies of beasts of different species,
according as they resemble their first courses.”
_ “ According to these principles, it cannot be
otherwise.”
“The happiest of all these men, whose souls are
sent to the most agreeable place, are those who
have always made a profession of popular and civil
virtues, which are called temperance and justice,
to which they have brought themselves only by
habit and exercise, without any assistance from
philosophy and the mind.”
“How can they be so happy, then?”
“Tis probable that after their death their souls
are joined to the bodies of politic and meek animals,
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 105
such as bees, wasps, and ants; or else return to
human bodies, and become temperate and wise men.
But as for approaching to the nature of God, that
is not at all allowed to those who did not live phi-
losophically, and whose souls did not depart with
all their purity. The great privilege is reserved
for the love of true wisdom. And ’tis upon the
consideration of this, my dear Simmias, and my
dear Cebes, that the true philosophers renounce
the desires of the body, and keep themselves up
from its lusts; they are not apprehensive of the
ruin of their families, or of poverty, as the vulgar
are, and those who are wedded to their riches : they
fear neither ignominy nor reproach, as those do
who court only dignities and honour. In a word,
they renounce all things and even themselves,”
‘It would not be suitable for them to do other-
wise,” replies Cebes.
“No, surely,” continues Socrates. ‘In the like
manner, all those who value their souls, and do
not live for the body, depart from all such lusts,
and follow a different course from those insensible
creatures that do not know where they go. They
106 PHZDO :
are persuaded that they ought not to do anything
contrary to philosophy, or harbour anything that
destroys its purifications and retards their liberty ;
and accordingly resign themselves to its conduct,
and follow it whithersoever it leads them.”
‘How do you say, Socrates ?” .
“T’ll explain it to you. The philosophers, find-
ing their soul tied and chained to the body, and by
that means obliged to employ the body in the pur-
suit of objects which it cannot follow alone, so that
it still floats in an abyss of ignorance, are very
sensible that the force of this bond lies in its own
desires, insomuch that the prisoner itself helps to
lock up the chains. They are sensible that philo-
sophy, coming to seize upon the soul in this con-
dition, gently instructs and comforts it, and
endeavours to disengage it, by giving it to know
that the eye of the body is full of illusion and
deceit, as well as all its other senses, by advertis-
ing it not to use the body farther than necessity
requires ; and advising it to recollect and shut up
itself within itself; to receive no disposition but
its own after it has examined within itself the
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 107
intrinsic nature of every thing, and: stripped it of
the covering that conceals it from our eyes, and to
continue fully persuaded that whatever is tried by
all its other senses, being different from the former
discovery, is certainly false ; now whatever is tried
by the corporeal senses is visible. And what. it
views by itself without the ministry of the body is
invisible and unintelligible. So that the soul of a
true philosopher, being convinced that it should
not oppose its own liberty, disclaims as far as is
possible the pleasures, lusts, fears, and sorrows of
the body : for it knows that when one has enjoyed
many pleasures or given way to extreme grief or
timorousness, or given himself to his, desires, he
not only is afflicted by the sensible evils known to
all the world, such as the loss of health or estate,
but is doomed to the last and greatest of evils—an
evil that is so much the more dangerous and terrible
that it is not obvious to our senses.”
“ What evil is that; Socrates?”
‘Tis this; that the soul, being forced.to rejoice
or be afflicted upon any occasion, is persuaded that
what causes its pleasure or grief is a real and true
108 PHEDO:
thing, though ‘at the same time it is not; and such
is the nature of all sensible and visible things that
are capable to occasion joy or grief.”
“That is certain, Socrates.”
“ Are not these passions, then, the chief instru-
ments particularly that imprison and mew up the
soul within the body ?”
‘“‘ How’s that, Socrates ?”
“ Every pleasure, every melancholy thought,
being armed with a strong and keen nail, nails the
soul to the body with such force that it becomes
material and corporeal, and fancies there are no.
real and true objects but such as the body accounts
so: for as it entertains the same opinions and pur-
sues the same pleasures with the body, so it is
obliged to the same actions and habits. For which
reason it cannot descend in purity to the lower
world, but is daubed all over with the pollution of
the body itself, and quickly re-enters another body,
where it takes root as if it had been sown, and
puts a period to all commerce with the pure, simple,
and divine essence.” ; |
* That is very certain, Socrates.”
i ia
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 109
“These are the motives that oblige the true
philosophers to make it their business to acquire
temperance and fortitude, and not such motives as
the vulgar think of. Are not you of my opinion,
Cebes ?”
“Yes, surely.” .
¢ All true philosophers will still be of that mind.
Their souls will never entertain such a thought as
if philosophy should disengage it to the end that
when ’tis freed it should follow its pleasures, and
give way to its fears and sorrows ; that it should
put on its chains again, and always want to begin
again, like Penelope’s web. On the contrary, it:
continués in a perfect tranquillity and freedom from
passion, and always follows reason for its guide,
without departing from its measures ; it incessantly
contemplates what is true, divine, immutable, and
above opinion, being nourished by this pure truth :
it is convinced that it ought to follow the same
course of life while it is united to the body ; and
hopes that after death, being surrendered to that
immortal being as its source, ’twill be freed from
all the afflictions of the human nature. After such
110 PHEDO:
a life, and upon such principles, my dear Simmias
and Cebes, what should the soul be afraid of ? Shall
it fear that upon its departure from the body the
winds will dissipate it and run away with it, and
that annihilation will be its fate ?”
Socrates having thus spoken, he stopped for a
while, seeming to be altogether intent upon
what he had said. Most of us were in the same
condition ; Cebes and Simmias had a short confer-
ence together. At last Socrates, perceiving their
conference, asked them what they were speaking
of. “Do you think,” says he, “that my argu-
ments were lame? I think, indeed, there is room
left for a great many doubts and objections, if any
will take the pains to retail them out. If you are
speaking of anything else I have nothing to say.
But though you have no doubts, pray tell me freely
whether you think of any better demonstration,
and make me a companion in your inquiry, if you
think I can assist you to compass your end.”
“ T'll tell you,” says Simmias, “the naked truth.
It is some time since Cebes and I thought of
some doubts; and, being desirous to have them
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 111
resolved, pushed on one another to propose them
to you. But we were both afraid to importune
you and propose disagreeable questions in the un-
seasonable hour of your present misfortune.”
“Oh, my dear Simmias,” replies Socrates, smiling,
“certainly I should find great difficulty in per-
suading other men that I find no misfortune in my
present circumstances, since I cannot get you to
believe it. You think that upon the score of fore-
knowledge and divining I am infinitely inferior to
the swans. When they perceive approaching death
they sing more merrily than before, because of the
joy they have in going to the God they serve.
But men, through the fear of death, reproach the
swans, in saying that they lament their death and
tune their grief in sorrowful notes. They forget
to make this reflection, that no fowl sings when ’tis
hungry, or cold, or sad; nay, not the nightingale,
the swallow, or the lapwing, whose music they say
is a true lamentation and the effect of grief. But,
after all, these fowls do not all sing out of grief ;
and far less the swans, which by reason of their
belonging to Apollo are diviners, and sing more
ne. PHADO:
joyfully on the day of their death than before, as
foreseeing the good that awaits them in the other
world. And, as for me, I think I serve Apollo as
well as they. I am consecrated to that God as well
as they ; I have received from our common, Master
the art of divining as well as they, and I am as
little concerned for making my exit as they are. So
that you may freely propose what doubts you please,
and put questions to me as long as the eleven
magistrates suffer me to be here.”
“You say well, Socrates,” replies Simmias ;
“since ’tis so I will suppose my doubts first, and
then Cebes shall give in his. I agree with you
that ’tis impossible, or, at least, very difficult, to
know the truth in this life; and that it is the
property of a lazy and dull head not to weigh
exactly what he says or to supersede the examina-
tion before he has made all his efforts, and be
obliged to give over by unsurmountable difficulties.
For one of these two things must be done, we must
either learn the truth from others or find it out
ourselves. If both ways fail us, amidst all human
reasons, we must pitch upon the strongest and
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 118
most forcible, and trust to that as to a ship while
"we pass through this stormy sea, and endeavour to
avoid its tempests and shelves; till we find out
one more firm and sure, such as a promise or reve-
lation upon which we may happily accomplish the
voyage of this life as in a vessel that fears no
danger. I shall therefore not be ashamed to put
the questions to you, now that you allow me; and
shall avoid the reproach I might one day cast upon
myself of not having told you my thoughts upon
this occasion. When I survey what you spoke to
me and to Cebes I must own I do not think your
proofs sufficient.”
“Perhaps you have reason, my dear Simmias ;
but where does their insufficiency appear ?”
“In this; that the same things might be asserted
of the harmony of a harp. For one may reasonably
say that the harmony of a harp, well stringed and
well tuned, is invisible, immaterial, excellent, and
divine; and that the instrument and its strings
are the body, the compounded earthy and mortal
matter. And if the instrument were cut in pieces
or its strings broken, might not one with equal
114. PHADO:
reason affirm that this harmony remains after the
breaking of the harp and has no end? For, since
it is evident that the harp remains after the strings
are broken, or that the strings, which are likewise
mortal, continue after the harp is broken or dis:
mounted, it must needs be impossible, might one
say, that this immortal and divine harmony should)
perish before that which is mortal and earthly +
nay, it is necessary that this harmony should con-
tinue to be without the least damage when the
body of the harp and its strings are gone to nothing,
For, without doubt, Socrates, you are sensible that
we hold the soul to be something that resembles a
harmony ; and that as our body is a being com-
posed of hot and cold, dry and moist, so our soul
is nothing else but the harmony resulting from the
just proportion of these mixed qualities. Now, if
our soul is only a sort of harmony, ’tis evident
that when our body is overstretched, or unbended|
by diseases, or any other disorder, of necessity our
7 soul, with all its divinity, must come to an end, asi
well as the other harmonies which consist in sounds’
or are the effect of instruments; and that the
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL 115
remains of every body continue for a considerable
time, till they be burnt or mouldered away. This,
you see, Socrates, might be alleged in opposition to
your arguments, that if the soul be only a mixture
of the qualities of our body it perishes first in what
we call death.”
Then Socrates looked upon us all, one after
another, as he did often, and began to smile. —
“Simmias speaks with reason,” says he, ‘his
question is well put ; and if any one of you hasa
greater dexterity in answering his objections than
I have, why do you not do it? For he seems
thoroughly to understand both my arguments, and
the exceptions they are liable to. But before we
answer him, tig proper to hear what Cebes has to
object, that while he speaks we may have time
to think upon what we are to say; and after we
have heard them both, that we may yield if their
reasons are uniform and valid, and if otherwise,
may stand by our principles to the utmost. Tell
us, then, Cebes, what is it that hinders you from
agreeing with what I have laid down ?”
“Tl tell you,” says Cebes ; “ your demonstration
116 PHZEDO:
seems to be lame and imperfect; it is faulty upon
the same head that we took notice of before. That
the soul has a being before its entrance into the:
body, is admirably well said, and I think suf-.
ficiently made out ; but I can never be persuaded
that it has likewise an existence after death. At.
the same time, I cannot subscribe to Simmias’s.
allegation, that the soul is neither stronger nor
more durable than the body, for to me it appears
to be infinitely more excellent. But why, then,
says the objection, do you refuse to believe it!
Since you see with your eyes, that when a man is
dead his weakest part remains still, is it not there-.
fore absolutely necessary that the more durable
part should last yet longer? Pray take notice if I
answer this objection right. For to let you into
my meaning, I must use resemblance or comparison,
as well as Simmias. Your allegation, to my mind,
is just the same, as if upon the death of an old
tailor one should say, this tailor is not dead, he
has a being still somewhere or other; and for
proof of that, there’s the suit of clothes he wore,
which he made for himself, so that he’s still in
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 117
being. If any one should not be convinced by
this proof, he would not fail to ask him, whether
the man or the clothes he wears is most durable?
To which, of necessity, he must answer that the
manis; andupon this ground, yourphilosopher would
pretend to demonstrate that since the less durable
possession of the tailor is still in being, by stronger
consequence he himself is so too. Now, my dear
Simmias, the parallel is not just. Pray hear what
I have to answer to it.”
“Tis evident, at first view, that the objection is
ridiculous, For the tailor, having used several
suits of clothes, died after them, and only before
the last suit, which he had not time to wear, and
though the suit survived the man, if I may so
speak, yet we cannot say the man is weaker or less
durable than the suit of clothes. This simile is
near enough, for as the man is to this suit of
clothes, so is the soul to the body ; and whoever
applies to the soul and body what is said of the
man and his suit of clothes will speak to the
purpose. For he'll make the soul more durable,
and the body a weaker being, and less capable to
118 PHEDO:
hold out for a long time. He'll add, that every:
soul wears several. bodies, especially if it lives)
several years. For the body wastes while the man
is yet alive, and the soul still forms to itself a new
habit of body out of the former that decays: but
when the last comes to die, it has then its last
habit on, and dies before its consummation; and
when the soul is dead, the body quickly betrays.
the weakness of its nature, since it corrupts and
moulders away very speedily. So that we cannot
put such confidence in your demonstration, as to
hold it for a standing truth that our souls con-
tinue in being after death. For supposing it were.
granted that our soul has not a being antecedent
to our birth, but that, for anything we know, the
souls of some continue in being after death ; and
that ’tis very possible they may return again to the
world, and be born again, so to speak, several
times, and die at last; for the strength and
advantage of the soul beyond the body, consists in
this, that it can undergo several births, and wear
several bodies one after another, as a man does a
suit of clothes; supposing, I say, that all this were
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 119
granted, still it cannot be denied, but that in all
those repeated births it decays and wastes, and at
last comes to an end in one of the deaths. How-
ever, ‘tis impossible for any man to discern in
which of the deaths ’tis totally sunk. Since things
stand thus, whoever does not fear death must be
senseless, unless he can demonstrate that the soul
is altogether immortal and incorruptible. For
otherwise every dying man must of necessity be
afraid for his soul, for fear the body it is quitting
be its last body, and it sebolaiain without any hopes
of return.”
Having heard them propose these objections,
we were very much troubled, as we afterwards
told them, that at a time when we were just con-
vinced by Socrates’s arguments, they should come
to amuse us with their objections, and throw us into
a fit of unbelief and jealousy, not only of all that
had been said to us by Socrates, but likewise of
what he might say for the future; for we would
always be apt to believe that either we were not
proper judges of the points in debate, or else that
his propositions were in themselves incredible.
120 +PHMDO:
Echec. Indeed, Pheedo, I can easily pardon your
trouble upon that account. For I myself, while I
heard you relate the matter, was saying to my-.
self, what shall we believe hereafter, since Socrates’s
arguments, which seemed so valid and convincing,
are become doubtful and uncertain? In effect that
objection of Simmias’s, that the soul is only a
harmony, moves me wonderfully, and always did so.
It awakes in me the memory of my being formerly.
of the same opinion. So that my belief is un-
hinged, and I want new proofs to convince me that
the soul does not die with the body. Wherefore,
prithee tell me, Phedo, in the name of God, how
Socrates came off, whether he seemed to be as much
nettled as you, or if he maintained his opinion with
his wonted temper; and in fine, whether his de-
monstration gave you full satisfaction, or seemed
chargeable with imperfections? Pray tell me the
whole story, without omitting the minutest cir-
cumstance.
Phedo. I protest to you, Echecrates, I admire
Socrates all my lifetime, and upon this occasion.
admired him more than ever. That such a man as
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 121
he had his answers in readiness is no great
‘surprisal ; but my greatest admiration was to see,
in the first place, with what calmness, patience,
and good humour he received the objections of
these youngsters; and then how dexterously he
perceived the impression they had made upon us,
and cured us of the same He rallied us like men
put to flight after a defeat, and inspired us with ,
a fresh ardour to turn our heads and renew the
charge.
Echec, How was that ? |
Pheedo. I am about-to tell you. As I sat at his
right hand upon a little stool lower than his, he
drew his hand over my head, and taking hold of
my hair that hung down upon my shoulders, as he
was wont to do for his diversion, “ Phzdo,” says
he, ‘ will not you cut this pretty hair to-morrow ?”
“Tis probable I shall,” said I. “If you take my
advice,” said he, “you will not stay so long.”
“* How do you mean?” said I. “Both you and I,”
continues he, “ ought to cut our hair, if our opinion
be so far dead that we cannot raise it again.
Were I in your place, and defeated, I would make
122 PHADO:
a vow, as the men of Argos did, never to wear my:
hair before I conquered these arguments off
Simmias and Cebes.” “But,” said I, “ Socrates,
you have forgotten the old proverb, that Hercules:
himself is not able to engage two.” ‘ And why,’”
says he, “do you not call on me to assist you as
your Iolas, while ’tis yet time?” “ And accord-
ingly I do call on you,” said I, “not as Hercules.
did Iolas, but as Iolas did Hercules.” “’Tis no
matter for that,” says he, “’tis all one. Above
all, let us be cautious to avoid one great fault.”
“What fault?” said I. “That,” said he, “of
being reason-haters, for such there are, as well as_
men-haters. The former is the greatest evil in the
world, and arises from the same source with the
hatred of man. For the latter comes from one
man’s plighting his faith for another man, without
any precaution or inquiry, whom he always took
for a true-hearted, solid, and trusty man, but finds
him at last to be a false, faithless cheat; and thus
being cheated in several such instances, by those
whom he looked on as his best friends, and at last
weary of being so often noosed, he equally hates
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 123
all men, and is convinced there is not one that is
not wicked and perfidious. Are not you sensible
that this man-hating is formed at this rate by
degrees?” ‘Yes, surely,” said L “Is it not a
great scandal, then,” continued he, ‘‘and a super-
lative crime, to converse with men without being
acquainted with the art of trying them and know-
ing them? For if one were acquainted with this
art, he would see how things stand, and would find
that the good and the wicked are very rare, but those
in the middle region swarm in infinite numbers.”
** How do you say, Socrates ?”
“T say, Phedo, the case of the good and bad is
much the same with that of very large or very little
men. Do not you see that there’s nothing more
uncommon than a very big or a very little man?
The case is the same with reference to dogs, horses,
and all other things ; and may likewise be applied
to swiftness and slowness, handsomeness and de-
formity, whiteness and blackness. Are not you
convinced that in all these matters the two ex-
tremes are very uncommon, and the medium is
very common ¢”
124 - PHARDO:
“‘T perceive it very plainly, Socrates.”
“Tf a match were proposed for wickedness, —
would not there be very few that could pretend to.
the first rank?”
‘“‘ That’s very likely, Socrates.”
_ “Tt is certainly so,” replies he. ‘ But upon this
score the case of reason and men is not exactly
the same. I'll follow you step by step. The only
resemblance of the two lies in this, that when a
man unskilled in the art of examination entertains -
a reason as true, and afterwards finds it to be false,
whether it be so in itself or not, and when the
same thing happens to him often—as indeed it
does to those who amuse themselves in disputing
with the sophisters, that contradict everything—he
at last believes himself to be extraordinary well
skilled, and fancies he’s the only man that has
perceived there’s nothing true or certain, either in
things or reasons, but that all is like Euripus,
in a continual flux and reflux, and that nothing
continues so much as one minute in the same
state.”
“ That is the pure truth, Socrates.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 125
“Ts it not, then, a very deplorable misfortune,
my dear Phedo, that while there are true, certain,
and very comprehensive reasons, there should be
men found who, after they have suffered them to
pass, call them again in question upon hearing
these frivolous disputes, where sometimes truth
and falsehood comes uppermost; and instead of
charging themselves without these doubts, or
blaming their want of art, cast the blame at last
upon the reasons themselves ; and, being of a sour
temper, pass their life in hating and calumniating
all reason, and by that means rob themselves both
of truth and knowledge ?”
“That's certainly a most deplorable thing,”
said I.
““We ought to be very cautious,” continues he,
‘that this misfortune be not our lot, and that we
are not prepossessed by this thought, that there’s
nothing solid or true in all arguments whatsoever.
We should rather be persuaded that ’t is ourselves
who are wanting in solidity and truth ; and use
our utmost efforts to recover that solidity and
justness of thought. This is a duty incumbent
126 PHEDO:
upon you, who have time yet to live; and likewise
upon me, who am about to die; and I am much
afraid that upon this occasion I have been so far
from acting the part of a true philosopher, that I
have behaved myself like a disputant overborne)
with prejudice, as all those ignorants do who im
their disputes do not mind the preception of the
truth, but mean only to draw their hearers over to:
their opinions. The only difference between them
and me is, that convincing my audience of the
truth of what I advance is not my only aim—
indeed, I shall be infinitely glad if that come to
pass—but my chief scope is to persuade myself of
the truth of these things; for I argue thus, my
dear Phiedo, and you'll find that this way of arguing:
is highly useful. If my propositions prove true, it
is well done to believe them ; and if after my death
they be found false, I still reap that advantage in
this life, that I have been less affected by evils which
commonly accompany it. But I shall not remain
- long under this ignorance. If I were, I should
reckon it a great misfortune; but by good luck it
will quickly be dispelled. Being fortified by these
- OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 127
thoughts, my dear Simmias and Cebes, I make
account to answer your objections ; and if you take
my advice, you'll rely less upon the authority of
Socrates than that of the truth. If what I am
about to advance appear true, embrace it ; if other-
wise, attack it with all your force. Thus, I shall
neither deceive myself, nor impose upon you by the
influence of zeal and goodwill, or quit you like a
wasp that leaves its sting in the wound it has made.
. ‘To begin, then, pray see if I remember rightly
what was objected. Simmias, as I take it, rejects
our belief only because he fears our souls, notwith-
standing their being divine and more excellent,
will die before our bodies, as being only a sort of
harmony. And, Cebes, if I mistake not, granted
that the soul is more durable than the body, but
thinks it possible that the soul, after having used
several bodies, may die at last, when it quits the
last body, and that this death of the soul is a true
death. Are not these the two points I am to
examine, my dear Simmias and Cebes?”
When they had all agreed that the objections
were justly summed up, he continued thus :— Do
128 PHAEDO:
you absolutely reject all that I have said, or do you
acknowledge part of it to be true?” They answered
that they did not reject the whole. “ But what,” |
says he, “is your opinion of what I told you, viz.,.
that learning is only remembrance, and that, by:
a necessary consequence, the soul must have an,
existence before its conjunction with the body ?”
_ “As for me,” replies Cebes, “I perceived the
evidence of it at first view, and do not know
any principles of more certainty and truth.”
‘‘T am of the same mind,” says Simmias, “and
should think it very strange if ever I changed my
opinion.” :
“But, my dear Theban,” continues Socrates,
“you must needs change it, if you retain your
opinion that harmony is compounded, and that the
soul is a sort of harmony, arising from the due
union of the qualities of the body; for ’tis
presumed you would not believe yourself if you
said that harmony has a being before those things)
of which it is composed.”
“Sure enough,” replies Simmias ; “ I would not.
believe myself if I did.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 129
‘‘Do not you see, then,” continues Socrates,
“that you are not of a piece with yourself when
you say the soul had a being before it came to
animate the body; and at the same time, that
it is compounded of things that had not then an
existence? Do not you compare the soul to a
harmony? And is it not evident that the harp,
the strings, and the very discordant sounds exist
before the harmony, which is an effect that results
from all these things that perishes sooner than
they ? Does this latter part of your discourse suit
with the first ?”
“‘ Not at all,” replies Simmias.
“ And yet,” continues Socrates, “if ever a dis-
course be all of a piece, it ought to be such when
harmony is its subject.”
“That’s right,” says Simmias.
“But yours is not so,” continues Socrates.
“Let's hear, then, which of these two opinions
you side with: whether is learning only remem-
brance, or is the soul a sort of harmony ?”
“T side with the first,” replies Simmias.
“And that opinion I have explained to you,
E—125
130 PHEDO:
without having any recourse to demonstrations full
ef similes and examples, which are rather colours
of the truth, and therefore please the people best ;
but as for me, I am of opinion that all discourses
proving their point by similes are full of vanity,
and apt to seduce and deceive, unless one be very
cautious, whether it relate to geometry or any
other science; whereas the discourse I made for
proving that knowledge is remembrance is grounded
upon a very credible hypothesis ; for I told you
that the soul exists as well as its essence before it
comes to animate the body. By essence, I mean
the principle from which it derives its being, which
has no other name but that which is. And this
proof I take to be good and sufficient.”
“By that reason,” says Simmias, ‘I must not
listen either to myself or others, who assert the
soul to be a sort of harmony.”
‘ “Tn earnest, Simmias,” replies Socrates, “do you
think that a harmony, or any other composure, can
be anything different from the parts of which it is
compounded ?” |
“By no means, Socrates.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE souL. 181
“Or, can it do or suffer what those paris do
not ?”
Simmias answered that it could not,
ago Then,” says Socrates, “a harmony does not
precede, but follow the thing it is composed of;
and it cannot have sounds and motions, or any-
thing else contrary to its parts.”
“ No, surely,” replies Simmias,
“But what,” continues Socrates, “is not all
harmony only such in proportion to the concord of
its parts ?”
* T do not well understand you,” says Simmias.
“T mean, according as the parts have more or
less of concord, the harmony is more or less a
harmony, is it not?”
* Yes, surely,”
“Can we say of the soul, at the same rate, that
a small difference makes a soul to be more or less
a soul?”
‘No, surely, Socrates.”
‘“‘ How is it, then, in the name of God? Donot
we say, for example, that sucha soul endowed with
understanding and virtue is good, and another
132 PHEDO:
filled with folly and mischief is wicked? Is not
this right?”
‘Yes, surely,” quoth Simmias.
“But those who hold the soul to be a harmony,
what will they call these qualities of the soul, that
vice, and that virtue? Will they say, the one’s
harmony, and the other discord? That a virtuous
and good soul, being harmony in its nature, is
entitled to another harmony, and that a vicious
wicked soul wants that addition, harmony ?”
“T cannot be positive,” replies Simmias ; “ but
indeed ’tis very probable the patrons of that
opinion may advance some such thing.”
“ But we concluded, that one soul is not more or
less a soul than another; that is, that it is not
more or less a harmony, than another harmony.”
“T own it,” says Simmias.
* And since it is not more or less a harmony
then it has not more or less concord? Is it not so?”
“Yes, surely, Socrates.”
* And since it has not more or less of concord,
can one have more harmony than another, or must |
the harmony of them all be equal }”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 133
* Questionless it must be equal.”
‘‘Since one soul cannot be more or less a soul
than another, by the same reason, it cannot have
more or less of concord.”
“That’s true.”
“Then it follows necessarily that one soul
cannot have either more harmony or discord than
another ?”
“T agree to it.”
« And by consequence, since the soul is of that
nature, it cannot have more virtue or vice than
another; if so be that vice is discord, and virtue
harmony ¢”
“That is a standing truth,” says Simmias.
“ Or, would not right reason rather say that vice
could find no place in the soul, if so be the soul is
harmony? for harmony, continuing in its perfect
nature, is not capable of discord.”
“ There is no question of that.”
‘Jn like manner the soul, while perfectly a soul,
is not capable of vice.”
“ According to the principles we agreed upon, I
cannot see how it should.”
134 er PHMHDO:
‘From the same very principles it will follow,
that the souls of.all animals are equally good, since
they are equally souls.” )
‘So I think,” says Simmias.
“But do you think that it stands with right
reason, if the hypothesis of the soul’s being a
harmony be true?”
“No, surely, Socrates.”
‘‘Then I ask you, Simmias, if of all the parts of
a man the soul is not best entitled to command,
especially when she is prudent and wise ?”
‘‘'There is no other part can pretend to it.”
* Does it command by giving way to the passions
of the body, or by resisting them ? As, for example,
when the body is seized with thirst in the cold fit
of a fever, does not the soul restrain it from
drinking? Or when ’tis hungry, does it not
restrain from eating? As well as in a thousand
other instances, which manifestly show that the
soul curbs the passions of the body. Is it not so?”
“Without question.”
“But we agreed above that the soul being a
sort of harmony, can never sound contrary to the
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 135
sound of those things which arise, or lower, or
move it, nor have other passions different from
those of its parts ; and that it is necessarily obliged
to follow them, as being incapable to guide them.”
' “Tis certain we agreed upon that,” says Sim-
mias ; “ how could we avoid it ?”
“But,” says Socrates, “is it not evident that
the conduct of the soul is the downright contrary ?
That it governs and rules those very things which
are alleged for ingredients in its composition ;
that it thwarts and attacks them almost all its
lifetime; that it is every way their mistress,
punishing and repressing some by the harder
measures of pain, school-exercises, and physic;
and treating others more gently, as contenting
itself with threatening or insulting over its lusts,
passion, and fear. In a word, we see the soul
speaks to the body, as something of a different
nature from itself, which Homer was sensible of,
when in his Odyssey, he tells that ‘ Ulysses beat-
ing his breast, rebuked his heart, and said to it,
Support thyself, thou hast stood out against harder’
and more difficult things than these.’ ”
136 PHEDO:
“Do you think the poet spoke that under the
apprehensions of the soul’s being a harmony to be
managed and conducted by the body? Or do you
not rather believe that he knew it was the soul’s
part to command, and that it is of a nature more
divine than harmony ?”
‘“‘- Yes, Socrates ; I swear I am persuaded Homer
knew that truth.”
“ And, by consequence, my dear Simmias,” con-
tinues Socrates, ‘‘ there is not the least colour of
reason for the soul’s being a harmony; should we
assert it to be such we should contradict both
Homer, that divine poet, and likewise ourselves.”
Simmias yielded, and Socrates proceeded thus.
“JT think we have sufficiently tempered and
moderated this Theban harmony, so that it will do
us no harm. But Cebes, how shall we do to
appease and disarm this Cadmus? How shall we
hit on a discourse duly qualified with a persuasive
force ?”
«Tf youll be at the pains, Socrates, you can
easily find such a discourse. The last you had
against the harmony of the soul moved me mightily,
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE souL. 137
-and indeed beyond my expectation: for when
Simmias proposed his doubts, I thought nothing
short of a prodigy or miracle could solve them,
and I was mightily surprised when I saw he could
not stand the first attack. So that now it will be
no surprisal to me to see Cadmus undergo the same
fate.”
‘“‘My dear Cebes,” replies Socrates, “do not you
speak too big upon the matter, lest envy should
overturn all I have said, and render it useless and
ineffectual. But that’s in the hands of God. As
for us, let us approach one another, as Homer says,
and try our strength and arms. What you want
comes all to this point: You would have the
immortality and incorruptibility of the soul demon-
strated, to the end that a philosopher who dies
bravely in the hopes of being infinitely more happy
in the other world than in this, may not hope in
vain. You say, the soul’s being a durable and
divine substance, existing before its joining the
body, does not conclude its immortality ; and the
only inference that it will bear is, that it lasts a
great while longer, and was in being many ages
138 PHAEDO:
before us, during which it knew and did several
things, but without immortality ; for on the con-
trary, the first minute of its. descent into the body
is the commencement of its death, or, as it were, a
disease to it: for it passes this life in anguish and
trouble, and at last is quite swallowed up and
annihilated by what we call death. You add that
’tis the same thing, whether it animates a body
only once, or returns to it several times, since that
does not alter the occasion of our fears, forasmuch
as all wise men ought still to fear death, while
they are uncertain of the immortality of their
souls, ‘This, I take it, is the sum of what you said ;
and I repeat it so often, on purpose that nothing
may escape my view, and that you may have the
opportunity of adding or impairing as you please.”
«At present,” says Cebes, “I have nothing to
alter ; that is the just sum of all I have yet said.”
Socrates was silent a pretty while, as being
drowned in profound meditation. At last, “ Cebes,”
says he, “’tis truly not a small matter that you
demand : for in order to a just satisfaction, there’s
a necessity of making a narrow inquiry into the
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 139
cause of generation and corruption. - If you please,
Tl tell you what happened to me upon this very
matter ; and if what I-say seem useful to you, you
shall be at liberty to make use of it: to on
your sentiments.”
“ With all my heart,” says Simmias,
“Pray give ear, then,” says Socrates: “ In my
youth I had an insatiable desire to learn that
science which is called natural history; for I
thought it was something great and divine to know
the causes of every thing, of their generation, death,
and existence, And I spared no pains, nor
omitted any means, for trying, in the first place, if
a certain corruption of hot and cold will, as some
pretend, give being and nourishment to animals ;
if the blood makes the thought, if air or fire, or
the brain alone is the cause of our senses of seeing,
hearing, smelling, &c., if memory and opinion take
their rise from these senses, and if knowledge be
the result of memory and opinion. Then I
wanted to know the causes of their corruption, and
extended my curiosity both to the heavens and the
eavities of the earth, and would fain have known
140 PHMDO:
the cause of all the phenomena we meet with. At
last, after a great deal of trouble, I found myself
strangely unqualified for such inquiries; and of
this I am about to give you a sensible proof. This
fine study made me so blind in the things I knew
more evidently before, according to my own and
other persons’ thoughts, that I quite forgot all that
I had known from several subjects, particularly
that.of a man’s growth. I thought ’twas evident
to the whole world that a man grows only by
eating and drinking; for flesh being added to
flesh, bones to bones, and all the other parts joined
to their similar parts by nourishment, make a
small bulk to swell and grow, so that a little man
becomes a large. This was my thought, do you
think ’twas just ?”
“Yes, surely,” replies Cebes,
‘‘ Mind what follows,” says Socrates. ‘I thought
likewise that I knew the reason why one man is
taller than another by the head, and one horse
higher than another: and with reference to plainer
and more sensible things, I thought, for instance,
that ten was more than eight, because two was
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 141
added to it; and that two cubits were larger than
one because they contained one-half more.”
“ And what are your present thoughts of those
things?”
“T am so far,” replies Socrates, ‘‘from thinking
that I know the cause of all these things, that
when one is added to one, I do not believe I
can tell whether it is that very one to which the
other is added that becomes two, or whether the
one is added, and the one to which the addition
was made make two together? For, in their
separate state, each of them was one, and not two,
and after their being placed one by the other they
became two. Neither can I tell how, upon the di-
vision of anything, what was formerly one becomes
two, from the very minute of division ; for that
cause is quite contrary to that which makes one
and one become two, ‘Llhere, this one and this
one become two by reason of their being placed
near, and added the one to the other; but here
this one thing becomes two by reason of its division
and separation. Far less do I pretend to know
whence this one thing comes, and by this method,
142 PHEDO:
z.e., by physical reasons, I cannot fin! how the
least thing takes rise or perishes, or how it exists,
But without so much ceremony, I mix another
method of my own with this, for by this I can
learn nothing. Having one day heard somebody
reading a book of Anaxagoras’s, who said the
divine intellect was the cause of all beings, and
drew them upon their proper ranks and classes, I
was ravished with joy. I perceived there was
nothing more certain than this principle, that the
intellect is the cause of all things. For I justly
thought that this intellect, having methodised all
things and ranked them in their classes, planting
everything in the place and condition that was
best and most useful to it, in which it could best
do and suffer whatever the intellect had allotted to
it; and I apprehended that the result of this
principle was, that the only thing a man ought’ to
look for, either for himself or others, is this better
and more useful thing; for having once found
what is best and most useful, he'll necessarily
know what is worst, since there is but one know-
ledge both for the one and the other.
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 143
‘“‘ Upon this score I was infinitely glad that I had
found such a master as Anaxagoras, who I hoped
would give a satisfactory account of the cause of
all things; and would not only tell me, for in-
stance, that the earth is broad or round, but like-
wise assign the necessary cause, obliging it to be
so: who would point out to me what is best, and
at the same time give me to understand why it
was so. In like manner, if he affirmed the seat of
the earth to be in the centre of the world, I expected
he would give me a reason why it was so; and
- after I should have received sufficient instruction
from him, designed never to admit of any other
cause for a principle.
“‘T prepared some question to be put to him con-
cerning the sun, moon, and the stars, in order to
know the reasons of their revolutions, motions, and
other accidents, and why what each of them does
is always the best: for I could not imagine that
after he had told me that the intellect ranked
them, and drew them up in order, he could give
me no other reason of that order than this, that
it was best. And I flattered myself with hopes,
144. PHEDO:
that after he had assigned both the general and
particular causes, he would give me to know
wherein the particular good of every individual
thing, as well as the common good of all things,
consists. I would not have parted with these
hopes for all the treasures of the world.
“So I bought his books with a great deal of im-
patience, and made it my business to peruse them
as soon as possible I could, in order to a speedy
knowledge of the good and evil of all this; but I
found myself frustrated of my mighty hopes, for as
soon as [I had made a small progress in the perusal
I found the author made no use of this intellect,
and assigned no reason of that fine order and dis-
position ; but assigned, as causes, the air, whirl-
winds, the waters, and other things equally
absurd. }
“His whole performance seemed to reach no
farther, than if a man should say, that Socrates
does all by the intellect; and after that, meaning
to give a reason for my actions, should say, for
instance, to-day I am set upon my bed, because my
body is composed of bones and nerves; the bones
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 145
being hard and solid are separated by the joints ;
and the nerves, being capable to bend and unbend
theinselves, tie the bones to the flesh and the skin,
which receives and includes both the one and the
other ; that the bones being disengaged at the
joints, the nerves, which bend and unbend, enable
me to fold my legs as you see; and that, forsooth,
is the reason that I sit in this posture. Or if a
man pretending to assign the cause of my present
conference with you should insist only upon the
second causes, the voice, the air, hearing, and such
other things, and should take no notice of the
true cause, viz., that the Athenians thought it fit
to condemn me, and that by the same reason I
thought it fitter for me to be here, and patiently
wait the execution of my sentence, for I can
safely swear that these nerves and these bones
should long ere now have been translated to
Megara, or Beotia, if that had been fitted for me,
and if I had not been persuaded that it was better
and fitter for me to endure the punishment I am
doomed to by my country, than to flee like a
slave or a banished person, As I take it, ’tis
146 PHEDO:
highly ridiculous to assign such causes upon such
an occasion, and to rest satisfied in them.
“Tf it be replied, that without bones and nerves,
and such other things, I could not do what I mean
to do, the allegation is true. But it savours of the
greatest absurdity to fancy that these bones or
nerves should be the cause of my actions, rather
than the choice of what is best; and that my in-
tellect is employed on that score, for that were to
sink the difference between the cause and the
thing, without which the cause could not be such,
And yet the vulgar people, who take things by
hearsay, and see by other people’s eyes, as if they
walked in thick darkness, take the true cause of
things to be of that nature. Pursuant to this
notion, some surround the earth with a vortex that
turns eternally round, and suppose it to be fixed
in the centre of the universe ; others conceive it
to be a broad and large trough, which has the air
for its base and foundation. And as for the power
of Him who ranked and disposed of everything
to its best advantage, that is not in their view, and
they don’t believe that He is entitled to any divine
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 147
virtue. They fancy they know of a stronger and
more immortal Atlas, more capable to support all
things. And this good and immortal tie that is
only capable to unite and comprehend all things,
they take for a chimera.
“Tam of their mind, but would willingly ’list
myself a disciple to any that could tell me the
-eause, let it be what it will. But since I could
not compass the knowledge of it, neither by myself
nor others, if you please T’ll give you an account
of a second trial I made~in order to find it.”
‘‘T am very desirous to hear it,” says Cebes.
“ After I had wearied myself in examining all
things, I thought it my duty to be cautious
of avoiding what happens to those who contem-
plate an eclipse of the sun ; for they lose the sight
of it, unless they be careful to view its reflection
in water or any other medium. A thought much
like to that came into my head, and I feared I
should lose the eyes of my soul if I viewed objects
with the eyes of my body, or employed any of my
senses in endeavouring to know them. I thought
I should have recourse to reason, and contemplate
148 PHEDO;:
the truth of all things as reflected from it. °Tis
possible the simile I use in explaining myself is
not very just, for I myself cannot affirm that he
who beholds things in the glass of reason sees
them more by reflection and similitude than he
who beholds them in their operations. However,
the way I followed was this: from that time for-
ward I grounded all upon the reason that seemed
to be best, and took all for truth that I found con-
formable to it, whether in things or causes. And
what was not conformable I rejected, as being
false. Jl explain my meaning more distinctly,
for I fancy you do not yet understand me.”
“Tl swear,” says Cebes, “I do not well under
stand you.” }
“ But after all,” says Socrates, “I advance no
new thing. This is no more than what I have said a
thousand times, and particularly in the foregoing
dispute; for all that I aim at is to demonstrate
- what sort of cause this is that I sought after so
carefully. I begin with his qualities, which are so
much talked of, and which I take for the founda-
tion. I say, then, there is something that is
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 149
good, fine, just, and great of itself. If you grant
me this principle, I hope by it to demonstrate the
cause, and make out the immortality of the
soul.”
“T grant it,” says Cebes; ‘you cannot be too
quick in perfecting your demonstration.”
‘“‘ Mind what follows, and see if you agree to it
as I take it. If there is anything fine, besides
fineness itself, it must be such by partaking of that
first good ; and so of all the other qualities. Are
you of this opinion ?”
“T am.” :
“T protest,” continues Socrates, ‘I cannot well
understand all the other learned causes that are
commonly given us. But if any man ask me what
makes a thing fine, whether the liveliness of its
colours, or the just proportion of its parts, and the
like, I waive all these plausible reasons, which
serve only to confound me, and without ceremony
or art, make answer, and perhaps too simply, that
its fineness is only owing to the presence, or ap-
proach, or communication of the original fine being,
whatever be the way of that communcation. For I
150 PHEDO:
am not yet certain in what manner it is; I only
know certainly that all these fine things are
rendered such by the presence of this fine being.
While I stand by this principle I reckon I cannot be’
deceived, and I am persuaded that I may safely
make answer to all questions whatsoever, that all
fine things owe their fineness to the presence of
the above-mentioned being. Are not you of the
same mind?”
“Yes, surely, Socrates.”
“ Are not great and small things rendered such
in like manner? If one told you that such a
thing is larger than another by the head, would
not you think the expression far from being exact ?
and would not you make answer, that whatever is
larger is rendered such by magnitude itself, and
what is smaller owes its littleness to littleness
itself? For if you said that such a thing is
greater or smaller than another by the head, I
fancy you would fear being censured for making
both the greater and lesser thing to be such by the
same cause; and besides, for using such an ex-
pression as seems to imply that the head, which
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE souL. 151
is a small part, makes the largeness of the
greater, which in effect is a monster; for what can
be more absurd than to say that a small matter
makes a thing large? Would not you fear such
objections }”
‘Yes, surely,” replies Cebes, smiling.
“By the same reason would not you be afraid
to say that ten are more than eight, and surpasses
it by two? and would not you rather say that ten
are more than eight by quantity? In like manner,
of two cubits, would not you say they are larger
than one by magnitude, rather than by the half?
For still there’s the same occasion of fear.”
.* You say well.” | @
“But when one is added to one, or a thing
divided into halves, would not you avoid saying
that in the former case addition makes one and one
two? and in the latter, division makes one thing
become two? And would not you protest that you
know no other cause of the existence of things
than the participation of the essence that’s peculiar ~
to every subject, and consequently no other reason
why one and one makes two, but the participation
152 PHAEDO:
of quality, as one is one by the participation of
unity? Would not you discard these additions,
divisions, and all the other fine answers, and leave
them to those who know more than you do? And,
for fear of your own shadow, as the proverb goes,
or rather of your ignorance, would not you confine
yourself to this principle? And if any one attacked
it, would not you let it stand without deigning
him an answer till you had surveyed all the conse-
quences to see if they are of a piece or not? And
if afterwards you should be obliged to give a
reason for them, would not you do it by having
recourse to some of these other hypotheses that
should appear to be the best, and so proceed from
hypothesis to hypothesis till you lighted upon
somebody that satisfied you as being a sure and
standing truth? At the same time, you would be
loth to perplex and confound all things, as those
disputants do who call all things in question? ’Tis
true, these disputants perhaps are not much con-
cerned for the truth, and by thus mingling and
perplexing all things by an effect of their profound
knowledge they are sure to please themselves. But
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 153
as for you, if you are true philosophers, you will
do as I say.”
Simmias and Cebes jointly replied, “That he said
well.”
Echec. Indeed, Phedo, I think it no wonder ;
for to my mind Socrates explained his principles
with a wonderful neatness sufficient to make an
impression upon any man of common sense.
Phedo. All the audience thought the same.
Echec. Even we who have it only at second
hand find it so. But what was said next?
Phedo. If I remember right, after they had
granted that the species of things have a real sub- —
sistence, and that the things participating of their
nature take their denomination from them, then,
I say, Socrates interrogated Cebes as follows :—
“Tf your principle be true, when you say
Simmias is larger than Socrates and lesser than
Pheedo, do not you imply that both magnitude and
littleness are lodged at the same time in Simmias?”
“Yes,” replies Cebes.
“But do not you own that this proposition,
Simmias is bigger than Socrates, is not absolutely
154 PHEDO:
and in itself true? For Simmias is not bigger
because he is Simmias, but because he is possessed
of magnitude. Neither is Simmias lesser than —
Phedo because Phedo is Pheedo, but because
Phedo is big when compared to Simmias, who is -
little.”
“ That’s true.”
“Thus,” continues Socrates, “ Simmias is called:
both big and little, as being between two ; by par-
taking of bigness he is bigger than Socrates, and —
by partaking also of littleness he is lesser than
Phedo.” Then he smiled, and said, ‘‘ Methinks I
“have insisted too long on these things, but I
should not have amused myself with these large
strokes had it not been to convince you more
effectually of the truth of my principle. For, as
I-take it, not only magnitude itself cannot be at
the same time big and small, but, besides, the mag-
nitude that is in us does not admit of littleness, and
has no mind to be surpassed, for cither the mag-
nitude flees and yields its place when it sees its
enemy approaching, or else it vanishes and perishes
entirely; and, when once it has received it, it
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 155
desires to continue as it is. As I, for instance,
having received littleness, while I am as you see
me, cannot but be little. For that which is big
does never attempt to be little. And in like
manner littleness never encroaches upon magnitude,
In a word, any of the contraries, while it is what
it is, is never to be found with its contrary; but
either disappears or perishes when the other comes
”
Cebes agreed to it, but one of the company, I
forgot who, addressed himself to Socrates thus:
‘In the name of all the gods, did not you say con-
trary to what you now advance? Did not you
conclude upon this, that greater things take rise
from the lesser, and the lesser from the greater ;
and, in a word, that contraries do still produce
their contraries? Whereas now, as I take it, you
allege that can never be.”
Whereupon. Socrates put his head further out
of the bed, and having heard the objection, said to
him, “ Indeed, you do well to put us in mind of
what we said ; but you do not perceive the differ-
ence between the former and the latter. In the
156 PHEDO:
former we asserted that every contrary owes its’
being to its contrary, and in the latter we teach
that a contrary is never contrary to itself,
neither in us, nor in the course of nature. There
we spoke of things that had contraries, meaning
to call every one of them by their proper names,
but here we speak of such things as give a
denomination to their subjects, which, we told you,
could never admit of their contraries.” Then
turning to Cebes, “ Did not this objection,” says he,
“likewise give you some trouble?”
‘No, indeed, Socrates,” replies Cebes; “I can
assure you that few things are capable to trouble
me at present.”
“ Then we agreed upon this simple proposition,”
says Socrates, “that a contrary can never be con-
trary to itself.”
“That is true,” says Cebes.
“ But what do you say to this? Is cold and
heat anything ?”
“Yes, surely.”
*‘ What, is it like snow and fire?”
“ No, surely, Socrates.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 157
“Then you own that heat is different from fire,
and cold from snow ?”
«Without question, Socrates.”
“T believe you'll likewise own that when the
snow receives heat it is no more what it was, but
either gives way, or disappears for good and all,
when the heat approaches. In like manner the
fire will either yield or be extinguished when the
cold prevails upon it; for then it cannot be fire
and cold together.”
‘Tis so,” says Cebes.
“There are also some contraries that not only
give name to their species, but likewise impart it
to other things different from it, which preserve its
figure and form while they have a being. For
instance, must not an odd thing have always the
same name ?”
“ Yes, surely.”
“Ts that the only thing that is so called? Or,
is not there some other things different from it,
which must needs be called by the same name, by
reason that it belongs to its nature never to be
without odds? For instance, must not the ternary
158 , : PHEDO:
number be called not only by its own name, but
likewise by the name of an odd number ; though
at the same time to be odd and to be three are
two different things? Now, such is the nature of
the number three, five, and all other odd numbers ;
each of them is always odd, and yet their nature
is not the same with the nature of the odd. In
like manner, even numbers, such as two, four,
eight, are all of them even, though at the same
time their nature is not that of the even. Do not
you own this?”
“ How can I do otherwise?” says Cebes.
“Pray, mind what I infer from hence. “Tis,
that not only these contraries, which are incapable
of receiving their contraries, but all other things
which are not opposite one to another, and yet
have always their contraries; all these things,
I say, are incapable of receiving a form opposite
to their own; and either disappear to perish upon.
the appearance of the opposite form. For instance;
Number three will sink a thousand times rather
than. become an.even number, while it continues
to be three, Is it not so?”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 159 -
“Yes, surely,” replies Cebes.
“But after all,” says Socrates, “two are not
contrary to three.”
“ No, surely.”
“Then the contrary species are not the only
things that refuse admission to their contraries ;
since, as you see other things that are not contrary
cannot abide the approach of that which has the
least shadow of contrariety.”
“That is certain.”
“Do you desire, then, that I should define eo
as clear as possible ?”
“ Ay, with all my heart, Socrates.”
“Must not contraries be such things as give
such a form to that in which they are lodged, that
if is not capable of giving admission to another
that’s contrary to them ?” .
* « How do you say?”
~“T say as I said but now: Wherever the idea
or form of three is lodged, that thing must of
necessity continue, not nies to be three, but to be
odd.”
~ © Who doubts that?”
160 PHEDO:
“And by consequence ’tis impossible for the
idea or form that’s contrary to its constituent
form, ever to approach.”
“ That’s a plain case.”
“ Well, is not the constituent form an odd?”
Von.”
“Ts not even the form that’s contrary to odd?”
f You”
“Then the form of even is never lodged in
three ?”
“ No, surely.”
“Then three is incapable of being even.”
“ Most certainly.”
“ And that, because three is odd?”
“Yes, surely.” ’
“ Now, this is the conclusion I meant to prove,
that some things that are not contrary to one
another are as incapable of that other thing, as if
it were truly a contrary; as, for instance, though
three is not contrary to an even number, yet it
can never admit of it. For two brings always
something contrary to an odd number, like fire
to cold, and several other things. Would not you
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 161
agree, then, to this definition, that a contrary does
not only refuse admission to its contrary, but like-
wise to that which, being not contrary, brings upon
it something of a contrary name, which by that
sort of contrariety destroys its form ?”
“T pray you let me hear that again,” says
Cebes ; “for ’tis worth the while to hear it often.”
“I say number five will never be an even
number; just as ten, which is its double, will
never be odd ; no more than three-fourths, or a
third part, or any other part of a whole, will
ever admit of the form and idea of the whole.
Do you understand me? do you take me up, and
do you agree with what I say ?”
“JT understand you; I apprehend you to a
miracle; and I agree with you too.”
“Since you understand me,” says Socrates, “ pray
answer me aS I do you; that is, answer me, not
what I ask, but something else, according to the
idea and example I have given you; I mean, that
besides the true and certain way of answering
spoken of already, I have yet another in my view
that springs from that, and is fully as sure. For
F—125
162 PHEDO:
instance, if you ask me what it is that being in
the body, makes it hot, I would not give you this
ignorant, though sure answer, that ’tis heat; but.
would draw a more particular answer from what
we have been speaking of, and would tell you that
it is fire. And if you should ask what it is that
makes the body sick, I would not say ’twas the
disease, but the fever. If you ask me what makes
a number odd, I would not tell you that it is the
oddness, but unity; and so of the rest. Do you
understand what I mean ?”
“T understand you perfectly well,” replies Cebes.
« Answer me, then,” continues Socrates ; “ what
makes the body live?”
‘“‘ The soul.”
“Ts the soul always the same?”
** How would it be otherwise?”
‘Does the soul, then, carry life along with it
into all the bodies it enters?”
* Most certainly.”
“Ts there anything that’s contrary to life, or is
there nothing?”
“Yes, death is the contrary of life.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 163
“Then the soul will never receive that which is
contrary to what it carries in its bosom; that’s a
necessary consequence from our principles.”
“Tis a plain consequence,” says Cebes.
“But what name do we give to that which
refuses admission to the idea and form of even-
ness ? ”
“?Tis the odd number.”
‘“ How do we call that which never receives
justice, and that which never receives good ?”
* The one is called injustice, and the other evil.”
“ And how do you call that which never admits
of death ?”
“ Tmmortal.”
** Does the soul admit of death?”
“No.”
“Then the soul is immortal.”
** Most certainly.”
‘Ts that fully demonstrated, or was the demon-
stration imperfect ?”
‘It is fully made out, Socrates.”
“Tf an odd number of necessity were. incor-
ruptible, would not three be so too?”
164. PHEDO:
“ Who doubts it ?”
“Tf whatever is without heat were necessarily
incorruptible, would not snow, when put to the
fire, withdraw itself safe from the danger? For
since it cannot perish, it will never receive the
heat, notwithstanding its being held to the fire.”
«¢ What you say is true.”
“Tn like manner, if that which is not sus-
ceptible of cold were by a natural necessity
exempted from perishing, though a whole river
were thrown upon the fire, it would never go out,
but on the contrary would come off with its full
force.” |
“There is an absolute necessity for that,” says
Cebes.
“Then of necessity we must say the same of
what is immortal. If that which is immortal is
incorruptible, though death approach to the soul,
it shall never fall in the attack ; for, as we said
but now, the soul will never receive death, and
will never die, just as three, or any odd number,
will never be even; fire will never be cold, nor
its heat be turned to coldness.
OF TEE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 165
“Perhaps some may answer that ’tis true the
odd can never become even, by the accession of
what is even, while it continues odd; but what
should hinder the even to take up the room of the
odd when it comes to perish? To this objection it
cannot be answered that the odd does not perish,
for it is incorruptible. Had we established its
incorruptibility, we should justly have maintained,
that notwithstanding the attacks of the even, the
odd of three would still come off without loss ;
and we should have asserted the same of fire,
heat, and such other things, should not we ?”
* Most certainly,” says Cebes.
“And, by consequence, if we agree upon this,
that every immortal thing is incorruptible, it will
necessarily follow, not only that the soul is im-
mortal, but that it is incorruptible. And if we
cannot agree upon that, we must look out for
another proof.”
“There is no occasion for that, Socrates,” replies
Cebes; “for what is it that should avoid cor-
ruption and death, if an immortal and eternal
being be liable to them ?”
166 PHZEDO:
“ All the world will agree,” says Socrates, “ that
God, and life itself, and whatever ’tis that is im-
mortal, does not perish.”
“¢ At least,” says Cebes, ‘all men will profess so.”
‘The consequence is absolutely necessary and
certain. And by consequence,” continues Socrates,
‘““when a man comes to die, his mortal and cor-
ruptible part dies; but the immortal part goes off
safe, and triumphs over death.”
“That’s plain and evident.”
“Then, my dear Cebes, if there be any such
thing as an immortal and incorruptible being, such
is the soul ; and by consequence our souls shall live
hereafter.”
“T have nothing to object,” says Cebes, “and
cannot but yield to your arguments. But if Sim-
mias, or any of the company, has anything to offer,
they'll do well not to stifle it; for when will they
find another occasion for discoursing and satisfying
themselves upon these important subjects ?”
“For my part,” says Simmias, “I cannot but
subscribe to what Socrates has said. But I own
that the greatness of the subject, and the natural
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 167
weakness of man, occasion within me a sort of
distrust and incredulity.”
“You have not only spoken well,” says Socrates,
“but besides, notwithstanding the apparent cer-
tainty of our first hypothesis, ’tis needful you
should resume them, in order to a more leisurely
view, and to convince yourself more clearly and
effectually. If you understand them sufficiently,
you'll willingly second my thoughts as much as
possible for a man to do: and when you are once
fully convinced, you'll need no other proof.”
“That’s well said,” replies Cebes,
“'There’s one thing more, my friends, that is a
very just thought, viz., that if the soul is immortal,
it stands in need of cultivating and improvement,
not only in the time that we call the time of life,
but for the future, or what we call the time of
eternity ; for if you think justly upon this point
you'll find it very dangerous to neglect the soul.
Were death the dissolution of the whole man, it
would be a great advantage to the wicked after
death to be rid at once of their body, their soul,
and their vices. But forasmuch as the soul is
168 PHEDO:
immortal, the only way to avoid those evils and
obtain salvation is to become good and wise: for
it carries nothing along with it but its good or bad
actions, and its virtues or vices, which are the
cause of its eternal happiness or misery, com-
mencing from the first minute of its arrival in the
other world. And ’tis said that after the death of
every individual person, the Demon or Genius, that
was partner with it and conducted it during life,
leads it to a certain place, where all the dead are
obliged to appear, in order to be judged, and from
thence are conducted by a guide to the world
below. And, after they have there received their
good or bad deserts, and continued there their
appointed time, another conductor brings them
back to this life, after several revolutions of ages,
Now this road is not a plain united road, else
there would be no occasion for guides, and nobody
would miss their way ; but there are several by-
ways and cross-ways, as I conjecture from the
method of our sacrifices and religious ceremonies.
So that a temperate, wise soul follows its guide, and
is not ignorant of what happens to it ; but the soul
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 169
that’s nailed to its body, as I said just now, that is
inflamed with the love of it, and has been long its
slave, after much struggling and suffering in this
visible world, is at last dragged along against its
will by the Demon allotted for its guide. And
when it arrives at that rendezvous of all souls, if it
has been guilty of any impurity, or polluted with
murder, or has committed any of those atrocious
crimes that desperate and lost souls are commonly
guilty of, the other souls abhor it, and avoid its
company ; it finds neither companion nor guide,
but wanders in a fearful solitude and horrible
desert, till after a certain time necessity drags it
into the mansions it deserves; whereas the tem-
perate and pure soul has the gods themselves for
its guides and conductors, and goes to cohabit with
them in the mansions of pleasure prepared for it.
For, my friends, there are several marvellous places
in the earth: and ’tis not at all such as the
describers of it are wont to make it, as I was taught
by one who knew it very well.”,
“How do you say, Socrates?” says Simmias,
interrupting him. ‘TI have likewise heard several
170 PHEDO:
things of the earth, but not what you have heard.
Wherefore I wish you would be pleased to tell us
what you know.”
“To recount that to you, my dear Simmias, I do
not believe we have any occasion for Glaucus’s art.
But to make out the truth of it is a more difficult
matter, and I question if all Glaucus’s art can
reach it. Such an attempt is not only above my
reach, but supposing it were not, the short time I
have left me will not suffer me to embark in so
long a discourse.. All that I can do is to give you
a general idea of this earth, and the places it con-
tains.” ,
“That will be enough,” says Simmias.
“In the first place,” continues Socrates, “I am
persuaded that if the earth is placed in the middle
of heaven (the air), as they say it is, it stands in
no need of air, or any other support to prevent its
fall; for heaven itself is wrapped equally about it,
and its own equilibrium is in the middle of a thing
that presses equally upon it, cannot incline to
either side, and consequently stands firm and im-
movable. This I am convinced of.”
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 171
**-You have reason to be so,” replies Simmias.
“T am farther persuaded that the earth is very
large and spacious, and that we only inhabit that
part of it which reaches from the river Phasis to
the Straits of Gibraltar, upon which we are scattered
like so many ants dwelling in holes, or like frogs:
that reside in some marsh near the sea. ‘There are
several other nations that inhabit its other parts
that are unknown to us; for all over the earth
there are holes of all sizes and figures, always filled
with gross air, and covered with thick clouds, and
overflown by the waters that rush in on all sides.
“There is another pure earth above the pure
heaven where the stars are, which is commonly
called Atther. The earth we inhabit is ~properly
nothing else but the sediment of the other, and its
grosser part which flows continually into those
holes. We are immured in those cells, though we
are not sensible of it, and fancy we inhabit the
upper part of the pure earth, much after the same
rate as if one living in the depths of the sea should
fancy his habitation to be above the waters, and
when he sees the sun and other stars through the
172 PHEDO:
waters, should fancy the sea to be the heavens,
and by reason of his heaviness and weakness,
having never put forth his sea head or raised him-
self above the waters, should never know that the
place we inhabit is purer and nearer than his, and
should never meet with any person to inform him.
This is just our condition; we are mewed up
within some hole of the earth, and fancy we live at
the top of all : we take the air for the true heavens,
in which the stars run their rounds. And the
cause of our mistake is our heaviness and weak-
ness, that keep us from surmounting this thick
and muddy air. If any could mount up with
wings to the upper surface, he would no sooner
put his head out of the gross air but he would
behold what’s transacted in those blessed man-
sions, just as the fishes skipping above the surface
of the waters see what’s done in the air in which
we breathe. Andif he were a man fit for long
contemplation, he would find it to be the true
heaven and the true light: in a word, to be the
true earth. For this earth that we inhabit, those
stones, and all places are entirely corrupted and
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 173
gnawed, just as whatever is in the sea is corroded
by the sharpness of the salts. And the sea pro-
duces nothing that’s perfect or valuable. It con-
tains nothing but caves and mud: and wherever
any ground is found, there’s nothing but deep
sloughs, nothing comparable to what we have here.
Now the things in the other mansions are more
above what we have here, than what we have here
is above what we meet with in the sea. And in
order to make you conceive the beauty of this
pure earth situated in the heavens, if you please,
Til tell you a pretty story that’s worth your
hearing.”
“ We shall hear it,” says Simmias, “with a great
deal of pleasure.”
“First of all, my dear Simmias,” continued So-
crates, “if one looks upon this earth from a high
place, they say it looks like one of our packs
covered with twelve welts of different colours. For
it is varied with a greater number of different
colours, of which those made use of by our painters
are but sorry patterns. For the colours of this
earth are infinitely more clean and lively. One is
174 PH@EDO;
an admirable purple; another a colour of gold,
more sparkling than gold itself; a third a white
more lively than the snow ; and so on of all the
rest, the beauty whereof leaves our colours here
far behind it. The chinks of this earth are filled
with water and air, which make up an infinity of
admirable shadows, so wonderfully diversified by
that infinite variety of colours.
“Tn this so perfect an earth everything has a
perfection answerable to its qualities. The trees,
flowers, fruits, and mountains are charmingly
beautiful ; they produce all sorts of precious stones
of an incomparable perfection, clearness, and
splendour ; those we esteem so much here, such as
emeralds, jasper, and sapphire, are but small par-
cels of them. ‘here is not one in that blessed
earth that is not infinitely more pretty than of
ours, The cause of all which is, that all these
precious stones are pure, neither gnawed nor
spoiled by the sharpness of the salts, or the cor-
ruption of the sediment or dregs that fall from
_ thence into our lower earth, where they assemble,
and infect not only the stones and the earth, but
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 175
the plants and animals, with all sorts of pollution
and diseases.
‘‘ Besides all these beauties now mentioned, this
blessed earth is enriched with gold and silver,
which being scattered all over in great abundance,
casts forth a charming splendour on all sides, so
that a sight of this earth is a view of the blessed. —
It is inhabited by all sorts of animals, and by men,
some of whom are cast into the centre of the earth,
and others are scattered about the air, as we are
above the sea. There are some also that inhabit
the isles formed by the air near the continent.
For there the air is the same thing that water and
sea are here ; and the «ther does them the same
service that the air does to us. Their seasons are
so admirably well tempered that their life is much
longer than ours, and always free from distempers :
and as for their sight, hearing, and all their other
senses, and even their intellect itself, they surpass
us as far as the ether they breathe in exceeds our
gross air for simplicity and purity. They have
sacred groves, and temples actually inhabited by
the gods, who give evidence of their presence by
176 PHEDO:
oracles, divinations, inspirations, and all other sen-
sible signs, and who converse with them. They
see the sun and moon without an intervening me-
dium, and view the stars as they are in them-
selves. And all the other branches of their feli-
city are proportional to these.
“This is the situation of the earth, and this is the
matter of all that surrounds it. All aboutit there
are several abysses in its cavities, some of which
are deeper and more open than the country we in-
habit ; others are deeper, but not so open ; and some
again have a more extensive breadth, but a lesser
depth. And these abysses are bored through in
several parts, and have pipes communicating one
with another, through which there runs, just as in
the caves of Mount AXtna, a vast quantity of water,
very large and deep rivers, springs of cold and hot
waters, fountains, and rivers of fire, and other
rivers of mud, some thinner and some thicker and
more muddy, like those torrents of mud and of
fire that are cast out from Mount Aétna.
“These abysses are filled with these waters in
proportion to their falling out of one into another.
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 177
All these sources move both downwards and up-
wards, like a vessel hung above the earth, which
vessel is naturally one, and indeed the greatest of
these abysses. It goes across the whole earth, and
is open on two sides. Homer speaks of it when he
says, ‘I'll throw it into the obscure Tartarus, that’s
a great way from hence, the deepest abyss under
the earth.’ Homer is not the only author that called
this place by the name of Tartarus: most of the
other poets did the same.
“ All the rivers rendezvous in this abyss, and
run out from thence again. Each of these rivers is
tinctured with the nature of the earth through
which it rnns. And the reason of their not stag-
nating in these abysses is this, that they find no
ground, but roll and throw their waters upside
down. The air and wind that girds them about
does the same, for it follows them when they rise
above the earth, and when they descend towards
us. And just as in the respiration of animals
there is an incessant ingress and egress of air, so the
air that mingles with the waters accompanies them
in their ingress and egress, and raises raging winds.
178 PHEDO:
“When these waters fall into this lower abyss,
they diffuse themselves into all the channels of the
springs and rivers, and fill them up, just as if one
were drawing up water with two pails, one of
which fills as the other empties. For these waters,
flowing from hence, fill up our channels; from
whence diffusing themselves all about, they fill our
seas, rivers, lakes, and fountains. After that they
disappear, and diving into the earth, some with a
large compass, and others by small turnings, repair
to Tartarus, where they enter by other passages
than those they came out by, and much lower.
Some re-enter on the same side, and others on the
opposite to that of their egress; and some again
enter on all sides after they have made one or
several turns round the earth, like serpents folding
their bodies into several rolls ; and having gained
entrance, rise up to the middle of the abyss, but
cannot reach farther, by reason that the other half
is higher than the level. They form several very
great and large currents; but there are four prin-
cipal ones, the greatest of which is the outermost
of all, and is called the Ocean.
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 179
“Opposite to that is Acheron, which runs
through the desert place, and diving through the
earth, falls into the marsh, which from it is called
the Acherusian Lake, whither all souls repair upon
their departure from this body ; and having stayed
there all the time appointed, some a shorter, some
a longer time, are sent back to this world to ani-
mate beasts.
“‘ Between Acheron and the ocean there runs a
third river, which retires again not far from its
source, and falls into a vast space full of fire; there
it forms a lake greater than our sea, in which the
water mixed with mud boils, and setting out from
thence all black and muddy, runs along the earth to
the end of the Acherusian Lake, without mixing with
its waters; and after having made several turnings
under the earth, throws itself underneath Tartarus ;
and this is the flaming river called Phlegethon, the
streams whereof are seen to fly up on the earth
in several places. :
“ Opposite to this is the fourth river, which falls
first into a horrible wild place, of a bluish colour,
called by the name of Stygian, where it forms the
180 PHAEDO:
formidable Lake of Styx; and after it has tinctured
itself with horrible qualities from the water of that
lake, dives into the earth, where it makes several
turns, and directing its course over against Phlege-
thon, at last meets it in the Lake of Acheron, where
it does not mingle its waters with those of the other
rivers, but after it has run its round on the earth,
throws itself into Tartarus by a passage opposite
to that of Phlegethon. This fourth river is called
by the poets Cocytus. Nature having thus dis-
posed of all these things, when the dead arrive at
that place whither their Demon leads them, they
are all tried and judged, both those that lived a
holy and just life, and those who wallowed in in-
justice and impiety.
“Those who are found to have lived neither en-
tirely a criminal, nor absolutely an innocent life,
are sent to Acheron. There they embark in boats,
and are transported to the Acherusian Lake, where
they dwell, and suffer punishment proportionable
to their crimes; till at last being purged and
cleansed from their sins, and set at liberty, they
receive the recompense of their good actions.
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 181
“Those whosesinsareincurable, and who have been
guilty of sacrilege and murder, or such other crimes,
are by a just and fatal destiny thrown headlong into
Tartarus, where they are kept prisoners for ever.
“But those who are found guilty of curable
(venial) sins, though very great ones, such as offering
of violence to their father or mother in a passion,
or killing a man, and repenting for it all their life-
time, must of necessity be likewise cast into Tar-
tarus; but after a year’s abode there, the tide
throws the homicides back into Cocytus, and the
parricides into Phlegethon, which draws them into
the Acherusian Lake. There they cry out bitterly,
and invoke those whom they have killed or offered
violence to, to aid them, and conjure them to for-
give them, and to suffer them to pass the lake, and
give them admittance. If they are prevailed with,
they pass the lake, and are delivered from their
misery ; if not, they are cast again into Tartarus,
which throws them back into these rivers ; and this
continues to be repeated till they have satisfied the
injured persons. For such is the sentence pro-
nounced against them.
182 PHEDO:
“But those who have distinguished themselves
by a holy life are released from these earthly
places, these horrible prisons, and received above
into that pure earth where they dwell; and those
of them who are sufficiently purged by philosophy
live for ever without their body, and are received
into yet more admirable and delicious mansions,
which I cannot easily describe, neither do the
narrow limits of my time allow me to launch into
that subject.
* What I told you but now is sufficient, my
dear Simmias, to show that we ought to labour all
our lifetime to purchase virtue and wisdom, since
we have so great a hope’ and so great a reward pro-
posed to us.
“No man of sense can pretend to assure you
that all these things are just as I have said; but
all thinking men will be positive that the state of
the soul, and the place of its abode after death, is
absolutely such as I represent it to be, or at least
very near it, provided the soul be immortal ; and
will certainly find it worth his danger to run the
risk ; for what danger is more inviting? One
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 1838
must needs be charmed with that blessed hope ;
and for this reason I have dilated a little upon
this subject.
“ Every one who during his lifetime renounced
the pleasures of the body, who looked upon the
appurtenances of the body as foreign ornaments,
and siding with the contrary party, pursued only
the pleasures of true knowledge, and beautified
his soul, not with foreign ornaments, but with
ornaments suitable to its nature, such as temper-
ance, justice, fortitude, liberty, and truth ;—such a
one, being firmly confident of the happiness of his
soul, ought to wait peaceably for the hour of his
removal, as being always ready for the voyage
whenever his fate calls him.
‘ As for you, my dear Simmias, Cebes, and all you
of this company, you shall follow me when your
hour comes. Mine is now, and, as a tragical poet
would say, the surly pilot calls me aboard ; where-
fore ’tis time I should go to the bath, for I think
tis better to drink the poison after I am washed,
in order to save the women the trouble of washing
me after I am dead.”
184 PHZDO:
Socrates having thus spoke, Crito addressed
himself to Socrates thus: ‘ Alas, then! in God’s
name be it. But what orders do you give me
and the rest here present with reference to your
children or your affairs, that by putting them in
execution we may at least have the comfort of
obliging you?”
“What I now recommend to you, Crito,” replies
Socrates, “is what I always recommended, that is,
to take care of yourselves. You cannot do your-
selves a more considerable piece of service, nor
oblige me and my family more, than to promise
me at this time so todo. Whereas, if you neglect
yourselves, and refuse to form your lives according
to the model I proposed to you, and follow it, as
it were, by the footsteps, all your protestations and
offers of service will be altogether useless to me.”
“We shall do our utmost, Socrates,” replies
Crito, “to obey you. But how will you be
buried ?”
“ Just as you please,” says Socrates, “ if you can
but catch me, and if I do not give you the slip.”
At the same time, looking upon us with a gentle
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 185
smile, “I cannot,” says he, “compass my end, in
persuading Crito that this is Socrates who dis-
courses with you, and methodises all the parts of
this discourse ; and still he fancies that Socrates
is the thing that shall see death by-and-by. He
confounds me with my corpse, and in that view
asks how I must be buried? And this long dis-
course that I made to you but now, in order to
make it out,.that as soon as I shall have taken
down the poison I shall stay no longer with
you, but shall part from hence, and go to enjoy the
felicity of the blessed—in a word, all that I have
said for your consolation and mine is to no pur-
pose, but is all lost with reference to him. I beg
of you that you will be bail for me to Crito, but
after a contrary manner to that in which he
offered to bail me to my judges, for he engaged
that I would not be gone. Pray engage for me
that I shall be no sooner dead but I shall be
gone, to the end that poor Crito may bear my
death more steadfastly; and when he sees my
body burnt or interred, may not despair, as if I
suffered great misery, and say at my funeral that
186 | PHZEDO:
Socrates is interred. For you must know, my
dear Crito,” says he, turning to him, “ that speak-
ing amiss of death is not only a fault in the way
of speaking, but likewise wounds the soul. You
should have more courage and hope, and say that
my body is to be interred. ‘That you may inter as |
you please, and in the manner that’s most com-
formable to our laws and customs.”
Having spoke thus, he rose, and went into the
next room to bathe. Crito followed him, and he
desired we should attend him. Accordingly we
all attended him, and entertained ourselves one
while with a repetition and farther examination of
what he had said, another while in speaking of the
miserable state that was before us. For we all
looked upon ourselves as persons deprived of our
good father, that were about to pass the rest of our
life in an orphan state.
After he came out of the bath, they brought his
children to him, for he had three—two little ones,
and one that was pretty big: and the women of
his family came all in to him. He spoke to them
some time in the presence of Crito, gave them their
? f
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 187
orders, and ordered them to retire, carry his
children along with them, and then come back to
us. “T'was then towards sun-setting, for he had
_ been a long while in the little room.
When he came in, he sat down upon his -
bed, without saying much: for much about
the. same time the officer of the eleven magi-
strates came in, and drawing near to him,
“Socrates,” says he, “ I have no occasion to make
the same complaint of you that I have every day
of those in the same condition ; for as soon as I
come to acquaint them by orders from the eleven
magistrates that they must drink the poison, they
are incensed against me and curse me. But as |
for you, ever since you came into this place, I
have found you to be the most even-tempered, the
calmest, and the best man that ever entered this
prison; and I am confident that at present you
are not angry with me; doubtless you are angry
with none but those who are the cause of your
misfortune. You know them without naming.
On this occasion, Socrates, you know what I come
to tell you. Farewell! Endeavour to bear this
188 PHEDO:
necessity with a constant mind.” Having spoke
thus, he began to cry, and, turning his back upon
us, retired a little. ‘“ Farewell, my friend,” says
Socrates, looking upon him; “T’ll follow the counsel
‘ thou givest. Mind,” says he, “ what honesty is in
that fellow. During my imprisonment he came
often to see me, and conversed with me. He’s
more worth than all the rest. How heartily he
cries for me! Let us obey him with a handsome
mien, my dear Crito ; if the poison be brewed, let
him bring it ; if not, let him brew it himself.”
‘‘ But methinks, Socrates,” says Crito, “the sun
shines upon the mountains, and is not yet set;
and I know several in your circumstances did not
drink the poison till a long time after the order
was given: that they supped very well, and
enjoyed anything they had a mind to. Wherefore
I conjure you not to press so hard; you have yet
time enough.”
‘‘Those who do as you say, Crito,” says Socrates,
‘have their own reasons ; they think it is just as
much time gained. And I have likewise my reasons
for not doing so; for the only advantage I can
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 189
have by drinking it later is only to make myself
ridiculous to myself, in being so foolishly fond of
life as to pretend to husband it in the last minute
when there’s no more to come. Go, then, my dear
Crito, and do as I bid you do, and do not vex me
any longer.”
Whereupon Crito gave the sign to the slave who
waited just by. The slave went out, and after he
had spent some time in brewing the poison, re-
turned, accompanied by him who was to give it,
and brought it all together in one cup. Socrates
seeing him come in, “ That’s very well, my friend,”
says he; “but what must I do? For you know
best, and ’tis your business to direct me.”
“You have nothing else to do,” says he, “ but
whenever you have drank it to walk until you find
your legs stiff, and then to lie down upon your
bed. This is all you have to do.” And at the
same time he gave him the cup. Socrates took it,
not only without any commotion or change of
colour or countenance, but with joy ; and looking
upon the fellow with a steady and bold eye, as he
was wont to do, “What do you say of this mixture,”
190 . . PHADO:
says he; “is it allowable to make a drink offering
of it?”
‘Socrates,’ replies the man, “we never brew
more at once than what serves for one dose,”
‘‘T understand you,” says Socrates ; “but at least
is ‘it lawful for me to pray to the gods that they
would bless the voyage and render it happy. This
I beg of them with all my soul.” Having said
this he drank it off with an extraordinary calmness
and an inexpressible tranquillity.
We had until this time, almost all of us, the
power to refrain from tears ; but when we saw him
drink it off we were no longer masters of ourselves,
In spite of all my efforts I was forced to cover
myself with my mantle, that I might freely regret
my condition ; for ’twas not Socrates’ misfortune,
but my own that I deplored in reflecting what a
friend I was bereft of. Crito, who likewise could
not abstain from crying, had prevented me, and
risen up. And Apollodorus, who scarce ceased to
ery during the whole conference, did then howl
and cry aloud, insomuch that he moved everybody.
Only Socrates himself was not at all moved. On
OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE,SOUT.. 191
the contrary, he chid them. “What are you doing,
my friends?” says he. ‘What! such fine men as
you are! Oh, where is virtue? Was it not for this
reason that I sent off those women, for fear they
should have fallen into these weaknesses? for I
- always heard it said that a man ought to die.in
peace and blessing God. Be easy, then, and show
more steadiness and courage.” These words filled
us with confusion, and obliged us to suppress our
tears.
In the meantime he continued to walk, and when
he felt his legs stiff he lay down on his back, as the
man had commanded him. At the same time the
same man that gave him the poison came up to
him, and, after looking upon his legs and feet,
bound up his feet with all his strength, and asked
him if he felt it. He said “No.” Then he bound
up his legs; and, having carried his hand higher,
gave us the signal that he was quite cold. Socrates
likewise felt himself with his hand, and told us that
when the cold came up to his heart he should leave
us. All his lower belly was already frozen. And
then uncovering himself (for he was covered),
192 PHREDO: OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
“ Crito,” said he (these were his last words), ‘“v
owe a cock to Ausculapius; discharge this vow fc
me, and do not forget it.” ‘It shall be done
said Crito. ‘But see if you have anything else t
say to us.” He made no answer, but after a litt!
space of time expired. The man, who was still } |
him, having uncovered him, received his last looks
which continued fixed upon him. Crito, seeing that
advanced and shut his mouth and eyes.
This, Echecrates, was the end of our friend, :
man who, beyond all dispute, was the best, anc
most sensible, and the honestest of all our ac
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