Phaedo; literally translated by E.M. Cope

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PLATO'S PHyEDO.

: CAMBRIDGE WAREHOUSE,
7, PATERNOSTER ROW.

: DEIGHTON, BELL, AND co.

PLATO'S PH^DO,

LITER ALL Y TRANSLA TED,

BY THE LATE

E. M. COPE,

FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

EDITED FOR THE SYNDICS OF THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.

(Kambrfrgt :

AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.

1875.

\_AII Rights reserved^

PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A.
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.

EDITOR'S PREFACE.

As this translation of the Phaedo has not had the
benefit of its author's last corrections, it is proper
that I should state the main rules which I have
endeavoured to follow in preparing it for the press.

It would appear that Mr Cope had subjected
his version (which was, I presume, originally in
tended for use in the lecture-room) to more than
one careful revision, and had decided in all cases
of doubt which interpretation he preferred. In
such cases I have regarded his decision as final.
On the other hand he had not made his choice
between the various alternative renderings which
he had from time to time recorded. In the work
of selection, which has consequently rested with
me, my rule has been to prefer the latest render
ing; but I have considered all the renderings
suggested in the manuscript, and have now and
then taken one of the earlier ones.

It will be remembered by readers of Mr Cope's
version of the Gorgias that his theory of trans
lation differs in some important respects from that

vi EDITOR'S PREFACE.

generally entertained at the present day. In the
first place his version is essentially a literal one, —
that is to say, it aims at the greatest fidelity which
the English idiom permits : in the second place
his English style is more colloquial, and the struc
ture of his sentences less exact, than is usual in
translations of the Platonic dialogues. Thus he is
careful not only to represent every anacoluthon
which occurs in the original.1, but also to introduce
wherever it is possible those laxities of construc
tion which, though usually avoided in written
compositions, are common in spoken English.
In general I have retained these irregularities ;
but in a few instances, in which laxity of English
construction not warranted by laxity in the
Greek seemed to cause needless obscurity, I have
allowed myself a certain license of modification.

In imitation of Mr Cope's practice in the
Gorgias I have taken the Zurich text as the stand
ard of reference, noting at the foot of the page the
few places in which the version deviates from it.
In two instances only he introduces emendations
of his own'2.

I have appended to the text a few explanatory
notes, but only where such adjuncts seemed indis
pensable. These notes are extracted, as nearly as
possible verbatim, from the fragmentary commen
tary which in Mr Cope's note-book accompanies

1 See (for example) pp. 55, 62, 76, 87 of this volume.
2 *ce pp. 77, R4.

EDITOR'S PREFACE. vii

the translation. Had he lived to complete his
work, he would doubtless have written an intro
duction similar to that prefixed to the Gorgias ;
but the manuscript contains no sketch of one, and
I have not attempted to supply the deficiency.

Indeed I have throughout endeavoured to
preserve his work in its integrity, thinking it
better that it should remain incomplete than that
it should be supplemented by another hand.
Unfinished though it is, I think that students
of Plato, and especially those who, like myself,
gratefully remember the accurate scholarship and
profound erudition which characterized Mr Cope's
lectures, will rejoice that the Syndics of the
University Press with their customary liberality
have undertaken its publication.

HENRY JACKSON.

TRINITY COLLEGE,

March 4, 18/5.

PLATO'S PH^DO.

CHARACTERS OF THE D1ALOC-UL

ECHECRATES. CEBES.

PILEDO. SIMMIAS.

APOLLO DORUS. CRITO.

SOCRATES. ATTENDANT.

PLATO'S PH^DO.

ECH. Were you present yourself, Phasdo, with So- 5 7
crates that memorable day when he drank the poison in
the prison, or did you hear the story from some one else?

PH. I was there myself, Echecrates.

ECH. Then do pray tell me what it was that he said
before his death and how he died. I should be so glad to
hear. For in fact none of my fellow-townsmen, of Phlius,
are just now very much in the habit of going to stay at
Athens, nor has any stranger paid us a visit from that
place for a long time who ' might have brought us an
accurate report of all this — except indeed merely that he
was put to death by poison ; but of all the rest no one
could tell us anything.

PH. Then I suppose you didn't hear the account 58
of the issue of the trial either ?

ECH. Yes, some one brought us news of that; and
surprised we were, to be sure, to hear that he seems
not to have suffered till long after it took place. Now
why was this, Phaedo?

PH. It was quite an accident, Echecrates: for it

1 Or (better) without &v : ' who was able to bring us,' &c.

I— 2

4 PLATO'S PH&DO.

happened that the stern of the vessel which the Athe
nians are in the habit of sending to Delos had been
decorated just the day before the trial.

ECH. And pray what vessel do you mean?

PH. This is the vessel, according to the Athenian
tradition, in which Theseus once went with those twice
seven to Crete, and saved their lives and his own to
boot. So they made a vow to Apollo, as the story
goes, at the time, that if they got safe back they would
despatch a sacred embassy to Delos every year: which
in fact they have sent ever since year by year to the
God, as they still continue to do. Well, from the very
commencement of the sacred embassy, it is the custom
with them that their city be kept pure all this time, and
that no state execution be allowed until the vessel has
made its voyage to Delos and back again here : and this
occasionally requires a long time, whenever the crew
chance to be arrested by contrary winds. The com
mencement of the sacred embassy dates from the crown
ing of the vessel's stern by the priest of Apollo : and,
as I say, this happened to have been done the day
before the trial. And this was the reason why Socrates
had so long an interval in the prison between the trial
and his death.

ECH. Well, but the story of the death itself, Phsedo :
what was all that was said and done? and which of his
friends were with him? or did the magistrates refuse
them permission to be present, so that he had no friends
near him at his death ?

PH. By no . means : on the contrary, there were
some present, aye and a good many.

ECH. Then pray be good enough to give me as exact
an account as you can of it all — unless you happen to
be engaged.

PLATO'S PIIjEDO. 5

PH. Oh no, I am not at all busy, and I will do my
best to tell you the whole story: for indeed to recall
Socrates to mind, whether by talking of him myself or
by listening to another, to me has ever been the most
agreeable thing in the world.

ECH. Well, Phsedo, you may make sure of finding a
similar feeling in the audience that is going to be. So
pray try to describe all the circumstances as precisely as
you possibly can.

PH. Well, to be sure, for my own part I was in a
strange state of mind all the time I was there. For no
feeling of compassion such as might be expected in one
who is present at a friend's death entered my mind — for
the man seemed to me, Echecrates, quite happy both in
his behaviour and in his language, so fearlessly and nobly
did he meet his death: so that to my mind he presented
himself as one whose journey even to the world below
was not unattended by a divine providence, nay, whose
lot when he arrived there would be a happy one, if
any human being ever was happy: for this reason, I 59
say, no feeling at all of pity entered my mind, as would
seem natural to one present at a scene of woe, nor on
the other hand of pleasure, as was to be expected when
we were engaged in our ordinary way upon philosophy —
for in fact our conversation was of that nature — but I
found myself in quite a singular state of mind and in an
unwonted mixture of feeling, a feeling at once of pleasure
and of pain, when I reflected that our friend was pre
sently to die. And all of us that were there were pretty
nearly in the same state, laughing one while, and anon
weeping; and one of us, Apollodorus, beyond all the
.rest: you know the man, I dare say, and his humour?

ECH. Of course I do.

PH. Well, as I say, he abandoned himself without

6 PLATO S riTsKDO,

reserve to these emotions; but at the same time I my
self and the rest participated in them.

Ecu. But who were they, Phcedo, that chanced to
be present?

PH. Why of natives there was this same Apollodorus,
and Critobulus and his father Crito, and besides, Hermo-
genes, and Epigenes, and ^Eschines, and Antisthenes,
There was also Ctesippus the Prcanian, and Menexenus,
and some other native Athenians : but Plato, I believe,
was ill.

ECH. And were there any strangers there?

PH. Oh yes, Simmias of Thebes of course, and
Cebes, and Phiedondes, and Euclides and Terpsion of
Megara.

Ecu. Well? but Aristippus and Cleombrotus were
with him, I suppose?

PH. No they were not : they were said to be in
^Egina. /

ECH. And was there any one else there?

PH. I think that these were pretty nearly all.

ECH. Well to proceed then — let us have your ac
count of the conversation.

3 PH. I will endeavour to relate it all to you from the
first. And so to begin. We had been in the constant
habit, I and the rest, of visiting Socrates also during the
preceding days, beginning to assemble in the early morning
at the court in which the trial was held, as it was in the
neighbourhood of the prison. Well, we used always to
loiter about conversing amongst ourselves until the prison
happened to be opened — which did not take place very
early — but as soon as it was opened we went in to
Socrates, and generally spent the whole day with him.
However on this particular occasion we met earlier than
usual : for having learnt the day before, when we quitted

PLATO'S

the prison in the evening, that the vessel had returned
from Delos, we parted with mutual admonitions to be pre
sent as early as possible at the usual spot. So when we
came, the porter who was accustomed to answer our knock
came out to us and told us to wait and not appear until he
summoned us himself. ' For,' said he, ' the Eleven are
taking off Socrates' irons, and bidding him prepare for
death to-day.' However he did not wait long before he 60
returned and bade us walk in. So we entered, and found
Socrates just released from his fetters, and Xanthippe,
whom you know, holding his little boy in her arms and
seated near him. As soon as she saw us she burst into
lamentations and exclamations such as women are wont
to indulge in : ' O Socrates, this is the very last time that
your friends will speak to you and you to them.' And
Socrates with a glance towards Crito said, ' Crito, let
some one take her away home.' So some of Crito's
people led her away screaming and beating her breast:
but Socrates lay down again upon the bed, and bending
his leg together rubbed it with his hand ; and as he was
rubbing it, he said, ' What a strange thing that seems to
be which men call pleasure : how wonderfully it is asso
ciated by nature with that which seems its opposite, pain ;
in that the pair of them will never present themselves to
mankind together, and yet if a man pursue the one and
grasp it, he is almost always obliged to take the other
too, as if, distinct as they are, they were fastened to
gether from one head. And I think,' continued he, ' that
if yEsop had noticed them he would have made a fable
upon it, that God, anxious to compose their differences,
but finding himself unable to do so, fastened their heads
together, and that that is the reason why, if any one has
obtained possession of the one, the other also is sure to
follow upon it : just, you see, as it seems in mv own

8 PLATO'S PILE DO.

case — after the pain had been first caused in my leg by
the irons, the corresponding pleasure seems now to have
come in its train.'

4 Here Cebes broke in. Aye indeed, Socrates, I am
much obliged to you for reminding me. For to be sure
about those poems which you have composed— your
metrical version of the fables of .^Esop and your pre
lude to Apollo — I have been asked already by several
people, and quite lately by Evenus himself, what could
possibly have been your intention in writing them
since you came here, when you never yet wrote any
verses before. If then you care for my having an an
swer to give to Evenus when he repeats his question
— for I am sure he will — tell me what I must say.
Well then, said he, tell him the truth, Cebes: that it
was from no desire to set myself up as a rival to him
or his poems that I composed them — for I knew it was
not easy to do that — but that I did so in an attempt
to make out the meaning of certain dreams, and to
acquit my conscience in respect of them in case this
might chance to be the kind of ' music ' that they en
joined me to cultivate. Something like this they were :
the same dream used constantly to haunt me during
my past life, assuming different shapes at different times
but always with the same burden: 'Socrates,' it said,
'cultivate music and practise it.' And I used formerly
to suppose that it was encouraging me and cheering me 6 1
on in the very occupation which I was following — -that,
exactly as people cheer the runners in a race, even so
my dream was urging me onward in my ordinary pursuit,
the cultivation of music — under the idea that philosophy
was the highest- kind of music, and that that was what I
was practising. But now, since my trial took place and the
/ festival of Apollo meanwhile delayed my death, I thought

PLATO'S PH^DO. 9

it my duty, in case perhaps it might be this popular kind
of music that the dream enjoined me to cultivate, not
to be disobedient, but to try. For it was safer, I thought,
not to depart ere I had discharged my conscience by
composing poems in obedience to the dream. Thus
it was then that I first addressed a hymn to the God in
whose honour the present festival was held : and after the
God, having conceived the notion that it was the poet's
business, if he meant to be a poet, to write fables and
not mere histories in verse, whilst I myself had no genius
for fiction, for this reason I turned into verse accord
ingly the fables that I had ready to my hand and knew
by heart, ^sop's namely, just as they happened to occur
to me.

This then, Cebes, is what you may tell Evenus; and
at the same time bid him fare-well, and, if he be wise,
follow me as soon as he can. And I am to depart to
day, as it seems; for the Athenians will have it so.

And Simmias said, How strange an exhortation is
this, Socrates, to convey to Evenus! I have often met
the man ere now, and I am pretty sure from what I
have remarked that he will not have the smallest inclina
tion to comply with your suggestion.

How say you? said he. Isn't Evenus a philosopher?

Oh yes, I suppose so, replied Simmias.

Well then, said he, he will desire it, and not only he
but every one who worthily takes part in this study.
However I don't exactly mean to say that he will lay
violent hands on himself; for they say this is wrong.
(And as he said this, he let his legs drop from the bed
upon the ground, and in this posture he remained during
the rest of the dialogue.)

Thereupon Cebes asked him, What do you mean,
Socrates, by saying that it is not right for a man to lay

10 PLATO'S PIIJEDO.

violent hands upon himself, and yet that the philosopher
would desire to follow the dying man?

How, Cebes? have you and Simmias never heard
anything on such subjects during your intercourse with
Philolaus?

No, Socrates, nothing distinct.

Well to be sure I myself speak of them from mere
hearsay : however what I have heard I don't grudge
telling you. For in fact it is perhaps particularly suitable
for one who is on the point of travelling in that direction
to examine narrowly and mythologize about the concep
tion we have formed of the nature of the journey thither:
for how could one better employ the interval between
this and sunset?

Jt®-' Then what can be their reason, Socrates, for assert
ing that it is unlawful to kill oneself? For it is true that,
as you just now asked me, I have heard Philolaus, as
well as yourself, say, at the time when he was residing
in our city, and others besides him ere now, that it was
not right to do this: but I have never heard from any
one anything distinct upon the subject.

Well you must keep up your spirits, he said, for per- 6;
haps you may now. Possibly however it will seem sur
prising to you, that this, contrary to the universal rule,
should be true without exception, and that it should
never happen to mankind, as in every thing else it
/ does, that in certain cases and for certain pgQpJfL-^ly
it is better to die than to livg._ And again, in cases
^vvhere death is preferable, you may be surprised that
these men are not allowed to do themselves a service,
but are bound to wait for an extraneous benefactor.

Aye, Heaven knows, said Cebes, with a quiet smile,
and speaking in his native dialect.

In fact, said Socrates, when stated thus nakedly, it

PLATO'S

would seem unreasonable : still it cannot be denied that
there may be some sense in it. At the same time the
account that is given of it in the mystic system, that we
men are kept in a kind of ward, and that accordingly one
must not endeavour to deliver oneself or run away from
it, seems to me to be somewhat deep, and not very easy
to see one's way through. Not that I mean to deny,
Cebes, the correctness of this opinion, as f;ir as I can
see, that Gods are our guardians, and that we men are
part of the property of the Gods. You think so, don't
you ?

Oh yes, said Cebes.

Well, said he, and wouldn't you, if any of your chat
tels were to put itself to death without any indication
from you that you wished it to die, be angry with it ? and
.if you could find any means of punishment, wouldn't
you have recourse to it?

I certainly should, he replied.

Perhaps then in this point of view it is not unreason
able to say that no one has a right to kill himself, until
God has imposed upon him an absolute necessity of
some kind, like that which now lies before me.

No doubt, said Cebes, this does seem likely. How
ever, as to what you said just now, that all philosophers
would be willing and glad to die, that sounds like a para
dox, Socrates, if what 'we were just now saying is correct,
that God is our guardian, and that we are his property.
For that the wisest men should not be concerned to quit
this service wherein they are under the superintendence
of Gods, the best of all possible masters, is highly unrea
sonable. For I presume no one imagines that he can
take better care of himself when he has obtained his
freedom. A fool, no doubt, might perhaps think that it
is good for him to fly from his master, and would not

12 PLATO'S PH&DO.

reflect that it is his interest not to fly from one that is
good, but rather to use every effort to abide with him, and
so might fly from him in his folly: but the man of sense
would desire, I presume, to be attached for ever to one
who is better than himself. And yet according to this
view of the matter, Socrates, the contrary to what was
said just now seems to be true; for it is the wise that
should be reluctant to die, and the fools that should be
glad.

On hearing all this Socrates seemed to me to be
pleased with Cebes' pertinacity, and said with a glance 63
towards us, You see Cebes is always tracking some
speculation or other, and is not at all inclined to be
satisfied at once with anything that he may be told.

Here Simmias said, Well to be sure, Socrates, this
time I myself am disposed to think that there is some
thing in what Cebes alleges: for what motive could in
duce men who are really wise to fly from masters better
than themselves and lightly quit their service? And, I
imagine, it is at you that Cebes is aiming his argument,
because you are so little affected at leaving us, as well as
Gods whom you yourself own to be good rulers.

What you say is quite fair, he replied; that is, I
suppose you mean that I am to defend myself against
this charge as if I were in court,

By all means, said Simmias.

3 Come then, said he, let me try to make a more suc
cessful defence to you than I did to my judges. For
did I not think, he continued, Simmias and Cebes, that
I should go to dwell in the company not only of Gods
wise and good, but next also of men that have died better
than those here on earth, I should be wrong in not feel
ing sorry at my approaching death. But, as it is, be
assured that I trust to ioin the society not only of good

PLATO'S PILEDO. 13

men— and on this I would not so strongly insist — but
that I shall go to abide with Gods, perfectly good masters,
of all things of the kind, this, be assured, I would most
confidently maintain. ^And so this is why I am not so ,
much moved, but have aconfident hope that the dead y
hav& some existence, and_that existence, as indeed has
been maintained ever so_lpng ago, a far better one for
the good than for the bad.

What, Socrates ! said Simmias : surely you don't
mean to depart and keep this belief to yourself without
letting us share it with you ? For it seems to me that this
is a benefit in which we also are entitled to participate ;
and at the same time it will serve for your defence,
if you succeed in convincing us of the truth of what
you say.

Well, I will do my best at all events, he said. But
first let us enquire what it is that Crito there has been
so long, apparently, anxious to tell me.

Why, Socrates, merely this, said Crito; that the man
who is to administer the poison to you has been sug
gesting to me ever so long to tell you to talk as little as
possible: for he says that those that talk get too much
excited, and that no excitement of this sort should be
allowed to interfere with the action of the poison; other
wise, those who act in this way are sometimes obliged to
take two or three doses of it.

Let him alone, replied Socrates : he need only mind
his own business, and be prepared to give me two, or
even three doses, if necessary.

Nay, I knew well enough what answer you would
make, said Crito : but he has been plaguing me ever so
long.

Never mind him, he said. But to you, my judges, I
will now render my account, how it is that it seems to

14 PLATO'S PILEDO.

me reasonable that a man _who_ has really sjperitjiis. life .
Jn the pursuit of philosophy should be cheerful in the 64

near prospect of death, and have a sure hope after death

of obtaining in another world the highest blessings. In
what way then this may be true, Simmias and Cebes.
I will endeavour to explain to you.

9 For it appears that all who apply themselves to the
study of philosophy aright are, unknown to the rest of
the world, as far as depends on themselves, engaged in
nothing else than in studying the art of dying and death.
If then this be true, it would surely be absurd of them
to be striving eagerly all their lives after this alone, and _
then, when it has arrived, to feel vexed at what they had
Ijjgerrso long eager for and s'tirdyTngT

Here Simmias laughed and said, Upon my word, So
crates, you have made me laugh, though I am just now
in anything but a laughing humour. For I fancy, you
see, that the vulgar, had they heard precisely what you
have been saying, would think that it applies with perfect
truth to the philosophers; and that the people here would
be ready enough to agree that the philosophers have
quite a. passion for death, aye and that they, the people,
' know well enough that they deserve it.

Yes, and it would be quite true, Simmias ; except, at
least, when they say that they know well enough; for they
do not know in what sense genuine philosophers have
a passion for death, and in what sense they deserve
it, and what kind of death they deserve. However, let
us bid adieu to them, he continued, and discuss the
matter amongst ourselves. Do we hold death to be
anything?

Certainly we do, replied Simmias.

In fact, the separation of the soul from the bod}'?
so that the state of death is merely this, the separate

PLATO'S PIIJEDO. 15

existence of the body by itself apart from the soul, and the
separate existence of the soul by herself apart from the
body? Do you take death to be any thing else but this?

No, merely this, he said.

Well then consider, my good friend, if perchance you
and I agree in our opinions ; for I think that from what I
am going to say we shall be better able to form a judg
ment upon the subject of our investigation. Does it seem
to you to belong to the character of a philosopher to be
eager in the pursuit of what are called pleasures, such
for example as the pleasures of eating and drinking ?

Very far from it, Socrates, said Simmias.

Or again of the pleasures of sex ?

By no means.

Or again the other services of the body — think you
that such a person would hold them in esteem? For
example, the possession of splendid cloaks and shoes
and all other means of personal adornment — think you
he would value or scorn them, except so far as it is
absolutely necessary for him to meddle with them?

Scorn them, I should think, he said; at least the
genuine philosopher.

Then you think, he said, that the studies of such
a man are absolutely unconnected with the body, but
keep aloof from it as far as possible, and are directed to
the soul?

I do.

Then herein first, in such things as these, the philoso
pher beyond all other men manifests his anxiety to re- 65
lease the soul as much as possible from her connection
with the body, doesn't he ?

Plainly so.

And most people are of opinion, I fancy, Simmias,
that to a man who derives no pleasure from such things,

I" PLATO'S PlLl-'.DO.

and has no share in them, life is not worth having: but
that one who cares nothing for the enjoyments of which
the body is the vehicle, verges pretty closely upon the
state of death.

Quite true.

TO Well and what about the acquisition of wisdom itself?
Is the body an impediment or not, if a man take it with
him as an associate in his search? To illustrate my
meaning — do sight and hearing convey any certain truth
to men ? or rather, are not the very poets constantly
harping to us upon this theme, that there is nothing
accurate in what we either see or hear? However, if
these two of our bodily senses are not accurate nor to
be depended upon, it is hardly likely that the rest are;
for they are all, I presume, inferior to these. You do
think so, don't you ?

Most certainly, said he.

Then when, said the other, does the soul attain to
the truth? For whenever she attempts to pursue any
investigation in company with the body, it is plain that
then she is deluded by it.

Very true.

LIs it not then in thinking, if at all, that any real
truth becomes manifest to her?
Yes.

But she thinks, I should suppose, then best when
there is none of these accessories to annoy her, neither
hearing nor sight nor pain nor pleasure of any kind,
but when she is as much as possible alone by herself and
- bids adieu to the body, and, as far as possible free from
communication and contact with it, aspires to that
which is.
It is so.
Here then it is that the philosopher's soul most

PLATO'S PH^EDO. 17

despises the body, and flies from it, and seeks to be alone
by herself?

It appears so.

And what say you to this, Simmias? do we admit
that there is such a thing as absolute justice or not?

We do indeed.

And absolute beauty and good ?

To be sure.

CThen did you ever yet see any of such things as
these with your eyes ?

No, never, replied he.

Well, did you ever arrive at the knowledge of them
by any other of the senses which act through the body?
And I mean to include every thing, for instance great
ness, health, strength, and in a word, the reality of
everything else, that is to say, jwhat each thing really is.*
Is it by means of the body that their truest nature is-j
contemplated? or does the case stand thus — that who
ever amongst us has most completely and most exactly
prepared himself to apprehend by thought each thing
which may be the object of his investigation in its es
sence, he it is that will make the nearest approach to the \
knowledge of it ?

Undoubtedly.

And would not this purity of thought be best attained
by any one who strives to reach each thing as much as
possible with jn's intellect alone, and neither takes as an
accessory the sight in thinking, nor drags after him any
other of his senses whatever to keep company with his 66
reasoning faculty; but employs his intellect by itself in
its purity in the attempt to catch each particular being
by itself in its purity, freed as far as possible from eyes
and ears, and so to speak from all the body together,
because he thinks it only disturbs the soul and will not
c. P. 2

1 3 PLATO'S r

let her obtain possession of truth and wisdom when it is
in communication with her? Is not this he, Simmias,
who, if any, will attain to the reality of things ?

.What you say is all admirably true, Socrates, said
Simmias.

1 1 Well then, he continued, from all that I have said,
some such notion as this cannot fail to present itself to
the minds of all genuine philosophers, and lead them to
use language like this to each other: It seems, to be sure,
that it is only a sort of by-way that can bring us to the
end of our journey in company with our reason in our
inquiries ; in so far that, as long as we have our body,
and our soul is blended in a confused mass with a nui
sance such as that, we never can fully attain to the object
of our desires : by which we mean truth. For infinite are
the businesses in which the body involves us from the
necessity of providing for its support, — besides which, if
ever we are attacked by diseases of any kind, these throw
impediments in the way of our chace after what really
exists — and it fills us with desires and passions and terrors
and vain imaginations of all kinds and a host of frivoli
ties, so that in very truth it never allows us even 'to think
at all' of anything, as the phrase is. For in fact wars and
seditions and battles are entailed upon us by nothing in
the world but the body and its passions. For it is by the
"pTtrsttit-of_iYealth and -power that all our wars are engen
dered, and this wealth and power we are forced to seek
for the body's sake, because we are enslaved to its service :
a_nd so it comes to pass that we have no leisure for the
pursuit of philosophy in consequence of air this." And
last and worst of all, if ever we do obtain any leisure
from its exactions and apply ourselves to any course of
reflection, in the very midst of our researches again at
every moment it interrupts us, creating tumult and dis-

PLATO'S PH^EDO. 19

turbance, and gives us such a shock that we are prevented
by it from obtaining a clear view of the truth, but in fact
it is made quite plain to us that, if we are ever to gain
untroubled knowledge of anything, we must get rid of it,
and with the soul by itself look at things in themselves ;
and then, as it seems, we shall have what we desire and
profess a love for, viz. wisdom, after death, as nnr argu
ment indicates, but not n.s lon^ as we live. For if it is
impossible to attain to pure knowledge while we are asso
ciated with the body, one of two things must follow;
either we can nowhere at all acquire it, or only after
death: for then the soul will be by herself separated from 67
the body, but not before. And during our lifetime we
shall in this way, I think, make the nearest approach to
knowledge, if we abstain as far as possible from inter
course and communication with the body — except so far
as is absolutely necessary — and preserve ourselves from
infection by its nature, keeping ourselves instead clear of
it until God himself has set us free. And so, released
unsullied from the vanity of the body, we shall dwell in
all likelihood with beings like ourselves, and shall know
by our own selves all that is pure; and this is, it is to be
presumed, the truth. For that the impure ever attain to
the pure is, I fear, unlawful. Such, I imagine, Simmias,
must needs be the kind of language held amongst them
selves and opinions entertained by all real lovers of
learning. You agree with me, don't you ? «^

Most completely, Socrates.

1 2 Well then, my friend, continued Socrates, if this be
true, there is abundant reason for hope that, on my
arrival at the country for which I am now setting forth,
I may there be able, if it be anywhere possible, fully
to obtain possession of that to which the long study of
my past life has been directed ; so that the journey

2 — 2

20 PLATO'S riL-EDO.

which is now enforced upon me is made with a good
cheer by me or by anyone else who thinks that his
mind has been prepared as it were by a process of
purification.

Undoubtedly, said Simmias.

And may we not consider purification to be. what
has been long indicated in the course of our discussion,
the most complete attainable separation of the soul from
the body and habituation of it to collect and concentrate
itself by itself from all quarters out of the body, and to
dwell _as far as possible both in the time now present
and in the future alone by itself, released from the body
as from a prison?

Certainly, he said.

This then is what is called death, a release and sepa
ration of soul from body?

Yes, unquestionably, said he.

And the true philosophers, as we say, and they alone,
are ever most earnest to release it, and the study of
philosophers is neither more nor less than this, the re
lease and separation of soul from body, is it not ?

It seems so.

Well then, as I said at first, it would be ridiculous

for a man first to prepare himself during his life to live"

/ in a state bordering as closely as possible on death, and

then when it has come upon him to complain, would

it not?

Of course.

In fact then, Simmias, continued he, _true rjhiloso-
phers do^ practise dying, and death is to them of all men
least terrible. Consider the question from this point of
view. Assuming that there is a complete rupture between
them and their body, and that they do desire to have
their soul all by itself, if when this actually happens they

J'LATCfS PHsEDO. 21

were to be alarmed and indignant, would it not be most
unreasonable not to be glad to go to the place where
on their arrival they may hope to obtain what they were 68
in love with all through their life — which is, as we saw,
wisdom — and to_get entirely rid of the association of
that which had become so odious to them ? Or, whilst
very many men upon the death of human loves and
wives and children chose of their own free will to
descend to the realms below, allured by this hope of
beholding there those they longed for, and being in
their company, is it likely that one who has a genuine
love of wisdom and has taken a firm hold of this same
expectation, that he will nowhere else meet with it in
any degree worth mentioning than in the other world,
should be vexed at dying, and not rather glad to go
there ? Surely he must think so, my friend, if at least
he be indeed a philosopher — he will be strongly per
suaded of this, that he will find pure wisdom nowhere
but there. And if this be so, as I was just now saying,
would it not be great folly for such a man to be afraid
of death ?

Great indeed, upon my word, said he.

1 3 Here then, he proceeded, you have a sufficient token
of any one that you ever see afflicted at the approach of
death, that he was not after all a lover of wisdom but
a mere lover of his body. And this very same man is
most likely a lover of wealth or a lover of honour, either
one of them, or even both.

Yes, it is exactly as you say, he replied.

Then, Simmias, he went on, is not what is called
fortitude also natural to men of this temper more than
to any others ?

Quite so.

Well and temperance again, — that which even the

22 PLATO'S PHJEDO.

vulgar call temperance, not to be thrown into a Butter
by the passions, but to preserve an indifferent and sober
demeanour, — is it not natural to those alone who are
most scornfully indifferent to the body and pass -their
lives in philosophy ?

It must be, he said.

Yes, for if you will notice, said he, the fortitude
and temperance of all others, you will think them- very
odd.

How so, Socrates ?

You know, said he, that all the rest of mankind reckon
death to be one of the great evils of our condition ?

Certainly, I do.

And so it is from fear of greater evils that the
brave amongst them support death, when they do sup
port it ?

It is so.

It follows then that all but philosophers are
courageous only because they are afraid and from fear ?
Yet it is an odd thing for a man to be brave out of fear
and cowardice ?

It is, no doubt.

Again, is not the case exactly the same with their
sober characters? Are they not temperate from a sort
of intemperance ? And yet, though we should be dis
posed to say that it is impossible, still their case in
respect of this foolish kind of temperance does come
to bear a close resemblance to this : for from mere fear
of being deprived of one kind of pleasures and from
desire of them, they abstain from some whilst they are
under the dominion of others. However, to be under
the empire of pleasures people call intemperance, and yet 69
at the same time they succeed in mastering some plea
sures just because they are mastered by others: and this

PL AT as PHJEDO. 23

is like what was said just now, that in a sort of way they
are made temperate by intemperance.

It certainly seems so.

My dear friend, I fear this is not the true exchange
towards the acquisition of virtue, to change pleasures
against pleasures, and pains against pains, and fear
against fear, and greater against less, like so many coins:
but I am rather inclined to think that this alone is the
true coin for which we must exchange all these things,
viz. wisdom, and that all that is bought and sold for this
and with this — that and that alone is in reality, whether
it be fortitude or temperance or justice; and in a_word
that true virtue only exists when accompanied by wisdom.

whetKer pleasnfes and fears and all the resti

be thrown in or withdrawn : whereas, separated from wis
dom and exchanged one against another, such virtue as this,
I am afraid, is a mere rough sketch and really servile, with
no soundness nor genuineness about it; whilst the reality
of it is in fact a sort of cleansing from all such things,
and true temperance and justice and fortitude and wis
dom itself is a kind of purificatory rite. And indeed
those famous men who established the mysteries amongst
us seem to have been no mean thinkers, but in reality
to have been from the earliest times darkly hinting to us
that whosoever reaches the world below uninitiated and
unsanctified shall lie wallowing in mire, whilst h^that
jias_been purified and sanctified shall on his arrival there ~~ t^*>
dwelT with" GoctS For there are, you know, say the
rrunisters~bf thlTrnysteries, ' many that bear the thyrsus,
but few bacchanals ' : and these last are according to my
views no other than the true votaries of philosophy. And
to become one of them I too during my life spared no
effort, but used all diligence in every way: but whether
I was right in so doing, and whether I have in any

24 PLATO'S PIIsEDO.

measure succeeded, we shall know for certain by and
bye, when we have arrived at our journey's end, if it
be God's will, as I think. Such then, he concluded,
Simmias and Cebes, is the defence I set up to show you
that it is with reason that I feel no grief nor indignation
at quitting you and my earthly masters, thinking as I do
that there also no less than here on earth I shall find
good masters and friends; though the vulgar are incre
dulous. So if I have succeeded better in convincing
_\ you by my defence than my Athenian judges, it is well.
14 So when Socrates had ended, Cebes took up the
discourse and said : Socrates, all the rest of what you
have said is in my judgment admirable, but as to the
soul mankind are apt to feel a deep distrust that after 70
its departure from the body it may no longer exist any
where, but be destroyed and perish on the very day of a
man's death, — lest, I say, at the very instant of its being
released from and quitting the body it may be dispersed,
be dissolved, and vanish, like a breath or smoke, and
be nowhere any more : for, were it to exist anywhere
collected by itself and set free from all those ills which
you just now enumerated, there would be indeed a strong
and fair hope, Socrates, that all that you say is true.
But it is precisely this that requires, I am inclined to
think, no slight persuasion and assurance, that the soul
does exist after the man is dead, and preserves any of
its faculties or its reason.

True, Cebes, said Socrates: but what then are we to
do? Would you have us enter upon a detailed discus-
sion of this obscure question itself, whether it is probable
that it is so or not ?

Certainly, speaking for myself, said Cebes, I should
be very glad to hear your opinion upon it.

Well, said Socrates, I don't think anyone would say

PLATO'S PHALDO. 25

now if he heard me, not even if he were a comic poet,
that I am chattering and conversing on things which
don't concern us. So, if you please, we'll go through the
enquiry.

1 5 And let us pursue it in some such way as the follow
ing, the enquiry, that is to say, whether the souls of men
after their death exist in the world below, or not. Now
there is an old tradition which I remember to this effect,
that after their departure from this world they are in
the other, and then return to this earth and arise from
the dead. And if this be so, that the living rise again
from the dead, must not our souls necessarily exist
there below? for surely they never could have returned
to life if they had no existence; and this would be a
sufficient proof of its being as we say, if it were really
to be made evident that the living derive their origin
from no other source than from the dead. But if
this is not so, the doctrine will require some other
evidence.

No doubt, said Simmias.

/•O Then, said he, if you want to take the easiest method
of gaining a knowledge of it, don't confine your atten
tion to the human race, but, taking in the whole animal
and vegetable kingdoms, and, in a word, everything which
is subject to the condition of birth, let us consider whe
ther everything is thus generated, that is from no other
origin than opposites from their opposites — all those, I
mean, that have anything of the sort ; as for example
the fair is opposite, I suppose, to the foul, and just to
unjust, and so on through an infinity of other cases.
Let this then be the subject of our enquiry, whether it
be necessary that everything that has any opposite
derive its origin from nothing else than from that
which is opposite to it. For instance, whenever anything

26 PLATO'S PIL'EDO.

becomes greater, I suppose that it must first have
been less, and then out of that become greater ?

Yes.

Well and if it become less, it must be greater first,
and thence afterwards become less ? 7 r

As you say, replied he.

And further, from stronger the weaker must be gene
rated, and from slower the faster?

Yes, certainly.

And again, if a thing becomes worse, is it not from
better, and if juster, from more unjust?

Of course it is.

J Are we then quite satisfied of this, said he, that all

things are produced in this way, viz. from opposites the
opposite things ?

Yes, quite.

And again, is there in them also something like a
pair of generations between both members of each pair
of opposites, from the one to the other, and back again
from the latter to the former? is there not, that is to say,
between a greater thing and a less, growth and decline,
and don't we give them these names, growing to the
one, and declining to the other?
'Yes, he said.

Well and separation and composition, and cold and
hot, and so on for all the rest — even if we do not em
ploy the names sometimes, still in reality at any rate it
\ must be so in every case, that they take their origin one
from the other, and that there is a generation from each
of the two into the other reciprocally ?

Precisely so, said he.

1 6 Well, continued he, has living any opposite, as the
state of sleeping is to that of waking?

No doubt of it, he replied.

PLATO'S PILED 0. 27

What?

Death, said the other.

Well, are these born one from the other, since they
are opposites, and are the generations between them two
like themselves?

Of course they must be.

Then the one pair of those which I just now men
tioned, I will name to you, said Socrates, itself and its
generations; and do you tell me the other. The one
which I mean is sleeping and being awake, and I main
tain that from sleep the state of being awake is generated,
and from being awake the state of sleep, and that their
generations are in the one case going to sleep, and in
the other awaking. Are you satisfied with my explana
tion or not ?

Quite.

Then tell me in your turn, he said, in the same way
about life and death. Don't yo_u say that death is oppo
site to life?

Certainly I do.

And that they are generated one from the other?

Yes.

What then is that which is generated from the living?

The dead, he replied.

And again, said he, what from the dead?

The living, it must be admitted, he said.

Then it is from the dead, Cebes, that the living, per
sons as well as things, are generated ?

It appears so, he said.

Then, said the other, our souls exist in the lower world.

So it seems.

Well and of the two generations that belong to these
the one is plain enough: for death is a tolerably certain
fact, isn 't it ?

28 PLATO'S PIL-EDO.

No doubt of it, he said.

What shall we do then? said he. Shall \ve refuse to
assign the opposite generation to correspond, and sup
pose nature to remain mutilated on this side? Are we
not rather obliged to balance dying by some opposite
generation?

Absolutely, I should say, said he.

What is that ?

Coming back to life.

Well then, said he, if there be such a thing as coming
back to life, it must be a generation from the dead into
the living, this same coming back to life? 72

Just so.

Then we are brought by this process of reasoning
again to the conclusion that the living are_jj;enerated
from the dead lust as much as the dead from the living:
and if this be so, we thought it, I believe, .^ffiri'ent
evidence of the necessary existence, of the souls of the
dead in some p1fire_or other from which they might_be
born bark into lifp ?

I suppose, Socrates, he replied, that this is a neces
sary consequence of our former conclusions.

Then, said he, Cebes, let the following considerations
convince you that we have not arrived at those conclu
sions in any unfair way, as it seems to me. For if there
were not a perpetual correspondence between the two
in generation, just as if they revolved in a circle, but
the generation were forwards in a straight line as it were,
only from the one to its opposite, and did not bend
back its course to the other nor make a return, you know
that all things at last would be reduced to the same form,
and find themselves in the same condition, and cease
to be born altogether.

Plow do you mean ? he said.

PLATO'S PHJEDO. 29

There is no difficulty, said he, in understanding what
I say; but to take an instance, if there were such a
thing as going to sleep without any corresponding waking
again generated from that which is asleep, you know
that at last universal nature would make the famous
Endymion a mere farce, and he would be quite eclipsed,
because everything else would be in the same state as
himself, asleep. And if all things were to be mixed to
gether and never separated, the saying of Anaxagoras
would soon be brought about, ' all things together.'
And so also in the same way, my

thing were to die whichjwa§_en d Q_w^d_wii±L_Iii£^_aiid
their death 4h^--d€ad__tl"ungs were to__r£main in this_
shape and nevfircome back to life, jgn't it absolutely
necessary that everything should be at last dead, and
nothing alive? For if all living~things were to be gene
rated out of all the rest, and the living were to die, what
remedy could possibly be found to prevent everything
being swallowed up in death?

• None whatever, I believe, Socrates, replied Cebes; on
the contrary what you say seems to me infallibly true.

Yes, Cebes, said he, and so it is in my judgment most
surely as I say; and we have not been cheated into
these particular1 admissions; but the return to life is a >>
real fact, and so it is that the living are born from the /
dead, and that the souls of the dead do exist, and that L
there is a better fate in store for those that are good and \
for the bad a worse.

1 8 """"""And besides, said Cebes taking up the argument,
according to that doctrine too, Socrates, if it be true,
which you are so often accustomed to lay down, that
our learning is nothing but recollection, it would follow,

1 O.VTOL TctCra. Heindorf would prefer a.v ravra, and so should I.

3° PLATO'S

I should suppose, necessarily from that too, that we
have learnt at some earlier time what we now recollect ;
but that is impossible, unless our soul was existing some
where before it was enclosed in this human form: so 73
that thus too the soul seems to be an immortal thing.

But, Cebes, said Simmias here breaking in, what
are the proofs of this ? Refresh my memory ; for I
have no very accurate remembrance of them just at
present.

One argument, replied Cebes, the strongest of all,
is that men, when questions are put to them, provided
they are put adroitly, give of themselves an accurate ac
count of anything, whereas if they had not within them
a scientific knowledge and true theory, they would never
be able to do it: and then1 if anyone be set before
geometrical figures or anything else of that sort, he there
upon most clearly shews the truth of this.

But if you are not convinced in this way, Simmias,
said Socrates, see if you may be brought to agree by
considerations of the following kind : for your doubt, I
suppose, is as to how what is called learning can be
recollection ?

No, said Simmias, /don't doubt it at all; but I want
to be brought into precisely the state which is the subject
of our discourse, viz. recollection: indeed from the ex
planation that Cebes undertook to give I am already
pretty well reminded and convinced: however I should
not be at all less glad to hear from you now in what
way you undertook to represent it.

In this way, /, said he. We are ready to admit, no
doubt, that, if anyone is to recollect anything, he must
have known it before at some time or other.

1 ZireiTCi. See Rtallbaum : but is not Ileindorfs tirei TOI ('for to
be sure') preferable?

PLAT 0S PHMDO. 31

Yes, certainly, he said.

Well, do we allow this too, that, whenever knowledge
presents itself in a manner such as I am about to de
scribe, .it is recollection? I mean in some such manner
as the following. Suppose a person, after having seen
or heard something first or perceived it by any other
sense, not only to know that, but also to have an impres
sion in his mind of something else, the knowledge of
which is not the same but different, may we not fairly
say that he recollected that of which he received the
mental impression?

How do you mean?

For example, such cases as the following : the know
ledge of a man and the knowledge of a lyre are distinct,
I presume?

Of course.

Well, you know that lovers, whenever they catch
sight of a lyre or a cloak or anything else which their
favorites are in the habit of using, experience this : they
recognise the lyre and at the same time receive in their
minds the image of the youth to whom the lyre belonged ;
which is recollection : just as a man by seeing Simmias is
often reminded of Cebes, and so on doubtless in an in
finite number of other cases of the same kind.

Infinite indeed, by Zeus, replied Simmias.

Well, said he, is not such a case as that a kind of

recollection? especially however when this happens to a

person in the case of such things as had been already

effaced from his memory by time and want of attention ?

-^ Undoubtedly, he said.

/ Again, said he, is it possible for any one to recall to
mind a man by seeing a picture of a horse or a picture of
a lyre? or by seeing a portrait of Simmias to remember
Cebes?

32 PLATO'S PIIsEDO.

Certainly it is.

Or again, by seeing a portrait of Simmias to call Sim-
mias himself to mind ?

It is, no doubt, he said.

10 Does it not then happen in all these cases that recol
lection is derived at one time from similnr ,-md nt nnnfher
from dissimilar things?

It does.

But whenever any particular recollection is suggested
to any one by similar objects, must not this further phe
nomenon present itself, the perception, namely, whether
or not this in any respect falls short, in point of resem
blance, of the thing which he remembers?

It must, he said.

Consider then, said he, whether this be so. We
allow, I believe, that there is such a thing as 'equal'.
I don't mean stick to stick, or stone to stone, or any
thing else of that kind, but beyond all these something
I else, absolute equality : are we to admit that it is any
thing onTotHng ?

'Faith, said Simmias, let us admit it by all means,
most emphatically.

Do we also know it absolutely ?

Yes, certainly, said he.

And where did we get our knowledge of it ? Wasn't
it from the things we were mentioning just now, from
the sight of sticks or stones or any other equal things
— was it not from them that we obtained the other con
ception, distinct as it is from them? You think it is
distinct, don't you? Look at it again in this way. Does
it not sometimes happen that equal stones and sticks,
though they remain the same, appear at one time equal,
and at another the contrary?

Unquestionably it does.

PLATO'S PHMDO. 33

Well, did the absolute equals1 ever appear to you un
equal? or equality inequality?

No, never, Socrates.

Then, said he, those equal things which we spoke of
just now are not the same as equality itself.

Not at all, according to my view, Socrates.

But still from those equals, he said, distinct as they
are from the other equal, you nevertheless have con
ceived and obtained the knowledge of it ?

Most true, he replied.

And that, whether it resemble them or the reverse?

Quite so.

And that makes no difference, said he. Whenever2
by seeing one thing you obtain from this sight the con
ception of another, whether like or unlike, it must of
necessity have been, he said, an act of recollection.

No doubt of it.

What say you to this then? said he. Have we any
such feeling as this about the equalities in bits of wood
and those equal things that we were just now speaking of?
Do they seem to us to be equal in the same sense as the
very, absolute equal, or do they at all fall short of that,
in that they are not of the same nature3 as the equal,
or not ?

Indeed, he said, they do fall very far short of it.

So then, whenever a person in seeing a thing per-

1 avra TO. l'<ro. The idea of equality as it appears manifested in
all equal objects.

2 e'ws &v. So several of the best MSS. See Stallbaum. The
Zurich editors read e'ws yap &v.

3 r<£ fj,rj TOLOVTOV elf at, K.T.\. Cf. Heindorf, who thinks the
phrase an intolerable tautology. If this be so, read simply TOV for
T(p, retaining /tij as a redundant negative after eVoet. These words
will then be an epexegesis

C. P.

34 PLATO'S PIIsKDO.

ceives that this, for instance, which I now have before
my eyes means to be like something else existing, but
falls short of it, and cannot attain to the nature of the
other, but is inferior, we must admit, I think, that the
person who perceives this must necessarily have had
some previous knowledge of that which he says it re
sembles though it does not come up to it ?

We must.

Well then, is this the case also with ourselves, or not,
in respect of equals and absolute equality?

Certainly.

It follows then that we must have had a previous
knowledge of the equal, before that time when we first 75
saw equal things and perceived that all of them aspire
to be of the same nature as the equal but cannot
reach it.

It is so.

And further we acknowledge this also, that we have
not obtained, and it was not possible for us to obtain,
the conception of it from any other source except from
the sight or touch or some other of the senses ; for I say
the same of all of them.

Why, the cases are the same, Socrates, as far as .
regards that which our argument would show.

But, be that as it may, it is from the senses that we
must obtain the conception that every thing in the domain
of sense strives after that absolute equality, though it
falls short of it. Or, if not, what is our view of the
question ?

As you say.

Consequently, before we began to use our sight and
hearing and the rest of our senses we must have obtained
somewhere a knowledge of the nature of the absolutely
equal to enable us, in referring the equals which we

PLATO'S PIIsEDO. 35

gather from our senses to it, to see that they are all
eager to be such as the other, but yet are inferior to it.

It follows necessarily from our previous statements,
Socrates.

Well, were we from the very moment of our birth
in possession of sight and hearing and all the rest of
our senses ?

Yes, certainly.

And yet we say that we must have obtained the
knowledge of the equal antecedently ?

We do.

Then, as it appears, we must have obtained it before
we were born ?

It seems so.

2O So then if we obtained this knowledge before our
birth and so were born with it in our possession, we had
i also before we were born and from the moment of our
birth the knowledge not only of the equal and the greater
and the less, but of the whole number of things of that
kind? for our argument now does not turn upon the
equal any more than upon the absolutely beautiful and
the absolutely good and just and holy, and, as I say,
upon every thing which we stamp with this impression,
reality, in our questions when we question, and in our
answers when we answer. So that we must needs have
gained the knowledge of each of them previous to our birth.

It is so.

And had we not each in his own case forgotten what
we had gained, we should have been constantly born
with this knowledge and have constantly preserved it
throughout our life: for to know is this, ...first,, to obtain
re knowledge of a tiling and ''tEen'to keep it without

ving loot iti This is what we caU-^orgetfulness, isn't

It7Simmias, the loss of knowledge?

3—2

36 PLATO'S PH. -EDO..

To be sure it is, precisely, Socrates, said he.

Yes, and if it be true, I should think, that, having
obtained it before we were born, we lost it at our birth,
and that wre then afterwards, by employing our senses
upon such things as those1, recover that knowledge
which we once had in a former state, wrould not what we
call learning be the recovery of our own knowledge?
and should we not in calling this recollection give it its
right name ?

Yes, certainly.

For this, you know, we found to be possible, for a 76
man, after he has received an impression of something
either by sight or by hearing or by any other of his
senses, to derive from this a conception of something
different that he had forgotten, with which this was
associated, whether unlike or like. Wherefore, as I say,
one of. two things, either we are born with the know
ledge of them and all retain that knowledge through
our life, or subsequently to birth, those who learn, as
we call it, — they do nothing but recall to mind, and so
learning would be recollection.

It must be so, beyond all doubt, Socrates.
21 Then which of the two do you choose, Simmias?
:hat we are born with the knowledge, or that we recall
'' to mind afterwards that of which we had gained the
knowledge before?

I can't tell which to choose yet, Socrates.

Well then, can you make choice in this case, or
what is your opinion about it — can a man that has
knowledge give a rational account of the subjects in
which his knowledge lies, or not ?

Of course he can, Socrates, he said.

1 Socrates points to the objects before him.

PLATO'S FILLED 0. 37

Do you think also that every body is able to give
an explanation of these things of which we were just
now speaking ?

Indeed I wish they could, said Simmias : but on the
contrary I am much more disposed to fear that to
morrow at this time there will be no longer any man
alive capable of doing it as it ought to be done.

So then, said he, it is not your opinion, Simmias, that
all men have the knowledge of them?

Assuredly not.

Then they recollect what they learnt at some time
or other ?

It must be so.

And when did our souls acquire the knowledge of
them ? For it certainly is not since we were born men.

No, indeed.

Then it was at some former time ?

Yes.

Then our souls were existing likewise, Simmias, at an
earlier time, ere they were enclosed in a human form,
apart from their bodies, and were endowed with thought ?

Unless perchance, Socrates, we acquire this know
ledge at the very moment of our birth : for this period
is still left.

Be it so, my friend : but at what other time do we
lose it ? For surely we are not born in possession of it,
as we just now admitted. Or do we lose it at the very
time at which we also acquire it ? Or can you name any
other time ?

None whatever, Socrates; but I didn't perceive that
I was talking nonsense.

2 2 Then, said he, is it thus with us, Simmias ? If the
things really exist which we have constantly in our
mouths, beautiful, and good, and all reality of this kind,

38 PLATES PIIJEDO.

and if we refer all the impressions of our senses to this
latter, as a thing that had been once ours and which
we rediscover to be in our possession, and bring them
into comparison with it, it follows of necessity that in
the same way in which these things exist, so also does
our soul exist even before we are born: but if these
things have no real existence, this argument of ours
would have been thrown away ? Is it indeed so, and is
it just as certain that our souls exist as that these things
exist, even before we were born, and if not the one,
then not the other either?

It seems to me beyond all question, Socrates, said
Simmias, that there is the same certainty, and it is well
that our discussion has run for shelter to so safe a har
bour as this equal assurance of the existence of our soul 77
previous to our birth and of the existence of the abso
lute being which you even now refer to. For for my
own part I could not name any thing which is so evident
to me as this, that all such things exist in the highest
sense of the word, viz. beautiful and good and all the
rest which you mentioned just now: and for me the
demonstration which has been given is sufficient.

But how is it then with Cebes ? said Socrates. For
Cebes too must be convinced.

It must be sufficient for him, I should think, said
Simmias : although of all mankind he is the most per
tinacious sceptic as to arguments. Nevertheless I think
he must be by this time sufficiently convinced of this,
that our soul was in existence before we were born.
23 However, I don't think myself, Socrates, he con
tinued, that it has been shown whether it will have a con
tinued existence also after our death, but there is still
an objection derived from that apprehension of the
vulgar which Cebes just now alluded to, that the soul

PLATO'S PH&DO. 39

at the very instant of the man's death is scattered to
the winds, and that this is an end of its existence. For
admitting that it derives its origin and its composition
from some other source and has existence before it
reached a human body, what is to prevent it, when after
having arrived there it takes its departure from it,
coming to an end itself at the same time and being
destroyed ?

Well said, Simmias, added Cebes : for it does seem
that only half, as one may say, of the demonstration
which we require has been given, that, namely, our soul
was in existence previous to our birth: but we want to
prove besides that it will exist after our death no less
than before our birth, if our demonstration is to be
complete.

You will find, Simmias and Cebes, replied Socrates,
that it has been proved already, if you will combine this_
argument with our previous conclusion, that every thing
living derives its origin from the dead. For if our soul
v. does exist in a previous state, whilst on entering into
life and being born it can be generated only out of death
and the state of the dead, how can it possibly fail to
exist after death too, since it has to be borri again f
Nay, the thing you speak of has been proved already.
24 But still I fancy that you and Simmias would be glad
to push this discussion too still further, and that you are
haunted with that childish apprehension that the wind
will literally blow it to pieces and disperse it as it issues
from the body, especially whenever it happens that a
man dies not in a calm, but in a high wind.

To which Cebes replied, laughing at the conceit,
Suppose that we are, Socrates, and try to convince us :
or rather you need not suppose that we are frightened
ourselves, but there is perhaps a kind of child within

4° PLATO'S PHsEDO.

us that is subject to such apprehensions. Him then let
us try to persuade not to be frightened at death as at
those frightful masks.

Well, said Socrates, you must apply a charm to it
every day until you have succeeded in charming it.

But where, said he, shall we find a charmer skilful 78
enough for our purpose, Socrates, now that you are leav
ing us ?

Greece is wide, said he, Cebes, wherein doubtless
good men are to be found, and many also are the tribes
of the barbarians, all of whom it is your duty to search
through in quest of such a charmer, and to spare neither
money nor toil, for there is nothing on which you can lay
out money to better purpose. And you must seek also
yourselves in discussion with one another : for I dare
say it may not be easy either to find persons better quali
fied for the task than you are.

Nay, this shall certainly be done, said Cebes: but
now let us return to the point where we left off, if you
have no objection.

Oh certainly, I have no objection. Why should I
have any ?

Thank you, replied he.

25 Well then, said Socrates, the question we must ask
ourselves is something of this kind: what sort of thing
that is whose nature it is to be subject to this accident,
viz. dispersion; and what sort of thing that is for which
we need feel any fear of its being subject to it, and the
reverse? And after this again we must review the ques
tion to which of the two classes soul is to be referred,
and thence derive either confidence or apprehension
about our own soul.

True, said he.

Then is it not the compounded and that which has

J

PLATO'S PHsEDO. 41

a composite nature that is liable to this accident, to be
dissolved, that is, in the same way in which it was put
together: but if there be any thing uncompounded, does
it not belong to this alone of all possible things to be
exempt from such an accident ?

I should think it must be so, said Cebes.

Well, the things that are always in the. same state
and wear the same aspect, — is it not most likely that these
are the uncompounded? and those that are different at
different times and never in the same state, — that these,
I say, are the composite ?

/should think so.

Then let us pass, he proceeded, to those same things
with which we were engaged in the former part of our ar
gument. The Being in itself which in our questions and
answers we characterise as real existence, — is that always
in the same s.tate and with the same aspect, or different
at different times ? Absolute equality, absolute beauty, \
absolute every thing which is, — do these ever admit
change of any kind whatever ? or does each of them
of which we predicate real existence, uniform in its pure
simplicity, constantly preserve the same aspect and con
dition and never in any way on any occasion whatever
admit any variation ?

They must needs be constant and permanent in their
nature, Socrates, said Cebes.

But what of the many beautiful things, men for in
stance, or horses, or clothes, or any other whatever of
the same kind, whether equal, or beautiful, or all that
bear the same name with the ideas? Are they perma
nent in their condition? or, just the reverse of the
others, do they never, as one may say, at all preserve
any constancy, either in themselves or in their relations
to one another ?

42 PLATO'S PIL-EDO.

You are right again, said Cebes: they are never the

same.

j Well, these latter you may touch, or see, or apprehend 79
by. the rest of your senses, may you not? whilst the
permanent and immutable you can never lay hold of by
any other instrument than the reasoning of the intellect ;
but all such things are invisible and beyond the reach
of sight?

What you say is exactly true, said he.

26 Then let us assume, if you please, continued the
other, two kinds of existing things, one visible and the
other invisible.

Very well, said he.

r And the invisible constant and immutable, but the
I visible subject to perpetual change.

This again let us assume.

Come then, said he, as to ourselves, are we not made
up of body and soul?

There is nothing else, he replied.

Then to which of the two kinds should we say that
the body bears the greater resemblance and is the more
nearly akin?

Oh that must be quite obvious to every one, he
replied; to the visible.

And the soul again — is it visible or invisible ?

Not visible to the eyes of men at least, Socrates, he
said.

But of course when we said visible and the contrary,
we meant to the human constitution? You don't suppose
it was to any other, do you ?

No, to that of men.

Then what do we say about soul, that it is visible or
.not visible ?

Not visible.

PLATO'S PH.3LDO. 43

Then it is invisible?

Yes.

Consequently soul bears a nearer resemblance than*""|
' body to the invisible, but the latter to the visible.

Quite necessary, Socrates.

27 Well, and were we not saying ever so long ago that
the soul, whenever it employs the body as an assistant
in the investigation of any subject through the medium
either of the sight or of the hearing or of any other
sense — for that is what we mean by through the medium
of the body, to employ the senses in the investigation
of a thing — that then she is dragged by the body into
the sphere of the ever-changing, and goes astray herself,*,
and becomes confused and dizzy as if she were intoxi
cated, inasmuch as she is trying to lay hold of things of I
the same kind?

We certainly were saying so.

But whenever she contemplates anything by herself,"
she is gone at once into that region, to the pure and
eternal and deathless and unchangeable, and from the
affinity of her nature converses ever with that, whenever,
that is, she can isolate herself and thus has the power
of doing so, and then she rests from her wanderings,
and in association with it is herself ever constant and
unchangeable, seeing that she is laying hold upon things
of a like sort; and is not this state of hers called
thought ?

Most nobly and truly spoken, Socrates, said he.

Then to which of the two kinds, let me ask you
again, taking into consideration our former conclusions
as well as our present ones, do you think the soul
bears a greater resemblance, and to which is it nearer
akin ?

I suppose, Socrates, said he, any one, even the most

:\

44 PLATO'S PIL-EDO.

stupid, would be forced by the method of demonstration
that you have pursued to admit that wholly and entirely
soul is more like that which is ever the same than that
which is not.

And the body again ?

More like the other.

28 And now look at the thing again in this point of
view, that, namely, so long as soul and body are to
gether, nature dictates to the one servitude and subjec- 80
tion, and to the other dominion and mastery: and in
this respect again, which of the two appears to you
to resemble the divine, and which the mortal? You
think, don't you, that the divine is endowed with a
nature formed for dominion and authority, and the mortal
for subjection and servitude?

Oh yes, I do.

Which of the two then does the soul resemble?

It is quite plain, Socrates, that the soul resembles
the divine, and the body the mortal.

Then consider, Cebes, said he, whether from all that
has been said we obtain this result, that soul is most
like the divine and immortal and intelligible1 and uni
form and indissoluble and that which is ever invariably
consistent with itself, and that body again most resembles
what is human and mortal and unintelligible and multi
form and dissoluble and never consistent with itself.
Have we any thing else to say on the other side, my
dear Cebes, in contradiction of it ?

1 i>of]T$. Schleiermacher (after Olympiodorus) translates ' ver-
niinftig.' I think with Ast that this is wrong. The opposition of
6paT6i>, which is applied throughout to the body, shows that vor^rbv
is to be understood in its usual sense. Hence avi^Tos (infra) either
is employed unusually as the direct opposite of vorjrbs, or bears the
double meaning of ' unintelligible ' and ' unintelligent.'

PLATO'S PII^DO. 45

Nothing whatever.

29 Well then, if this be so, is it not the nature of body
to be quickly dissolved, but of soul on the contrary to
be altogether indissoluble or nearly so?

No doubt it is.

And you observe, he continued, that after the man is
dead, his body, the visible part of him, placed in the
sphere of the visible — which, you know, we call a corpse
• — whose nature it is to be dissolved and to fall in pieces
and to be dispersed in air, does not at once undergo any
of these things, but is preserved a tolerably long time;
if a man die with his body in a vigorous state and at a
vigorous period of his life, a very considerable time in
deed. For the body, when it has settled and been
embalmed like those Egyptian mummies, remains nearly
whole an incredible length of time. Nay, some parts
of the body, even after it has rotted away, bones and
sinews and all such parts, are nevertheless, so to speak,
immortal : is it not so ?

Yes.

But must the soul then, the invisible which flies at
once to a place like itself, noble and pure and invisible,
Hades in very truth so called, to dwell with the good
and wise God, whither if it be God's will my own soul
must shortly go, — must she, I say, being such as she is
and so endowed by nature, on her departure from the
body be at once scattered to the winds and perish, as
the vulgar tell us ? No, far from it, my dear Cebes and
Simmias, but rather, far rather is the case thus: if she
leave the body pure, dragging nought of it after her,
as indeed during her lifetime she never with her good
will had any communication with it, but avoided it and
concentrated herself in herself, inasmuch, I say, as she
was constantly practising this — and this is exactly what

46 PLATO S PII^EDO.

a truly philosophic soul is, and one that really studies
the art of taking death easily — this is the practice of 81
death, isn't it ?

Yes, quite so.

Well, as I say, if she be in this condition, she departs
to what is like herself, the invisible, the divine and
deathless and wise; and arrived there she enjoys a happy
lot, released from error and folly and fears and wild
passions and all the rest of human ills; and, as is said
of the initiated, passes in reality the rest of her exist
ence with the gods. Is this to be our opinion, Cebes,
or otherwise?
30 This, assuredly, said Cebes.

But, I suppose, if she take her departure from the
body polluted and impure, which is likely, because she
has been so constantly connected with it, and has waited
on it and loved it, and has been so bewitched by it, I
mean by its passions and its pleasures, that nothing
seemed true to her but the corporeal, that is, what one
may touch and see and drink and eat and use for one's
lusts; whilst that which is to the eyes indeed dark and
invisible, but by reason intelligible and by philosophy
to be apprehended, this she has been accustomed to
hate and shudder at and avoid, — think you that a
soul in this state will quit the body pure, without ad-

\mixture ?
By no possibility, he replied.

But on the contrary distracted, I presume, by the
corporeal, which the intercourse and union with the
body from her constant association with it and her con
tinual occupation about it has made a part of her very
nature.

Exactly so.

But this, my friend, we must conceive to be pon-

PLATO'S FHJLDO. 47

derous and heavy and earthy and visible: and it is in
fact by its union with this that the soul such as we have
described it is weighed down and dragged back into the
region of the visible, through fear of the invisible and
of Hades haunting^ as men tell us, the tombs and
graves, about which in fact certain shadowy phantoms
of souls are sometimes seen — just such shapes as those
souls are likely to exhibit which have been set free in
a state not pure, but with the visible still clinging to
them, which is in fact why they are seen.

Yes, that is likely, Socrates.

It is indeed, Cebes; and that these are in no respect
the souls of the good, but those of the bad, which are
compelled to wander about such like places, paying the
penalty of their former education, because it was evil.
And so long they continue thus to wander, until from
the craving of the corporeal nature that attends them
they are again confined in a body.

And they are confined, as is probable, in characters
of the same kind as those which they have practised
during their past life.

What sort of characters do you mean, Socrates ?

For example, those who have cultivated habits of
gluttony and wantonness and drunkenness, and have
not exercised thorough discretion in their conduct, enter,
it is likely, into the race of asses and such like beasts.
Don't you think so? 82

What you say is extremely likely.

And those that have had a propensity to injustice
and tyranny and rapine, into the race of wolves and
hawks and kites. Or, if not, where else should we say
that such souls go ?

To be sure they do, said Cebes, into animals of that
kind.

48 PLATO'S PIMIDO.

Well then, said he, is it quite clear for all the rest
into what bodies each will pass according to the resem
blance of their practice ?

Quite so, he replied, of course.

Well then, he proceeded, of these again, those are
happiest and pass into the happiest place who have exer
cised that popular and social virtue which men, you
know, call temperance and justice, springing from habit
and practice without philosophy and reason ?

In what sense do you mean that they are happiest ?

Because it is probable that they may be restored to
a gregarious and civilized race, either bees perhaps or
wasps or ants, or even back again into the same human
race as before, and that respectable men may be made
of them.

Like enough.

3 2 But the race of gods none may reach without having
spent his life in the pursuit of wisdom and quitted it
perfectly pure, — none but1 the lover of learning. And
this is the reason, my friends Simmias and Cebes, why
true philosophers abstain from the indulgence of all
their bodily passions, and remain firm, and do not sur
render themselves to them; not at all because they fear
ruin and poverty like the vulgar and money-lovers: nor
again, because they fear disgrace and the reproach of
depravity like the lovers of power and of honour, is this
the reason why they abstain from them.

Why, to be sure, said Cebes, it would ill become
them.

Assuredly it would, said he. Therefore, Cebes, he
continued, those who have any concern for their own

1 &\\(j) i}. This is the old reading. The Zurich editors give
dXX' 77, after the best MS 8.

PLATO'S PHsEDO. 49

soul, instead of living merely to get fat and enjoy them
selves, bid adieu to all such as these, and walk not in the
same path, being assured that they know not where they
are going: but they themselves, persuaded that they
ought not to run counter to philosophy and to its liberat
ing and purifying operations, take that direction, follow
ing her whithersoever she leads the way.
33 How so, Socrates?

I will tell you, he replied. For, said he, the lovers
of learning know that philosophy, receiving under its
care their soul quite a close prisoner in the body and
glued fast to it and forced to take its view of real
things through it as it were through the walls of a dun
geon, instead of alone by herself, and wallowing in every
kind of ignorance, and clearly discerning that the fear-
fulness of the dungeon consists in her eager desire1 to
make as much as possible the captive himself an ac
complice in his own confinement, — well, I say, the lovers 83
of learning know that philosophy, having taken their
soul under its care in this condition, quietly talks her
over and endeavours to set her free, by showing her that
all observation by the eyes is full of illusion, and equally
so that by the ears and the rest of the senses, and by
persuading her to withdraw from them, except just so
far as she is absolutely obliged to employ them, and
by exhorting her to collect and concentrate herself into
herself, and to put no faith in any thing but herself, that
is, in that portion of real existence in and by itself which
she can apprehend in and by herself, but whatsoever
she contemplates by different organs varying in various

1 I understand i) ^i>x^ as the nominative to larlv. The soul in
her degraded state eagerly desires to make the whole man, by the
indulgence of his passions, instrumental to his own confinement in
the body and an obstacle to her emancipation.

C. P. 4

50 PLATO'S PHJZDO.

things, — to hold none of that to be true, but that all such
things belong to the realm of sense and of the visible,
whereas what she sees herself belongs to the intelligible
arid invisible. Thinking then that she ought not to
oppose herself to this process of liberation, the soul of
the true philosopher holds herself aloof accordingly from
pleasures and passions and pains and fears so far as
she can, reflecting that, whenever any one is violently
moved by pleasure or fear or pain or desire, the evil
that he contracts from them is not of that slight mag
nitude that one might think — a fit of sickness for in
stance or some loss incurred by the indulgence of his
passions — but he suffers that which is the greatest and
extremest of all ills, though he never takes it into
account.

What is that, Socrates? said Cebes.

That every man's soul in the very act of feeling
violent pleasure or pain at any thing is forced into the
belief that every thing which most excites this feeling is
the most real and the most true, though it is not so.
And these are, most of all, the visible things. Aren't
they?

Yes, no doubt.

Well, is it not in this feeling that soul is most com
pletely chained down by body?

How so?

Because every pleasure and pain has, as one may
say, a nail, with which it nails and buckles her to the
body and gives her a bodily shape, fancying anything to
be true which the body on its part asserts to be so.
For from participation in the fancies of the body and
taking pleasure in the same things she is forced, I con
ceive, to become like it also in its habits and its alimenta
tion, and of such a nature that she never can reach the

PLATO'S PII^EDO. 51

world below in a pure state, but must ever take her
departure from the body corrupted by it, so that she
soon falls back into another body and takes root in it
as if she were planted there, and hence loses all part in
the intercourse with what is divine and pure and simple
in its nature.

Most true, Socrates, said Cebes.

34 It is for this reason then, Cebes, that those that may
be fairly called the true lovers of learning are regular
and manly; and not for those which the vulgar assign —
you don't think so, do you ?

Not I, you may be sure. 84

Why no. But a philosopher's soul would reason thus,
and would not think that, whilst it was the business of
philosophy to set her free, she might still, while it was
employed in doing it, abandon herself to her habitual
pleasures and pains so as to be again made close pri
soner in them, and so undo all the work again, plying1
a sort of Penelope's loom, only in th.p

on the contrary, providing for herself a calm repose
from all of them, following her reason and in it ever
abiding, contemplating what is true and divine and be
yond the sphere of mere opinion, and nourished by it,
she deems that she must thus pass her life as long as it
lasts, and after her death is to make her way to that
which is akin and congenial to herself and so be de
livered from all human ills. With such a nurture as

>. Philosophy is labouring to undo (XovAnp)
the web of passion which the soul weaves : the soul is as it were
weaving again in the night that which philosophy is employed in
undoing during the working day. The same sense may be obtained
with the reading /ieTa%«/9ifo/u,e'i'??s, if we take the participle as a
genitive absolute in agreement with Hyi>£\6ir'>)s, ' like a Penelope,
&c.'

4—2

52 PLATO'S PHsEDO.

this there is no fear of her being alarmed, after such
a preparation, Simmias and Cebes, at the idea of being
torn asunder on her departure from the body, and being
blown in pieces and scattered by the winds, and so that
she vanish and have no more any existence anywhere.

35 So after Socrates had said this a silence ensued for
a long time, Socrates himself being intent upon the
preceding discussion, as his appearance plainly showed;
and so indeed were most of us. But Cebes and Sim
mias were talking a little to one another. And Socrates,
when he observed them, asked, Tell me, said he, what
was the subject of your conversation1? You think, I
dare say, that the question has not been thoroughly dis
cussed? for, to be sure, it still leaves room for a mul
titude of doubts and objections, if, that is to say, the
question is to be thoroughly gone into. However, if
you are pursuing any other enquiry, I have nothing to
say: but if you have any difficulty about this one, don't
hesitate for a moment, either to speak yourselves and ex
plain your views if it seems to you that it has been treated
in any better way, or again to call me in to your assist
ance if you think that with my aid you are at all more
likely to be successful.

Whereupon Simmias replied, Very well, Socrates,

/ I will tell you the truth. We have been^ puzzled, and
each of us has been for some time past pushing the other
on and urging him to ask a question, because we were
anxious to hear what you have to say, and yet were
reluctant to trouble you for fear it may be disagreeable
to you in consequence of your present misfortune.

And he, when he heard this, smiled quietly, and said,

1 Or, with Stallbaum's present reading, — rt; ?<£??• vp.1v TO, \e-
xOfrra fj.(av fj.r) doKei tvdews \e\tx&aL > — ' What ? said he, you seem to
think that the arguments already used are insufficient?'

PLATO'S PHJEDO. 53

Bless me! Simmias; truly it must be difficult for me to
persuade the rest of the world that I do not look upon
my present case as a misfortune, when I can't convince
even you, but you are afraid that I may be in a worse
humour now than I used to be in old times. And you
take me, it seems, to be inferior in the gift of foresight
to the swans; which, as soon as they feel that they must
die, sing then louder and better than they have ever
sung in all their past lives, for joy that they are about to 85
depart into the presence of the God whose servants they
are. But men from their own dread of death belie the
swans too, and say that the song they pour forth is a
dirge for their death out of grief, not reflecting that no
bird sings when it is hungry or cold or suffering from
any other pain, not even the nightingale herself nor the
swallow nor the hoopoe, whose song they say is a dirge
for grief: but neither these nor the swans seem to me
to be in pain when they sing. But, I believe, as they
belong to the service of Apollo, they are endowed with
foresight, and, having foreknowledge of the good things
in the world below, they sing and show their delight all
through that day far more than in all their lives before.
And I think myself too a fellow-slave of the swans and
consecrated to the service of the same God, and that I
have received the faculty of foresight from my master
in no inferior measure to them, and that I am not more
despondent than they are at the thought of departing
from life. On the contrary, as far as any such feeling
as this is concerned, you may say anything or ask me
any question you please, as long as the eleven good men
of Athens will allow. *

You are very good, said Simmias : and so I will tell
you my difficulty, and Cebes in his turn, to what extent
it is that he cannot assent to what has been said. For

54 PLATO'S PHA1.DO.

to me it seems, Socrates, as I dare say it does to you,
that to know what is certain of such subjects as this is
in the present life either impossible or extremely difficult;
yet on the other hand to refuse to test in every way the
received opinions about them, and not to persevere until
his powers have failed him in the examination of them
from every point of view — this I take to be a sign of a
very feeble character. For it is our duty in respect of
them to effect one at least of these things, either to learn
from others or discover for oneself the true account of
them, or else, if 'this is a thing impossible, to take at
any rate the best and most irrefragable of human doc
trines, and conveyed upon it as it Avere upon a raft to
hazard the voyage through life, unless indeed one could
find a surer conveyance, that is, a divine doctrine,
whereon to make the passage more safely and with less
risk. And so now for myself at any rate, I shall not be
deterred by any feeling of shame from putting my ques
tion — especially as you say what you have said — nor
will I expose myself to my own reproaches at a future
time for not having expressed my opinion now. For
I do think, Socrates, when I look to myself as well as
to him, that the subject has not been quite sufficiently
discussed.

36 Why, my friend, said Socrates, I dare say you are
right: but tell me how you think it insufficient.

In this way /find it so, said he, as, you know, one

might apply the same explanation to a harmony and a
lyre and its strings, and say that the harmony is a thing in
visible and incorporeal and eminently beautiful and divine
in the tuned lyre, and yet the lyre itself and its strings 86
are bodies and corporeal and composite and earthy and
akin to what is mortal. And so whenever any one breaks
the lyre, or cuts it in pieces, or even bursts its strings,

PLATO'S PIljEDO. 55

supposing any one were to insist, by the same argument
as yourself, that that harmony must needs be still in
existence and cannot have perished, — for, he might
argue, it would be absolutely impossible for the lyre
with its strings burst, and its strings, of mortal-mould as
they are, to be still in existence and yet that the har
mony should have perished, which is of like nature and
near akin to the divine and immortal, and should have
perished before the mortal — but were to say that the
harmony itself must be still somewhere extant, and that
the wood and strings would decay before anything hap
pened to it, — for in fact now, Socrates, / should imagine
this must often have occurred to you yourself, that the
popular notion amongst us of the nature of the soul is
something like this, that, our body being as it were raised
to a certain pitch or held together by hot and cold, and
dry and moist, and such like things, our soul is a mix
ture and harmony of just these things, the result of their
being well and duly blended one with another: — sup
posing therefore that our soul is a harmony, it is plain
that, whenever our body is relaxed or strung up out of
due proportion by diseases and other ills, the soul must
of necessity perish instantly, most divine as it is, like
all other harmonies, whether they be in sounds or in
any other works of craftsmen, whilst the relics of each
body last for a long time, until they are consumed
either by fire or by decay; — see then what reply we
shall have to make to this hypothesis, should any one
think fit to maintain that the soul, being a mixture of the
component parts of the body, perishes first in what is
called death.

3 7 Whereupon Socrates, looking fixedly as was his con
stant custom and smiling, replied, That is quite fair,
what Simmias says: so if any of you has a readier wit

56 PLATO'S PIL-EDO.

than myself, he ought to answer at once. For indeed
he looks quite a formidable assailant of my argument.
At the same time, before I make my answer, I think we
had better first hear Cebes also, what fault he on his
part has to find with our argument, in order that we
may gain time during the interval to deliberate upon
our reply; and so, when we have heard him, we must
either give way to them if they seem to be concordant,
or, if not, then finally take up the defence of our
theory. Come then, Cebes, he continued, tell me, what
is it that disturbed you on your side and made you
incredulous ?

Then I '11 tell you, returned Cebes. It seems to me,
that is, that our argument is still just where it was, and
liable to the same objection as we urged in the former
case. For that it has been cleverly enough, and indeed, 87
if it is not presumptuous to say so, quite satisfactorily
demonstrated that our soul was in existence also before
it entered into this frame of ours, — that admission I am
not disposed to retract: but that after our death it has1
any longer a local existence, — of that I am not convinced.
Not that I agree with Simmias' objection that soul is not
stronger nor more durable than, body: for in all these
points I hold it very far superior. Then why, the argu
ment might say, do you still refuse to believe me ? when
you see that after the man's death the weaker part still
remains in existence, don't you think2 it is a necessary
consequence that the more durable part should continue
safe at that time? To meet this objection then, see if
the answer I am about to make has any weight: for I

1 ZffTiv. The Zurich editors read tcrrai.

2 eirfiSr] yf opas . . . . rb 5e iroXvxpoviuTfpov, K.T.\. The sentence
is constructed as if it were TO ft.lv affOfveffrepov 6/>as . . . . rb 5t iro\v-
Xpovi&repov, K.T.\.

PLATO'S riL-EDO. 57

too, it seems, like Simmias, require an illustration to
express my meaning. For the argument we have em
ployed seems to me to be much as if any one were to
apply the same theory to a weaver who had died old,
that the man has not perished but is probably some
where in existence, and were to produce in evidence
that the cloak which he had woven for his own wearing
still exists entire and has not perished, and, in case of any
one refusing his assent, were to ask him which is the more
durable kind, that of a man or that of a cloak when it
is in constant use and wearing, and receiving for answer,
that of a man by far, were to suppose it to have been
demonstrated that then consequently beyond all manner
of doubt the man must be safe and sound, seeing that
the less durable object has not perished. Whereas, I
believe, Simmias, the truth is otherwise; — for I wish you
too to pay attention to what I say — every one would be
of opinion that this is the language of a simpleton. For
this weaver of ours has worn out and woven for himself
again many a similar cloak, and outlived it is true all
those many, but died, I presume, before the last, and
yet a man is not a bit the more on that account inferior
to or weaker than a cloak. And the very same image,
I suppose, may be applied to the relation of soul and
body, and 1 should think that, if any one were to apply
just what we are saying to their case, he would be quite
reasonable in maintaining that the soul no doubt is dura
ble, and the body weaker and less durable; yet still, he
might say, each of our souls does wear out many bodies,
especially if we suppose her to live many years : for sup
posing the body to be in a state of flux and perishing
while the man still lives, but the soul meanwhile to be
constantly re-weaving her garment as it wears out, it must
certainly follow of necessity that whenever the soul does

58 PLATO'S

die she must be wearing her last dress, and that she
must be outlasted by this alone: but after the soul has
perished, the body would then finally exhibit its natural
weakness and speedily decay and be gone out of sight.
So that one is not yet entitled to put so much faith in
this argument as to feel any confidence that after death
our soul still enjoys existence anywhere. For if one
were even to concede to the arguer still more than
you, Simmias, allow, granting to him not only that our
soul was in existence in the time preceding our birth,
but even that after our death there is nothing to prevent
the souls of some of us still existing and having future
existence and being born many times over and dying
again, — for soul is by its nature so strong as to hold out
through many different births1- — but after granting all
this were to stop short in his concessions and refuse to
allow that she suffers no harm in the course of her many
births and does not in fact at last in one of her various
deaths perish outright, but this particular death and
this dissolution of the body which brings destruction to
the soul, he were to say, no one can determine, for
it is impossible for any one of us to perceive it — if, I
say, all this be so, no confidence that a man can feel
about death can be otherwise than an irrational con
fidence, unless he can undertake to prove that soul is
absolutely immortal and imperishable : otherwise, he
who is about to die must ever feel apprehension for his
soul, lest in the present separation from his body she
should perish utterly.
38 So when we heard this we were all, as we afterwards

1 i/vXrnv (Stallbaum, TJ]V ^vxyv) is probably a gloss on avr6, yiy-
vo/jt,fvi]v being either a corruption of yiyvo/j-evof or a

PLATO'S PIIsEDO. 59

owned to one another, affected with an uncomfortable
feeling, in that, after we had been so fully convinced
by the preceding argument, they now seemed to unsettle
our minds again, and not merely to throw us into doubt
of the validity of the foregoing results, but also as to
any arguments that might follow to inspire us with the
fear of our being possibly incompetent judges or even
of the things themselves admitting in fact of no cer
tainty.

ECH. Yes, by heaven, Phsedo, I can excuse you.
For in fact, as I was listening to you just now myself,
a thought struck me, and I said to myself something
of this sort : Then what reasoning can Ave trust in
future? for how extremely plausible that argument of
Socrates' was, which has now quite sunk into discredit.
For that theory, that our soul is a kind of harmony,
has now, as it has always had, a wonderful hold upon
me, and, when it was stated, suggested to my memory,
as it were, that it had been my own opinion previously.
And again I am as completely at fault as at starting
for some other reason to persuade me that the soul of
the dead man does not die with him. Tell me then,
in God's name, how did Socrates pursue the discussion ?
And whether he too, as you say that you did, betrayed
any symptoms of vexation, or no, but on the contrary
advanced quietly to the rescue of his argument; and
whether he defended it satisfactorily or inadequately: tell
me the whole story as exactly as you can.

PH. In good truth, Echecrates, often as I have
wondered at Socrates, I never yet felt so much admi
ration of him as at that interview. Now for a man 89
like him to be able to find an answer is perhaps nothing
remarkable : but what / was most struck with in him
was, first of all this, that he listened so sweetly and

60 PL AT ffS r II. EDO.

kindly and admiringly to the young men's objections;
next, that he so quickly perceived the effect they had
produced upon us; and finally, that he so skilfully applied
a remedy, and rallied us, as it were, from our rout and
defeat, and encouraged us to advance by his side and
join him in considering the argument.

Ecu. How, pray ?

PH. I will tell you. I chanced to be sitting on his
right by the bedside on a low stool, whilst his seat was
a good deal higher than mine. So stroking down my
head and pressing together the hair upon my neck — for
it was a habit of his ever and anon to play with my hair
— So, Phrcclo, said he, to-morrow, I dare say, you will
have all these beautiful locks cut off.

I suppose so, Socrates, said I.

Not if you take my advice.

Why not? said I.

We ought to do it to-day, he said, I mine and you
these, if our argument be really dead and we are unable
to bring it to life again. Indeed, for my own part, if
I were you and the argument had slipt through my
fingers, I would make a vow, like the Argives, never to
let my hair grow until I had renewed the struggle and
defeated Simmias' and Cebes' reasoning.

Nay, said I, Hercules himself, says the proverb, is
not a match for two.

Well then, said he, call me in, your lolaus, to your
aid whilst it is still light.

I summon you then to my aid, said I, not in the
character of Hercules, but in that of lolaus summoning
Hercules.

It won't matter, replied he.

39 But first of all let us be on our guard against falling
into a certain error.

PLATO'S PIIALDO. 61

What is that? said I.

Against becoming speculation-haters, said he, as
people become man-haters: for there is no greater evil,
he continued, that can befall a man than this, that he
have come to hate speculation. And speculation-hating
arises from the same cause as man-hating. For the latter
enters our minds from an excess of confidence artlessly
placed in a person, and from an opinion conceived that
the man is in all respects true and sincere and trust
worthy, and then shortly afterwards finding him to be
a villain and untrustworthy, and so again another: and
when a man has often been treated thus, and particu
larly by any of those whom he would be inclined to '
esteem his nearest and dearest friends, so at last by fre
quent collisions of this kind he comes to hate every
body and to think that there is nothing at all sound
and sincere in any one. You have observed, haven't
you, that this is the kind of way in which this feeling
originates ?

Yes, certainly, said I.

Well, isn't it shameful, said he, and plain that such
a person is venturing to hold intercourse with men with
out a knowledge of mankind? For, I presume, if he
had conducted his dealings on principles of art, he
would in that case have believed, as is really the case,
that the excessively good and bad are each of them rare, 90
but that the intermediate sort are most numerous.

How do you mean? said I.

Just as is the case, replied he, with the excessively
big and little : do you think there is any thing rarer than
to meet with a man either extremely big or extremely
little, or a dog, or any thing else you please ? or again
swift or slow, or ugly or handsome, or white or black ?
or have you not observed that in all such things the

62 PLATO'S PIL-EDO.

very extremes are rare and few in number, but the
means abundant and numerous?

No doubt, said I.

Don't you think then, he said, that, if a contest of
rascality were to be proposed, the most distinguished
would show themselves as scarce there as elsewhere?

Like enough, said I.

Why, so it is, he retorted: however, this is not the
way in which speculations resemble men, [viz. that the
extremes are rare] — I merely followed your lead just now
—but this, in that, when a man has believed a theory
to be true independently of the art of reasoning, and
then soon after it seems to him false, sometimes really
being so and sometimes not, and again assumes dif
ferent aspects in succession, — and most especially those
who devote themselves to the practice of disputation
end, you know, by thinking that they have become the
cleverest fellows in the world, and are the only people
that have discovered that neither in things nor in specu
lations is there any thing sound or sure, but that all exist
ing objects are in a constant flux and reflux, exactly as in
the Euripus, and never abide an instant in any position.

That is quite true, returned I.

It would indeed, Phaedo, said he, be a lamentable
case, if there be any true and certain doctrine attain
able by our understanding, that a man, from lending his
ear to speculations of such a nature that they seem,
though the same, to be sometimes true and sometimes
false, instead of accusing himself and his own want of
skill, should at last out of mere vexation be glad to shift
the blame from his own shoulders upon the speculations,
and spend the rest of his life thenceforward in hating
and abusing these speculations, and remain a stranger
to the truth and knowledge of things.

PLATO'S PH&DO. 63

Upon my word, said I, lamentable indeed.
40 First of all then, he said, let us be on our guard
against this, and let us not admit into our soul the
fancy that there is nothing sound in philosophy; on the
contrary we are much more bound to suppose that we
ourselves are not yet in a sound state, but that we
must strive manfully and earnestly to be so — you and
the rest for the sake of your future life as well, and I
as a preparation for death itself: for, for myself, I am 91
afraid that on this very subject just at present I am not
in a philosophical mood, but rather, like those very
vulgar disputants, in a contentious humour. For they
in fact, whenever they dispute on a point, are utterly
regardless of the real truth of the question under exami
nation, but direct all their efforts to making their own
positions appear true to their audience: and I think in
the present case that the difference between me and
them will be merely this, that I shall not be anxious
to convince my audience of the truth of my opinion,
unless it were as a merely subordinate object, but to
convince myself, as far as I possibly can, of the truth
of what I say. For I make this calculation, my dear
friend, — and mark in what a selfish spirit — if what I say
should be really true, it is well indeed to be persuaded
of it; but if there is nothing at all after our decease,
yet at any rate for the mere interval that is to elapse
before my death I shall be less likely to give offence
by my complaints to my friends present. Besides, this
ignorance of mine won't accompany me after death. — for
that would have been a misery, — but will soon be gone.
Thus armed, he continued, Simmias and Cebes, I ad
vance to the encounter of the theory. You however, if
you take my advice, will care little for Socrates, but much
more for the truth : and so if I seem to you to say any-

64 PLATO'S PILZ.DO.

thing that is true, give me your assent; but if otherwise,
oppose with every argument within your reach, and take
care that I do not out of my zeal and earnestness cheat
both myself and you, and so be gone like a bee with my
sting left in the wound.

41 Come, let us on, he proceeded. First of all recall
to my mind what you were saying, in case my memory
be found at fault. For Simmias, I believe, is doubtful
and alarmed lest the soul, more divine and more noble
though it be than the body, should perish before it,
being of the nature of a harmony : but Cebes, if I am
not mistaken, granted me this, that soul is more lasting
than body, but thought that nobody could feel sure
that the soul, after having many times over worn out
ever so many bodies, does not at last perish herself this
time when she leaves it, and whether death be not pre
cisely this, viz. soul's destruction; for as to body, that
knows no pause in its constant course of decay. Is
there any thing besides these two, Simmias and Cebes,
which we are required to review?

They both agreed that these were the points.

Then do you reject, he said, all our previous con
clusions ; or only some of them, and accept the
others ?

Only some of them, they replied.

What then say you, said he, to that argument in
which we maintained that learning is recollection, and
if this be so, that it follows of necessity that our souls
were in existence somewhere else before they were con-
Jfined in the body? 92

For my part, said Cebes, I was then wonderfully
impressed by it, and I still adhere to it more firmly
than to any other.

And I too, said Simmias, am myself of the same

PLATO'S PI/sEDO. 65

mind; and I should be quite surprised, if, on this point
at least, I ever altered my opinion.

Aye, but you must alter it, my Theban friend, said
Socrates, if this notion of yours is to stand, that a har
mony is a composite thing, and that soul is a kind of
harmony composed of the elements of the body strung
to the proper pitch. For you never will allow yourself
to say that a. harmony ^vas in b_eing and

those things were Jn existence of which it was to be
composed. Will you?

Certainly not, Socrates, he replied.

Do you perceive then, said he, that this is what you
assert when you say that the soul existed before ever it
entered into a human form and body, and was in being,
composed of elements not yet in existence? For surely
your harmony is not like what you compare it to; but
the lyre and its strings and sounds are first called into
being still untuned, and the harmony is composed last
of all and is the first to perish. How then will this
doctrine of yours harmonize with the other?

Not at all, said Simmias.

And yet, said he, of all arguments in the world, that
on the subject of harmony should be harmonious.

It should, no doubt, replied Simmias.

However this theory of yours is not: so you must
consider which of the two doctrines you choose, that
learning is recollection, or that soul is a harmony.

I much prefer the former, Socrates. For the other
has become mine without demonstration, resting merely
on certain probable and plausible grounds, sources from
which the vulgar usually derive their opinions ; but
I am conscious that doctrines which build their proofs
upon mere probability are impostors, and if one be
not on one's guard against them they thoroughly

c. P. <;

66 PLATO'S riL-EDO.

delude one, whether it be in geometry or in any thing
else: whereas the doctrine of recollection and learning
has been delivered upon a basis of proof sufficient to
warrant our acceptance of it. For it was stated, I be
lieve, that our soul was in being before ever it entered
the body on the ground that to _i^jy:ipe_rlajns_tlie_alisolule
existence to which we give the name of ' that which is.'

\

But the truth of this absolute essence I have accepted,
I flatter myself, on right and satisfactory grounds. For
this reason therefore I am forced, as it seems, to listen
to no assertion either from myself or from any one else
that soul is a harmony.
42 And again, Simmias, said he, looking at it in this
point of view, what say you? Think you that it is the
nature of a harmony or of any other composition to be
in any different state to its own component elements? 93

Certainly not.

Nor, again, to do any thing, I suppose, nor to suffer
any thing beyond what those elements do or suffer?

He assented.

Then consequently it is not the nature of a harmony*\
to take the lead of its own component parts, Inn. to J
follow them?

He agreed to that.

Far less then can it have a contrary motion or sound,
or act in any other way in opposition to its own parts ?

Far indeed, he said.

But again. Is not every harmony naturally a har
mony in proportion to the adaptation of the elements ?

I don't understand.

Would it not, said he, if it be better tuned and to
a higher degree — supposing this possible — be more a
harmony and in a higher degree? but if less and to
a lower degree, less so and in a lower?

PLATO'S PH^EDO, C?

Yes, certainly.

Well, is this possible in respect of soul, that one soul
in the very smallest degree1 can be to a greater extent
and more, or to a smaller extent and less, than another,
just what it is, viz. soul ?

In no way whatever, replied he.

Come then, said he, in heaven's name, is not one
soul said to contain wisdom and virtue, and to be good;
and another, folly and vice, and to be bad ? and are not
these phrases true ?

True, indeed.

What then will any of those that hold the view that
soul is a harmony say that these things, virtue and vice,
are in our souls ? that they are again a different harmony
and discord? and that the one is in tune, the good one,
and in itself, a harmony, contains a second harmony;
but that the other is out of tune itself, and contains no
other within itself?

I'm sure I can't tell you, said Simmias: but it is
plain that any one who adopts that hypothesis must
maintain something of that sort.

But it has been admitted before, he said, that one
soul is not a whit more or less so than another. And
that admission is as much as to say that one harmony
is not a whit more or in a higher degree such, nor less
so or in a lower degree, than another. Isn't it so ?

Undoubtedly.

1 Omit fidXXov after KOTO. TO fffj.iKp6ra.Tov and insert ^v\r}v before
So Van Heusde and the Zurich editors. If jaaXXov is re
tained, translate : ' Well, is it possible for one single soul more than
another in the very least to have a higher and greater degree or a
lower and less degree of the essence soul [as compared with itself
in its normal state]?'

5—2

68 PLATO'S PIL-EDO.

Yes, and that that which is no more nor less a har
mony is neither more nor less tuned. Is it so ?

It is.

And that which is neither more nor less in tune — has
it a greater or less share of harmony, or the same ?

The same.

Well then, soul, seeing that one is in no degree more
or less than another just what it is, viz. soul, — neither,
consequently, is it more or less tuned ?

Just so.

But if it be thus affected, it can have no greater share
of discord or harmony?

No, certainly not.

And if this be true of it, can one have at all a larger
share of vice or virtue than another, supposing vice to
be a discord and virtue a harmony?

Not at all.

Or rather, I should imagine, Simmias, to be quite
accurate, no soul at all will be infected with vice, if it is 94
a harmony. For a harmony surely, if it be completely
neither more nor less than this, a harmony, never can
admit discord.

No, indeed.

Nor again soul, I presume, if it be perfectly soul,
vice.

No : how could it according to our previous reasoning?

It will follow then from this theory that all souls of
all living creatures are equally good, if it belongs to the
nature of all souls alike to be neither more nor less than
this, viz. soul.

I should think so, Socrates, returned he.

Do you think also, said he, that this is well said, and
that this must be the fate of our argument, if the sup
position was correct that soul is a harmony?

PLATO'S PH.-EDO. 69

No, nor any thing like well said, he replied.
43 But again, said he, of all that is in man, think you
that there is any thing else that has the command but
soul, especially if it be a wise one?

Nothing, I should think.

And does it always fall in with the affections of the
body, or sometimes oppose them ? I mean, for instance,
when there is heat and thirst in the body, that it drags
it the contrary way to abstain from drinking, or, when
hungry, to abstain from eating: and in an infinity of
other cases we see the soul setting itself in opposition
to the affections of the body, don't we?

To be sure we do.

At the same time, on the other hand, we came to
the conclusion in our preceding discussion that, if it be
a harmony, it never could produce notes contrary to i
the tension or relaxation or vibration or any other affec
tion whatever of the elements of which it is made up,/
but must always follow them, and can never take the
lead ?

We did, he said, of course.

Well, but are we not now supposing it to be doing
the precise opposite, taking the lead, namely, of all
those parts of which it may be said to be constituted,
and setting itself in opposition in nearly every circum
stance during its whole life, and exercising the mas
tery over them in every possible way, disciplining them,
sometimes more severely and with pain in the way
of bodily exercises and medicine, and again in a milder
form, and now threatening, now admonishing its appe
tites and passions and terrors, like one distinct being
holding converse with something else, just as Homer
has represented in the Odyssey, where he says of
Ulysses —

7° PL A TO" S PIL-EDO.

" And he smote his breast, and chiding bespake his heart :
'Be patient still, O my heart: thou hast borne ere now even
worse.' "

'Think you that, when he wrote this, he considered it as
a harmony and of a nature to be influenced by the
affections of the body, instead of, as it really is, capable
of leading them all, and lording it over them, and itself
far too divine a thing to be compared with a harmony?

"~ No, upon my word, I should think not, Socrates.

Then, my excellent friend, it can in no sense be right
for us to say that soul is a kind of harmony: for it seems,
if we did, we should agree neither with that divine poet 95
Homer nor with ourselves.

It is so, he replied.

44. Very good, said Socrates, we have succeeded tolera
bly well, it seems, in propitiating the Theban Harmony :
but how about Cadmus, Cebes, continued he, how shall
we appease him and by what words?

I dare say, said Cebes, you'll find a way: at all
events your late argument against the harmony has had
for me a singularly unexpected result. For whilst Sim-
mias was speaking, when he expressed his doubts, I
marvelled much if any way could be found of dealing
with his theory; and accordingly I thought it very odd
that it instantly gave way at the very first onset of your
argument. So I shouldn't be surprised if Cadmus' theory
shared the same fate.

My worthy friend, said Socrates, don't talk big, for
fear some evil eye bring discomfiture upon the argument
upon which we are about to enter. However heaven will
take care of all that; but let us, like Homer's heroes,
' advance near,' and try if there is anything in what you
say. The sum of your enquiry is, I believe, this: you
require it to be demonstrated that our soul is indestruc-

PLATO'S PILEDO. 71

tible and immortal, in order that, if a philosopher at the
point of death feel confident and believe that after death,
in the world beyond, he will enjoy a lot beyond com
parison better than if he had died after a life passed in
any other manner, that confidence which he feels may
not be senseless and idle. But as to proving that the
soul is something strong and godlike, and that it was in
existence even before we men were born, — there is no
reason, say you, why all that should not indicate, not
indeed its immortality, but that soul is durable and pro
bably existed in a previous state an immensely long time
and knew and did a number of things; and yet, for all
that, it was not a bit the more immortal, but the very
entrance into man's body was the commencement of its
destruction, like a disease: and so, you say, it passes all
this its life in trouble and distress, and at last in what
is called death perishes. And, to be sure, say you, it
makes no difference, in respect at least of the alarm
which each one of us may feel, whether it enters a
body once or several times : for it is natural for any one
to feel alarm, unless he were insensible, who does not
know nor can prove that it is immortal. That, I think,
Cebes, is a tolerably exact account of your objection;
and I purposely repeat it often, in order that nothing
may escape us, and that you may make any addition
or withdraw anything you please.

To which Cebes replied: Nay, I have no occasion
at present either to take away or to add anything: that
is in fact just what I mean.

45 Upon this, Socrates made a long pause, and after
reflecting with himself said at length: It is no trifling
question, Cebes, that you raise: for we must enter into
a full discussion of the whole subject of the cause of
generation and corruption. I will therefore, if you like, 96

72 PL. ITU'S PILE DO.

describe to you my own experience on the subject : and
then, if any of my statements appear to you likely to
be of service, you will make use of it for your convic
tion in the matter you sp'eak of.

Oh, certainly, said Cebes, I should like to do so.

Then listen to what I am going to say. In my youth,
Cebes, he continued, I was singularly fond of this kind
of science which they call physics. For it seemed to
me a magnificent sort of science, to know the causes of
everything, why it comes into being, and why it perishes,
and why it exists: and I often drifted backwards and
forwards in the examination, first of all, of questions like
these, whether it was in consequence of a sort of fer
mentation engendered by heat and cold, as some once
maintained, that living creatures grow into a consistent
shape, and whether it is the blood which is the vehicle
of thought, or the air, or fire, or none of all these, but
the brain that furnishes the sVnses of hearing and sight
and smell, and from these arise memory and opinion, and
from memory and opinion, when they have attained a
state of quiescence, in this way springs^knowledge. And
again I investigated the manner of destruction of all
these things, and the various phenomena of the heavens
and the earth, until at last I arrived at the conclusion
that nothing in the world could be more stupid in such
studies than myself. I will give you a satisfactory proof
of it: for what I knew well enough before, in my own
opinion and in that of the rest of the world — I was
then so completely blinded by these studies that I un
learnt even what I thought I knew previously on a vast
number of points, and amongst them, why it is that a
man grows. For I formerly thought that it was quite
plain to every one that it is caused by eating and drink
ing: when, namely, from his food flesh has grown on to'

PLATO'S PIIMDO. 73

his flesh, and bone to his bones, and so by the same
rule to all the rest the elements that are related to them,
each to each, — that then it was that the small bulk be
comes in process of time large, and so the little man
grows into a big one. So I then thought: don't you
think it was with reason ?

Yes, I do, said Cebes.

Well then, here is another point for your considera
tion. I thought I was tolerably sure whenever a man
appeared tall standing by a short one, that he was
taller by the head itself for instance, and similarly horse
larger than horse: or again, what was still plainer, ten
seemed to me more than eight because two were added
to it, and a thing two cubits long longer than one of
one cubit because it exceeded it by half its length.

Well but what is your opinion of it now? said Cebes.

Why, 'faith, that I am far enough from thinking, said
he, that I am acquainted with the cause of any one of
them: for I can't accept my own assurance even, when
one is added to one, either that that to which the one
is added has become two, or that the one added and
that to which it is added have become two by the addi- 97
tion of the one to the other: for I am surprised that,
whereas, whilst each of them was separate the one from
the other, each was one, and they were not then two,
when they were brought together it should then follow
that this was the cause of their becoming two, viz.
the combination caused by their being placed near one
another. No, nor can I any longer persuade myself, if
one be divided into two, that this again, viz. the division,
has been the cause of its becoming two: for here we
find a cause of a thing becoming two, the exact opposite
of that in the former case: for in the former instance it
was because they were brought together near to one

74 PLATO'S PILE DO.

another and added one to another, but now it is be
cause they are carried away and separated one from
another. No, nor can I any longer bring myself to be
lieve that I know why a thing becomes one, nor, in a
word, why anything else whatever comes into being, or
perishes, or exists, that is to say, according to this
method of investigation ; but I follow another disorderly,
confused kind of method of my own, but this one I
can by no means admit.

46 But I happened once upon a time to hear some one
reading out of a book, as he said, of Anaxagoras, and
saying, that it is Mind that sets ail in order and is the
cause of all. I was at once delighted with this cause,
and it seemed to me right in a manner that the supreme
Mind should be the cause of all things, and I thought,
if this be so, that the Mind in its ordering must order
and arrange everything, each in that way in which it is
best that it should be: should therefore any one want to
find the cause of each individual thing, how it comes
into being, or perishes, or exists, he must first ascertain
\ this in respect of it, how, namely, it is best for it either

\ to be, or to do or suffer anything else: and so according
to this theory a man was bound to enquire after nothing,
in his own case and in that of everything else, but what
is best and most perfect : and it would follow of neces
sity that the same person would also become acquainted
with the worse, because the science that belongs to them
is the same. Reflecting then upon all this, I was glad
to think I had discovered a teacher of the cause of
existing things after my own heart, Anaxagoras namely,
and that he would tell me first of all whether the earth
\ is flat or round, and after he had told me, would add a
\ complete explanation of the reason and the necessity .,
stating what is better, and then shovvingthat it is better

PLATO'S PIlsEDO. 75

for it to be of that shape: and if he maintained that it
is in the centre of the universe, that he would explain
into the bargain that it is better for it to be in the
centre: and if he made all this clear to me, I had made
up my mind to require no other kind of cause beyond
that. And so again with respect to the sun and the
moon and the rest of the stars, I had determined simi- 98
lady to carry on my enquiry in the same way, about
their relative speed and their revolutions and the rest of
their affections, how, that is, it may be better for them
each to act and be acted on as they are. For I never
should have thought that, whilst he asserted that they
were ordered by Mind, he would afterwards apply to
them any other cause besides than that it is best for
them so to be as they are: and so I supposed that, in
assigning its cause to each in particular and to all gene
rally, he would describe in addition what was best for
each and what was the common good of all. And I
would not have bartered my expectations for a great
deal, but I seized the book with the greatest avidity,
and read it as fast as ever I could, in order to become
acquainted as soon as possible with the best and the
worse.

47 Glorious then was the hope, my friend, from which
I was hurled down, when, as I went on in my reading,
I saw a man making no use of his Mind, nor alleging
any causes with reference to the ordering of things,
but assigning as causes a parcel of airs and skies and
waters and a hundred other things equally absurd. And
the case with him seemed to me to be exactly similar to
that of one who were to maintain that Socrates does all
that he does in virtue of Mind, and then in the attempt
to state the individual causes of each of my actions
were to say first of all that the reason of my sitting

7 6 2'LATO'S PILE DO.

here now is because my body is composed of bones and
muscles, and the bones are solid and separated by joints
from one another, and the muscles are capable of con
traction and relaxation, surrounding the bones together
with the flesh and the skin which keeps them together;
accordingly, as the bones turn in their sockets, the muscles,
expanding and contracting, give me the power now,
we may suppose, of bending my limbs, and that is
the reason why I am sitting here with my knees bent :
and again with regard to the conversation I am holding
with you, were to bring forward some other causes like
these, a set of sounds namely and airs and hearings and
an infinity of other things of the same kind, and forget
to mention the real causes, viz. that, whereas it seemed
better to the Athenians to condemn me to death, for that
reason I too have thought it better in my turn to remain
sitting here, and more right to stay and undergo my
sentence, whatever it may be that they have ordered :
for, by the dog, as I think, these muscles and bones 99
would have been long ago in the region of Megara or
Boeotia, put in motion by the ' opinion of what is best,'
had I not thought it more right and honorable, rather
than fly and run away, to undergo any penalty that the
city chooses to impose upon me. However, to call such
things as these causes is excessively absurd : if any one
were to say indeed that without all such things, bones
and muscles and everything else that I have, I should
never have been able to put my resolutions into execu
tion, it would be quite true ; but to say that this is the
reason of my doing any thing that I do, or that this is
the meaning of acting by Mind, and not rather the
choice of what is best, would be a very extraordinarily
careless way of speaking. For to be unable to distin
guish the essential difference between the real cause

PLATO'S PIL-EDO. 77

erf a thing, and that without which the cause never
could be a cause— which, in fact, is what the generality
of thinkers seem to be groping after, as it were in the
dark, and to apply a name quite foreign to it when they
speak of it as if it were a cause. And so it is that one
makes the earth to be kept steady, forsooth, by the heavens,
by surrounding it with a vortex; another represents it as
a flat kneading-trough supported by the air beneath as a
basis for it to rest upon : but the meaning of their being
disposed according to the best possible arrangement for
them, — this they neither search after, nor deem it to
possess any divine force, but suppose they might some
time or other discover an Atlas stronger and more im
mortal than this, and more capable of holding the uni
verse together, and conceive that 'the good and binding'1
does, in fact, bind and hold together nothing whatever.
Now to learn the true nature of such a cause as this, I
for my own part would most gladly have put myself to
school under any one in the world: but when I found
myself cheated of it, and unable either to discover it
myself or to obtain the knowledge of it from any one
else, — would you like me, Cebes, to give you a descrip
tion of the way in which I have proceeded, as the second
best course, in my search after the cause ?

Oh, I should like it monstrously, he replied.
^ g Well then I thought to myself, said he, that next,
after I had1 exhausted myself in my enquiries after the
nature of things, I must take good care to avoid the
fate of those who are looking at and examining an
eclipse of the sun: for some of them, I rather think,
lose their eyes, unless they look at the reflection of him
in water or some such thing. Such was my own notion ;
and I was afraid of having my soul quite blinded, if

1 Read aTra/^Ki;.

PLATO'S PILED O.

I looked at things with my eyes, or attempted to reach
them with any of my senses. Accordingly it occurred
to me that I must have recourse to words1, and in them
carry on the investigation of the~true^nature of things.
Now perhaps the illustration that I employ to a certain
degree does not correspond with the reality: for I do 100
not altogether" admit that any one who pursues his re
searches after things in words regards them in mere
reflections any more than one who goes straight to the
real objects: but be that as it may, this is the way in
which I started; and having laid down any conception
which I judge to be most incontestable in each case,
I assume as true whatever seems to me to be in ac
cordance with it, whether it be in the case of cause or
in that of any thing else, and whatever is not, as false.
But I will explain to you more clearly my meaning; for
I think that at present you don't understand.

No, upon my honour, Socrates, said Cebes, not par
ticularly well.

49 Well, said he, this is what I mean; no novelty, but
what I have never ceased to say constantly on all other
occasions as well as in our past discussion. For I am
in fact about to make the attempt to exhibit to you
the kind of cause which has been the object of my
studies, and to return to the old burden of my song, and
to begin with it; with the assumption, that is, that there

\is such a thing as what is beautiful in itself independ'
ently, and good, and great, and so forth: and if you grant
me this and admit the existence of such, I hope to be
! able from this to show you what the cause is, and to
\ discover that the soul is immortal.

1 These \oyoi or ' words ' are the general terms or conceptions
which, as Plato would have said, represent to our minds the ideas. .
'2 On the phrase oil jrdi'v, see Appendix to the Gorgias, Note C.

PLATO'S PHMDO.

Nay, said Cebes, you may assume that I grant this,
and so draw your conclusion as soon as you please.

Then consider, he proceeded, whether you agree with
me in what follows. For it appears to me that, if any
thing else is beautiful except the absolutely beautiful,
the only possible cause of its beauty is that it partici
pates in the nature of that absolute beauty : and so on
for all the rest. Do you admit this kind of cause?

Oh, yes, he replied.

That being the case, said he, I can no longer under-"
stand nor recognise all those other ingenious causes:
but if any one assign to me as a reason for the beauty
of any object, either that it has a blooming colour, or
a fine figure, or any other such reason as these, to all
the rest I pay no sort of attention, for I am merely con
fused by them, but to this one thing I hold simply and
artlessly and perhaps foolishly, that it is nothing else
that makes it beautiful but that ideal beauty — whether
we are to call it presence or communication, or in what
ever way or by whatever means the connection is
brought about1 — for on this latter point I can no longer
pronounce any strong affirmation, but only to the extent \
that it^is by the absolute beauty that all beautiful things \
aje made beautiful. For this seems to me the safest
answer to return either to myself or to any one else, and
as long as I hold fast to this I think I can never fall,
but that this is a safe reply to make to myself and to
any one else whatever, that it is by the absolute beauty \

1 efre Hiry ST) Kal SITUS irpocrayopfvofjifrr]. So Wyttenbach cor
rects. With irpoayevo/j.ti>T], the reading of the MSS., translate: 'it
is nothing else that makes it beautiful but the presence, or participa
tion, or whatever else the connection may be, of that ideal beauty' :
but this involves an inaccuracy of expression, as irpoffyevofj.ei>ij by a
kind of attraction agrees grammatically with the wrong word.

8o 1* I. AT O°S PIL-EDO.

that beautiful things are made beautiful. Don't you
agree with me?

Certainly I do.

\ And consequently, that it is by greatness that great
things become great, and greater things greater, and by
smalness that the less become less?
Yes.

Then neither would you assent, if any one were to
maintain that a man is taller than another ' by the head,'
and that one who is shorter is shorter by precisely the
same thing: but you would protest that you have nothing 101
else to say about the matter than that every thing that
is greater, one than another, is greater by nothing else
than by greatness, and that the cause of its being greater
\ is its greatness; and that the less is less by nothing else
I than smalness, and that the cause of its being less is its
' smalness; dreading no doubt the encounter of some ad
verse argument, if you assert that a person is taller or
\ shorter by the head, first, that it is by the very same

i .thing that the greater is greater and the less less, and
secondly, that your greater is greater by the head which
is a little thing, and that it would be indeed a prodigy
) that a man should be great by a little thing. You
would be afraid of this, wouldn't you ?

Cebes laughed at this, and replied, I certainly should.
Well, said he, that ten is more than eight by two, and
that two is the reason of its excess, you would be afraid
to assert, instead of saying bynumbej and by reason of its
number? and that two cubits are greater than one by half,
and not by size? for there is the same fear, I imagine.
Undoubtedly, he said.

And again, in the case of ' the addition of one,
wouldn't you carefully avoid saying that the addition is
1 enl tvos. The ZuricL editors reaJ ivl evjs.

PLATO'S PHsEDO* Si

the cause of their becoming two, or, when a thing is
divided, the division; and loudly exclaim that you know
no other way whatever in which each particular thing
comes into being except by the participation in the ap
propriate being of each in which it does participate, and
that in such cases you have no other cause to assign for
their becoming two but their participation in the idea of \
two, and that all objects that are to be two must par- /
ticipate in this, and all that is to be one, in unity? And ^\
all these divisions and additions and the rest of such
like subtleties, you would let alone, leaving the explana
tion of them to cleverer fellows than yourself: but you,
frightened, as the phrase is, by your own shadow and
ignorance, would hold fast to that certainty of our hypo
thesis, and so shape your answer. And should any one
attack the hypothesisjtself^. you would let it pass and
make no answer, until you had examined the conse- +
quences that proceed from it, whether you find they
agree or disagree with one another. And then next
when you were required to give an account of that itself,
you would do so in like manner, by the assumption
again of any second hypothesis which appeared to you
the best of the higher generalizations, until you arrived
at something satisfactory: and you would not, like those
mere debaters, talk about the first principle and its con
sequences in such a way as to jumble them all up
together, supposing you really wished to attain to the
knowledge of any real thing? For they, I dare say,
have no consideration at all or anxiety about this; for
their cleverness enables them to give themselves entire
satisfaction, whilst they mix every thing together: but
you, if you belong to the order of lovers of wisdom, I0i
would do, I doubt not, as I say.

Most true, said Simmias and Cebes both together.

6

82 PLATO'S PHALDO.

ECH. Yes, by Zeus, Phsedo, like enough. For I am
amazingly struck with the clearness with which he ex
plained this for any one possessed of a grain of sense.

PH. No doubt, Echecrates, and so were all that
were there.

ECH. Why so are we that were not there, and hear
it now for the first time. But pray tell us what was said
next.

5O PH. I think, after this was conceded to him, and
it was admitted that each one of the ideas has a reaF
existence, and that it is by participation in these that
every thing else bears the name of themselves, he next
enquired, If then, said he, you accept this doctrine, do'
you not, whenever you pronounce Simmias to be taller
than Socrates and shorter than Phsedo, say at the same
time that both these things reside in Simmias, greatness
and smalness ?

I do.

But still, said he, you allow that the proposition,
Simmias exceeds Socrates in height, is not exactly true '
as it is expressed in words : for surely it is not Simmias'
nature to be taller in virtue of this, that he is Simmias,
but in virtue of the talness which he happens to have;
nor again, to be taller than Socrates because Socrates
is Socrates, but because Socrates has smalness compared
with the other's greatness.

True.

No, nor again to be surpassed in height by Phsedo
because Phsedo is Phsedo, but because Phsedo has height
compared with Simmias' shortness.

It is so.

Thus it is then that Simmias may be called short and
tall at the same time, whilst he really is between both,
exceeding the shortness of the one by excess of height,

PLATO S-P1MLDO. 83

and lending to the other by comparison a size exceeding
his own shortness. And at the same time smiling, One
would fancy, he continued, that I am going to talk like
a legal document1: but still what I say is not far from
the truth.

He agreed.

And my reason for dwelling upon the subject is the
desire that I have to see you of my opinion. For it
seems to me, not only that greatness in itself will never
be great and small at once, but also that greatness in
ourselves never admits what is small nor will be sur
passed ; Jjut one of two things, either it flies and gives
way on the approach of its opposite, the little, or, if
the other make good its advance, perishes outright;
but it will not stand its ground and admit littleness so
as to be different to what it was, in the same way as I
can admit and sustain the attack of littleness, and still
be what I am, this very identical little fellow; whereas
the other cannot bear to be small when it is great : and
in the very same way what is small in us will never be
come or be great, nor will any other of the opposite
ideas, whilst it still remains what it was, become or be
its opposite, but in such a case it either retires or ceases i<
to be.

That is exactly my own view, said Cebes.
c i And then one of the company present — but who it
was I don't distinctly remember — said as soon as he
heard this : In heaven's name, didn't we, in an earlier
part of our discussion, arrive at a conclusion exactly «t
opposite to what has been just said, that the greater I
springs from the less, and the less from the greater, and \

. • * £uyypa0iKws. That is, in a formal, precise, circumstantial
manner. See Stallbaum's note.

6—2

84 PLATO'S PIfJEDO.

that this is just the source from which opposites are
generated, viz. their opposites ? But now it seems to be
denied that this can ever take place. -,

And Socrates, who had bent his head forward to
listen, answered, Manfully suggested: nevertheless you
don't remark the difference between our present and
former assertions. For it was maintained on the occasion
you allude to that the opposite thing derives its origin
from the thing opposite to it; but now, that the absolute
opposite can never become opposite to itself, neither
what resides in ourselves nor what resides Jn universal
ture. For on the former occasion, my friend, we were
talking about the thrngs-Hrhat contain the opposites, and
gave them the name that belongs to the latter: but now
we are speaking of the ideas themselves, by the inhe-
rence of which phenomena named receive the name that
^they bear; but the ideas themselves, we maintain, never
would admitareciprocal generation. And at the same
time he looked at Cebes, and asked, You too, Cebes,
were troubled I dare say at something in what he said ?

No, replied Cebes, I have not1 the same feeling this
time : although I by no means aver that there are not
a good many things that trouble me.

Then, said he, we have arrived at this conclusion ab
solutely, that the OppQgjtT i^pa wil1 "^^ ^ r>ppr>n'fP tr>

itself.^

Undoubtedly, he replied.

Then further, said Socrates, let me beg you to con
sider if you are inclined to agree to this too. There are
such things as what you call hot and cold ?

To be sure there are.

1 Read owe. If ov6" is retained, the reference must be to So
crates : ' neither have I [any more than you]. '

PLATO'S PH^DO. 85

The same as snow and fire?
No indeed, of course not.

But heat is a thing distinct from fire, and cold a
thing distinct from snow ?
Yes

(X

But this, I suppose, you allow, that snow as snow
can never admit the presence of heat, according to
what we were saying before, so as still to be what it
was, snow and hot, but upon the approach of heat will
eith£r^give^ place to it or perish?

Yes, by all means.

And that fire again on the approach of cold must
either yield to it or perish, but never will bear to admit
cold and still be what it was, fire and cold ?

Quite true, he replied.

It is true then, said he, in respect of some of such
things as we have been talking of, that not only isjthe
idea itself held to have a right to its own name for ever,
but also something else which is not it, but always
has its form whensoever it occurs. But, to proceed,
my meaning will perhaps appear more clearly in the
following case. The idea of odd must always, I pre
sume, receive this name as we now pronounce it : must
it not?

Yes, certainly.

Is that the only thing in nature which must receive
it, — for this is the drift of my question — or something
else besides, which is not the same as the odd, but 104
still, together with its own name, must ever receive this
appellation also, because its nature is such that it never
can be separated from the odd? As an example of
what I mean we may take the case of the number three,
and many others : but let us examine the number three.
Don't you think that it must be called not only by its

86 PLATO'S ril.'EDO.

own name but also by that of the odd, though that be
not the same as the number three? Yet still the nature
of the number three and the number five and the entire
half of the set of numbers is of such sort that each of
them, though it be not the same as the odd, is never
theless always odd. And again, two and four and the
whole of the other row of numbers again, though it be
not the same as the even, is still in each case con
stantly even. Do you admit this, or not ?

Of course I do, he replied.

Then pay attention to what I want to explain; which
is this, that it appears that not only those opposite ideas
do not admit one another, but also all those things which,
though not opposite to one another, have opposites in
separably attached to them — that these too have all the
air of not admitting that idea which is opposite to that
which inheres in themselves, but upon the accession
of it either perish or give way. Or must we not say
that the numl^erjhree would perish or undergo any other
extremity whatever sooner than submit^ to_b_ecome_even,
whilst still remaining three?

Undoubtedly, said Cebes.

Nor again, said he, is the number two opposite to
the number three.

No, certainly not.

Then not only the opposite ideas reciprocally exclude
each other, but there are also certam other things which

are incompatible with the intrusion of the opposites

Most true, was the reply.

53 Should you like us then, said he, to determine, if we
can, of wha^aiiiis_tlie.S-e-thirags_are?

Yes, of all things.

Then do you think it likely, Cebes, that they are
such as force whatsoever they have possession of, not

PLATO'S PHsEDO. 87

merely to entertain the idea proper to itself, but also to
entertain constantly that of some opposite?

How do" you mean?

Just what we were saying a while ago: for you under
stand, I suppose, that all things which are possessed by
the idea of three must of necessity be not only three
but also odd.

Oh, certainly.

Accordingly our assertion is that the idea opposite
to that form which effects this [makes it odd] can never ^
obtain access to such a thing as that.

No, never.

But it was effected by the idea of the odd.

Yes.

And opposite to this is that of the even. \/

Yes.

It follows that the idea of the even will never make ^
its way to three.

Certainly not. /

Then three has no portion in the even. /

None. >

Consequently the number three is uneven.*//

Yes.

Well then, the definition I undertook to give of the
nature of those things which, though /not opposite to
something else, still do not admit it, this opposite, as in
the instance we just now took, the number three, though j
\ not opposite to the even, does not admit it any the more
for that, for it [the number three] always brings to it [the
even] its opposite [the odd|, and similarly the number
two to the odd, and fire to cold, and a vast number of 105
others — but see now if you accept my definition, that not
only the opposite does not admit the opposite idea, but
also whenever a thing brings with it an opposite to any

88 PLATO'S riL-EDO.

thing that it goes to, the importing object itself can never
admit the opposite belonging to the imported.^ But
recall it to mind once again, Tor it is just as well to
bear it often. Five will not admit the idea of even, nor
^ten^jhe double of it, thaijiLodd. Now this double in'
its £_wnjiature_ is ojpposite_to_ Sjomething_else, but never
theless will not^jadmit the idea of odd : nor again will
one and a half and all the rest of numbers of that kind,
the half for instance, admit that of the whole, and a
third again and so on — if you follow me and agree with
what I say.

I agree with you entirely, he replied, and follow
you too.

ZA Then answer me over again from the beginning, said
the other. And do not express your answer in the terms
of my question, but in different words1, as I shall set you
the example. And I speak with reference to another
safe method of answering which I have discovered from
the observations just made, besides that mode, that sure
one, which I pointed out at first. For supposing you
were to ask me what it is that must reside in a body
to make it hot, I shall not now make you that safe,
ignorant answer that a body will be hot in which^hea_t_
resides, but a more refined one derived from our recent
conclusions, 'one in which ^firejesides ' : nor, should you
enquire what must reside in a body to make it sick, shall
I answer sjckngss, but, a fever: nor again, should you
ask what must reside in a number to make itL_Qdd, shall I
say, oddness; but unity and so forth. Now consider if
you by this time understand my meaning sufficiently.

Oh yes, quite sufficiently.

Then answer me, said he; what must reside in a
body in order that it may be alive?

1 a\\' aXXo, fj.i[j.ov/j.fvos. The Zurich editors read

PLATO'S Pff&DO. 89

* Soul, he replied.

Well but is this always so?

How can it be otherwise? said he.

It follows then that the soul ever by her presence
brings life to whatsoever body she herself occupies?

She does indeed.

And is there anything opposite to life, or nothing?

There is, he said.

What?
/ Death.

Well then soul can never possibly admit the con-
trary of that which she herself ever brings with her,
according to the conclusion resulting from our previous
discussion?

Beyond all possibility of doubt, said Cebes.
55 But again. What name did we give just now to that
which does not admit the idea of even ?
(JJneyen.

And to that which does not admit justice, or music ?
(JJnmusical, he said, and the other, unjust.

Very well : and what do we call that which does not
death ?

Jjnmortal.

And does the^ouljioLadniit death ?

No.

Consequently the soul(is immortal ?

It is.

Very well, said he: may we say now that this has
been demonstrated ? or how think you ?

Yes indeed, and quite satisfactorily, Socrates.

But once more, Cebes, said he, suppose the uneven
had been necessarily imperishable, would not three have 106
been imperishable too?

Of course it would.

90 PLATO'S

Well, if again that which is without heat had been
necessarily imperishable, whenever any one applied heat
to snow, the snow woulcLslip aw^safe and unmelted,
fot it certainly would not perish nor stay to admit heat.

Quite true, replied he.

And exactly in the same way, I suppose, if what is
unsusceptible of cold had been imperishable, when any
thing cold approached the fire, it would never have been
extinguished nor have perished, but would have made
good its escape.

Necessarily.

Well then, must we not hold the same language about
what is immortal ? If the immortal is alsojmperishable,
it is impossible for a soul fo perisVTnfr thp nppronrh of
death : for, agreeably to~our"previous conclusions, it
certainly wijj^not admit deatn nor_exist in a state of
death; just as three, we said, will not be even, any more
than the, pdd" itself, nor again, fire cold, any more than
the heat which is in the fire. But, it may be said,
though, as has been settled, the odd cannot become even
on the approach of the even, yet what is to prevent its
)erishing and an even number coming, , in to beingjn its
place? Against one who urges this objection we could
not contend that it does not perish : for the uneven is
not imperishable; for had we come to this conclusion,
we could easily have contended that on the approach of
the even the odd and three take their departure : and
about fire and heat and therest we might have con
tended in the same way : might we not ?

Undoubtedly.

Well and in the present instance of the immortal,
if we are agreed that it is also imperishable, it would
follow that soul is imperishable as well as immortal : or
if not, we should require a new train of reasoning.

PLATO'S PIL-EDO. 91

Nay, said the other, as far as this is " concerned,
there is no need of it : for it is hardly likely that any
thing else could be incapable of destruction, if the im
mortal, being as it is eternal, can be supposed capable
of it.

56 And surely the Divine Being, continued Socrates,
and the very idea of life, and all else that is immortal,
must be admitted by all to be for ever exempt from
destruction.

By all men, most certainly, he replied, and still more,
I should conceive, by gods. \

If then what is immortal is also indestructible, must \
not soul, if it be immortal, be also imperishable? /

Infallibly.

Consequently, when death comes upon the whole
man, the mortal part of him, as it appears, dies, but the
immortal part gives place to death and takes its flight\
far away safe and indestructible.

It seems so.

Then nothing can be more certain, Cebes, he pur
sued, than that soul is immortal and imperishable, and 107
that our souls will really exist in the world below.

I at any rate, Socrates, replied he, have nothing else
to say in opposition to this, nor can I in any way refuse
my assent to your arguments. But if perhaps Simmias
here or any one else has anything to say, it would be well
not to suppress it : for I know not to what other season
than the present he may think to put off his enquiries,
if he desire to say or to hear anything on such subjects.

Nay indeed, said Simmias, neither have I myself any
further ground for withholding my assent after what has
been said : yet nevertheless I am compelled by the
importance of the subject of our discussion and the
distrust inspired by our human weakness, still to remain.

92 PLATO'S Pff^EDO.

unconvinced in my own mind as to the truth of our
conclusions.

Yes, Simmias, replied Socrates, and not only so, but,
besides what you have just so rightly suggested, you
should also, however secure they may seem to you,
nevertheless re-examine our first premisses; and when
you have submitted them to a sufficient analysis, you
will then, as 1 believe, follow the course of the proof,
so far at least as it is in any way possible for a human
being to follow it; and if this particular point become
clear to you, you will make no further search.

True, was the reply.

57 But here is another point, my friends, he continued,
which it is right to consider, viz. that, if the soul is im-
. mortal, it surely requires care and forethought to pro
vide, not only for this time in which consists what we
call life, but for the whole : and the hazard of neglecting
it must now indeed appear fearful. For, had death been
a release from everything, it would have been a godsend
to the vicious to be released once for all by death from
the body and from their own vice together with the soul :
but now, whereas it proves to be immortal, there can be
no other refuge for it nor salvation from its misery but to
become as good and wise as possible. For the soul takes
its journey to the lower world with nothing whatever but
its education and cultivation, which in fact, as we are told,
bring at once upon the dead the highest service or the
deepest injury at the very outset of his journey thither.
Now there is a tradition to the effect that each man's
genius, to whose charge he had been allotted during
his life, — he, when he dies, undertakes to conduct him
to some particular place, at which they are all to assem
ble, and then, after having sentence passed upon them,
to proceed to the lower regions in company with that

PLATO'S PH^DO. 93

guide to whom has been assigned the office of con
veying the inhabitants of this world to the other. And
there after they have received each man his appointed
lot and have stayed the appointed time, another guide
conducts them back hither after many and long revolu
tions of ages. And the journey, as they say, is not such
as ^Eschylus' Telephus describes it : for he says that " a
simple path leads to the world below"; whereas to me 108
it seems to be neither one nor simple : for had it been
so, there would have been no need of guides; for no one,
I suppose, would go astray in any direction where there
is only one road: whereas in reality it seems to have
many branches and windings; a conclusion which I
derive from the religious and funereal rites as they are
practised here. So the well-ordered and wise soul fol
lows obediently, for she is not absolutely unacquainted
with the present state of things: but that which has
a passionate desire after the body, as I said before, flut
tering long about it and the visible world, after many
struggles and much suffering, with reluctance and diffi
culty is carried off by the appointed genius. And on
her arrival at the place where the rest are, if she be
impure and guilty of any such crimes as these, either
stained, for example, with unrighteous murders or having
committed any other such things as are akin to these
and the deeds of kindred souls, her every one shuns and
shrinks from, and will be neither her fellow-traveller nor
her guide, and she wanders by herself involved in utter
most perplexity until certain seasons have elapsed, at the
end of which she is borne by necessity to the habitation
fitted for her; whilst the souls that have passed their life
with purity and discretion obtain gods for companions
and guides, and dwell each in the place that is suitable
to her nature. Now there are many and wondrous re-

94 PLATO'S PHsEDO.

gioiis'in the earth, and the earth itself is neither in
quality nor in size what it is imagined to be by those
who are accustomed to describe it, as a certain person
has convinced me.

58 Here Simmias said, How mean you, Socrates? For
I myself have heard a vast deal about the earth, not
however the view you have accepted. I should 'there
fore like very much to hear it.

Nay, in truth, Simmias, to describe to you what it
is, seems to me hardly to require the skill of Glaucus:
but to decide whether it be true, appears to me too
hard even for Glaucus' skill; and not only should I very
likely find myself quite unable to do so, but also, even
if I knew how, my life seems hardly long enough,
Simmias, for an argument of such magnitude. Never
theless the figure of the earth, such as I am convinced
it is, and its various regions, there is nothing to prevent
my describing to you.

Well, said Simmias, we will be content even with
that.

My persuasion is then, said he, first of all, that, if
the earth is of a spherical figure and placed in the centre
of the heavens, it has no need either of air to keep
it from falling, or of any other similar sustaining force; 109
but that the perfect uniformity of the heavens in all
their parts and the equipoise of the earth itself are suffi
cient to support it : for a thing in equilibrium, placed
in the centre of another, perfectly uniform and corre
spondent, will have no reason for inclining more or less
to one side than another, and accordingly, as it does
so correspond, will remain fixed and immoveable. Here
you have then the first article of my creed, said he.

And a sound one too, replied Simmias.

And still further, he proceeded, that it is of vast

PLATO'S PHsEDO. 95

size, and that we who are settled from the Ph'asis to the
Columns of Hercules occupy quite a little bit of it,
dwelling round the sea like ants or frogs round a pond,
and that there are many others in various parts living in
many similar regions. For in every direction round the
earth there are many hollows, of every kind in shape
and size, whereinto collect the water and the mist and
the air; whilst the earth itself lies pure in the purity of
the heaven, wherein are the stars, which in fact is called
the sky by most of those who are accustomed to give
an opinion upon such matters: whereof, as we may sup
pose, all this [water, mist, and air] is the mere sediment,
which collects constantly into the cavities of the earth.
Accordingly we are living without being aware of it in
the hollows of the earth, fancying all the time that we
are dwelling above on its surface; just as if a person
living at the very bottom of the ocean were to suppose
that he was living on its surface, and seeing the sun and
all the other stars through the water were to imagine
that the sea was heaven, and by reason of his dulness
and infirmity had never risen to the top of the water, nor
had been able to extricate himself and peer out of the
sea into the regions of earth, so as to see how much
purer and fairer they are than those with them, nor had
heard the tale from one who had seen it. Precisely the
same, I say, is the case with ourselves: for dwelling as
we do in a kind of cavern of the earth, we yet fancy
that we inhabit its surface, and call the air heaven, as
though this were heaven and through it the stars ran
their courses ; whereas the case is just the same with
ourselves, that from infirmity and dulness we are unable
to penetrate to the outermost parts of the air: for, could
any one reach its upper surface or make him wings to
fly so high, he might peep out and descry — just as here

96 PLATO'S PHsEDO.

on earth the fishes by raising their heads out of the sea
can see objects on earth — so, I say, might a man descry
also objects there, and, were our nature strong enough
to endure the contemplation of them, might discover
that that is the true heaven and the true light and the
true earth. For this earth where we dwell and these II0
stones and the whole region here are corrupted and
gnawed away, as things in the sea are by the brine : and
nothing grows in the sea worth noticing, neither is there
anything, as one may say, perfect, but there are caves
and sand and mud and slime — wherever there /V land
— in endless quantity, all utterly unworthy to be com
pared to the beautiful objects with us : and those others
again would seem still further to surpass things which
with us are esteemed beautiful. For if I must tell you
a pretty fable, it is worth your while to hear, Simmias,
the story of all that is to be found upon the earth be-

i neath the heaven.

* Nay, you may be sure, Socrates, replied Simmias,

that we should be glad to hear your fable.
59 Well then, my friend, he proceeded, the story goes,
first of all, that this earth of which we are speaking1,
if it could be seen from above, is to look upon like those
balls covered with twelve patches of leather, many-
coloured, distinguished with hues whereof the colours
here which our painters make use of are, as it were,
samples : but there the whole earth is painted with
similar colours, nay, with colours even far more brilliant
and purer than these; for part of it is of purple and of
marvellous beauty, and part of the colour of gold, and
the part that is white whiter than chalk or snow, and
of all the other colours it is composed in like manner,

1 ^ - 77 avTT). The Zurich editors (after Heindorf) read ai/rtf.

PLATO'S PHsEDO. 97

yet still more numerous and fairer than all that we have
ever seen. Even these mere hollows of it, filled as they
are with water and air, present a peculiar kind of colour,
glittering in the diversity of the rest of them, so that its
form appears as one unbroken variegated surface. And
in this, such as I have described it, the plants that
grow are in like proportion, trees and flowers and
their fruits: and the mountains again in like manner,
and the stones have their smoothness and transparency
and colours fairer in the same proportion; of which also
the pebbles here, those that are so highly prized, are
fragments, carnelians and jaspers and emeralds and all
of that kind; but there everything without exception is
of the same sort, nay, still fairer than these. And the
reason of this is that those stones are pure, and not
eaten away nor spoiled like those on earth by corruption
and brine produced by all the sediments that collect
here and engender ugliness and diseases in stones and
earth and animals and plants as well. But the real
earth is embellished, not only with all these ornaments,
but with gold besides and silver and everything else of 1 1 1
that kind : for from their great number and size and the
multitude of places where they are found they are very
conspicuous, so that to see it is a sight for the blessed.
And not to mention a number of other living creatures,
there are also men upon it, some dwelling inland, and
some on the shores of the air, as we of the ocean, and
others in islands encircled by the air, lying adjacent to
the mainland: and in one word, what to us the water
and the sea is in regard of our use, that the air is there,
and what to us the air is, to them is the sky. And the
seasons are so tempered for them that they are free
from disease and live a much longer time than men here,
and in sight and hearing and smell and all such things
c. P. 7

98 PLATO'S PIL-EDO.

are removed from us by exactly the same distance as
air is from water and sky from air in respect of purity.
And furthermore they have temples of the gods and
sacred edifices wherein the gods are actually dwellers,
and they enjoy voices and responses and visions of the
gods and all intercourse with them of that nature: and
the sun and moon and stars are seen by them such
as they really are, and their bliss in all other respects
corresponds to this.

60 Such then is the nature of the earth as a whole and
its surface: but there are in the hollow parts of it round
its entire circumference a number of places, some deeper
and more widely open than the one in which we our
selves dwell, whilst others that are deeper have their
mouth narrower than the region which we inhabit, whilst
others again are shallower and wider than the one here.
And all these are pierced in many places below the
earth so as to communicate with one another by channels
narrower and wider, and have passages where a quan
tity of water flows from one to the other, as it were
into basins, and never-failing rivers of enormous size
beneath the earth of hot water and of cold, and a mass
of fire and great rivers of fire, and many of liquid mud
purer as well as fouler, like the torrents of mud that
burst forth in Sicily before the eruption of lava and the
lava-stream itself; wherewith each of the places is filled
in turn as the stream in its course round chances each
time to reach it. And all this is moved up and down
by a kind of oscillation in the earth; which is produced,
as is said, by a natural cause of the following description.
One in particular of the openings in the earth, besides
that it is the largest of all, is also pierced right through the 112
entire earth; that, namely, which Homer meant when he
says of it.

PLATO'S PHsEDO. 99

" Very far away, where is the deepest abyss beneath the earth,''
to which in fact elsewhere not only he but many others
of the poets have given the name of Tartarus. For into
this hollow all the rivers run together, and from it they
again run out; and each of them takes a character cor
responding to that of the earth through which it flows.
And the reason why all the streams flow out of and
into it is, that this liquid has no bottom nor resting-place:
it is accordingly held in suspension and surges up and
down, and the air and the wind about it do the same;
for it is accompanied by them in its passage equally to
the other side and to this side of the earth; and just
as in the process of breathing the breath is constantly
in motion by expiration and inspiration, so there also
the wind which is held in suspension with the liquid
creates by rushing in and out fearful and irresistible
sorts of blasts. And whensoever the water retires with
impetuous current to the region which is called ' below,'
it flows through the earth to the neighbourhood of those
streams and fills them, as it were by a pump: and
again whenever it quits those regions and rushes back
hither, it fills in their turn the streams on our side; and
these when they are filled flow through the channels
and through the earth, and, arriving each at the places
towards which in each instance they are making their
way, produce seas and lakes and rivers and fountains :
and thence descending again beneath the earth, after a
circuit, some longer and of more places, some shorter
and of fewer, they again discharge themselves into Tar
tarus, some far lower, and others a little lower, than the
point at which they were pumped into their beds: but
all of them enter at a lower point than that at which
they issued. And some of them make their escape on
the side directly opposite to their entrance, and some in

ioo PLATO'S P1L-EDO.

the same quarter: but a few there are which encompass
the earth completely round, twining round it like snakes
once or even oftener, and then throw themselves again
into Tartarus at the lowest depth they can possibly
reach. And the depth they are able to attain is the
centre of the earth in either direction, no lower : for the
part beyond from either side is an ascent for both
streams.

Now, to say nothing of all the rest of the streams
many and large and various, there are in this great num
ber four in particular, whereof the largest and outermost,
llowing entirely round, is that which is called Ocean;
opposite to it and flowing in the contrary direction is
Acheron, which not only traverses various desert regions,
but also flows in a subterranean channel till it reaches
the Acherusian lake, in the quarter where the souls of 113
most of the dead repair, and after abiding there certain
appointed seasons, some longer and some shorter, are
again sent out to animate the bodies of living creatures.
And between these a third river rises, and not far from
its source falls into a vast region burning with a great
lire, and makes a lake larger than our sea, boiling with
water and mud; and thence it pursues its circular course
all turbid and muddy, and as it rolls round, besides
other places, it arrives at the extremity of the Acheru
sian lake, though it mingles not with its waters; and
after winding many times round underground it falls into
the lower depths of Tartarus; and this is the one to
which they give the name of Pyriphlegethon, whereof
fragments are discharged by our volcanoes, wherever
they chance to be found on the face of the earth. And
on the opposite side to this the fourth river falls first
into a place fearful and wild, as we are told, with a per
vading colour like indigo, which goes by the name of

PLATO'S PI L EDO. 101

Stygian, and the lake which the river makes by its dis
charge, Styx. But after falling into it and contracting
horrible properties in its waters, it buries itself under
ground, and flows in a winding course in the opposite
direction to the Pyriphlegethon, until it meets it from
the opposite side in the Acherusian lake; and neither
do its waters mingle with any other, but this also, after
flowing round and round, discharges itself into Tartarus
in the opposite direction to the Pyriphlegethon; and
its name, as the poets say, is Cocytus.

62 Such being the nature of these regions, as soon as
the dead have arrived at the spot to which each is con
veyed by his genius, they first receive sentence whether
they have led good and holy lives or no. And those
that are found to have passed tolerable lives proceed to
Acheron, and embarking in the vessels there provided
for them are conveyed upon them to the lake; and
there they dwell, either undergoing purification by the
penalty they pay for their transgressions till they are
absolved from the offences any one may have committed,
or receiving rewards for their good deeds each accord
ing to his deserts. But those that are found to be
incurable by reason of the enormity of their offences,
either many and grievous acts of sacrilege or many un
righteous and lawless murders of which they have been
guilty or any other crimes of that magnitude, — them the
fate due to their guilt precipitates into Tartarus, whence
they never come forth. But those that prove to have
been guilty of offences curable indeed yet great, as for
instance if they have been driven by passion to offer
violence to father or mother but pass the rest of their
lives in penitence for the act, or have committed homi- 114
cide in any other similar way, — these must also be
thrown into Tartarus, but after they have been cast in

102 PLATO'S PIL'EDO.

and have continued there a year, they are thrown out
by the tide, the homicides by the Cocytus, and the par
ricides and matricides by the Pyriphlegethon ; and as
soon as they arrive in their course at the Acherusian
lake, there with loud cries they invoke those whom they
slew or insulted, and when they have thus summoned
them, they implore and entreat them to suffer them to
come out into the lake, and to admit them into their
company; and if they prevail, they come forth and cease
from their miseries, but if not, they are borne back into
Tartarus, and thence again into the rivers, and this
they never cease to endure until they have won over
those whom they wronged ; for this was the sentence
pronounced upon them by their judges. But those that
are found to have passed a preeminently holy life — these
are they that are delivered and set free from these our
earthly regions, as it were from a dungeon, and attain
to that pure dwelling-place above, and make their abode
upon the surface of the earth. And further of these all
that have fully purified themselves by philosophy pass
their lives for the future entirely without bodies, and
attain to habitations still fairer than these, which, it is
neither easy to describe nor would the time suffice at
the present moment.

However, for the reasons I have assigned, Simmias,
it is incumbent upon us to leave nothing undone for the
acquisition of a share in virtue and wisdom during our
lifetime: for noble is the prize and great the hope.
63-7 Now to insist upon it that everything is precisely as
1 have described, is unworthy of a man of sense: that
however this or something like this is true of our souls
and their dwelling-places, seeing that it is evident that
the soul is a thing immortal, — this does seem to me to
be worthy of one, and that it is worth while for him to

PLATO'S ril/EDO. 103

run any risk in this belief: for noble is the hazard,
and it is well to encourage oneself by such incantations,
for so one may call them, as these : for which reason in
fact I have been ever so long spinning out my fable.
However, for these reasons any man may well feel con
fidence about his own soul, who during his lifetime has
bid adieu to all other pleasures of the body and to its
ornaments, because he thought them foreign to his true
nature and rather likely to work mischief than good, and
has zealously pursued the pleasures of knowledge, and
having decked his soul with no foreign ornament, but
with her own true one, temperance and justice and for
titude and freedom and truth, so awaits his journey to 115
the other world, prepared to depart whenever fate call
him. You, said he, Simmias and Cebes and the rest,
will make this journey each at his own time in the
future; but me, as a tragic poet would say, destiny sum
mons forthwith at this very moment, and it is about
time for me to betake myself to my bath; for it seems
to me better to bathe before I drink the poison, and
so save the women the trouble of washing the corpse.
64 So after he had finished speaking, Crito said, Well,
Socrates, but what charge have you to give your friends
here or myself, either about your children or in any other
matter, in which we may be able to serve you best ?

Just what I always tell you, Crito, he replied, nothing
more than usual: by attending to yourselves you will
gratify not only me and mine but yourselves too in
all that you do, even though you are not inclined to
admit it now : but if you neglect yourselves and do not
choose to pass your lives as it were in the track of what
has been said now and on former occasions, you will gain
nothing by it, no, not even if you bind yourselves to-day
by ever so many and ever so sacred promises.

104 PLATO'S r

Well then, we will do our best, said he, to comply
with your wishes: but how are we to bury you?

Anyhow you please, returned he, provided, that is,
you catch me, and I don't escape you altogether.
And at the same time with a quiet smile and a glance
at us, he continued, I can't convince Crito, my friends,
that the Socrates who is now conversing with you and
arranges in due order each part of his discourse is my
real self, but he fancies that I am that body which he
will by and by see a corpse, and so he asks how to
bury me. But all that long argument that I have held, to
the effect that as soon as I have drunk the poison I shall
stay with you no longer, but shall be gone at once to
some happy state of the blessed, — all this he takes for
mere idle talk to comfort you and myself alike. Go
bail for me therefore to Crito, he continued, only in the
opposite way to that which he offered for me to the
judges. For he was security for me that I would as
suredly stay; but I want you to be my bail that I shall
assuredly not stay after my death, but shall be gone at
once, so that Crito may be less afflicted, and may not
be vexed about me when he sees my body burnt or
buried, as if I were shamefully ill-treated, and may not
say at my funeral that it is Socrates that he is laying
out or carrying to his grave or burying. For be assured,
said he, my excellent Crito, that to use improper expres
sions not merely is an offence in respect of the thing
itself, but also engenders some mischief in our souls.
On the contrary you should take heart and say that it is
my body that you bury, and bury it precisely as is most 1 1 6
agreeable to yourself and as you deem most conform
able to custom.

65 Having thus spoken he rose to retire into another room
to take his bath, and Crito accompanied him, but bade us

PLATO'S PH&DO. 105

wait. Accordingly we waited, talking over amongst our
selves and reconsidering the subject of our conversation,
and then again dwelling upon the magnitude of the cala
mity which had befallen us, regarding ourselves exactly in
the light of orphans who would have to pass the rest of
our lives deprived of a father. And after he had bathed
and his children had been brought to him — for he had
two sons of tender age and one grown up — and the
women of his family had arrived, he conversed with the
latter in the presence of Crito and gave them his parting
injunctions, and then, desiring the women and children
to go away, returned himself to us. And it was now
near sunset; for he had spent a considerable time within.
And he came and sat down after his bath, and after this
he did not talk much. By and by came the officer of
the Eleven, and standing near him said, I am sure,
Socrates, I shall not have to find the same fault with
you as with the rest, that they are angry with me and
curse me when I bring them the order to drink the
poison because the magistrates force me: but I have
found you all along the noblest and gentlest and best
man of all that ever came here, and now too I am quite
sure that you will not be angry with me1, — for you know
who are to blame — but with them. Now therefore —
for you know the message with which I came — farewell,
and try to bear your fate as easily as you can. And
bursting into tears he turned away and left the room.
And Socrates, looking up at him, said, And you too
farewell, and we will do as you bid. And at the same
time to us, How courteous, said he, the man is ! in fact
during the whole time I have spent here he used to pay

eij. So Bekker and Stallbaum. The Zurich editors
retain x«XeTa^«s.

C. P. 8

106 PLATO'S PH&DO.

me visits and sometimes talk to me, and was the best
fellow in the world : and now how generous it is of him
to weep for me ! So come therefore, Crito, let us do as
he says, and let some one bring the poison, if it is
bruised ; or if not, let the fellow bruise it.

And Crito said, Nay, I think, Socrates, the sun is
still upon the mountains and is not set yet Besides,
I know that others take it quite late, after the order has
been brought them eating and drinking heartily and
some enjoying the society of their intimates. Let me
entreat you not to be in a hurry; for there is still time.

And Socrates replied: Yes, it is natural enough for
those you speak of to act thus, for they suppose they
shall be gainers by doing so, and it will be equally natu
ral for me to do otherwise: for I think I should gain
nothing by a little delay in taking it, except my own 117
contempt and ridicule for showing such greediness of
life and 'husbanding it when there is no longer a drop
left.' So go, he ended, do as I bid you, and don't
disoblige me.

66 And Crito, when he heard this, made a sign to his
slave standing by : and the slave went out, and after
some delay came back with the man who was to ad
minister the poison, which he carried bruised in a cup.
And as soon as Socrates saw the fellow, he said, Well,
my excellent friend, as you understand these things,
what is to be done?

Nothing else, he replied, but walk about after you
have swallowed it until a feeling of heaviness comes on
in your legs, and then lie down; and so it will act of
itself.

And at the same time he handed the cup to Socrates ;
who took it, and with the utmost cheerfulness, Eche-
crates, without trembling in the least or changing a jot

PLATO'S PH^DO. 107

either of colour or of feature, but just as usual, with his
fixed underlook at the man, said, What say you to offer
ing a libation to any one of this draught ? may I or not ?

We bruise only just as much, Socrates, replied he,
as we think sufficient for a dose.

I understand, said he; but at any rate I suppose
I may, and indeed must, pray to the Gods that my
change of abode from this world to the other may turn
out prosperous : which indeed I do pray, and so be it.

And just as he finished these words, he put the cup
to his lips, and with the most perfect serenity and cheer
fulness drank it off. And most of us up to this time
had been tolerably successful in controlling our tears,
but when we saw him drinking and the cup actually
finished, it was all over, but in spite of myself my tears
began to flow in torrents, so that I was obliged to cover
my face and weep for myself; — for assuredly it was not
for him, but for my own fate in being deprived of such
a friend. And Crito, still earlier than myself, finding
that he could not repress his tears, rose and quitted the
room. But Apollodorus, who all along had never ceased
weeping, burst out then into loud sobs, and by his tears
and expressions of grief quite overcame every one that
was present, except Socrates himself. But he exclaimed,
What conduct is this, my very worthy friends! Why,
this was my chief reason for sending away the women,
that they might not offend in this way : for indeed
I have heard that one should die in silence. Pray be
quiet and have patience. These words made us feel
ashamed, and we refrained from weeping. But he walked
about for some time, and then, when he told us that his
legs began to feel heavy, lay down on his back: for
such were the directions of the attendant. And at the
same time the man that administered the poison touched

io8 PLATO'S PH^DO.

him at intervals to examine his feet and legs, and then
pressing his foot . hard enquired if he felt it : and he
said, No; and next his legs again: and so advancing nS
upwards, showed us that he was growing cold and stiff.
And he himself did the same, and told us that as soon
as it reached his heart, then he should be gone. Well,
the cold was already beginning to affect the region of the
abdomen, when he uncovered his face — for it had been
covered — and said, — which were indeed the last words
he spoke, — Crito, he said, we owe a cock to ^Escula-
pius: pray pay it, and don't forget. Oh, certainly, said
Crito, it shall be done : but consider if you have any
other injunctions for us. To this question he made no
reply this time; but after a short interval he stirred, and
the attendant uncovered his face, and his eyes were
fixed: upon which Crito, observing it, closed his mouth
and his eyes.

This, Echecrates, was the end of our friend, a man,
in my judgment, of all his contemporaries that I ever
had any knowledge of, the best natured, and besides the
wisest and most just.

CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY c. j. CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.

Plato
Phaedo

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