Chapter X: Part 10

Suppose we consider the question whether the souls of men
after death are or are not in the world below. There comes
into my mind an ancient doctrine which affirms that they
go from hence into the other world, and returning hither, are
born again from the dead. Now if it be true that the living
come from the dead, then our souls must exist in the other
world, for if not, how could they have been born again?
And this would be conclusive, if there were any real evidence
that the living are only born from the dead; but if this is not
so, then other arguments will have to be adduced.

Very true, replied Cebes.

[Sidenote: All things which have opposites are generated out of opposites.]

Then let us consider the whole question, not in relation to
man only, but in relation to animals generally, and to plants,
and to everything of which there is generation, and the proof
will be easier. Are not all things which have opposites
generated out of their opposites? I mean such things as
good and evil, just and unjust—and there are innumerable
other opposites which are generated out of opposites. And I
want to show that in all opposites there is of necessity a
similar alternation; I mean to say, for example, that anything
which becomes greater must become greater after being
less.

True.

And that which becomes less must have been once greater
and then have become less. 71

Yes.

And the weaker is generated from the stronger, and the
swifter from the slower.

Very true.

And the worse is from the better, and the more just is from
the more unjust.

Of course.

And is this true of all opposites? and are we convinced
that all of them are generated out of opposites?

Yes.

[Sidenote: _Life and death like waking and sleeping._]

[Sidenote: And there are intermediate processes or passages into and out of one another, such as increase and diminution, division and composition, and the like.]

And in this universal opposition of all things, are there not
also two intermediate processes which are ever going on, from
one to the other opposite, and back again; where there is a
greater and a less there is also an intermediate process of
increase and diminution, and that which grows is said to
wax, and that which decays to wane?

Yes, he said.

And there are many other processes, such as division and
composition, cooling and heating, which equally involve a
passage into and out of one another. And this necessarily
holds of all opposites, even though not always expressed in
words—they are really generated out of one another, and
there is a passing or process from one to the other of them?

Very true, he replied.

Well, and is there not an opposite of life, as sleep is the
opposite of waking?

True, he said.

And what is it?

Death, he answered.

And these, if they are opposites, are generated the one
from the other, and have their two intermediate processes
also?

Of course.

Now, said Socrates, I will analyze one of the two pairs of
opposites which I have mentioned to you, and also its intermediate
processes, and you shall analyze the other to me.
One of them I term sleep, the other waking. The state of
sleep is opposed to the state of waking, and out of sleeping
waking is generated, and out of waking, sleeping; and the
process of generation is in the one case falling asleep, and in
the other waking up. Do you agree?

I entirely agree.

[Sidenote: Life is opposed to death, as waking is to sleeping, and in like manner they are generated from one another.]

Then, suppose that you analyze life and death to me in the
same manner. Is not death opposed to life?

Yes.

And they are generated one from the other?

Yes.

What is generated from the living?

The dead.

And what from the dead?

I can only say in answer—the living.

Then the living, whether things or persons, Cebes, are
generated from the dead?

[Sidenote: _The circle of nature._]

That is clear, he replied.

Then the inference is that our souls exist in the world
below?

That is true.

And one of the two processes or generations is visible—for
surely the act of dying is visible?

Surely, he said.

What then is to be the result? Shall we exclude the
opposite process? and shall we suppose nature to walk on
one leg only? Must we not rather assign to death some
corresponding process of generation?

Certainly, he replied.

And what is that process?

Return to life.

And return to life, if there be such a thing, is the birth
of the dead into the world of the living? 72

Quite true.

Then here is a new way by which we arrive at the conclusion
that the living come from the dead, just as the dead
come from the living; and this, if true, affords a most certain
proof that the souls of the dead exist in some place out of
which they come again.

Yes, Socrates, he said; the conclusion seems to flow
necessarily out of our previous admissions.

[Sidenote: If there were no compensation or return in nature, all things would pass into the state of death.]

And that these admissions were not unfair, Cebes, he said,
may be shown, I think, as follows: If generation were in a
straight line only, and there were no compensation or circle
in nature, no turn or return of elements into their opposites,
then you know that all things would at last have the same
form and pass into the same state, and there would be no
more generation of them.

What do you mean? he said.

[Sidenote: _The doctrine of recollection._]

[Sidenote: The sleeping Endymion would be unmeaning in a world of sleepers.]

A simple thing enough, which I will illustrate by the case
of sleep, he replied. You know that if there were no alternation
of sleeping and waking, the tale of the sleeping
Endymion would in the end have no meaning, because all
other things would be asleep too, and he would not be distinguishable
from the rest. Or if there were composition
only, and no division of substances, then the chaos of
Anaxagoras would come again. And in like manner, my
dear Cebes, if all things which partook of life were to die,
and after they were dead remained in the form of death, and
did not come to life again, all would at last die, and nothing
would be alive—what other result could there be? For if the
living spring from any other things, and they too die, must
not all things at last be swallowed up in death?[23]

There is no escape, Socrates, said Cebes; and to me your
argument seems to be absolutely true.

Yes, he said, Cebes, it is and must be so, in my opinion;
and we have not been deluded in making these admissions;
but I am confident that there truly is such a thing as living
again, and that the living spring from the dead, and that the
souls of the dead are in existence, and that the good souls
have a better portion than the evil.

[Sidenote: The doctrine of recollection implies a previous existence.]

Cebes added: Your favourite doctrine, Socrates, that
knowledge is simply recollection, if true, also necessarily
implies a previous time in which we have learned that which
we now recollect. But this would be impossible unless our
soul had been in some place before existing in the form of 73
man; here then is another proof of the soul’s immortality.

But tell me, Cebes, said Simmias, interposing, what arguments
are urged in favour of this doctrine of recollection. I
am not very sure at the moment that I remember them.

[Sidenote: You put a question to a person, and he answers out of his own mind.]

One excellent proof, said Cebes, is afforded by questions.
If you put a question to a person in a right way, he will give
a true answer of himself, but how could he do this unless
there were knowledge and right reason already in him?
And this is most clearly shown when he is taken to a diagram
or to anything of that sort[24].

But if, said Socrates, you are still incredulous, Simmias, I
would ask you whether you may not agree with me when you
look at the matter in another way;—I mean, if you are still
incredulous as to whether knowledge is recollection?

Incredulous I am not, said Simmias; but I want to have
this doctrine of recollection brought to my own recollection,
and, from what Cebes has said, I am beginning to recollect
and be convinced: but I should still like to hear what you
were going to say.

This is what I would say, he replied:—We should agree,
if I am not mistaken, that what a man recollects he must
have known at some previous time.

Very true.

[Sidenote: _The association of ideas._]

[Sidenote: A person may recollect what he has never seen together with what he has seen. How is this?]

And what is the nature of this knowledge or recollection?
I mean to ask, Whether a person who, having seen or heard
or in any way perceived anything, knows not only that, but
has a conception of something else which is the subject, not
of the same but of some other kind of knowledge, may not be
fairly said to recollect that of which he has the conception?

What do you mean?

I mean what I may illustrate by the following instance:—The
knowledge of a lyre is not the same as the knowledge of
a man?

True.

[Sidenote: Recollection is the knowledge of some person or thing derived from some other person or thing which may be either like or unlike them.]

And yet what is the feeling of lovers when they recognize
a lyre, or a garment, or anything else which the beloved has
been in the habit of using? Do not they, from knowing the
lyre, form in the mind’s eye an image of the youth to whom
the lyre belongs? And this is recollection. In like manner
any one who sees Simmias may remember Cebes; and there
are endless examples of the same thing.

Endless, indeed, replied Simmias.

And recollection is most commonly a process of recovering
that which has been already forgotten through time and
inattention.

Very true, he said.

Well; and may you not also from seeing the picture of a
horse or a lyre remember a man? and from the picture of
Simmias, you may be led to remember Cebes.

True.

Or you may also be led to the recollection of Simmias
himself?

Quite so. 74

And in all these cases, the recollection may be derived
from things either like or unlike?

It may be.

And when the recollection is derived from like things, then
another consideration is sure to arise, which is—whether the
likeness in any degree falls short or not of that which is
recollected?

[Sidenote: _The ideal equality and the material equals._]

Very true, he said.

And shall we proceed a step further, and affirm that there
is such a thing as equality, not of one piece of wood or stone
with another, but that, over and above this, there is absolute
equality? Shall we say so?

Say so, yes, replied Simmias, and swear to it, with all the
confidence in life.

And do we know the nature of this absolute essence?

To be sure, he said.

[Sidenote: The imperfect equality of pieces of wood or stone suggests the perfect idea of equality.]

And whence did we obtain our knowledge? Did we not
see equalities of material things, such as pieces of wood and
stones, and gather from them the idea of an equality which is
different from them? For you will acknowledge that there
is a difference. Or look at the matter in another way:—Do
not the same pieces of wood or stone appear at one time
equal, and at another time unequal?

That is certain.

But are real equals ever unequal? or is the idea of equality
the same as of inequality?

Impossible, Socrates.

Then these (so-called) equals are not the same with the idea
of equality?

I should say, clearly not, Socrates.

And yet from these equals, although differing from the idea
of equality, you conceived and attained that idea?

Very true, he said.

Which might be like, or might be unlike them?

Yes.

But that makes no difference: whenever from seeing one
thing you conceived another, whether like or unlike, there
must surely have been an act of recollection?

Very true.

But what would you say of equal portions of wood and
stone, or other material equals? and what is the impression
produced by them? Are they equals in the same sense in
which absolute equality is equal? or do they fall short of
this perfect equality in a measure?

Yes, he said, in a very great measure too.

[Sidenote: But if the material equals when compared to the ideal equality fall short of it, the ideal equality with which they are compared must be prior to them, though only known through the medium of them.]

And must we not allow, that when I or any one, looking at
any object, observes that the thing which he sees aims at
being some other thing, but falls short of, and cannot be, that
other thing, but is inferior, he who makes this observation
must have had a previous knowledge of that to which the
other, although similar, was inferior?

[Sidenote: _The ideal equality._]

Certainly.

And has not this been our own case in the matter of equals
and of absolute equality?

Precisely.

Then we must have known equality previously to the time
when we first saw the material equals, and reflected that all 75
these apparent equals strive to attain absolute equality, but
fall short of it?

Very true.

And we recognize also that this absolute equality has only
been known, and can only be known, through the medium of
sight or touch, or of some other of the senses, which are all
alike in this respect?

Yes, Socrates, as far as the argument is concerned, one of
them is the same as the other.

From the senses then is derived the knowledge that all
sensible things aim at an absolute equality of which they fall
short?

Yes.

Then before we began to see or hear or perceive in any
way, we must have had a knowledge of absolute equality, or
we could not have referred to that standard the equals which
are derived from the senses?—for to that they all aspire, and
of that they fall short.

No other inference can be drawn from the previous statements.

And did we not see and hear and have the use of our other
senses as soon as we were born?

Certainly.

[Sidenote: That higher sense of equality must have been known to us before we were born, was forgotten at birth, and was recovered by the use of the senses.]

Then we must have acquired the knowledge of equality at
some previous time?

Yes.

That is to say, before we were born, I suppose?

True.

[Sidenote: _The two alternatives._]

And if we acquired this knowledge before we were born,
and were born having the use of it, then we also knew before
we were born and at the instant of birth not only the equal or
the greater or the less, but all other ideas; for we are not
speaking only of equality, but of beauty, goodness, justice,
holiness, and of all which we stamp with the name of essence
in the dialectical process, both when we ask and when we
answer questions. Of all this we may certainly affirm that
we acquired the knowledge before birth?

We may.

But if, after having acquired, we have not forgotten what
in each case we acquired, then we must always have come
into life having knowledge, and shall always continue to know
as long as life lasts—for knowing is the acquiring and retaining
knowledge and not forgetting. Is not forgetting, Simmias,
just the losing of knowledge?

Quite true, Socrates.

[Sidenote: What is called learning therefore is only a recollection of ideas which we possessed in a previous state.]

But if the knowledge which we acquired before birth was
lost by us at birth, and if afterwards by the use of the senses
we recovered what we previously knew, will not the process
which we call learning be a recovering of the knowledge
which is natural to us, and may not this be rightly termed
recollection?

Very true.

So much is clear—that when we perceive something, either 76
by the help of sight, or hearing, or some other sense, from
that perception we are able to obtain a notion of some other
thing like or unlike which is associated with it but has been
forgotten. Whence, as I was saying, one of two alternatives
follows:—either we had this knowledge at birth, and continued
to know through life; or, after birth, those who are
said to learn only remember, and learning is simply recollection.

Yes, that is quite true, Socrates.

And which alternative, Simmias, do you prefer? Had we
the knowledge at our birth, or did we recollect the things
which we knew previously to our birth?

I cannot decide at the moment.

At any rate you can decide whether he who has knowledge
will or will not be able to render an account of his knowledge?
What do you say?

Certainly, he will.

[Sidenote: _The pre-existence of the soul._]

But do you think that every man is able to give an account
of these very matters about which we are speaking?

Would that they could, Socrates, but I rather fear that
to-morrow, at this time, there will no longer be any one
alive who is able to give an account of them such as ought
to be given.

Then you are not of opinion, Simmias, that all men know
these things?

Certainly not.

They are in process of recollecting that which they learned
before?

Certainly.

But when did our souls acquire this knowledge?—not since
we were born as men?

Certainly not.

And therefore, previously?

Yes.

[Sidenote: But if so, our souls must have existed before they were in the form of man; or if not the souls, then not the ideas.]

Then, Simmias, our souls must also have existed without
bodies before they were in the form of man, and must have
had intelligence.

Unless indeed you suppose, Socrates, that these notions are
given us at the very moment of birth; for this is the only
time which remains.

Yes, my friend, but if so, when do we lose them? for they
are not in us when we are born—that is admitted. Do we
lose them at the moment of receiving them, or if not at what
other time?

No, Socrates, I perceive that I was unconsciously talking
nonsense.

Then may we not say, Simmias, that if, as we are always
repeating, there is an absolute beauty, and goodness, and
an absolute essence of all things; and if to this, which is now
discovered to have existed in our former state, we refer all
our sensations, and with this compare them, finding these ideas
to be pre-existent and our inborn possession—then our souls
must have had a prior existence, but if not, there would be no
force in the argument? There is the same proof that these
ideas must have existed before we were born, as that our
souls existed before we were born; and if not the ideas, then
not the souls.

[Sidenote: _Simmias and Cebes are not quite satisfied._]

Yes, Socrates; I am convinced that there is precisely the
same necessity for the one as for the other; and the argument
retreats successfully to the position that the existence 77
of the soul before birth cannot be separated from the existence
of the essence of which you speak. For there is
nothing which to my mind is so patent as that beauty, goodness,
and the other notions of which you were just now speaking,
have a most real and absolute existence; and I am
satisfied with the proof.

Well, but is Cebes equally satisfied? for I must convince
him too.

[Sidenote: Simmias and Cebes are agreed in thinking that the previous existence of the soul is sufficiently proved, but not the future existence.]

I think, said Simmias, that Cebes is satisfied: although he
is the most incredulous of mortals, yet I believe that he is
sufficiently convinced of the existence of the soul before
birth. But that after death the soul will continue to exist is
not yet proven even to my own satisfaction. I cannot get
rid of the feeling of the many to which Cebes was referring—the
feeling that when the man dies the soul will be dispersed,
and that this may be the extinction of her. For
admitting that she may have been born elsewhere, and
framed out of other elements, and was in existence before
entering the human body, why after having entered in and
gone out again may she not herself be destroyed and come
to an end?

Very true, Simmias, said Cebes; about half of what was
required has been proven; to wit, that our souls existed
before we were born:—that the soul will exist after death as
well as before birth is the other half of which the proof is
still wanting, and has to be supplied; when that is given
the demonstration will be complete.

[Sidenote: But if the soul passes from death to birth, she must exist after death as well as before birth.]

But that proof, Simmias and Cebes, has been already
given, said Socrates, if you put the two arguments together—I
mean this and the former one, in which we admitted
that everything living is born of the dead. For if the soul
exists before birth, and in coming to life and being born can
be born only from death and dying, must she not after death
continue to exist, since she has to be born again?—Surely
the proof which you desire has been already furnished.
Still I suspect that you and Simmias would be glad to probe
the argument further. Like children, you are haunted with
a fear that when the soul leaves the body, the wind may
really blow her away and scatter her; especially if a man
should happen to die in a great storm and not when the sky
is calm.

[Sidenote: _‘The child within us.’_]

Cebes answered with a smile: Then, Socrates, you must
argue us out of our fears—and yet, strictly speaking, they
are not our fears, but there is a child within us to whom
death is a sort of hobgoblin: him too we must persuade not
to be afraid when he is alone in the dark.

[Sidenote: The fear that the soul will vanish into air must be charmed away.]

Socrates said: Let the voice of the charmer be applied
daily until you have charmed away the fear.

And where shall we find a good charmer of our fears, 78
Socrates, when you are gone?

Hellas, he replied, is a large place, Cebes, and has
many good men, and there are barbarous races not a few:
seek for him among them all, far and wide, sparing
neither pains nor money; for there is no better way of
spending your money. And you must seek among yourselves
too; for you will not find others better able to make
the search.

The search, replied Cebes, shall certainly be made. And
now, if you please, let us return to the point of the argument
at which we digressed.

By all means, replied Socrates; what else should I
please?

Very good.

[Sidenote: What is the element which is liable to be scattered?—Not the simple and unchangeable, but the composite and changing.]

Must we not, said Socrates, ask ourselves what that is
which, as we imagine, is liable to be scattered, and about
which we fear? and what again is that about which we have
no fear? And then we may proceed further to enquire
whether that which suffers dispersion is or is not of the
nature of soul—our hopes and fears as to our own souls will
turn upon the answers to these questions.

Very true, he said.

Now the compound or composite may be supposed to be
naturally capable, as of being compounded, so also of being
dissolved; but that which is uncompounded, and that only,
must be, if anything is, indissoluble.

Yes; I should imagine so, said Cebes.

[Sidenote: _The seen and the unseen._]

And the uncompounded may be assumed to be the same
and unchanging, whereas the compound is always changing
and never the same.

I agree, he said.

[Sidenote: The soul and the ideas belong to the class of the unchanging, which is also the unseen.]

Then now let us return to the previous discussion. Is
that idea or essence, which in the dialectical process we
define as essence or true existence—whether essence of
equality, beauty, or anything else—are these essences, I say,
liable at times to some degree of change? or are they each
of them always what they are, having the same simple self-existent
and unchanging forms, not admitting of variation at
all, or in any way, or at any time?

They must be always the same, Socrates, replied Cebes.

And what would you say of the many beautiful—whether
men or horses or garments or any other things which are
named by the same names and may be called equal or
beautiful,—are they all unchanging and the same always, or
quite the reverse? May they not rather be described as
almost always changing and hardly ever the same, either
with themselves or with one another?

The latter, replied Cebes; they are always in a state of
change.

And these you can touch and see and perceive with the 79
senses, but the unchanging things you can only perceive
with the mind—they are invisible and are not seen?

That is very true, he said.

Well then, added Socrates, let us suppose that there are
two sorts of existences—one seen, the other unseen.

Let us suppose them.

The seen is the changing, and the unseen is the unchanging?

That may be also supposed.

And, further, is not one part of us body, another part
soul?

To be sure.

And to which class is the body more alike and akin?

Clearly to the seen—no one can doubt that.

And is the soul seen or not seen?

Not by man, Socrates.

And what we mean by ‘seen’ and ‘not seen’ is that which
is or is not visible to the eye of man?

[Sidenote: _The nature of the soul._]

Yes, to the eye of man.

And is the soul seen or not seen?

Not seen.

Unseen then?

Yes.

Then the soul is more like to the unseen, and the body to
the seen?

That follows necessarily, Socrates.

[Sidenote: The soul which is unseen, when she makes use of the bodily senses, is dragged down into the region of the changeable, and must return into herself before she can attain to true wisdom.]

And were we not saying long ago that the soul when using
the body as an instrument of perception, that is to say, when
using the sense of sight or hearing or some other sense (for
the meaning of perceiving through the body is perceiving
through the senses)—were we not saying that the soul too is
then dragged by the body into the region of the changeable,
and wanders and is confused; the world spins round her,
and she is like a drunkard, when she touches change?

Very true.

But when returning into herself she reflects, then she
passes into the other world, the region of purity, and
eternity, and immortality, and unchangeableness, which are
her kindred, and with them she ever lives, when she is
by herself and is not let or hindered; then she ceases
from her erring ways, and being in communion with the unchanging
is unchanging. And this state of the soul is
called wisdom?

That is well and truly said, Socrates, he replied.

And to which class is the soul more nearly alike and akin,
as far as may be inferred from this argument, as well as
from the preceding one?

[Sidenote: The soul is of the nature of the unchangeable, the body of the changing; the soul rules, the body serves; the soul is in the likeness of the divine, the body of the mortal.]

I think, Socrates, that, in the opinion of every one who
follows the argument, the soul will be infinitely more like
the unchangeable—even the most stupid person will not
deny that.

And the body is more like the changing?

Yes.

[Sidenote: _The passing of the soul._]

Yet once more consider the matter in another light:
When the soul and the body are united, then nature orders 80
the soul to rule and govern, and the body to obey and serve.
Now which of these two functions is akin to the divine?
and which to the mortal? Does not the divine appear to
you to be that which naturally orders and rules, and the
mortal to be that which is subject and servant?

True.

And which does the soul resemble?

The soul resembles the divine, and the body the mortal—there
can be no doubt of that, Socrates.

Then reflect, Cebes: of all which has been said is not this
the conclusion?—that the soul is in the very likeness of the
divine, and immortal, and intellectual, and uniform, and
indissoluble, and unchangeable; and that the body is in the
very likeness of the human, and mortal, and unintellectual,
and multiform, and dissoluble, and changeable. Can this,
my dear Cebes, be denied?

It cannot.

But if it be true, then is not the body liable to speedy
dissolution? and is not the soul almost or altogether indissoluble?

Certainly.

[Sidenote: Even from the body something may be learned about the soul; for the corpse of a man lasts for some time, and when embalmed, in a manner for ever.]

And do you further observe, that after a man is dead, the
body, or visible part of him, which is lying in the visible
world, and is called a corpse, and would naturally be dissolved
and decomposed and dissipated, is not dissolved or
decomposed at once, but may remain for some time, nay
even for a long time, if the constitution be sound at the
time of death, and the season of the year favourable? For
the body when shrunk and embalmed, as the manner is in
Egypt, may remain almost entire through infinite ages; and
even in decay, there are still some portions, such as the
bones and ligaments, which are practically indestructible:—Do
you agree?

Yes.

[Sidenote: How unlikely then that the soul should at once pass away!]

And is it likely that the soul, which is invisible, in passing
to the place of the true Hades, which like her is invisible,
and pure, and noble, and on her way to the good and wise
God, whither, if God will, my soul is also soon to go,—that
the soul, I repeat, if this be her nature and origin, will be
blown away and destroyed immediately on quitting the
body, as the many say? That can never be, my dear
Simmias and Cebes. The truth rather is, that the soul
which is pure at departing and draws after her no bodily
taint, having never voluntarily during life had connection with
the body, which she is ever avoiding, herself gathered into
herself;—and making such abstraction her perpetual study—which
means that she has been a true disciple of philosophy; 81
and therefore has in fact been always engaged in
the practice of dying? For is not philosophy the study of
death?—

Certainly—

[Sidenote: Rather when free from bodily impurity she departs to the seats of the blessed.]

That soul, I say, herself invisible, departs to the invisible
world—to the divine and immortal and rational: thither
arriving, she is secure of bliss and is released from the error
and folly of men, their fears and wild passions and all
other human ills, and for ever dwells, as they say of the
initiated, in company with the gods[25]. Is not this true,
Cebes?

Yes, said Cebes, beyond a doubt.

[Sidenote: _The impure soul made corporeal._]

But the soul which has been polluted, and is impure at the
time of her departure, and is the companion and servant of
the body always, and is in love with and fascinated by the
body and by the desires and pleasures of the body, until she
is led to believe that the truth only exists in a bodily form,
which a man may touch and see and taste, and use for the
purposes of his lusts,—the soul, I mean, accustomed to hate
and fear and avoid the intellectual principle, which to the
bodily eye is dark and invisible, and can be attained only by
philosophy;—do you suppose that such a soul will depart
pure and unalloyed?

Impossible, he replied.

She is held fast by the corporeal, which the continual
association and constant care of the body have wrought into
her nature.

Very true.

[Sidenote: But the souls of the wicked are dragged down by the corporeal element.]

And this corporeal element, my friend, is heavy and
weighty and earthy, and is that element of sight by which
a soul is depressed and dragged down again into the visible
world, because she is afraid of the invisible and of the world
below—prowling about tombs and sepulchres, near which,
as they tell us, are seen certain ghostly apparitions of souls
which have not departed pure, but are cloyed with sight and
therefore visible[26].

[Sidenote: _Transmigration of men into animals._]

That is very likely, Socrates.

Yes, that is very likely, Cebes; and these must be the
souls, not of the good, but of the evil, which are compelled
to wander about such places in payment of the penalty of
their former evil way of life; and they continue to wander
until through the craving after the corporeal which never
leaves them, they are imprisoned finally in another body.
And they may be supposed to find their prisons in the same
natures which they have had in their former lives.

What natures do you mean, Socrates?

[Sidenote: They wander into the bodies of the animals or of birds which are of a like nature with themselves.]

What I mean is that men who have followed after gluttony,
and wantonness, and drunkenness, and have had no thought
of avoiding them, would pass into asses and animals of that
sort. What do you think? 82

I think such an opinion to be exceedingly probable.

And those who have chosen the portion of injustice, and
tyranny, and violence, will pass into wolves, or into hawks
and kites;—whither else can we suppose them to go?

Yes, said Cebes; with such natures, beyond question.

And there is no difficulty, he said, in assigning to all of
them places answering to their several natures and propensities?

There is not, he said.

Some are happier than others; and the happiest both in
themselves and in the place to which they go are those who
have practised the civil and social virtues which are called
temperance and justice, and are acquired by habit and attention
without philosophy and mind[27].

[Sidenote: _The deliverance of the soul by philosophy._]

Why are they the happiest?

Because they may be expected to pass into some gentle
and social kind which is like their own, such as bees or wasps
or ants, or back again into the form of man, and just and
moderate men may be supposed to spring from them.

Very likely.

No one who has not studied philosophy and who is not
entirely pure at the time of his departure is allowed to enter
the company of the Gods, but the lover of knowledge only.
And this is the reason, Simmias and Cebes, why the true
votaries of philosophy abstain from all fleshly lusts, and hold
out against them and refuse to give themselves up to them,—not
because they fear poverty or the ruin of their families,
like the lovers of money, and the world in general; nor like
the lovers of power and honour, because they dread the dishonour
or disgrace of evil deeds.

No, Socrates, that would not become them, said Cebes.

No indeed, he replied; and therefore they who have any
care of their own souls, and do not merely live moulding and
fashioning the body, say farewell to all this; they will not
walk in the ways of the blind: and when philosophy offers
them purification and release from evil, they feel that they
ought not to resist her influence, and whither she leads they
turn and follow.

What do you mean, Socrates?

[Sidenote: _Why the philosopher is temperate._]

[Sidenote: The new consciousness which is awakened by philosophy.]

[Sidenote: The philosopher considers not only the consequences of pleasures and pains, but, what is far worse, the false lights in which they show objects.]

I will tell you, he said. The lovers of knowledge are conscious
that the soul was simply fastened and glued to the
body—until philosophy received her, she could only view real
existence through the bars of a prison, not in and through
herself; she was wallowing in the mire of every sort of
ignorance, and by reason of lust had become the principal
accomplice in her own captivity. This was her original 83
state; and then, as I was saying, and as the lovers of
knowledge are well aware, philosophy, seeing how terrible
was her confinement, of which she was to herself the cause,
received and gently comforted her and sought to release her,
pointing out that the eye and the ear and the other senses
are full of deception, and persuading her to retire from them,
and abstain from all but the necessary use of them, and be
gathered up and collected into herself, bidding her trust in
herself and her own pure apprehension of pure existence, and
mistrust whatever comes to her through other channels
and is subject to variation; for such things are visible and
tangible, but what she sees in her own nature is intelligible
and invisible. And the soul of the true philosopher thinks
that she ought not to resist this deliverance, and therefore abstains
from pleasures and desires and pains and fears, as far
as she is able; reflecting that when a man has great joys or
sorrows or fears or desires, he suffers from them, not merely
the sort of evil which might be anticipated—as for example,
the loss of his health or property which he has sacrificed to
his lusts—but an evil greater far, which is the greatest and
worst of all evils, and one of which he never thinks.

What is it, Socrates? said Cebes.

The evil is that when the feeling of pleasure or pain is
most intense, every soul of man imagines the objects of this
intense feeling to be then plainest and truest: but this is not
so, they are really the things of sight.

Very true.

And is not this the state in which the soul is most enthralled
by the body?

How so?

Why, because each pleasure and pain is a sort of nail
which nails and rivets the soul to the body, until she becomes
like the body, and believes that to be true which the
body affirms to be true; and from agreeing with the body
and having the same delights she is obliged to have the same
habits and haunts, and is not likely ever to be pure at her
departure to the world below, but is always infected by the
body; and so she sinks into another body and there germinates
and grows, and has therefore no part in the communion
of the divine and pure and simple.

Most true, Socrates, answered Cebes.

And this, Cebes, is the reason why the true lovers of
knowledge are temperate and brave; and not for the reason
which the world gives.

Certainly not. 84

[Sidenote: _The first great argument concluded._]

[Sidenote: The soul which has been emancipated from pleasures and pains will not be blown away at death.]

Certainly not! The soul of a philosopher will reason in
quite another way; she will not ask philosophy to release
her in order that then released she may deliver herself up
again to the thraldom of pleasures and pains, doing a work
only to be undone again, weaving instead of unweaving her
Penelope’s web. But she will calm passion, and follow
reason, and dwell in the contemplation of her, beholding the
true and divine (which is not matter of opinion), and thence
deriving nourishment. Thus she seeks to live while she
lives, and after death she hopes to go to her own kindred
and to that which is like her, and to be freed from human
ills. Never fear, Simmias and Cebes, that a soul which has
been thus nurtured and has had these pursuits, will at her
departure from the body be scattered and blown away by the
winds and be nowhere and nothing.

[Sidenote: Simmias and Cebes have their doubts, but think that this is not the time to express them.]

When Socrates had done speaking, for a considerable time
there was silence; he himself appeared to be meditating, as
most of us were, on what had been said; only Cebes and
Simmias spoke a few words to one another. And Socrates
observing them asked what they thought of the argument,
and whether there was anything wanting? For, said he,
there are many points still open to suspicion and attack, if
any one were disposed to sift the matter thoroughly. Should
you be considering some other matter I say no more, but if
you are still in doubt do not hesitate to say exactly what you
think, and let us have anything better which you can suggest;
and if you think that I can be of any use, allow me to
help you.

Simmias said: I must confess, Socrates, that doubts did
arise in our minds, and each of us was urging and inciting
the other to put the question which we wanted to have
answered but which neither of us liked to ask, fearing that
our importunity might be troublesome at such a time.

[Sidenote: Socrates rebukes their want of confidence in him.]

[Sidenote: What is the meaning of the swans’ singing?]

[Sidenote: _Simmias and Cebes have still their difficulties._]

[Sidenote: They do not lament, as men suppose, at their approaching death; but they rejoice because they are going to the God, whose servants they are.]

[Sidenote: Socrates, who is their fellow-servant, will not leave the world less cheerily.]

Socrates replied with a smile: O Simmias, what are you
saying? I am not very likely to persuade other men that
I do not regard my present situation as a misfortune, if I
cannot even persuade you that I am no worse off now than at
any other time in my life. Will you not allow that I have as
much of the spirit of prophecy in me as the swans? For
they, when they perceive that they must die, having sung all
their life long, do then sing more lustily than ever, rejoicing
in the thought that they are about to go away to the god 85
whose ministers they are. But men, because they are themselves
afraid of death, slanderously affirm of the swans that
they sing a lament at the last, not considering that no bird
sings when cold, or hungry, or in pain, not even the nightingale,
nor the swallow, nor yet the hoopoe; which are said
indeed to tune a lay of sorrow, although I do not believe this
to be true of them any more than of the swans. But because
they are sacred to Apollo, they have the gift of prophecy,
and anticipate the good things of another world; wherefore
they sing and rejoice in that day more than ever they did
before. And I too, believing myself to be the consecrated
servant of the same God, and the fellow-servant of the
swans, and thinking that I have received from my master
gifts of prophecy which are not inferior to theirs, would not
go out of life less merrily than the swans. Never mind
then, if this be your only objection, but speak and ask anything
which you like, while the eleven magistrates of Athens
allow.

[Sidenote: Simmias insists that they must probe truth to the bottom.]

Very good, Socrates, said Simmias; then I will tell you my
difficulty, and Cebes will tell you his. I feel myself (and I
daresay that you have the same feeling), how hard or rather
impossible is the attainment of any certainty about questions
such as these in the present life. And yet I should deem
him a coward who did not prove what is said about them to
the uttermost, or whose heart failed him before he had examined
them on every side. For he should persevere until
he has achieved one of two things: either he should discover,
or be taught the truth about them; or, if this be
impossible, I would have him take the best and most irrefragable
of human theories, and let this be the raft upon
which he sails through life—not without risk, as I admit, if
he cannot find some word of God which will more surely and
safely carry him. And now, as you bid me, I will venture to
question you, and then I shall not have to reproach myself
hereafter with not having said at the time what I think. For
when I consider the matter, either alone or with Cebes, the
argument does certainly appear to me, Socrates, to be not
sufficient.

[Sidenote: _The doubt of Simmias._]

Socrates answered: I dare say, my friend, that you may
be right, but I should like to know in what respect the argument
is insufficient.

[Sidenote: The harmony does not survive the lyre; how then can the soul, which is also a harmony, survive the body?]

In this respect, replied Simmias:—Suppose a person to
use the same argument about harmony and the lyre—might
he not say that harmony is a thing invisible, incorporeal,
perfect, divine, existing in the lyre which is harmonized, but 86
that the lyre and the strings are matter and material, composite,
earthy, and akin to mortality? And when some one
breaks the lyre, or cuts and rends the strings, then he who
takes this view would argue as you do, and on the same
analogy, that the harmony survives and has not perished—you
cannot imagine, he would say, that the lyre without the
strings, and the broken strings themselves which are mortal
remain, and yet that the harmony, which is of heavenly
and immortal nature and kindred, has perished—perished
before the mortal. The harmony must still be somewhere,
and the wood and strings will decay before anything
can happen to that. The thought, Socrates, must have
occurred to your own mind that such is our conception of the
soul; and that when the body is in a manner strung and
held together by the elements of hot and cold, wet and dry,
then the soul is the harmony or due proportionate admixture
of them. But if so, whenever the strings of the body are
unduly loosened or overstrained through disease or other
injury, then the soul, though most divine, like other harmonies
of music or works of art, of course perishes at once;
although the material remains of the body may last for a
considerable time, until they are either decayed or burnt.
And if any one maintains that the soul, being the harmony
of the elements of the body, is first to perish in that which is
called death, how shall we answer him?

Socrates looked fixedly at us as his manner was, and said
with a smile: Simmias has reason on his side; and why does
not some one of you who is better able than myself answer
him? for there is force in his attack upon me. But perhaps,
before we answer him, we had better also hear what Cebes
has to say that we may gain time for reflection, and when
they have both spoken, we may either assent to them, if
there is truth in what they say, or if not, we will maintain
our position. Please to tell me then, Cebes, he said, what
was the difficulty which troubled you?

[Sidenote: _The doubt of Cebes._]

[Sidenote: A weaver may outlive many coats and himself be outlived by the last: so the soul which has passed through many bodies may in the end be worn out.]

Cebes said: I will tell you. My feeling is that the argument
is where it was, and open to the same objections which
were urged before; for I am ready to admit that the existence 87
of the soul before entering into the bodily form has
been very ingeniously, and, if I may say so, quite sufficiently
proven; but the existence of the soul after death is still, in
my judgment, unproven. Now my objection is not the same
as that of Simmias; for I am not disposed to deny that the
soul is stronger and more lasting than the body, being of
opinion that in all such respects the soul very far excels the
body. Well then, says the argument to me, why do you
remain unconvinced?—When you see that the weaker continues
in existence after the man is dead, will you not admit
that the more lasting must also survive during the same
period of time? Now I will ask you to consider whether
the objection, which, like Simmias, I will express in a figure,
is of any weight. The analogy which I will adduce is that
of an old weaver, who dies, and after his death somebody
says:—He is not dead, he must be alive;—see, there is the
coat which he himself wove and wore, and which remains
whole and undecayed. And then he proceeds to ask of some
one who is incredulous, whether a man lasts longer, or the
coat which is in use and wear; and when he is answered
that a man lasts far longer, thinks that he has thus certainly
demonstrated the survival of the man, who is the more
lasting, because the less lasting remains. But that, Simmias,
as I would beg you to remark, is a mistake; any one can see
that he who talks thus is talking nonsense. For the truth is,
that the weaver aforesaid, having woven and worn many
such coats, outlived several of them; and was outlived by the
last; but a man is not therefore proved to be slighter and
weaker than a coat. Now the relation of the body to the
soul may be expressed in a similar figure; and any one may
very fairly say in like manner that the soul is lasting, and the
body weak and short-lived in comparison. He may argue in
like manner that every soul wears out many bodies, especially
if a man live many years. While he is alive the body
deliquesces and decays, and the soul always weaves another
garment and repairs the waste. But of course, whenever
the soul perishes, she must have on her last garment, and
this will survive her; and then at length, when the soul is
dead, the body will show its native weakness, and quickly
decompose and pass away. I would therefore rather not
rely on the argument from superior strength to prove the
continued existence of the soul after death. For granting 88
even more than you affirm to be possible, and acknowledging
not only that the soul existed before birth, but also that the
souls of some exist, and will continue to exist after death,
and will be born and die again and again, and that there is a
natural strength in the soul which will hold out and be born
many times—nevertheless, we may be still inclined to think
that she will weary in the labours of successive births, and
may at last succumb in one of her deaths and utterly perish;
and this death and dissolution of the body which brings
destruction to the soul may be unknown to any of us, for no
one of us can have had any experience of it: and if so, then
I maintain that he who is confident about death has but a
foolish confidence, unless he is able to prove that the soul is
altogether immortal and imperishable. But if he cannot
prove the soul’s immortality, he who is about to die will
always have reason to fear that when the body is disunited,
the soul also may utterly perish.

[Sidenote: _The dejection of the audience._]

[Sidenote: The despair of the audience at hearing the overthrow of the argument.]

All of us, as we afterwards remarked to one another, had
an unpleasant feeling at hearing what they said. When we
had been so firmly convinced before, now to have our faith
shaken seemed to introduce a confusion and uncertainty, not
only into the previous argument, but into any future one;
either we were incapable of forming a judgment, or there
were no grounds of belief.