Chapter IV: Part 4

“Then, as I said at first, would it not be ridiculous for a man who has endeavoured throughout his life to live as near as possible to death, then, when death arrives, to grieve? would not this be ridiculous?”

“How should it not?”

“In reality then, Simmias,” he continued, “those who pursue philosophy rightly study to die; and to them of all men death is least formidable. Judge from this. Since they altogether hate the body and desire to keep the soul by itself, would it not be irrational if, when this comes to pass, they should be afraid and grieve, and not be glad to go to that place, where on their arrival they may hope to obtain that which they longed for throughout life; but they longed for wisdom; and to be freed from association with that which they hated? 34. Have many of their own accord wished to descend into Hades, on account of human objects of affection, their wives and sons, induced by this very hope of there seeing and being with those whom they have loved; and shall one who really loves wisdom, and firmly cherishes this very hope, that he shall no where else attain it in a manner worthy of the name, except in Hades, be grieved at dying, and not gladly go there? We must think that he would gladly go, my friend, if he be in truth a philosopher; for he will be firmly persuaded of this, that he will no where else but there attain wisdom in its purity: and if this be so, would it not be very irrational, as I just now said, if such a man were to be afraid of death?”

“Very much so, by Jupiter,” he replied.

35. “Would not this then,” he resumed, “be a sufficient proof to you, with respect to a man whom you should see grieved when about to die, that he was not a lover of wisdom but a lover of his body? and this same person is probably a lover of riches and a lover of honour, one or both of these.”

“It certainly is as you say,” he replied.

“Does not then,” he said, “that which is called fortitude, Simmias, eminently belong to philosophers?”

“By all means,” he answered.

“And temperance also, which even the multitude call temperance, and which consists in not being carried away by the passions, but in holding them in contempt, and keeping them in subjection, does not this belong to those only who most despise the body, and live in the study of philosophy?”

“Necessarily so,” he replied.

36. “For,” he continued, “if you will consider the fortitude and temperance of others, they will appear to you to be absurd.”

“How so, Socrates?”

“Do you know,” he said, “that all others consider death among the great evils?”

“They do indeed,” he answered.

“Then do the brave amongst them endure death, when they do endure it, through dread of greater evils?”

“It is so.”

“All men, therefore, except philosophers, are brave through being afraid and fear; though it is absurd that any one should be brave through fear and cowardice.”

“Certainly.”

“But what, are not those amongst them who keep their passions in subjection, affected in the same way? and are they not temperate through a kind of intemperance? and although we may say, perhaps, that this is impossible, nevertheless the manner in which they are affected with respect to this silly temperance resembles this; for, fearing to be deprived of other pleasures, and desiring them, they abstain from some, being mastered by others. And though they call intemperance the being governed by pleasures, yet it happens to them that, by being mastered by some pleasures, they master others; and this is similar to what was just now said, that in a certain manner they become temperate through intemperance.”

“So it seems.”

37. “My dear Simmias, consider that this is not a right exchange for virtue, to barter pleasures for pleasures, pains for pains, fear for fear, and the greater for the lesser, like pieces of money; but that that alone is the right coin, for which we ought to barter all these things, wisdom; and for this, and with this every thing is in reality bought and sold, fortitude, temperance, and justice, and, in a word, true virtue subsists with wisdom, whether pleasures and fears, and every thing else of the kind, are present or absent; but when separated from wisdom, and changed one for another, consider whether such virtue is not a mere outline, and in reality servile, possessing neither soundness nor truth; but the really true virtue is a purification from all such things, and temperance, justice, fortitude, and wisdom itself, are a kind of initiatory purification. 38. And those who instituted the mysteries for us appear to have been by no means contemptible, but in reality to have intimated long since that whoever shall arrive in Hades unexpiated and uninitiated shall lie in mud, but he that arrives there purified and initiated, shall dwell with the gods. ‘For there are,’ say those who preside at the mysteries, ‘many wand-bearers, but few inspired.’ These last, in my opinion, are no other than those who have pursued philosophy rightly: that I might be of their number, I have, to the utmost of my ability, left no means untried, but have endeavoured to the utmost of my power. But whether I have endeavoured rightly and have in any respect succeeded, on arriving there I shall know clearly, if it please God, very shortly, as it appears to me.

39. “Such then, Simmias and Cebes,” he added, “is the defence I make, for that I, on good grounds, do not repine or grieve at leaving you and my masters here, being persuaded that there, no less than here, I shall meet with good masters and friends. But to the multitude this is incredible. If however I have succeeded better with you in my defence than I did with the Athenian judges, it is well.”

When Socrates had thus spoken, Cebes, taking up the discussion said, “Socrates, all the rest appears to me to be said rightly, but what you have said respecting the soul will occasion much incredulity in many from the apprehension that, when it is separated from the body, it no longer exists any where, but is destroyed and perishes on the very day in which a man dies, and that immediately it is separated and goes out from the body, it is dispersed and vanishes like breath or smoke, and is no longer any where; since, if it remained any where united in itself, and freed from those evils which you have just now enumerated, there would be an abundant and good hope, Socrates, that what you say is true. 40. But this probably needs no little persuasion and proof, that the soul of a man who dies, exists, and possesses activity and intelligence.”

“You say truly, Cebes,” said Socrates, “but what shall we do? Are you willing that we should converse on these points, whether such is probably the case or not?”

“Indeed,” replied Cebes, “I should gladly hear your opinion on these matters.”

“I do not think,” said Socrates, “that any one who should now hear us, even though he were a comic poet, would say that I am talking idly, or discoursing on subjects that do not concern me. If you please, then, we will examine into it. Let us consider it in this point of view, whether the souls of men who are dead exist in Hades, or not. This is an ancient saying, which we now call to mind, that souls departing hence exist there, and return hither again, and are produced from the dead. 41. And if this is so, that the living are produced again from the dead, can there be any other consequence than that our souls are there? for surely they could not be produced again if they did not exist; and this would be a sufficient proof that these things are so, if it should in reality be evident that the living are produced from no other source than the dead. But, if this is not the case, there will be need of other arguments.”

“Certainly,” said Cebes.

“You must not, then,” he continued, “consider this only with respect to men, if you wish to ascertain it with greater certainty, but also with respect to all animals and plants, and, in a word, with respect to every thing that is subject to generation, let us see whether they are not all so produced, no otherwise than contraries from contraries, wherever they have any such quality, as for instance the honourable is contrary to the base, and the just to the unjust, and so with ten thousand other things. 42. Let us consider this, then, whether it is necessary that all things which have a contrary should be produced from nothing else than their contrary. As for instance, when any thing becomes greater is it not necessary that, from being previously smaller, it afterwards became greater?”

“Yes.”

“And if it becomes smaller, will it not, from being previously greater, afterwards become smaller?”

“It is so,” he replied.

“And from stronger, weaker? and from slower, swifter?”

“Certainly.”

“What then? if any thing becomes worse, must it not become so from better? and if more just, from more unjust?”

“How should it not?”

“We have then,” he said, “sufficiently determined this, that all things are thus produced, contraries from contraries?”

“Certainly.”

“What next? is there also something of this kind in them, for instance, between all two contraries a mutual twofold production, from one to the other, and from that other back again? for between a greater thing and a smaller there is increase and decrease, and do we not accordingly call the one to increase, the other to decrease?”

“Yes,” he replied.

43. “And must not to be separated and commingled, to grow cold and to grow warm, and every thing in the same manner, even though sometimes we have not names to designate them, yet in fact be every where thus circumstanced of necessity, as to be produced from each other, and be subject to a reciprocal generation?”

“Certainly,” he replied.

“What then?” said Socrates, “has life any contrary, as waking has its contrary, sleeping?”

“Certainly,” he answered.

“What?”

“Death,” he replied.

“Are not these, then, produced from each other, since they are contraries, and are not the modes by which they are produced twofold, intervening between these two?”

“How should it be otherwise?”

“I then,” continued Socrates, “will describe to you one pair of the contraries which I have just now mentioned, both what it is and its mode of production; and do you describe to me the other. I say that one is to sleep, the other to awake; and from sleeping awaking is produced, and from awaking sleeping, and that the modes of their production are the one to fall asleep, the other to be roused. 44. Have I sufficiently explained this to you or not?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you then,” he said, “describe to me, in the same manner, with respect to life and death? Do you not say that life is contrary to death?”

“I do.”

“Yes.”

“And that they are produced from each other?”

“What then, is produced from life?”

“Death,” he replied.

“What, then,” said he, “is produced from death?”

“I must needs confess,” he replied, “that life is.”

“From the dead, then, O Cebes, living things and living men, are produced.”

“It appears so,” he said.

“Our souls, therefore,” said Socrates, “exist in Hades.”

“So it seems.”

“With respect, then, to their mode of production, is not one of them very clear? for to die surely is clear? is it not?”

“Certainly,” he replied.

“What then shall we do?” he continued; “shall we not find a corresponding contrary mode of production, or will nature be defective in this? Or must we discover a contrary mode of production to dying?”

“By all means,” he said.

“What is this?”

“To revive.”

“Therefore,” he proceeded, “if there is such a thing as to revive, will not this reviving be a mode of production from the dead to the living?”

“Certainly.”

“Thus, then, we have agreed, that the living are produced from the dead, no less than the dead from the living: but, this being the case, there appears to me sufficient proof that the souls of the dead must necessarily exist somewhere, from whence they are again produced.”

45. “It appears to me, Socrates,” he said, “that this must necessarily follow from what has been admitted.”

“See now, O Cebes,” he said, “that we have not agreed on these things improperly, as it appears to me: for if one class of things were not constantly given back in the place of another, revolving as it were in a circle, but generation were direct from one thing alone into its opposite, and did not turn round again to the other, or retrace its course, do you know that all things would at length have the same form, be in the same state, and cease to be produced?”

“How say you?” he asked.

“It is by no means difficult,” he replied, “to understand what I mean; if, for instance, there should be such a thing as falling asleep, but no reciprocal waking again produced from a state of sleep, you know that at length all things would shew the fable of Endymion to be a jest, and it would be thought nothing at all of, because every thing else would be in the same state as him, namely, asleep. And if all things were mingled together, but never separated, that doctrine of Anaxagoras would soon be verified, ‘all things would be together.’ 46. Likewise, my dear Cebes, if all things that partake of life should die, and after they are dead should remain in this state of death, and not revive again, would it not necessarily follow that at length all things should be dead, and nothing alive? for if living beings are produced from other things, and living beings die, what could prevent their being all absorbed in death?”

“Nothing whatever, I think, Socrates,” replied Cebes, “but you appear to me to speak the exact truth.”

“For, Cebes,” he continued, “as it seems to me, such undoubtedly is the case, and we have not admitted these things under a delusion, but it is in reality true that there is a reviving again, that the living are produced from the dead, that the souls of the dead exist, and that the condition of the good is better, and of the evil, worse.”

47. “And indeed,” said Cebes, interrupting him, “according to that doctrine, Socrates, which you are frequently in the habit of advancing, if it is true, that our learning is nothing else than reminiscence, according to this it is surely necessary that we must at some former time have learned what we now remember. But this is impossible, unless our soul existed somewhere before it came into this human form; so that from hence also the soul appears to be something immortal.”

“But, Cebes,” said Simmias, interrupting him, “what proofs are there of these things? remind me of them, for I do not very well remember them at present.”

48. “It is proved,” said Cebes, “by one argument, and that a most beautiful one, that men, when questioned, if one questions them properly, of themselves describe all things as they are: however, if they had not innate knowledge and right reason, they would never be able to do this. Moreover, if one leads them to diagrams, or any thing else of the kind, it is then most clearly apparent that this is the case.”

“But if you are not persuaded in this way, Simmias,” said Socrates, “see if you will agree with us on considering the matter thus. For do you doubt how that which is called learning is reminiscence?”

“I do not doubt,” said Simmias, “but I require this very thing of which we are speaking, to be reminded; and indeed, from what Cebes has begun to say, I almost now remember, and am persuaded; nevertheless, however, I should like to hear now how you would attempt to prove it.”

“I do it thus,” he replied: “we admit surely that if any one be reminded of any thing, he must needs have known that thing at some time or other before.”

“Certainly,” he said.

49. “Do we then admit this also, that when knowledge comes in a certain manner it is reminiscence? But the manner I mean is this; if any one, upon seeing or hearing, or perceiving through the medium of any other sense, some particular thing, should not only know that, but also form an idea of something else, of which the knowledge is not the same, but different, should we not justly say, that he remembered that of which he received the idea?”

“How mean you?”

“For instance; the knowledge of a man is different from that of a lyre.”

“How not?”

“Do you not know, then, that lovers when they see a lyre, or a garment, or any thing else which their favourite is accustomed to use, are thus affected; they both recognise the lyre, and receive in their minds the form of the person to whom the lyre belonged? This is reminiscence: just as any one, seeing Simmias, is often reminded of Cebes, and so in an infinite number of similar instances.”

“An infinite number indeed, by Jupiter,” said Simmias.

“Is not then,” he said, “something of this sort a kind of reminiscence? especially when one is thus affected with respect to things which, from lapse of time, and not thinking of them, one has now forgotten?”

“Certainly,” he replied.

50. “But what?” he continued, “does it happen, that when one sees a painted horse or a painted lyre, one is reminded of a man, and that when one sees a picture of Simmias one is reminded of Cebes!”

“Certainly.”

“And does it not also happen, that on seeing a picture of Simmias one is reminded of Simmias himself?”

“It does indeed,” he replied.

“Does it not happen, then, according to all this, that reminiscence arises partly from things like, and partly from things unlike?”

“It does.”

“But when one is reminded by things like, is it not necessary that one should be thus further affected, so as to perceive whether, as regards likeness, this falls short or not of the thing of which one has been reminded?”

“It is necessary,” he replied.

“Consider, then,” said Socrates, “if the case is thus. Do we allow that there is such a thing as equality? I do not mean of one log with another, nor one stone with another, nor any thing else of this kind, but something altogether different from all these, abstract equality; do we allow that there is any such thing or not?”

“By Jupiter, we most assuredly do allow it,” replied Simmias.

51. “And do we know what it is itself?”

“Certainly,” he replied.

“Whence have we derived the knowledge of it? Is it not from the things we have just now mentioned, and that from seeing logs, or stones, or other things of the kind, equal, we have from these formed an idea of that which is different from these? for does it not appear to you to be different? Consider the matter thus. Do not stones that are equal, and logs sometimes that are the same, appear at one time equal, and at another not?”

“Certainly.”

“But what? does abstract equality ever appear to you unequal? or equality inequality?”

“Never, Socrates, at any time.”

“These equal things, then,” he said, “and abstract equality, are not the same?”

“By no means, Socrates, as it appears.”

“However, from these equal things,” he said, “which are different from that abstract equality, have you not formed your idea and derived your knowledge of it?”

“You speak most truly,” he replied.

“Is it not, therefore, from its being like or unlike them?”

“Certainly.”

“But it makes no difference,” he said. “When, therefore, on seeing one thing, you form, from the sight of it, the notion of another, whether like or unlike, this,” he said, “must necessarily be reminiscence.”

“Certainly.”

52. “What, then, as to this?” he continued; “are we affected in any such way with regard to logs and the equal things we have just now spoken of? and do they appear to us to be equal in the same manner as abstract equality itself is, or do they fall short in some degree, or not at all, of being such as equality itself is?”

“They fall far short,” he replied.

“Do we admit, then, that when one, on beholding some particular thing, perceives that it aims, as that which I now see, at being like something else that exists, but falls short of it, and cannot become such as that is, but is inferior to it, do we admit that he who perceives this must necessarily have had a previous knowledge of that which he says it resembles, though imperfectly?”

“It is necessary.”

“What then? are we affected in some such way, or not, with respect to things equal and abstract equality itself?”

“Assuredly.”

“It is necessary, therefore, that we must have known abstract equality before the time when on first seeing equal things, we perceived that they all aimed at resembling equality, but failed in doing so.”

“Such is the case.”

53. “Moreover, we admit this too, that we perceived this, and could not possibly perceive it by any other means than the sight, or touch, or some other of the senses: for I say the same of them all.”

“For they are the same, Socrates, so far as our argument is concerned.”

“However, we must perceive by means of the senses, that all things which come under the senses aim at that abstract equality, and yet fall short of it: or how shall we say it is?”

“Even so.”

“Before, then, we began to see, and hear, and use our other senses, we must have had a knowledge of equality itself, what it is, if we were to refer to it those equal things that come under the senses, and observe that all such things aim at resembling that, but fall far short of it.”

“This necessarily follows, Socrates, from what has been already said.”

“But did we not, as soon as we were born, see and hear, and possess our other senses?”

“Certainly.”

“But, we have said, before we possessed these, we must have a knowledge of abstract equality?”

“Yes.”

“We must have had it, then, as it seems, before we were born.”

“It seems so.”

54. “If, therefore, having this before we were born, we were born possessing it, we knew both before we were born, and as soon as we were born, not only the equal and the greater and smaller, but all things of the kind; for our present discussion is not more respecting equality than the beautiful itself, the good, the just, and the holy, and in one word, respecting every thing which we mark with the seal of existence, both in the questions we ask, and the answers we give. So that we must necessarily have had a knowledge of all these before we were born.”

“Such is the case.”

“And if, having once had it, we did not constantly forget it, we should always be born with this knowledge, and should always retain it through life: for to know is this, when one has got a knowledge of any thing, to retain and not lose it; for do we not call this oblivion, Simmias, the loss of knowledge?”

“Assuredly, Socrates,” he replied.

55. “But if, having had it before we were born, we lose it at our birth, and afterwards, through exercising the senses about these things, we recover the knowledge which we once before possessed, would not that which we call learning be a recovery of our own knowledge? and in saying that this is to remember should we not say rightly?”

“Certainly.”

“For this appeared to be possible, for one having perceived any thing, either by seeing or hearing, or employing any other sense, to form an idea of something different from this, which he had forgotten, and with which this was connected by being unlike or like. So that, as I said, one of these two things must follow, either we are all born with this knowledge, and we retain it through life, or those whom we say learn afterwards do nothing else but remember, and this learning will be reminiscence.”

“Such certainly is the case, Socrates.”

56. “Which, then, do you choose, Simmias: that we are born with knowledge, or that we afterwards remember what we had formerly known?”

“At present, Socrates, I am unable to choose?”

“But what? are you able to choose in this case, and what do you think about it? Can a man, who possesses knowledge, give a reason for the things that he knows, or not?”

“He needs must be able to do so, Socrates,” he replied.

“And do all men appear to you, to be able to give a reason for the things of which we have just now been speaking?”

“I wish they could,” said Simmias; “but I am much more afraid, that at this time to-morrow, there will no longer be any one able to do this properly.”

“Do not all men then, Simmias,” he said, “seem to you to know these things?”

“By no means.”

“Do they remember, then, what they once learned?”

“Necessarily so.”

“When did our souls receive this knowledge? not surely, since we were born into the world.”

“Assuredly not.”

“Before then.”

“Yes.”

“Our souls therefore, Simmias, existed before they were in a human form, separate from bodies, and possessed intelligence.”

57. “Unless, Socrates, we receive this knowledge at our birth, for this period yet remains.”

“Be it so, my friend. But at what other time do we lose it? for we are not born with it, as we have just now admitted. Do we lose it then at the very time in which we receive it? Or can you mention any other time?”

“By no means, Socrates: I was not aware that I was saying nothing to the purpose.”

“Does the case then stand thus with us, Simmias,” he proceeded. “If those things which we are continually talking about really exist, the beautiful, the good, and every such essence, and to this we refer all things that come under the senses, as finding it to have a prior existence, and to be our own, and if we compare these things to it, it necessarily follows, that as these exist, so likewise our soul exists even before we are born; but if these do not exist this discussion will have been undertaken in vain. Is it not so? and is there not an equal necessity, both that these things should exist, and our souls also before we are born, and if not the former neither the latter?”

58. “Most assuredly, Socrates,” said Simmias, “there appears to me to be the same necessity, and the argument admirably tends to prove that our souls exist before we are born, just as that essence does which you have now mentioned. For I hold nothing so clear to me as this, that all such things most certainly exist, as the beautiful, the good, and all the rest that you just now spoke of; and as far as I am concerned the case is sufficiently demonstrated.”

“But how does it appear to Cebes,” said Socrates; “for it is necessary to persuade Cebes too.”

“He is sufficiently persuaded, I think,” said Simmias, “although he is the most pertinacious of men in distrusting arguments. Yet I think he is sufficiently persuaded of this, that our soul existed before we were born. But whether when we are dead, it will still exist, does not appear to me to have been demonstrated, Socrates,” he continued, “but that popular doubt, which Cebes just now mentioned, still stands in our way, whether, when a man dies, the soul is not dispersed, and this is the end of its existence. 59. For what hinders its being born, and formed from some other source, and existing before it came into a human body, and yet when it has come, and is separated from this body, its then also dying itself, and being destroyed?”

“You say well, Simmias,” said Cebes; “for it appears that only one half of what is necessary has been demonstrated, namely, that our soul existed before we were born: but it is necessary to demonstrate further, that when we are dead, it will exist no less than before we were born, if the demonstration is to be made complete.”

“This has been even now demonstrated, Simmias and Cebes,” said Socrates, “if you will only connect this last argument with that which we before assented to, that every thing living is produced from that which is dead. For if the soul exists before, and it is necessary for it when it enters into life, and is born, to be produced from nothing else than death, and from being dead, how is it not necessary for it also to exist after death, since it must needs be produced again? 60. What you require then, has been already demonstrated. However, both you and Simmias appear to me as if you wished to sift this argument more thoroughly, and to be afraid like children, lest on the soul’s departure from the body the winds should blow it away and disperse it, especially if one should happen to die not in a calm, but in a violent storm.”

Upon this Cebes smiling said, “Endeavour to teach us better, Socrates, as if we were afraid, or rather not as if we were afraid, though perhaps there is some boy[30] within us, who has such a dread. Let us then endeavour to persuade him not to be afraid of death, as of hobgoblins.”

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Footnote 30:

Some boyish spirit.

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“But you must charm him every day,” said Socrates, “until you have quieted his fears.”

“But whence, Socrates,” he said, “can we procure a skilful charmer for such a case, now that you are about to leave us?”

61. “Greece is wide, Cebes,” he replied, “and in it surely there are skilful men, there are also many barbarous nations, all of which you should search through, seeking such a charmer, sparing neither money nor toil, as there is nothing on which you can more seasonably spend your money. You should also seek for him among yourselves; for perhaps you could not easily find any more competent than yourselves to do this.”

“This shall be done,” said Cebes, “but, if it is agreeable to you, let us return to the point from whence we digressed.”

“It will be agreeable to me, for how should it not?”

“You say well,” rejoined Cebes.

“We ought then,” said Socrates, “to ask ourselves some such question as this, to what kind of thing it appertains to be thus affected, namely to be dispersed, and for what we ought to fear, lest it should be so affected, and for what not. And after this, we should consider which of the two the soul is; and in the result should either be confident or fearful for our soul.”

“You speak truly,” said he.

62. “Does it not, then, appertain to that which is formed by composition, and is naturally compounded, to be thus affected, to be dissolved in the same manner as that in which it was compounded; and if there is any thing not compounded, does it not appertain to this alone, if to any thing, not to be thus affected?”

“It appears to me to be so,” said Cebes.

“Is it not most probable then that things which are always the same, and in the same state, are uncompounded, but that things which are constantly changing, and are never in the same state, are compounded?”

“To me it appears so.”

“Let us return then,” he said, “to the subjects on which we before discoursed. Whether is essence itself, of which we gave this account that it exists, both in our questions and answers, always the same, or does it sometimes change? Does equality itself, the beautiful itself, and each several thing which is, ever undergo any change, however small? Or does each of them which exists, being an unmixed essence by itself, continue always the same, and in the same state, and never undergo any variation at all under any circumstances?”

“They must of necessity continue the same and in the same state, Socrates,” said Cebes.

63. “But what shall we say of the many beautiful things, such as men, horses, garments, or other things of the kind, whether equal, or beautiful, or of all things synonymous with them? Do they continue the same, or, quite contrary to the former, are they never at any time, so to say, the same, either with respect to themselves or one another?”

“These on the other hand,” replied Cebes, “never continue the same.”

“These then you can touch, or see, or perceive by the other senses; but those that continue the same, you cannot apprehend in any other way than by the exercise of thought; for such things are invisible, and are not seen?”

“You say what is strictly true,” replied Cebes.

64. “We may assume then, if you please,” he continued, “that there are two species of things, the one visible, the other invisible?”

“We may,” he said.

“And the invisible always continuing the same, but the visible never the same?”

“This too,” he said, “we may assume.”

“Come then,” he asked, “is there any thing else belonging to us, than on the one hand body, and on the other soul?”

“Nothing else,” he replied.

“To which species, then, shall we say the body is more like, and more nearly allied?”

“It is clear to every one,” he said, “that it is to the visible.”

“But what of the soul? Is it visible or invisible?”

“It is not visible to men, Socrates,” he replied.

“But we speak of things which are visible or not so to the nature of men: or to some other nature, think you?”

“To that of men.”

“What then shall we say of the soul, that it is visible, or not visible?”

“Not visible.”

“Is it then invisible?”

“Yes.”

“The soul then is more like the invisible than the body, and the body, the visible?”

“It must needs be so, Socrates.”

65. “And did we not some time since say this too, that the soul, when it employs the body to examine any thing, either by means of the sight or hearing, or any other sense, (for to examine any thing by means of the body is to do so by the senses,) is then drawn by the body to things that never continue the same, and wanders and is confused, and reels as if intoxicated through coming into contact with things of this kind?”

“Certainly.”

“But when it examines any thing by itself, does it approach that which is pure, eternal, immortal, and unchangeable, and, as being allied to it, continue constantly with it, so long as it subsists by itself, and has the power, and does it cease from its wandering, and constantly continue the same with respect to those things, through coming into contact with things of this kind? and is this affection of the soul called wisdom?”

“You speak,” he said, “in every respect, well and truly, Socrates.”

“To which species of the two, then, both from what was before, and now said, does the soul appear to you to be more like and more nearly allied?”

66. “Every one, I think, would allow, Socrates,” he replied, “even the dullest person, from this method of reasoning that the soul is in every respect more like that which continues constantly the same, than that which does not so.”

“But what as to the body?”

“It is more like the other.”

“Consider it also thus, that, when soul and body are together, nature enjoins the latter to be subservient and obey, the former to rule and exercise dominion. And in this way, which of the two appears to you to be like the divine, and which the mortal? Does it not appear to you to be natural that the divine should rule and command, but the mortal obey and be subservient?”

“To me it does so.”

“Which then, does the soul resemble?”

“It is clear, Socrates, that the soul resembles the divine, but the body, the mortal.”

“Consider then, Cebes,” said he, “whether, from all that has been said, these conclusions follow, that the soul is most like that which is divine, immortal, intelligent, uniform, indissoluble, and which always continues in the same state, but that the body on the other hand is most like that which is human, mortal, unintelligent, multiform, dissoluble, and which never continues in the same state. Can we say any thing against this, my dear Cebes, to shew that it is not so?”

“We cannot.”

67. “What then? Since these things are so, does it not appertain to the body to be quickly dissolved, but to the soul, on the contrary, to be altogether indissoluble, or nearly so?”

“How not?”

“You perceive, however,” he said, “that when a man dies, the visible part of him, the body, which is exposed to sight, and which we call a corpse, to which it appertains to be dissolved, to fall asunder and be dispersed, does not immediately undergo any of these affections, but remains for a considerable time, and especially so if any one should die with his body in full vigour, and at a corresponding age[31]; for when the body has collapsed and been embalmed, as those that are embalmed in Egypt, it remains almost entire for an incredible length of time; and some parts of the body, even though it does decay, such as the bones and nerves, and every thing of that kind, are nevertheless, as one may say, immortal. Is it not so?”

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Footnote 31:

That is, at a time of life when the body is in full vigour.

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“Yes.”

68. “Can the soul, then, which is invisible, and which goes to another place like itself, excellent, pure, and invisible, and therefore truly called the invisible world[32], to the presence of a good and wise God, (whither if God will, my soul also must shortly go,) can this soul of ours, I ask, being such and of such a nature, when separated from the body be immediately dispersed and destroyed, as most men assert? Far from it, my dear Cebes and Simmias. But the case is much rather thus; if it is separated in a pure state, taking nothing of the body with it, as not having willingly communicated with it in the present life, but having shunned it and gathered itself within itself, as constantly studying this; but this is nothing else than to pursue philosophy aright, and in reality to study how to die easily; would not this be to study how to die?”

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Footnote 32:

In the original there is a play on the words Ἅιδης and ἀείδης, which I
can only attempt to retain by departing from the usual rendering of
the former word.

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“Most assuredly.”

“Does not the soul, then, when in this state, depart to that which resembles itself, the invisible, the divine, immortal, and wise? and on its arrival there, is it not its lot to be happy, free from error, ignorance, fears, wild passions, and all the other evils to which human nature is subject, and, as is said of the initiated, does it not in truth pass the rest of its time with the gods? Must we affirm that it is so, Cebes, or otherwise?”

“So, by Jupiter,” said Cebes.

69. “But, I think, if it departs from the body polluted and impure, as having constantly held communion with the body, and having served and loved it, and been bewitched by it, through desires and pleasures, so as to think that there is nothing real except what is corporeal, which one can touch and see, and drink and eat, and employ for sensual purposes; but what is dark and invisible to the eyes, which is intellectual and apprehended by philosophy, having been accustomed to hate, fear, and shun this, do you think that a soul thus affected can depart from the body by itself, and uncontaminated?”

“By no means whatever,” he replied.

“But I think it will be impressed with that which is corporeal, which the intercourse and communion of the body, through constant association and great attention, have made natural to it.”

“Certainly.”

“We must think, my dear Cebes, that this is ponderous and heavy, earthly and visible, by possessing which such a soul is weighed down, and drawn again into the visible world through dread of the invisible and of Hades, wandering, as it is said, amongst monuments and tombs, about which, indeed, certain shadowy phantoms of souls have been seen, being such images as those souls produced which have not departed pure from the body, but which partake of the visible, on which account also they are visible.”

“That is probable, Socrates.”

70. “Probable indeed, Cebes; and not that these are the souls of the good, but of the wicked, which are compelled to wander about such places, paying the penalty of their former conduct, which was evil; and they wander about so long, until, through the desire of the corporeal nature that accompanies them, they are again united to a body; and they are united, as is probable, to animals having the same habits as those they have given themselves up to during life.”

“But what do you say these are, Socrates?”

“For instance, those who have given themselves up to gluttony, wantonness, and drinking, and have put no restraint on themselves, will probably be clothed in the form of asses and brutes of that kind. Do you not think so?”

“You say what is very probable.”

“And that such as have set great value on injustice, tyranny, and rapine, will be clothed in the species of wolves, hawks, and kites? Where else can we say such souls go?”

“Without doubt,” said Cebes, “into such as these.”

“Is it not then evident,” he continued, “as to the rest, whither each will go, according to the resemblances of their several pursuits?”

71. “It is evident,” he replied, “how not?”

“Of these, then,” he said, “are not they the most happy, and do they not go to the best place, who have practised that social and civilized virtue, which they call temperance and justice, and which is produced from habit and exercise, without philosophy and reflection?”

“In what respect are these the most happy?”

“Because it is probable that these should again migrate into a corresponding civilized and peaceable kind of animals, such as bees perhaps, or wasps, or ants, or even into the same human species again, and from these become moderate men.”

“It is probable.”

“But it is not lawful for any one, who has not studied philosophy and departed this life perfectly pure, to pass into the rank of gods, but only for the true lover of wisdom. And on this account, my friends Simmias and Cebes, those who philosophize rightly abstain from all bodily desires, and persevere in doing so, and do not give themselves up to them, not fearing the loss of property and poverty, as the generality of men and the lovers of wealth; nor again dreading disgrace and ignominy like those who are lovers of power and honour, do they then abstain from them.”

“For it would not become them to do so, Socrates,” says Cebes.

72. “It would not, by Jupiter,” he rejoined. “Wherefore, Cebes, they who care at all for their soul, and do not spend their lives in the culture of their bodies, despising all these, proceed not in the same way with them, as being ignorant whither they are going, but being convinced that they ought not to act contrary to philosophy, but in accordance with the freedom and purification she affords, they give themselves up to her direction, following her wherever she leads.”

“How, Socrates?”

“I will tell you,” he replied. “The lovers of wisdom know, that philosophy receiving their soul plainly bound and glued to the body, and compelled to view things through this, as through a prison, and not directly by herself, and sunk in utter ignorance, and perceiving too the strength of the prison, that it arises from desire, so that he that is bound as much as possible assists in binding himself. 73. I say, then, the lovers of wisdom know that philosophy, receiving their soul in this state, gently exhorts it, and endeavours to free it, by shewing that the view of things by means of the eyes is full of deception, as also is that through the ears and the other senses, persuading an abandonment of these so far as it is not absolutely necessary to use them, and advising the soul to be collected and concentrated within itself, and to believe nothing else but herself, with respect to what she herself understands of things that have a real subsistence, and to consider nothing true which she views through the medium of others, and which differ under different aspects[33]; for that a thing of this kind is sensible and visible, but that what she herself perceives is intelligible and invisible. The soul of the true philosopher, therefore, thinking that she ought not to oppose this deliverance, accordingly abstains as much as possible from pleasures and desires, griefs and fears, considering that when any one is exceedingly delighted or alarmed, grieved or influenced by desire, he does not merely suffer such evil from these things as one might suppose, such as either being sick or wasting his property, through indulging his desires; but that which is the greatest evil, and the worst of all, this he suffers and is not conscious of it.”

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Footnote 33:

By this I understand him to mean that the soul alone can perceive the
truth, but the senses, as they are different, receive and convey
different impressions of the same thing; thus the eye receives one
impression of an object, the ear a totally different one.

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“But what is this evil, Socrates?” said Cebes.

74. “That the soul of every man is compelled to be either vehemently delighted or grieved about some particular thing, and at the same time to consider that the thing about which it is thus strongly affected is most real and most true, though it is not so. But these are chiefly visible objects; are they not?”

“Certainly.”

“In this state of affection, then, is not the soul especially shackled by the body?”

“How so?”

“Because each pleasure and pain, having a nail as it were, nails the soul to the body, and fastens it to it, and causes it to become corporeal, deeming those things to be true whatever the body asserts to be so. For, in consequence of its forming the same opinions with the body, and delighting in the same things, it is compelled, I think, to possess similar manners, and to be similarly nourished, so that it can never pass into Hades in a pure state, but must ever depart polluted by the body, and so quickly falls again into another body, and grows up as if it were sown, and consequently is deprived of all association with that which is divine, and pure, and uniform.”

“You speak most truly, Socrates,” said Cebes.

75. “For these reasons, therefore, Cebes, those who are truly lovers of wisdom are moderate and resolute, and not for the reasons that most people say. Do you think as they do?”

“Assuredly not.”

“No, truly. But the soul of a philosopher would reason thus, and would not think that philosophy ought to set it free, and that when it is freed it should give itself up again to pleasures and pains, to bind it down again, and make her work void, weaving a kind of Penelope’s web the reverse way. On the contrary, effecting a calm of the passions, and following the guidance of reason, and being always intent on this, contemplating that which is true and divine, and not subject to opinion, and being nourished by it, it thinks that it ought to live in this manner as long as it does live, and that when it dies it shall go to a kindred essence, and one like itself, and shall be freed from human evils. From such a regimen as this the soul has no occasion to fear, Simmias and Cebes, while it strictly attends to these things, lest being torn to pieces at its departure from the body it should be blown about and dissipated by the winds, and no longer have an existence any where.”

76. When Socrates had thus spoken, a long silence ensued; and Socrates himself was pondering upon what had been said, as he appeared, and so did most of us: but Cebes and Simmias were conversing a little while with each other. At length Socrates perceiving them, said, “What think you of what has been said? does it appear to you to have been proved sufficiently? for many doubts and objections still remain if any one will examine them thoroughly. If, then, you are considering some other subject, I have nothing to say; but if you are doubting about this, do not hesitate both yourselves to speak and express your opinion, if it appears to you in any respect that it might have been argued better, and to call me in again to your assistance, if you think you can be at all benefited by my help.”

Upon this Simmias said, “Indeed, Socrates, I will tell you the truth: for some time each of us, being in doubt, has been urging and exhorting the other to question you, from a desire to hear our doubts solved, but we were afraid of giving you trouble, lest it should be disagreeable to you in your present circumstances.”

77. But he, upon hearing this, gently smiled, and said, “Bless me, Simmias; with difficulty indeed, could I persuade other men that I do not consider my present condition a calamity, since I am not able to persuade even you; but you are afraid lest I should be more morose now than during the former part of my life. And, as it seems, I appear to you to be inferior to swans with respect to divination, who, when they perceive that they must needs die, though they have been used to sing before, sing then more than ever, rejoicing that they are about to depart to that deity whose servants they are. But men, through their own fear of death, belie the swans too, and say that, they lamenting their death, sing their last song through grief, and they do not consider that no bird sings when it is hungry or cold, or is afflicted with any other pain, not even the nightingale, or swallow, or the hoopoes, which they say sing lamenting through grief. But neither do these birds appear to me to sing through sorrow, nor yet do swans; but in my opinion, belonging to Apollo, they are prophetic, and foreseeing the blessings of Hades, they sing and rejoice on that day more excellently than at any preceding time. 78. But I too consider myself to be a fellow-servant of the swans, and sacred to the same god, and that I have received the power of divination from our common master no less than they, and that I do not depart from this life with less spirits than they. On this account, therefore, it is right that you should both speak and ask whatever you please, as long as the Athenian Eleven permit.”

“You say well,” said Simmias, “and both I will tell you what are my doubts, and he in turn how far he does not assent to what has been said. For it appears to me, Socrates, probably as it does to you with respect to these matters, that to know them clearly in the present life is either impossible, or very difficult: on the other hand, however, not to test what has been said of them in every possible way, so as not to desist until on examining them in every point of view, one has exhausted every effort, is the part of a very weak man. For we ought with respect to these things, either to learn from others how they stand, or to discover them for one’s-self, or, if both these are impossible, then, taking the best of human reasonings and that which is the most difficult to be confuted, and embarking on this, as one who risks himself on a raft, so to sail through life, unless one could be carried more safely, and with less risk, on a surer conveyance or some divine reason. 79. I, therefore, shall not now be ashamed to question you, since you bid me do so, nor shall I blame myself hereafter, for not having now told you what I think; for to me, Socrates, when I consider the matter, both with myself and with Cebes, what has been said does not appear to have been sufficiently proved.”