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  "chapter": {
    "num": 13,
    "slug": "13-phaedo",
    "title": "Phaedo",
    "of": 24,
    "words": 27155,
    "text": "## Phaedo\n\n\n#### 360 BC\n\n#### translated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n##### New York, C. Scribner's Sons, [1871]\n\nPERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE\n\nPHAEDO, who is the narrator of the dialogue to ECHECRATES of Phlius\n\nSOCRATES\n\nAPOLLODORUS\n\nSIMMIAS\n\nCEBES\n\nCRITO\n\nATTENDANT OF THE PRISON\nPHAEDO\n\nSCENE: The Prison of Socrates\n\nPLACE OF THE NARRATION: Phlius\n\nEchecrates. Were you yourself, Phaedo, in the prison with Socrates\non the day when he drank the poison?\n\nPhaedo. Yes, Echecrates, I was.\n\nEch. I wish that you would tell me about his death. What did he\nsay in his last hours? We were informed that he died by taking poison,\nbut no one knew anything more; for no Phliasian ever goes to Athens\nnow, and a long time has elapsed since any Athenian found his way to\nPhlius, and therefore we had no clear account.\n\nPhaed. Did you not hear of the proceedings at the trial?\n\nEch. Yes; someone told us about the trial, and we could not\nunderstand why, having been condemned, he was put to death, as\nappeared, not at the time, but long afterwards. What was the reason of\nthis?\n\nPhaed. An accident, Echecrates. The reason was that the stern of the\nship which the Athenians send to Delos happened to have been crowned\non the day before he was tried.\n\nEch. What is this ship?\n\nPhaed. This is the ship in which, as the Athenians say, Theseus went\nto Crete when he took with him the fourteen youths, and was the\nsaviour of them and of himself. And they were said to have vowed to\nApollo at the time, that if they were saved they would make an\nannual pilgrimage to Delos. Now this custom still continues, and the\nwhole period of the voyage to and from Delos, beginning when the\npriest of Apollo crowns the stern of the ship, is a holy season,\nduring which the city is not allowed to be polluted by public\nexecutions; and often, when the vessel is detained by adverse winds,\nthere may be a very considerable delay. As I was saying, the ship\nwas crowned on the day before the trial, and this was the reason why\nSocrates lay in prison and was not put to death until long after he\nwas condemned.\n\nEch. What was the manner of his death, Phaedo? What was said or\ndone? And which of his friends had he with him? Or were they not\nallowed by the authorities to be present? And did he die alone?\n\nPhaed. No; there were several of his friends with him.\n\nEch. If you have nothing to do, I wish that you would tell me what\npassed, as exactly as you can.\n\nPhaed. I have nothing to do, and will try to gratify your wish.\nFor to me, too, there is no greater pleasure than to have Socrates\nbrought to my recollection, whether I speak myself or hear another\nspeak of him.\n\nEch. You will have listeners who are of the same mind with you,\nand I hope that you will be as exact as you can.\n\nPhaed. I remember the strange feeling which came over me at being\nwith him. For I could hardly believe that I was present at the death\nof a friend, and therefore I did not pity him, Echecrates; his mien\nand his language were so noble and fearless in the hour of death\nthat to me he appeared blessed. I thought that in going to the other\nworld he could not be without a divine call, and that he would be\nhappy, if any man ever was, when he arrived there, and therefore I did\nnot pity him as might seem natural at such a time. But neither could I\nfeel the pleasure which I usually felt in philosophical discourse (for\nphilosophy was the theme of which we spoke). I was pleased, and I\nwas also pained, because I knew that he was soon to die, and this\nstrange mixture of feeling was shared by us all; we were laughing\nand weeping by turns, especially the excitable Apollodorus-you know\nthe sort of man?\n\nEch. Yes.\n\nPhaed. He was quite overcome; and I myself and all of us were\ngreatly moved.\n\nEch. Who were present?\n\nPhaed. Of native Athenians there were, besides Apollodorus,\nCritobulus and his father Crito, Hermogenes, Epigenes, Aeschines,\nand Antisthenes; likewise Ctesippus of the deme of Paeania, Menexenus,\nand some others; but Plato, if I am not mistaken, was ill.\n\nEch. Were there any strangers?\n\nPhaed. Yes, there were; Simmias the Theban, and Cebes, and\nPhaedondes; Euclid and Terpison, who came from Megara.\n\nEch. And was Aristippus there, and Cleombrotus?\n\nPhaed. No, they were said to be in Aegina.\n\nEch. Anyone else?\n\nPhaed. I think that these were about all.\n\nEch. And what was the discourse of which you spoke?\n\nPhaed. I will begin at the beginning, and endeavor to repeat the\nentire conversation. You must understand that we had been previously\nin the habit of assembling early in the morning at the court in\nwhich the trial was held, and which is not far from the prison.\nThere we remained talking with one another until the opening of the\nprison doors (for they were not opened very early), and then went in\nand generally passed the day with Socrates. On the last morning the\nmeeting was earlier than usual; this was owing to our having heard\non the previous evening that the sacred ship had arrived from Delos,\nand therefore we agreed to meet very early at the accustomed place. On\nour going to the prison, the jailer who answered the door, instead\nof admitting us, came out and bade us wait and he would call us.\n\"For the Eleven,\" he said, \"are now with Socrates; they are taking off\nhis chains, and giving orders that he is to die to-day.\" He soon\nreturned and said that we might come in. On entering we found Socrates\njust released from chains, and Xanthippe, whom you know, sitting by\nhim, and holding his child in her arms. When she saw us she uttered\na cry and said, as women will: \"O Socrates, this is the last time that\neither you will converse with your friends, or they with you.\"\nSocrates turned to Crito and said: \"Crito, let someone take her home.\"\nSome of Crito's people accordingly led her away, crying out and\nbeating herself. And when she was gone, Socrates, sitting up on the\ncouch, began to bend and rub his leg, saying, as he rubbed: \"How\nsingular is the thing called pleasure, and how curiously related to\npain, which might be thought to be the opposite of it; for they\nnever come to a man together, and yet he who pursues either of them is\ngenerally compelled to take the other. They are two, and yet they grow\ntogether out of one head or stem; and I cannot help thinking that if\nAesop had noticed them, he would have made a fable about God trying to\nreconcile their strife, and when he could not, he fastened their heads\ntogether; and this is the reason why when one comes the other follows,\nas I find in my own case pleasure comes following after the pain in my\nleg, which was caused by the chain.\"\n\nUpon this Cebes said: I am very glad indeed, Socrates, that you\nmentioned the name of Aesop. For that reminds me of a question which\nhas been asked by others, and was asked of me only the day before\nyesterday by Evenus the poet, and as he will be sure to ask again, you\nmay as well tell me what I should say to him, if you would like him to\nhave an answer. He wanted to know why you who never before wrote a\nline of poetry, now that you are in prison are putting Aesop into\nverse, and also composing that hymn in honor of Apollo.\n\nTell him, Cebes, he replied, that I had no idea of rivalling him\nor his poems; which is the truth, for I knew that I could not do that.\nBut I wanted to see whether I could purge away a scruple which I\nfelt about certain dreams. In the course of my life I have often had\nintimations in dreams \"that I should make music.\" The same dream\ncame to me sometimes in one form, and sometimes in another, but always\nsaying the same or nearly the same words: Make and cultivate music,\nsaid the dream. And hitherto I had imagined that this was only\nintended to exhort and encourage me in the study of philosophy,\nwhich has always been the pursuit of my life, and is the noblest and\nbest of music. The dream was bidding me to do what I was already\ndoing, in the same way that the competitor in a race is bidden by\nthe spectators to run when he is already running. But I was not\ncertain of this, as the dream might have meant music in the popular\nsense of the word, and being under sentence of death, and the festival\ngiving me a respite, I thought that I should be safer if I satisfied\nthe scruple, and, in obedience to the dream, composed a few verses\nbefore I departed. And first I made a hymn in honor of the god of\nthe festival, and then considering that a poet, if he is really to\nbe a poet or maker, should not only put words together but make\nstories, and as I have no invention, I took some fables of esop, which\nI had ready at hand and knew, and turned them into verse. Tell\nEvenus this, and bid him be of good cheer; that I would have him\ncome after me if he be a wise man, and not tarry; and that to-day I am\nlikely to be going, for the Athenians say that I must.\n\nSimmias said: What a message for such a man! having been a\nfrequent companion of his, I should say that, as far as I know him, he\nwill never take your advice unless he is obliged.\n\nWhy, said Socrates,-is not Evenus a philosopher?\n\nI think that he is, said Simmias.\n\nThen he, or any man who has the spirit of philosophy, will be\nwilling to die, though he will not take his own life, for that is held\nnot to be right.\n\nHere he changed his position, and put his legs off the couch on to\nthe ground, and during the rest of the conversation he remained\nsitting.\n\nWhy do you say, inquired Cebes, that a man ought not to take his own\nlife, but that the philosopher will be ready to follow the dying?\n\nSocrates replied: And have you, Cebes and Simmias, who are\nacquainted with Philolaus, never heard him speak of this?\n\nI never understood him, Socrates.\n\nMy words, too, are only an echo; but I am very willing to say what I\nhave heard: and indeed, as I am going to another place, I ought to\nbe thinking and talking of the nature of the pilgrimage which I am\nabout to make. What can I do better in the interval between this and\nthe setting of the sun?\n\nThen tell me, Socrates, why is suicide held not to be right? as I\nhave certainly heard Philolaus affirm when he was staying with us at\nThebes: and there are others who say the same, although none of them\nhas ever made me understand him.\n\nBut do your best, replied Socrates, and the day may come when you\nwill understand. I suppose that you wonder why, as most things which\nare evil may be accidentally good, this is to be the only exception\n(for may not death, too, be better than life in some cases?), and why,\nwhen a man is better dead, he is not permitted to be his own\nbenefactor, but must wait for the hand of another.\n\nBy Jupiter! yes, indeed, said Cebes, laughing, and speaking in his\nnative Doric.\n\nI admit the appearance of inconsistency, replied Socrates, but there\nmay not be any real inconsistency after all in this. There is a\ndoctrine uttered in secret that man is a prisoner who has no right\nto open the door of his prison and run away; this is a great mystery\nwhich I do not quite understand. Yet I, too, believe that the gods are\nour guardians, and that we are a possession of theirs. Do you not\nagree?\n\nYes, I agree to that, said Cebes.\n\nAnd if one of your own possessions, an ox or an ass, for example\ntook the liberty of putting himself out of the way when you had\ngiven no intimation of your wish that he should die, would you not\nbe angry with him, and would you not punish him if you could?\n\nCertainly, replied Cebes.\n\nThen there may be reason in saying that a man should wait, and not\ntake his own life until God summons him, as he is now summoning me.\n\nYes, Socrates, said Cebes, there is surely reason in that. And yet\nhow can you reconcile this seemingly true belief that God is our\nguardian and we his possessions, with that willingness to die which we\nwere attributing to the philosopher? That the wisest of men should\nbe willing to leave this service in which they are ruled by the gods\nwho are the best of rulers is not reasonable, for surely no wise man\nthinks that when set at liberty he can take better care of himself\nthan the gods take of him. A fool may perhaps think this-he may\nargue that he had better run away from his master, not considering\nthat his duty is to remain to the end, and not to run away from the\ngood, and that there is no sense in his running away. But the wise man\nwill want to be ever with him who is better than himself. Now this,\nSocrates, is the reverse of what was just now said; for upon this view\nthe wise man should sorrow and the fool rejoice at passing out of\nlife.\n\nThe earnestness of Cebes seemed to please Socrates. Here, said he,\nturning to us, is a man who is always inquiring, and is not to be\nconvinced all in a moment, nor by every argument.\n\nAnd in this case, added Simmias, his objection does appear to me\nto have some force. For what can be the meaning of a truly wise man\nwanting to fly away and lightly leave a master who is better than\nhimself? And I rather imagine that Cebes is referring to you; he\nthinks that you are too ready to leave us, and too ready to leave\nthe gods who, as you acknowledge, are our good rulers.\n\nYes, replied Socrates; there is reason in that. And this\nindictment you think that I ought to answer as if I were in court?\n\nThat is what we should like, said Simmias.\n\nThen I must try to make a better impression upon you than I did when\ndefending myself before the judges. For I am quite ready to\nacknowledge, Simmias and Cebes, that I ought to be grieved at death,\nif I were not persuaded that I am going to other gods who are wise and\ngood (of this I am as certain as I can be of anything of the sort) and\nto men departed (though I am not so certain of this), who are better\nthan those whom I leave behind; and therefore I do not grieve as I\nmight have done, for I have good hope that there is yet something\nremaining for the dead, and, as has been said of old, some far\nbetter thing for the good than for the evil.\n\nBut do you mean to take away your thoughts with you, Socrates?\nsaid Simmias. Will you not communicate them to us?-the benefit is\none in which we too may hope to share. Moreover, if you succeed in\nconvincing us, that will be an answer to the charge against yourself.\n\nI will do my best, replied Socrates. But you must first let me\nhear what Crito wants; he was going to say something to me.\n\nOnly this, Socrates, replied Crito: the attendant who is to give you\nthe poison has been telling me that you are not to talk much, and he\nwants me to let you know this; for that by talking heat is\nincreased, and this interferes with the action of the poison; those\nwho excite themselves are sometimes obliged to drink the poison two or\nthree times.\n\nThen, said Socrates, let him mind his business and be prepared to\ngive the poison two or three times, if necessary; that is all.\n\nI was almost certain that you would say that, replied Crito; but I\nwas obliged to satisfy him.\n\nNever mind him, he said.\n\nAnd now I will make answer to you, O my judges, and show that he who\nhas lived as a true philosopher has reason to be of good cheer when he\nis about to die, and that after death he may hope to receive the\ngreatest good in the other world. And how this may be, Simmias and\nCebes, I will endeavor to explain. For I deem that the true disciple\nof philosophy is likely to be misunderstood by other men; they do\nnot perceive that he is ever pursuing death and dying; and if this\nis true, why, having had the desire of death all his life long, should\nhe repine at the arrival of that which he has been always pursuing and\ndesiring?\n\nSimmias laughed and said: Though not in a laughing humor, I swear\nthat I cannot help laughing when I think what the wicked world will\nsay when they hear this. They will say that this is very true, and our\npeople at home will agree with them in saying that the life which\nphilosophers desire is truly death, and that they have found them\nout to be deserving of the death which they desire.\n\nAnd they are right, Simmias, in saying this, with the exception of\nthe words \"They have found them out\"; for they have not found out what\nis the nature of this death which the true philosopher desires, or how\nhe deserves or desires death. But let us leave them and have a word\nwith ourselves: Do we believe that there is such a thing as death?\n\nTo be sure, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd is this anything but the separation of soul and body? And\nbeing dead is the attainment of this separation; when the soul\nexists in herself, and is parted from the body and the body is\nparted from the soul-that is death?\n\nExactly: that and nothing else, he replied.\n\nAnd what do you say of another question, my friend, about which I\nshould like to have your opinion, and the answer to which will\nprobably throw light on our present inquiry: Do you think that the\nphilosopher ought to care about the pleasures-if they are to be called\npleasures-of eating and drinking?\n\nCertainly not, answered Simmias.\n\nAnd what do you say of the pleasures of love-should he care about\nthem?\n\nBy no means.\n\nAnd will he think much of the other ways of indulging the body-for\nexample, the acquisition of costly raiment, or sandals, or other\nadornments of the body? Instead of caring about them, does he not\nrather despise anything more than nature needs? What do you say?\n\nI should say the true philosopher would despise them.\n\nWould you not say that he is entirely concerned with the soul and\nnot with the body? He would like, as far as he can, to be quit of\nthe body and turn to the soul.\n\nThat is true.\n\nIn matters of this sort philosophers, above all other men, may be\nobserved in every sort of way to dissever the soul from the body.\n\nThat is true.\n\nWhereas, Simmias, the rest of the world are of opinion that a life\nwhich has no bodily pleasures and no part in them is not worth having;\nbut that he who thinks nothing of bodily pleasures is almost as though\nhe were dead.\n\nThat is quite true.\n\nWhat again shall we say of the actual acquirement of knowledge?-is\nthe body, if invited to share in the inquiry, a hinderer or a\nhelper? I mean to say, have sight and hearing any truth in them? Are\nthey not, as the poets are always telling us, inaccurate witnesses?\nand yet, if even they are inaccurate and indistinct, what is to be\nsaid of the other senses?-for you will allow that they are the best of\nthem?\n\nCertainly, he replied.\n\nThen when does the soul attain truth?-for in attempting to\nconsider anything in company with the body she is obviously deceived.\n\nYes, that is true.\n\nThen must not existence be revealed to her in thought, if at all?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd thought is best when the mind is gathered into herself and\nnone of these things trouble her-neither sounds nor sights nor pain\nnor any pleasure-when she has as little as possible to do with the\nbody, and has no bodily sense or feeling, but is aspiring after being?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd in this the philosopher dishonors the body; his soul runs away\nfrom the body and desires to be alone and by herself?\n\nThat is true.\n\nWell, but there is another thing, Simmias: Is there or is there\nnot an absolute justice?\n\nAssuredly there is.\n\nAnd an absolute beauty and absolute good?\n\nOf course.\n\nBut did you ever behold any of them with your eyes?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nOr did you ever reach them with any other bodily sense? (and I speak\nnot of these alone, but of absolute greatness, and health, and\nstrength, and of the essence or true nature of everything). Has the\nreality of them ever been perceived by you through the bodily\norgans? or rather, is not the nearest approach to the knowledge of\ntheir several natures made by him who so orders his intellectual\nvision as to have the most exact conception of the essence of that\nwhich he considers?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd he attains to the knowledge of them in their highest purity\nwho goes to each of them with the mind alone, not allowing when in the\nact of thought the intrusion or introduction of sight or any other\nsense in the company of reason, but with the very light of the mind in\nher clearness penetrates into the very fight of truth in each; he\nhas got rid, as far as he can, of eyes and ears and of the whole body,\nwhich he conceives of only as a disturbing element, hindering the soul\nfrom the acquisition of knowledge when in company with her-is not this\nthe sort of man who, if ever man did, is likely to attain the\nknowledge of existence?\n\nThere is admirable truth in that, Socrates, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd when they consider all this, must not true philosophers make a\nreflection, of which they will speak to one another in such words as\nthese: We have found, they will say, a path of speculation which seems\nto bring us and the argument to the conclusion that while we are in\nthe body, and while the soul is mingled with this mass of evil, our\ndesire will not be satisfied, and our desire is of the truth. For\nthe body is a source of endless trouble to us by reason of the mere\nrequirement of food; and also is liable to diseases which overtake and\nimpede us in the search after truth: and by filling us so full of\nloves, and lusts, and fears, and fancies, and idols, and every sort of\nfolly, prevents our ever having, as people say, so much as a\nthought. For whence come wars, and fightings, and factions? whence but\nfrom the body and the lusts of the body? For wars are occasioned by\nthe love of money, and money has to be acquired for the sake and in\nthe service of the body; and in consequence of all these things the\ntime which ought to be given to philosophy is lost. Moreover, if there\nis time and an inclination toward philosophy, yet the body\nintroduces a turmoil and confusion and fear into the course of\nspeculation, and hinders us from seeing the truth: and all\nexperience shows that if we would have pure knowledge of anything we\nmust be quit of the body, and the soul in herself must behold all\nthings in themselves: then I suppose that we shall attain that which\nwe desire, and of which we say that we are lovers, and that is wisdom,\nnot while we live, but after death, as the argument shows; for if\nwhile in company with the body the soul cannot have pure knowledge,\none of two things seems to follow-either knowledge is not to be\nattained at all, or, if at all, after death. For then, and not till\nthen, the soul will be in herself alone and without the body. In\nthis present life, I reckon that we make the nearest approach to\nknowledge when we have the least possible concern or interest in the\nbody, and are not saturated with the bodily nature, but remain pure\nuntil the hour when God himself is pleased to release us. And then the\nfoolishness of the body will be cleared away and we shall be pure\nand hold converse with other pure souls, and know of ourselves the\nclear light everywhere; and this is surely the light of truth. For\nno impure thing is allowed to approach the pure. These are the sort of\nwords, Simmias, which the true lovers of wisdom cannot help saying\nto one another, and thinking. You will agree with me in that?\n\nCertainly, Socrates.\n\nBut if this is true, O my friend, then there is great hope that,\ngoing whither I go, I shall there be satisfied with that which has\nbeen the chief concern of you and me in our past lives. And now that\nthe hour of departure is appointed to me, this is the hope with\nwhich I depart, and not I only, but every man who believes that he has\nhis mind purified.\n\nCertainly, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd what is purification but the separation of the soul from the\nbody, as I was saying before; the habit of the soul gathering and\ncollecting herself into herself, out of all the courses of the body;\nthe dwelling in her own place alone, as in another life, so also in\nthis, as far as she can; the release of the soul from the chains of\nthe body?\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nAnd what is that which is termed death, but this very separation and\nrelease of the soul from the body?\n\nTo be sure, he said.\n\nAnd the true philosophers, and they only, study and are eager to\nrelease the soul. Is not the separation and release of the soul from\nthe body their especial study?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd as I was saying at first, there would be a ridiculous\ncontradiction in men studying to live as nearly as they can in a state\nof death, and yet repining when death comes.\n\nCertainly.\n\nThen, Simmias, as the true philosophers are ever studying death,\nto them, of all men, death is the least terrible. Look at the matter\nin this way: how inconsistent of them to have been always enemies of\nthe body, and wanting to have the soul alone, and when this is granted\nto them, to be trembling and repining; instead of rejoicing at their\ndeparting to that place where, when they arrive, they hope to gain\nthat which in life they loved (and this was wisdom), and at the same\ntime to be rid of the company of their enemy. Many a man has been\nwilling to go to the world below in the hope of seeing there an\nearthly love, or wife, or son, and conversing with them. And will he\nwho is a true lover of wisdom, and is persuaded in like manner that\nonly in the world below he can worthily enjoy her, still repine at\ndeath? Will he not depart with joy? Surely he will, my friend, if he\nbe a true philosopher. For he will have a firm conviction that there\nonly, and nowhere else, he can find wisdom in her purity. And if\nthis be true, he would be very absurd, as I was saying, if he were\nto fear death.\n\nHe would, indeed, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd when you see a man who is repining at the approach of death,\nis not his reluctance a sufficient proof that he is not a lover of\nwisdom, but a lover of the body, and probably at the same time a lover\nof either money or power, or both?\n\nThat is very true, he replied.\n\nThere is a virtue, Simmias, which is named courage. Is not that a\nspecial attribute of the philosopher?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAgain, there is temperance. Is not the calm, and control, and\ndisdain of the passions which even the many call temperance, a quality\nbelonging only to those who despise the body and live in philosophy?\n\nThat is not to be denied.\n\nFor the courage and temperance of other men, if you will consider\nthem, are really a contradiction.\n\nHow is that, Socrates?\n\nWell, he said, you are aware that death is regarded by men in\ngeneral as a great evil.\n\nThat is true, he said.\n\nAnd do not courageous men endure death because they are afraid of\nyet greater evils?\n\nThat is true.\n\nThen all but the philosophers are courageous only from fear, and\nbecause they are afraid; and yet that a man should be courageous\nfrom fear, and because he is a coward, is surely a strange thing.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd are not the temperate exactly in the same case? They are\ntemperate because they are intemperate-which may seem to be a\ncontradiction, but is nevertheless the sort of thing which happens\nwith this foolish temperance. For there are pleasures which they\nmust have, and are afraid of losing; and therefore they abstain from\none class of pleasures because they are overcome by another: and\nwhereas intemperance is defined as \"being under the dominion of\npleasure,\" they overcome only because they are overcome by pleasure.\nAnd that is what I mean by saying that they are temperate through\nintemperance.\n\nThat appears to be true.\n\nYet the exchange of one fear or pleasure or pain for another fear or\npleasure or pain, which are measured like coins, the greater with\nthe less, is not the exchange of virtue. O my dear Simmias, is there\nnot one true coin for which all things ought to exchange?-and that\nis wisdom; and only in exchange for this, and in company with this, is\nanything truly bought or sold, whether courage or temperance or\njustice. And is not all true virtue the companion of wisdom, no matter\nwhat fears or pleasures or other similar goods or evils may or may not\nattend her? But the virtue which is made up of these goods, when\nthey are severed from wisdom and exchanged with one another, is a\nshadow of virtue only, nor is there any freedom or health or truth\nin her; but in the true exchange there is a purging away of all\nthese things, and temperance, and justice, and courage, and wisdom\nherself are a purgation of them. And I conceive that the founders of\nthe mysteries had a real meaning and were not mere triflers when\nthey intimated in a figure long ago that he who passes unsanctified\nand uninitiated into the world below will live in a slough, but that\nhe who arrives there after initiation and purification will dwell with\nthe gods. For \"many,\" as they say in the mysteries, \"are the thyrsus\nbearers, but few are the mystics,\"-meaning, as I interpret the\nwords, the true philosophers. In the number of whom I have been\nseeking, according to my ability, to find a place during my whole\nlife; whether I have sought in a right way or not, and whether I\nhave succeeded or not, I shall truly know in a little while, if God\nwill, when I myself arrive in the other world: that is my belief.\nAnd now, Simmias and Cebes, I have answered those who charge me with\nnot grieving or repining at parting from you and my masters in this\nworld; and I am right in not repining, for I believe that I shall find\nother masters and friends who are as good in the world below. But\nall men cannot believe this, and I shall be glad if my words have\nany more success with you than with the judges of the Athenians.\n\nCebes answered: I agree, Socrates, in the greater part of what you\nsay. But in what relates to the soul, men are apt to be incredulous;\nthey fear that when she leaves the body her place may be nowhere,\nand that on the very day of death she may be destroyed and\nperish-immediately on her release from the body, issuing forth like\nsmoke or air and vanishing away into nothingness. For if she could\nonly hold together and be herself after she was released from the\nevils of the body, there would be good reason to hope, Socrates,\nthat what you say is true. But much persuasion and many arguments\nare required in order to prove that when the man is dead the soul\nyet exists, and has any force of intelligence.\n\nTrue, Cebes, said Socrates; and shall I suggest that we talk a\nlittle of the probabilities of these things?\n\nI am sure, said Cebes, that I should gready like to know your\nopinion about them.\n\nI reckon, said Socrates, that no one who heard me now, not even if\nhe were one of my old enemies, the comic poets, could accuse me of\nidle talking about matters in which I have no concern. Let us, then,\nif you please, proceed with the inquiry.\n\nWhether the souls of men after death are or are not in the world\nbelow, is a question which may be argued in this manner: The ancient\ndoctrine of which I have been speaking affirms that they go from\nthis into the other world, and return hither, and are born from the\ndead. Now if this be true, and the living come from the dead, then our\nsouls must be in the other world, for if not, how could they be born\nagain? And this would be conclusive, if there were any real evidence\nthat the living are only born from the dead; but if there is no\nevidence of this, then other arguments will have to be adduced.\n\nThat is very true, replied Cebes.\n\nThen let us consider this question, not in relation to man only, but\nin relation to animals generally, and to plants, and to everything\nof which there is generation, and the proof will be easier. Are not\nall things which have opposites generated out of their opposites? I\nmean such things as good and evil, just and unjust-and there are\ninnumerable other opposites which are generated out of opposites.\nAnd I want to show that this holds universally of all opposites; I\nmean to say, for example, that anything which becomes greater must\nbecome greater after being less.\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd that which becomes less must have been once greater and then\nbecome less.\n\nYes.\n\nAnd the weaker is generated from the stronger, and the swifter\nfrom the slower.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd the worse is from the better, and the more just is from the more\nunjust.\n\nOf course.\n\nAnd is this true of all opposites? and are we convinced that all\nof them are generated out of opposites?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd in this universal opposition of all things, are there not also\ntwo intermediate processes which are ever going on, from one to the\nother, and back again; where there is a greater and a less there is\nalso an intermediate process of increase and diminution, and that\nwhich grows is said to wax, and that which decays to wane?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nAnd there are many other processes, such as division and\ncomposition, cooling and heating, which equally involve a passage into\nand out of one another. And this holds of all opposites, even though\nnot always expressed in words-they are generated out of one another,\nand there is a passing or process from one to the other of them?\n\nVery true, he replied.\n\nWell, and is there not an opposite of life, as sleep is the opposite\nof waking?\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nAnd what is that?\n\nDeath, he answered.\n\nAnd these, then, are generated, if they are opposites, the one\nfrom the other, and have there their two intermediate processes also?\n\nOf course.\n\nNow, said Socrates, I will analyze one of the two pairs of opposites\nwhich I have mentioned to you, and also its intermediate processes,\nand you shall analyze the other to me. The state of sleep is opposed\nto the state of waking, and out of sleeping waking is generated, and\nout of waking, sleeping, and the process of generation is in the one\ncase falling asleep, and in the other waking up. Are you agreed\nabout that?\n\nQuite agreed.\n\nThen suppose that you analyze life and death to me in the same\nmanner. Is not death opposed to life?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd they are generated one from the other?\n\nYes.\n\nWhat is generated from life?\n\nDeath.\n\nAnd what from death?\n\nI can only say in answer-life.\n\nThen the living, whether things or persons, Cebes, are generated\nfrom the dead?\n\nThat is clear, he replied.\n\nThen the inference is, that our souls are in the world below?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd one of the two processes or generations is visible-for surely\nthe act of dying is visible?\n\nSurely, he said.\n\nAnd may not the other be inferred as the complement of nature, who\nis not to be supposed to go on one leg only? And if not, a\ncorresponding process of generation in death must also be assigned\nto her?\n\nCertainly, he replied.\n\nAnd what is that process?\n\nRevival.\n\nAnd revival, if there be such a thing, is the birth of the dead into\nthe world of the living?\n\nQuite true.\n\nThen there is a new way in which we arrive at the inference that the\nliving come from the dead, just as the dead come from the living;\nand if this is true, then the souls of the dead must be in some\nplace out of which they come again. And this, as I think, has been\nsatisfactorily proved.\n\nYes, Socrates, he said; all this seems to flow necessarily out of\nour previous admissions.\n\nAnd that these admissions are not unfair, Cebes, he said, may be\nshown, as I think, in this way: If generation were in a straight\nline only, and there were no compensation or circle in nature, no turn\nor return into one another, then you know that all things would at\nlast have the same form and pass into the same state, and there\nwould be no more generation of them.\n\nWhat do you mean? he said.\n\nA simple thing enough, which I will illustrate by the case of sleep,\nhe replied. You know that if there were no compensation of sleeping\nand waking, the story of the sleeping Endymion would in the end have\nno meaning, because all other things would be asleep, too, and he\nwould not be thought of. Or if there were composition only, and no\ndivision of substances, then the chaos of Anaxagoras would come again.\nAnd in like manner, my dear Cebes, if all things which partook of life\nwere to die, and after they were dead remained in the form of death,\nand did not come to life again, all would at last die, and nothing\nwould be alive-how could this be otherwise? For if the living spring\nfrom any others who are not the dead, and they die, must not all\nthings at last be swallowed up in death?\n\nThere is no escape from that, Socrates, said Cebes; and I think that\nwhat you say is entirely true.\n\nYes, he said, Cebes, I entirely think so, too; and we are not\nwalking in a vain imagination; but I am confident in the belief that\nthere truly is such a thing as living again, and that the living\nspring from the dead, and that the souls of the dead are in existence,\nand that the good souls have a better portion than the evil.\n\nCebes added: Your favorite doctrine, Socrates, that knowledge is\nsimply recollection, if true, also necessarily implies a previous time\nin which we learned that which we now recollect. But this would be\nimpossible unless our soul was in some place before existing in the\nhuman form; here, then, is another argument of the soul's immortality.\n\nBut tell me, Cebes, said Simmias, interposing, what proofs are given\nof this doctrine of recollection? I am not very sure at this moment\nthat I remember them.\n\nOne excellent proof, said Cebes, is afforded by questions. If you\nput a question to a person in a right way, he will give a true\nanswer of himself; but how could he do this unless there were\nknowledge and right reason already in him? And this is most clearly\nshown when he is taken to a diagram or to anything of that sort.\n\nBut if, said Socrates, you are still incredulous, Simmias, I would\nask you whether you may not agree with me when you look at the\nmatter in another way; I mean, if you are still incredulous as to\nwhether knowledge is recollection.\n\nIncredulous, I am not, said Simmias; but I want to have this\ndoctrine of recollection brought to my own recollection, and, from\nwhat Cebes has said, I am beginning to recollect and be convinced; but\nI should still like to hear what more you have to say.\n\nThis is what I would say, he replied: We should agree, if I am not\nmistaken, that what a man recollects he must have known at some\nprevious time.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd what is the nature of this recollection? And, in asking this,\nI mean to ask whether, when a person has already seen or heard or in\nany way perceived anything, and he knows not only that, but\nsomething else of which he has not the same, but another knowledge, we\nmay not fairly say that he recollects that which comes into his\nmind. Are we agreed about that?\n\nWhat do you mean?\n\nI mean what I may illustrate by the following instance: The\nknowledge of a lyre is not the same as the knowledge of a man?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd yet what is the feeling of lovers when they recognize a lyre, or\na garment, or anything else which the beloved has been in the habit of\nusing? Do not they, from knowing the lyre, form in the mind's eye an\nimage of the youth to whom the lyre belongs? And this is recollection:\nand in the same way anyone who sees Simmias may remember Cebes; and\nthere are endless other things of the same nature.\n\nYes, indeed, there are-endless, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd this sort of thing, he said, is recollection, and is most\ncommonly a process of recovering that which has been forgotten through\ntime and inattention.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nWell; and may you not also from seeing the picture of a horse or a\nlyre remember a man? and from the picture of Simmias, you may be led\nto remember Cebes?\n\nTrue.\n\nOr you may also be led to the recollection of Simmias himself?\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nAnd in all these cases, the recollection may be derived from\nthings either like or unlike?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd when the recollection is derived from like things, then there is\nsure to be another question, which is, whether the likeness of that\nwhich is recollected is in any way defective or not.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nAnd shall we proceed a step further, and affirm that there is such a\nthing as equality, not of wood with wood, or of stone with stone,\nbut that, over and above this, there is equality in the abstract?\nShall we affirm this?\n\nAffirm, yes, and swear to it, replied Simmias, with all the\nconfidence in life.\n\nAnd do we know the nature of this abstract essence?\n\nTo be sure, he said.\n\nAnd whence did we obtain this knowledge? Did we not see equalities\nof material things, such as pieces of wood and stones, and gather from\nthem the idea of an equality which is different from them?-you will\nadmit that? Or look at the matter again in this way: Do not the same\npieces of wood or stone appear at one time equal, and at another\ntime unequal?\n\nThat is certain.\n\nBut are real equals ever unequal? or is the idea of equality ever\ninequality?\n\nThat surely was never yet known, Socrates.\n\nThen these (so-called) equals are not the same with the idea of\nequality?\n\nI should say, clearly not, Socrates.\n\nAnd yet from these equals, although differing from the idea of\nequality, you conceived and attained that idea?\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nWhich might be like, or might be unlike them?\n\nYes.\n\nBut that makes no difference; whenever from seeing one thing you\nconceived another, whether like or unlike, there must surely have been\nan act of recollection?\n\nVery true.\n\nBut what would you say of equal portions of wood and stone, or other\nmaterial equals? and what is the impression produced by them? Are they\nequals in the same sense as absolute equality? or do they fall short\nof this in a measure?\n\nYes, he said, in a very great measure, too.\n\nAnd must we not allow that when I or anyone look at any object,\nand perceive that the object aims at being some other thing, but falls\nshort of, and cannot attain to it-he who makes this observation must\nhave had previous knowledge of that to which, as he says, the other,\nalthough similar, was inferior?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd has not this been our case in the matter of equals and of\nabsolute equality?\n\nPrecisely.\n\nThen we must have known absolute equality previously to the time\nwhen we first saw the material equals, and reflected that all these\napparent equals aim at this absolute equality, but fall short of it?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd we recognize also that this absolute equality has only been\nknown, and can only be known, through the medium of sight or touch, or\nof some other sense. And this I would affirm of all such conceptions.\n\nYes, Socrates, as far as the argument is concerned, one of them is\nthe same as the other.\n\nAnd from the senses, then, is derived the knowledge that all\nsensible things aim at an idea of equality of which they fall short-is\nnot that true?\n\nYes.\n\nThen before we began to see or hear or perceive in any way, we\nmust have had a knowledge of absolute equality, or we could not have\nreferred to that the equals which are derived from the senses-for to\nthat they all aspire, and of that they fall short?\n\nThat, Socrates, is certainly to be inferred from the previous\nstatements.\n\nAnd did we not see and hear and acquire our other senses as soon\nas we were born?\n\nCertainly.\n\nThen we must have acquired the knowledge of the ideal equal at\nsome time previous to this?\n\nYes.\n\nThat is to say, before we were born, I suppose?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd if we acquired this knowledge before we were born, and were born\nhaving it, then we also knew before we were born and at the instant of\nbirth not only equal or the greater or the less, but all other\nideas; for we are not speaking only of equality absolute, but of\nbeauty, goodness, justice, holiness, and all which we stamp with the\nname of essence in the dialectical process, when we ask and answer\nquestions. Of all this we may certainly affirm that we acquired the\nknowledge before birth?\n\nThat is true.\n\nBut if, after having acquired, we have not forgotten that which we\nacquired, then we must always have been born with knowledge, and shall\nalways continue to know as long as life lasts-for knowing is the\nacquiring and retaining knowledge and not forgetting. Is not\nforgetting, Simmias, just the losing of knowledge?\n\nQuite true, Socrates.\n\nBut if the knowledge which we acquired before birth was lost by us\nat birth, and afterwards by the use of the senses we recovered that\nwhich we previously knew, will not that which we call learning be a\nprocess of recovering our knowledge, and may not this be rightly\ntermed recollection by us?\n\nVery true.\n\nFor this is clear, that when we perceived something, either by the\nhelp of sight or hearing, or some other sense, there was no difficulty\nin receiving from this a conception of some other thing like or unlike\nwhich had been forgotten and which was associated with this; and\ntherefore, as I was saying, one of two alternatives follows: either we\nhad this knowledge at birth, and continued to know through life; or,\nafter birth, those who are said to learn only remember, and learning\nis recollection only.\n\nYes, that is quite true, Socrates.\n\nAnd which alternative, Simmias, do you prefer? Had we the\nknowledge at our birth, or did we remember afterwards the things which\nwe knew previously to our birth?\n\nI cannot decide at the moment.\n\nAt any rate you can decide whether he who has knowledge ought or\nought not to be able to give a reason for what he knows.\n\nCertainly, he ought.\n\nBut do you think that every man is able to give a reason about these\nvery matters of which we are speaking?\n\nI wish that they could, Socrates, but I greatly fear that\nto-morrow at this time there will be no one able to give a reason\nworth having.\n\nThen you are not of opinion, Simmias, that all men know these\nthings?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nThen they are in process of recollecting that which they learned\nbefore.\n\nCertainly.\n\nBut when did our souls acquire this knowledge?-not since we were\nborn as men?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nAnd therefore previously?\n\nYes.\n\nThen, Simmias, our souls must have existed before they were in the\nform of man-without bodies, and must have had intelligence.\n\nUnless indeed you suppose, Socrates, that these notions were given\nus at the moment of birth; for this is the only time that remains.\n\nYes, my friend, but when did we lose them? for they are not in us\nwhen we are born-that is admitted. Did we lose them at the moment of\nreceiving them, or at some other time?\n\nNo, Socrates, I perceive that I was unconsciously talking nonsense.\n\nThen may we not say, Simmias, that if, as we are always repeating,\nthere is an absolute beauty, and goodness, and essence in general, and\nto this, which is now discovered to be a previous condition of our\nbeing, we refer all our sensations, and with this compare\nthem-assuming this to have a prior existence, then our souls must have\nhad a prior existence, but if not, there would be no force in the\nargument? There can be no doubt that if these absolute ideas existed\nbefore we were born, then our souls must have existed before we were\nborn, and if not the ideas, then not the souls.\n\nYes, Socrates; I am convinced that there is precisely the same\nnecessity for the existence of the soul before birth, and of the\nessence of which you are speaking: and the argument arrives at a\nresult which happily agrees with my own notion. For there is nothing\nwhich to my mind is so evident as that beauty, goodness, and other\nnotions of which you were just now speaking have a most real and\nabsolute existence; and I am satisfied with the proof.\n\nWell, but is Cebes equally satisfied? for I must convince him too.\n\nI think, said Simmias, that Cebes is satisfied: although he is the\nmost incredulous of mortals, yet I believe that he is convinced of the\nexistence of the soul before birth. But that after death the soul will\ncontinue to exist is not yet proven even to my own satisfaction. I\ncannot get rid of the feeling of the many to which Cebes was\nreferring-the feeling that when the man dies the soul may be\nscattered, and that this may be the end of her. For admitting that she\nmay be generated and created in some other place, and may have existed\nbefore entering the human body, why after having entered in and gone\nout again may she not herself be destroyed and come to an end?\n\nVery true, Simmias, said Cebes; that our soul existed before we were\nborn was the first half of the argument, and this appears to have been\nproven; that the soul will exist after death as well as before birth\nis the other half of which the proof is still wanting, and has to be\nsupplied.\n\nBut that proof, Simmias and Cebes, has been already given, said\nSocrates, if you put the two arguments together-I mean this and the\nformer one, in which we admitted that everything living is born of the\ndead. For if the soul existed before birth, and in coming to life\nand being born can be born only from death and dying, must she not\nafter death continue to exist, since she has to be born again?\nsurely the proof which you desire has been already furnished. Still\nI suspect that you and Simmias would be glad to probe the argument\nfurther; like children, you are haunted with a fear that when the soul\nleaves the body, the wind may really blow her away and scatter her;\nespecially if a man should happen to die in stormy weather and not\nwhen the sky is calm.\n\nCebes answered with a smile: Then, Socrates, you must argue us out\nof our fears-and yet, strictly speaking, they are not our fears, but\nthere is a child within us to whom death is a sort of hobgoblin; him\ntoo we must persuade not to be afraid when he is alone with him in the\ndark.\n\nSocrates said: Let the voice of the charmer be applied daily until\nyou have charmed him away.\n\nAnd where shall we find a good charmer of our fears, Socrates,\nwhen you are gone?\n\nHellas, he replied, is a large place, Cebes, and has many good\nmen, and there are barbarous races not a few: seek for him among\nthem all, far and wide, sparing neither pains nor money; for there\nis no better way of using your money. And you must not forget to\nseek for him among yourselves too; for he is nowhere more likely to be\nfound.\n\nThe search, replied Cebes, shall certainly be made. And now, if\nyou please, let us return to the point of the argument at which we\ndigressed.\n\nBy all means, replied Socrates; what else should I please?\n\nVery good, he said.\n\nMust we not, said Socrates, ask ourselves some question of this\nsort?-What is that which, as we imagine, is liable to be scattered\naway, and about which we fear? and what again is that about which we\nhave no fear? And then we may proceed to inquire whether that which\nsuffers dispersion is or is not of the nature of soul-our hopes and\nfears as to our own souls will turn upon that.\n\nThat is true, he said.\n\nNow the compound or composite may be supposed to be naturally\ncapable of being dissolved in like manner as of being compounded;\nbut that which is uncompounded, and that only, must be, if anything\nis, indissoluble.\n\nYes; that is what I should imagine, said Cebes.\n\nAnd the uncompounded may be assumed to be the same and unchanging,\nwhere the compound is always changing and never the same?\n\nThat I also think, he said.\n\nThen now let us return to the previous discussion. Is that idea or\nessence, which in the dialectical process we define as essence of true\nexistence-whether essence of equality, beauty, or anything else: are\nthese essences, I say, liable at times to some degree of change? or\nare they each of them always what they are, having the same simple,\nself-existent and unchanging forms, and not admitting of variation\nat all, or in any way, or at any time?\n\nThey must be always the same, Socrates, replied Cebes.\n\nAnd what would you say of the many beautiful-whether men or horses\nor garments or any other things which may be called equal or\nbeautiful-are they all unchanging and the same always, or quite the\nreverse? May they not rather be described as almost always changing\nand hardly ever the same either with themselves or with one another?\n\nThe latter, replied Cebes; they are always in a state of change.\n\nAnd these you can touch and see and perceive with the senses, but\nthe unchanging things you can only perceive with the mind-they are\ninvisible and are not seen?\n\nThat is very true, he said.\n\nWell, then, he added, let us suppose that there are two sorts of\nexistences, one seen, the other unseen.\n\nLet us suppose them.\n\nThe seen is the changing, and the unseen is the unchanging.\n\nThat may be also supposed.\n\nAnd, further, is not one part of us body, and the rest of us soul?\n\nTo be sure.\n\nAnd to which class may we say that the body is more alike and akin?\n\nClearly to the seen: no one can doubt that.\n\nAnd is the soul seen or not seen?\n\nNot by man, Socrates.\n\nAnd by \"seen\" and \"not seen\" is meant by us that which is or is\nnot visible to the eye of man?\n\nYes, to the eye of man.\n\nAnd what do we say of the soul? is that seen or not seen?\n\nNot seen.\n\nUnseen then?\n\nYes.\n\nThen the soul is more like to the unseen, and the body to the seen?\n\nThat is most certain, Socrates.\n\nAnd were we not saying long ago that the soul when using the body as\nan instrument of perception, that is to say, when using the sense of\nsight or hearing or some other sense (for the meaning of perceiving\nthrough the body is perceiving through the senses)-were we not\nsaying that the soul too is then dragged by the body into the region\nof the changeable, and wanders and is confused; the world spins\nround her, and she is like a drunkard when under their influence?\n\nVery true.\n\nBut when returning into herself she reflects; then she passes into\nthe realm of purity, and eternity, and immortality, and\nunchangeableness, which are her kindred, and with them she ever lives,\nwhen she is by herself and is not let or hindered; then she ceases\nfrom her erring ways, and being in communion with the unchanging is\nunchanging. And this state of the soul is called wisdom?\n\nThat is well and truly said, Socrates, he replied.\n\nAnd to which class is the soul more nearly alike and akin, as far as\nmay be inferred from this argument, as well as from the preceding one?\n\nI think, Socrates, that, in the opinion of everyone who follows\nthe argument, the soul will be infinitely more like the unchangeable\neven the most stupid person will not deny that.\n\nAnd the body is more like the changing?\n\nYes.\n\nYet once more consider the matter in this light: When the soul and\nthe body are united, then nature orders the soul to rule and govern,\nand the body to obey and serve.\n\nNow which of these two functions is akin to the divine? and which to\nthe mortal? Does not the divine appear to you to be that which\nnaturally orders and rules, and the mortal that which is subject and\nservant?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd which does the soul resemble?\n\nThe soul resembles the divine and the body the mortal-there can be\nno doubt of that, Socrates.\n\nThen reflect, Cebes: is not the conclusion of the whole matter\nthis?-that the soul is in the very likeness of the divine, and\nimmortal, and intelligible, and uniform, and indissoluble, and\nunchangeable; and the body is in the very likeness of the human, and\nmortal, and unintelligible, and multiform, and dissoluble, and\nchangeable. Can this, my dear Cebes, be denied?\n\nNo, indeed.\n\nBut if this is true, then is not the body liable to speedy\ndissolution?\n\nand is not the soul almost or altogether indissoluble?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd do you further observe, that after a man is dead, the body,\nwhich is the visible part of man, and has a visible framework, which\nis called a corpse, and which would naturally be dissolved and\ndecomposed and dissipated, is not dissolved or decomposed at once, but\nmay remain for a good while, if the constitution be sound at the\ntime of death, and the season of the year favorable? For the body when\nshrunk and embalmed, as is the custom in Egypt, may remain almost\nentire through infinite ages; and even in decay, still there are\nsome portions, such as the bones and ligaments, which are\npractically indestructible. You allow that?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd are we to suppose that the soul, which is invisible, in\npassing to the true Hades, which like her is invisible, and pure,\nand noble, and on her way to the good and wise God, whither, if God\nwill, my soul is also soon to go-that the soul, I repeat, if this be\nher nature and origin, is blown away and perishes immediately on\nquitting the body as the many say? That can never be, dear Simmias and\nCebes. The truth rather is that the soul which is pure at departing\ndraws after her no bodily taint, having never voluntarily had\nconnection with the body, which she is ever avoiding, herself gathered\ninto herself (for such abstraction has been the study of her life).\nAnd what does this mean but that she has been a true disciple of\nphilosophy and has practised how to die easily? And is not\nphilosophy the practice of death?\n\nCertainly.\n\nThat soul, I say, herself invisible, departs to the invisible\nworldto the divine and immortal and rational: thither arriving, she\nlives in bliss and is released from the error and folly of men,\ntheir fears and wild passions and all other human ills, and forever\ndwells, as they say of the initiated, in company with the gods. Is not\nthis true, Cebes?\n\nYes, said Cebes, beyond a doubt.\n\nBut the soul which has been polluted, and is impure at the time of\nher departure, and is the companion and servant of the body always,\nand is in love with and fascinated by the body and by the desires\nand pleasures of the body, until she is led to believe that the\ntruth only exists in a bodily form, which a man may touch and see\nand taste and use for the purposes of his lusts-the soul, I mean,\naccustomed to hate and fear and avoid the intellectual principle,\nwhich to the bodily eye is dark and invisible, and can be attained\nonly by philosophy-do you suppose that such a soul as this will depart\npure and unalloyed?\n\nThat is impossible, he replied.\n\nShe is engrossed by the corporeal, which the continual association\nand constant care of the body have made natural to her.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd this, my friend, may be conceived to be that heavy, weighty,\nearthy element of sight by which such a soul is depressed and\ndragged down again into the visible world, because she is afraid of\nthe invisible and of the world below-prowling about tombs and\nsepulchres, in the neighborhood of which, as they tell us, are seen\ncertain ghostly apparitions of souls which have not departed pure, but\nare cloyed with sight and therefore visible.\n\nThat is very likely, Socrates.\n\nYes, that is very likely, Cebes; and these must be the souls, not of\nthe good, but of the evil, who are compelled to wander about such\nplaces in payment of the penalty of their former evil way of life; and\nthey continue to wander until the desire which haunts them is\nsatisfied and they are imprisoned in another body. And they may be\nsupposed to be fixed in the same natures which they had in their\nformer life.\n\nWhat natures do you mean, Socrates?\n\nI mean to say that men who have followed after gluttony, and\nwantonness, and drunkenness, and have had no thought of avoiding them,\nwould pass into asses and animals of that sort. What do you think?\n\nI think that exceedingly probable.\n\nAnd those who have chosen the portion of injustice, and tyranny, and\nviolence, will pass into wolves, or into hawks and kites; whither else\ncan we suppose them to go?\n\nYes, said Cebes; that is doubtless the place of natures such as\ntheirs. And there is no difficulty, he said, in assigning to all of\nthem places answering to their several natures and propensities?\n\nThere is not, he said.\n\nEven among them some are happier than others; and the happiest\nboth in themselves and their place of abode are those who have\npractised the civil and social virtues which are called temperance and\njustice, and are acquired by habit and attention without philosophy\nand mind.\n\nWhy are they the happiest?\n\nBecause they may be expected to pass into some gentle, social nature\nwhich is like their own, such as that of bees or ants, or even back\nagain into the form of man, and just and moderate men spring from\nthem.\n\nThat is not impossible.\n\nBut he who is a philosopher or lover of learning, and is entirely\npure at departing, is alone permitted to reach the gods. And this is\nthe reason, Simmias and Cebes, why the true votaries of philosophy\nabstain from all fleshly lusts, and endure and refuse to give\nthemselves up to them-not because they fear poverty or the ruin of\ntheir families, like the lovers of money, and the world in general;\nnor like the lovers of power and honor, because they dread the\ndishonor or disgrace of evil deeds.\n\nNo, Socrates, that would not become them, said Cebes.\n\nNo, indeed, he replied; and therefore they who have a care of\ntheir souls, and do not merely live in the fashions of the body, say\nfarewell to all this; they will not walk in the ways of the blind: and\nwhen philosophy offers them purification and release from evil, they\nfeel that they ought not to resist her influence, and to her they\nincline, and whither she leads they follow her.\n\nWhat do you mean, Socrates?\n\nI will tell you, he said. The lovers of knowledge are conscious that\ntheir souls, when philosophy receives them, are simply fastened and\nglued to their bodies: the soul is only able to view existence through\nthe bars of a prison, and not in her own nature; she is wallowing in\nthe mire of all ignorance; and philosophy, seeing the terrible\nnature of her confinement, and that the captive through desire is\nled to conspire in her own captivity (for the lovers of knowledge\nare aware that this was the original state of the soul, and that\nwhen she was in this state philosophy received and gently counseled\nher, and wanted to release her, pointing out to her that the eye is\nfull of deceit, and also the ear and other senses, and persuading\nher to retire from them in all but the necessary use of them and to be\ngathered up and collected into herself, and to trust only to herself\nand her own intuitions of absolute existence, and mistrust that\nwhich comes to her through others and is subject to\nvicissitude)-philosophy shows her that this is visible and tangible,\nbut that what she sees in her own nature is intellectual and\ninvisible. And the soul of the true philosopher thinks that she\nought not to resist this deliverance, and therefore abstains from\npleasures and desires and pains and fears, as far as she is able;\nreflecting that when a man has great joys or sorrows or fears or\ndesires he suffers from them, not the sort of evil which might be\nanticipated-as, for example, the loss of his health or property, which\nhe has sacrificed to his lusts-but he has suffered an evil greater\nfar, which is the greatest and worst of all evils, and one of which he\nnever thinks.\n\nAnd what is that, Socrates? said Cebes.\n\nWhy, this: When the feeling of pleasure or pain in the soul is\nmost intense, all of us naturally suppose that the object of this\nintense feeling is then plainest and truest: but this is not the case.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd this is the state in which the soul is most enthralled by the\nbody.\n\nHow is that?\n\nWhy, because each pleasure and pain is a sort of nail which nails\nand rivets the soul to the body, and engrosses her and makes her\nbelieve that to be true which the body affirms to be true; and from\nagreeing with the body and having the same delights she is obliged\nto have the same habits and ways, and is not likely ever to be pure at\nher departure to the world below, but is always saturated with the\nbody; so that she soon sinks into another body and there germinates\nand grows, and has therefore no part in the communion of the divine\nand pure and simple.\n\nThat is most true, Socrates, answered Cebes.\n\nAnd this, Cebes, is the reason why the true lovers of knowledge\nare temperate and brave; and not for the reason which the world gives.\n\nCertainly not.\n\nCertainly not! For not in that way does the soul of a philosopher\nreason; she will not ask philosophy to release her in order that\nwhen released she may deliver herself up again to the thraldom of\npleasures and pains, doing a work only to be undone again, weaving\ninstead of unweaving her Penelope's web. But she will make herself a\ncalm of passion and follow Reason, and dwell in her, beholding the\ntrue and divine (which is not matter of opinion), and thence derive\nnourishment. Thus she seeks to live while she lives, and after death\nshe hopes to go to her own kindred and to be freed from human ills.\nNever fear, Simmias and Cebes, that a soul which has been thus\nnurtured and has had these pursuits, will at her departure from the\nbody be scattered and blown away by the winds and be nowhere and\nnothing.\n\nWhen Socrates had done speaking, for a considerable time there was\nsilence; he himself and most of us appeared to be meditating on what\nhad been said; only Cebes and Simmias spoke a few words to one\nanother. And Socrates observing this asked them what they thought of\nthe argument, and whether there was anything wanting? For, said he,\nmuch is still open to suspicion and attack, if anyone were disposed to\nsift the matter thoroughly. If you are talking of something else I\nwould rather not interrupt you, but if you are still doubtful about\nthe argument do not hesitate to say exactly what you think, and let us\nhave anything better which you can suggest; and if I am likely to be\nof any use, allow me to help you.\n\nSimmias said: I must confess, Socrates, that doubts did arise in our\nminds, and each of us was urging and inciting the other to put the\nquestion which he wanted to have answered and which neither of us\nliked to ask, fearing that our importunity might be troublesome\nunder present circumstances.\n\nSocrates smiled and said: O Simmias, how strange that is; I am not\nvery likely to persuade other men that I do not regard my present\nsituation as a misfortune, if I am unable to persuade you, and you\nwill keep fancying that I am at all more troubled now than at any\nother time. Will you not allow that I have as much of the spirit of\nprophecy in me as the swans? For they, when they perceive that they\nmust die, having sung all their life long, do then sing more than\never, rejoicing in the thought that they are about to go away to the\ngod whose ministers they are. But men, because they are themselves\nafraid of death, slanderously affirm of the swans that they sing a\nlament at the last, not considering that no bird sings when cold, or\nhungry, or in pain, not even the nightingale, nor the swallow, nor yet\nthe hoopoe; which are said indeed to tune a lay of sorrow, although\nI do not believe this to be true of them any more than of the swans.\nBut because they are sacred to Apollo and have the gift of prophecy\nand anticipate the good things of another world, therefore they sing\nand rejoice in that day more than they ever did before. And I, too,\nbelieving myself to be the consecrated servant of the same God, and\nthe fellow servant of the swans, and thinking that I have received\nfrom my master gifts of prophecy which are not inferior to theirs,\nwould not go out of life less merrily than the swans. Cease to mind\nthen about this, but speak and ask anything which you like, while\nthe eleven magistrates of Athens allow.\n\nWell, Socrates, said Simmias, then I will tell you my difficulty,\nand Cebes will tell you his. For I dare say that you, Socrates,\nfeel, as I do, how very hard or almost impossible is the attainment of\nany certainty about questions such as these in the present life. And\nyet I should deem him a coward who did not prove what is said about\nthem to the uttermost, or whose heart failed him before he had\nexamined them on every side. For he should persevere until he has\nattained one of two things: either he should discover or learn the\ntruth about them; or, if this is impossible, I would have him take the\nbest and most irrefragable of human notions, and let this be the\nraft upon which he sails through life-not without risk, as I admit, if\nhe cannot find some word of God which will more surely and safely\ncarry him. And now, as you bid me, I will venture to question you,\nas I should not like to reproach myself hereafter with not having said\nat the time what I think. For when I consider the matter either\nalone or with Cebes, the argument does certainly appear to me,\nSocrates, to be not sufficient.\n\nSocrates answered: I dare say, my friend, that you may be right, but\nI should like to know in what respect the argument is not sufficient.\n\nIn this respect, replied Simmias: Might not a person use the same\nargument about harmony and the lyre-might he not say that harmony is a\nthing invisible, incorporeal, fair, divine, abiding in the lyre\nwhich is harmonized, but that the lyre and the strings are matter\nand material, composite, earthy, and akin to mortality? And when\nsomeone breaks the lyre, or cuts and rends the strings, then he who\ntakes this view would argue as you do, and on the same analogy, that\nthe harmony survives and has not perished; for you cannot imagine,\nas we would say, that the lyre without the strings, and the broken\nstrings themselves, remain, and yet that the harmony, which is of\nheavenly and immortal nature and kindred, has perished-and perished\ntoo before the mortal. The harmony, he would say, certainly exists\nsomewhere, and the wood and strings will decay before that decays. For\nI suspect, Socrates, that the notion of the soul which we are all of\nus inclined to entertain, would also be yours, and that you too\nwould conceive the body to be strung up, and held together, by the\nelements of hot and cold, wet and dry, and the like, and that the soul\nis the harmony or due proportionate admixture of them. And, if this is\ntrue, the inference clearly is that when the strings of the body are\nunduly loosened or overstrained through disorder or other injury, then\nthe soul, though most divine, like other harmonies of music or of\nthe works of art, of course perishes at once, although the material\nremains of the body may last for a considerable time, until they are\neither decayed or burnt. Now if anyone maintained that the soul, being\nthe harmony of the elements of the body, first perishes in that\nwhich is called death, how shall we answer him?\n\nSocrates looked round at us as his manner was, and said, with a\nsmile: Simmias has reason on his side; and why does not some one of\nyou who is abler than myself answer him? for there is force in his\nattack upon me. But perhaps, before we answer him, we had better\nalso hear what Cebes has to say against the argument-this will give us\ntime for reflection, and when both of them have spoken, we may\neither assent to them if their words appear to be in consonance with\nthe truth, or if not, we may take up the other side, and argue with\nthem. Please to tell me then, Cebes, he said, what was the\ndifficulty which troubled you?\n\nCebes said: I will tell you. My feeling is that the argument is\nstill in the same position, and open to the same objections which were\nurged before; for I am ready to admit that the existence of the soul\nbefore entering into the bodily form has been very ingeniously, and,\nas I may be allowed to say, quite sufficiently proven; but the\nexistence of the soul after death is still, in my judgment,\nunproven. Now my objection is not the same as that of Simmias; for I\nam not disposed to deny that the soul is stronger and more lasting\nthan the body, being of opinion that in all such respects the soul\nvery far excels the body. Well, then, says the argument to me, why\ndo you remain unconvinced? When you see that the weaker is still in\nexistence after the man is dead, will you not admit that the more\nlasting must also survive during the same period of time? Now I,\nlike Simmias, must employ a figure; and I shall ask you to consider\nwhether the figure is to the point. The parallel which I will\nsuppose is that of an old weaver, who dies, and after his death\nsomebody says: He is not dead, he must be alive; and he appeals to the\ncoat which he himself wove and wore, and which is still whole and\nundecayed. And then he proceeds to ask of someone who is\nincredulous, whether a man lasts longer, or the coat which is in use\nand wear; and when he is answered that a man lasts far longer,\nthinks that he has thus certainly demonstrated the survival of the\nman, who is the more lasting, because the less lasting remains. But\nthat, Simmias, as I would beg you to observe, is not the truth;\neveryone sees that he who talks thus is talking nonsense. For the\ntruth is that this weaver, having worn and woven many such coats,\nthough he outlived several of them, was himself outlived by the\nlast; but this is surely very far from proving that a man is\nslighter and weaker than a coat. Now the relation of the body to the\nsoul may be expressed in a similar figure; for you may say with reason\nthat the soul is lasting, and the body weak and short-lived in\ncomparison. And every soul may be said to wear out many bodies,\nespecially in the course of a long life. For if while the man is alive\nthe body deliquesces and decays, and yet the soul always weaves her\ngarment anew and repairs the waste, then of course, when the soul\nperishes, she must have on her last garment, and this only will\nsurvive her; but then again when the soul is dead the body will at\nlast show its native weakness, and soon pass into decay. And therefore\nthis is an argument on which I would rather not rely as proving that\nthe soul exists after death. For suppose that we grant even more\nthan you affirm as within the range of possibility, and besides\nacknowledging that the soul existed before birth admit also that after\ndeath the souls of some are existing still, and will exist, and will\nbe born and die again and again, and that there is a natural\nstrength in the soul which will hold out and be born many times-for\nall this, we may be still inclined to think that she will weary in the\nlabors of successive births, and may at last succumb in one of her\ndeaths and utterly perish; and this death and dissolution of the\nbody which brings destruction to the soul may be unknown to any of us,\nfor no one of us can have had any experience of it: and if this be\ntrue, then I say that he who is confident in death has but a foolish\nconfidence, unless he is able to prove that the soul is altogether\nimmortal and imperishable. But if he is not able to prove this, he who\nis about to die will always have reason to fear that when the body\nis disunited, the soul also may utterly perish.\n\nAll of us, as we afterwards remarked to one another, had an\nunpleasant feeling at hearing them say this. When we had been so\nfirmly convinced before, now to have our faith shaken seemed to\nintroduce a confusion and uncertainty, not only into the previous\nargument, but into any future one; either we were not good judges,\nor there were no real grounds of belief.\n\nEch. There I feel with you-indeed I do, Phaedo, and when you were\nspeaking, I was beginning to ask myself the same question: What\nargument can I ever trust again? For what could be more convincing\nthan the argument of Socrates, which has now fallen into discredit?\nThat the soul is a harmony is a doctrine which has always had a\nwonderful attraction for me, and, when mentioned, came back to me at\nonce, as my own original conviction. And now I must begin again and\nfind another argument which will assure me that when the man is dead\nthe soul dies not with him. Tell me, I beg, how did Socrates\nproceed? Did he appear to share the unpleasant feeling which you\nmention? or did he receive the interruption calmly and give a\nsufficient answer? Tell us, as exactly as you can, what passed.\n\nPhaed. Often, Echecrates, as I have admired Socrates, I never\nadmired him more than at that moment. That he should be able to answer\nwas nothing, but what astonished me was, first, the gentle and\npleasant and approving manner in which he regarded the words of the\nyoung men, and then his quick sense of the wound which had been\ninflicted by the argument, and his ready application of the healing\nart. He might be compared to a general rallying his defeated and\nbroken army, urging them to follow him and return to the field of\nargument.\n\nEch. How was that?\n\nPhaed. You shall hear, for I was close to him on his right hand,\nseated on a sort of stool, and he on a couch which was a good deal\nhigher. Now he had a way of playing with my hair, and then he smoothed\nmy head, and pressed the hair upon my neck, and said: To-morrow,\nPhaedo, I suppose that these fair locks of yours will be severed.\n\nYes, Socrates, I suppose that they will, I replied.\n\nNot so if you will take my advice.\n\nWhat shall I do with them? I said.\n\nTo-day, he replied, and not to-morrow, if this argument dies and\ncannot be brought to life again by us, you and I will both shave our\nlocks; and if I were you, and could not maintain my ground against\nSimmias and Cebes, I would myself take an oath, like the Argives,\nnot to wear hair any more until I had renewed the conflict and\ndefeated them.\n\nYes, I said, but Heracles himself is said not to be a match for two.\n\nSummon me then, he said, and I will be your Iolaus until the sun\ngoes down.\n\nI summon you rather, I said, not as Heracles summoning Iolaus, but\nas Iolaus might summon Heracles.\n\nThat will be all the same, he said. But first let us take care\nthat we avoid a danger.\n\nAnd what is that? I said.\n\nThe danger of becoming misologists, he replied, which is one of\nthe very worst things that can happen to us. For as there are\nmisanthropists or haters of men, there are also misologists or\nhaters of ideas, and both spring from the same cause, which is\nignorance of the world. Misanthropy arises from the too great\nconfidence of inexperience; you trust a man and think him altogether\ntrue and good and faithful, and then in a little while he turns out to\nbe false and knavish; and then another and another, and when this\nhas happened several times to a man, especially within the circle of\nhis most trusted friends, as he deems them, and he has often quarreled\nwith them, he at last hates all men, and believes that no one has\nany good in him at all. I dare say that you must have observed this.\n\nYes, I said.\n\nAnd is not this discreditable? The reason is that a man, having to\ndeal with other men, has no knowledge of them; for if he had knowledge\nhe would have known the true state of the case, that few are the\ngood and few the evil, and that the great majority are in the interval\nbetween them.\n\nHow do you mean? I said.\n\nI mean, he replied, as you might say of the very large and very\nsmall, that nothing is more uncommon than a very large or a very small\nman; and this applies generally to all extremes, whether of great\nand small, or swift and slow, or fair and foul, or black and white:\nand whether the instances you select be men or dogs or anything\nelse, few are the extremes, but many are in the mean between them. Did\nyou never observe this?\n\nYes, I said, I have.\n\nAnd do you not imagine, he said, that if there were a competition of\nevil, the first in evil would be found to be very few?\n\nYes, that is very likely, I said.\n\nYes, that is very likely, he replied; not that in this respect\narguments are like men-there I was led on by you to say more than I\nhad intended; but the point of comparison was that when a simple man\nwho has no skill in dialectics believes an argument to be true which\nhe afterwards imagines to be false, whether really false or not, and\nthen another and another, he has no longer any faith left, and great\ndisputers, as you know, come to think, at last that they have grown to\nbe the wisest of mankind; for they alone perceive the utter\nunsoundness and instability of all arguments, or, indeed, of all\nthings, which, like the currents in the Euripus, are going up and down\nin never-ceasing ebb and flow.\n\nThat is quite true, I said.\n\nYes, Phaedo, he replied, and very melancholy too, if there be such a\nthing as truth or certainty or power of knowing at all, that a man\nshould have lighted upon some argument or other which at first\nseemed true and then turned out to be false, and instead of blaming\nhimself and his own want of wit, because he is annoyed, should at last\nbe too glad to transfer the blame from himself to arguments in\ngeneral; and forever afterwards should hate and revile them, and\nlose the truth and knowledge of existence.\n\nYes, indeed, I said; that is very melancholy.\n\nLet us, then, in the first place, he said, be careful of admitting\ninto our souls the notion that there is no truth or health or\nsoundness in any arguments at all; but let us rather say that there is\nas yet no health in us, and that we must quit ourselves like men and\ndo our best to gain health-you and all other men with a view to the\nwhole of your future life, and I myself with a view to death. For at\nthis moment I am sensible that I have not the temper of a philosopher;\nlike the vulgar, I am only a partisan. For the partisan, when he is\nengaged in a dispute, cares nothing about the rights of the\nquestion, but is anxious only to convince his hearers of his own\nassertions. And the difference between him and me at the present\nmoment is only this-that whereas he seeks to convince his hearers that\nwhat he says is true, I am rather seeking to convince myself; to\nconvince my hearers is a secondary matter with me. And do but see\nhow much I gain by this. For if what I say is true, then I do well\nto be persuaded of the truth, but if there be nothing after death,\nstill, during the short time that remains, I shall save my friends\nfrom lamentations, and my ignorance will not last, and therefore no\nharm will be done. This is the state of mind, Simmias and Cebes, in\nwhich I approach the argument. And I would ask you to be thinking of\nthe truth and not of Socrates: agree with me, if I seem to you to be\nspeaking the truth; or if not, withstand me might and main, that I may\nnot deceive you as well as myself in my enthusiasm, and, like the bee,\nleave my sting in you before I die.\n\nAnd now let us proceed, he said. And first of all let me be sure\nthat I have in my mind what you were saying. Simmias, if I remember\nrightly, has fears and misgivings whether the soul, being in the\nform of harmony, although a fairer and diviner thing than the body,\nmay not perish first. On the other hand, Cebes appeared to grant\nthat the soul was more lasting than the body, but he said that no\none could know whether the soul, after having worn out many bodies,\nmight not perish herself and leave her last body behind her; and\nthat this is death, which is the destruction not of the body but of\nthe soul, for in the body the work of destruction is ever going on.\nAre not these, Simmias and Cebes, the points which we have to\nconsider?\n\nThey both agreed to this statement of them.\n\nHe proceeded: And did you deny the force of the whole preceding\nargument, or of a part only?\n\nOf a part only, they replied.\n\nAnd what did you think, he said, of that part of the argument in\nwhich we said that knowledge was recollection only, and inferred\nfrom this that the soul must have previously existed somewhere else\nbefore she was enclosed in the body? Cebes said that he had been\nwonderfully impressed by that part of the argument, and that his\nconviction remained unshaken. Simmias agreed, and added that he\nhimself could hardly imagine the possibility of his ever thinking\ndifferently about that.\n\nBut, rejoined Socrates, you will have to think differently, my\nTheban friend, if you still maintain that harmony is a compound, and\nthat the soul is a harmony which is made out of strings set in the\nframe of the body; for you will surely never allow yourself to say\nthat a harmony is prior to the elements which compose the harmony.\n\nNo, Socrates, that is impossible.\n\nBut do you not see that you are saying this when you say that the\nsoul existed before she took the form and body of man, and was made up\nof elements which as yet had no existence? For harmony is not a sort\nof thing like the soul, as you suppose; but first the lyre, and the\nstrings, and the sounds exist in a state of discord, and then\nharmony is made last of all, and perishes first. And how can such a\nnotion of the soul as this agree with the other?\n\nNot at all, replied Simmias.\n\nAnd yet, he said, there surely ought to be harmony when harmony is\nthe theme of discourse.\n\nThere ought, replied Simmias.\n\nBut there is no harmony, he said, in the two propositions that\nknowledge is recollection, and that the soul is a harmony. Which of\nthem, then, will you retain?\n\nI think, he replied, that I have a much stronger faith, Socrates, in\nthe first of the two, which has been fully demonstrated to me, than in\nthe latter, which has not been demonstrated at all, but rests only\non probable and plausible grounds; and I know too well that these\narguments from probabilities are impostors, and unless great caution\nis observed in the use of them they are apt to be deceptive-in\ngeometry, and in other things too. But the doctrine of knowledge and\nrecollection has been proven to me on trustworthy grounds; and the\nproof was that the soul must have existed before she came into the\nbody, because to her belongs the essence of which the very name\nimplies existence. Having, as I am convinced, rightly accepted this\nconclusion, and on sufficient grounds, I must, as I suppose, cease\nto argue or allow others to argue that the soul is a harmony.\n\nLet me put the matter, Simmias, he said, in another point of view:\nDo you imagine that a harmony or any other composition can be in a\nstate other than that of the elements out of which it is compounded?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nOr do or suffer anything other than they do or suffer?\n\nHe agreed.\n\nThen a harmony does not lead the parts or elements which make up the\nharmony, but only follows them.\n\nHe assented.\n\nFor harmony cannot possibly have any motion, or sound, or other\nquality which is opposed to the parts.\n\nThat would be impossible, he replied.\n\nAnd does not every harmony depend upon the manner in which the\nelements are harmonized?\n\nI do not understand you, he said.\n\nI mean to say that a harmony admits of degrees, and is more of a\nharmony, and more completely a harmony, when more completely\nharmonized, if that be possible; and less of a harmony, and less\ncompletely a harmony, when less harmonized.\n\nTrue.\n\nBut does the soul admit of degrees? or is one soul in the very least\ndegree more or less, or more or less completely, a soul than another?\n\nNot in the least.\n\nYet surely one soul is said to have intelligence and virtue, and\nto be good, and another soul is said to have folly and vice, and to be\nan evil soul: and this is said truly?\n\nYes, truly.\n\nBut what will those who maintain the soul to be a harmony say of\nthis presence of virtue and vice in the soul?-Will they say that there\nis another harmony, and another discord, and that the virtuous soul is\nharmonized, and herself being a harmony has another harmony within\nher, and that the vicious soul is inharmonical and has no harmony\nwithin her?\n\nI cannot say, replied Simmias; but I suppose that something of\nthat kind would be asserted by those who take this view.\n\nAnd the admission is already made that no soul is more a soul than\nanother; and this is equivalent to admitting that harmony is not\nmore or less harmony, or more or less completely a harmony?\n\nQuite true.\n\nAnd that which is not more or less a harmony is not more or less\nharmonized?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd that which is not more or less harmonized cannot have more or\nless of harmony, but only an equal harmony?\n\nYes, an equal harmony.\n\nThen one soul not being more or less absolutely a soul than another,\nis not more or less harmonized?\n\nExactly.\n\nAnd therefore has neither more nor less of harmony or of discord?\n\nShe has not.\n\nAnd having neither more nor less of harmony or of discord, one\nsoul has no more vice or virtue than another, if vice be discord and\nvirtue harmony?\n\nNot at all more.\n\nOr speaking more correctly, Simmias, the soul, if she is a\nharmony, will never have any vice; because a harmony, being absolutely\na harmony, has no part in the inharmonical?\n\nNo.\n\nAnd therefore a soul which is absolutely a soul has no vice?\n\nHow can she have, consistently with the preceding argument?\n\nThen, according to this, if the souls of all animals are equally and\nabsolutely souls, they will be equally good?\n\nI agree with you, Socrates, he said.\n\nAnd can all this be true, think you? he said; and are all these\nconsequences admissible-which nevertheless seem to follow from the\nassumption that the soul is a harmony?\n\nCertainly not, he said.\n\nOnce more, he said, what ruling principle is there of human things\nother than the soul, and especially the wise soul? Do you know of any?\n\nIndeed, I do not.\n\nAnd is the soul in agreement with the affections of the body? or\nis she at variance with them? For example, when the body is hot and\nthirsty, does not the soul incline us against drinking? and when the\nbody is hungry, against eating? And this is only one instance out of\nten thousand of the opposition of the soul to the things of the body.\n\nVery true.\n\nBut we have already acknowledged that the soul, being a harmony, can\nnever utter a note at variance with the tensions and relaxations and\nvibrations and other affections of the strings out of which she is\ncomposed; she can only follow, she cannot lead them?\n\nYes, he said, we acknowledged that, certainly.\n\nAnd yet do we not now discover the soul to be doing the exact\nopposite-leading the elements of which she is believed to be composed;\nalmost always opposing and coercing them in all sorts of ways\nthroughout life, sometimes more violently with the pains of medicine\nand gymnastic; then again more gently; threatening and also\nreprimanding the desires, passions, fears, as if talking to a thing\nwhich is not herself, as Homer in the \"Odyssey\" represents Odysseus\ndoing in the words,\n\n\"He beat his breast, and thus reproached his heart:\n\nEndure, my heart; far worse hast thou endured!\"\n\nDo you think that Homer could have written this under the idea that\nthe soul is a harmony capable of being led by the affections of the\nbody, and not rather of a nature which leads and masters them; and\nherself a far diviner thing than any harmony?\n\nYes, Socrates, I quite agree to that.\n\nThen, my friend, we can never be right in saying that the soul is\na harmony, for that would clearly contradict the divine Homer as\nwell as ourselves.\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nThus much, said Socrates, of Harmonia, your Theban goddess, Cebes,\nwho has not been ungracious to us, I think; but what shall I say to\nthe Theban Cadmus, and how shall I propitiate him?\n\nI think that you will discover a way of propitiating him, said\nCebes; I am sure that you have answered the argument about harmony\nin a manner that I could never have expected. For when Simmias\nmentioned his objection, I quite imagined that no answer could be\ngiven to him, and therefore I was surprised at finding that his\nargument could not sustain the first onset of yours; and not\nimpossibly the other, whom you call Cadmus, may share a similar fate.\n\nNay, my good friend, said Socrates, let us not boast, lest some evil\neye should put to flight the word which I am about to speak. That,\nhowever, may be left in the hands of those above, while I draw near in\nHomeric fashion, and try the mettle of your words. Briefly, the sum of\nyour objection is as follows: You want to have proven to you that\nthe soul is imperishable and immortal, and you think that the\nphilosopher who is confident in death has but a vain and foolish\nconfidence, if he thinks that he will fare better than one who has led\nanother sort of life, in the world below, unless he can prove this;\nand you say that the demonstration of the strength and divinity of the\nsoul, and of her existence prior to our becoming men, does not\nnecessarily imply her immortality. Granting that the soul is\nlonglived, and has known and done much in a former state, still she is\nnot on that account immortal; and her entrance into the human form may\nbe a sort of disease which is the beginning of dissolution, and may at\nlast, after the toils of life are over, end in that which is called\ndeath. And whether the soul enters into the body once only or many\ntimes, that, as you would say, makes no difference in the fears of\nindividuals. For any man, who is not devoid of natural feeling, has\nreason to fear, if he has no knowledge or proof of the soul's\nimmortality. That is what I suppose you to say, Cebes, which I\ndesignedly repeat, in order that nothing may escape us, and that you\nmay, if you wish, add or subtract anything.\n\nBut, said Cebes, as far as I can see at present, I have nothing to\nadd or subtract; you have expressed my meaning.\n\nSocrates paused awhile, and seemed to be absorbed in reflection.\nAt length he said: This is a very serious inquiry which you are\nraising, Cebes, involving the whole question of generation and\ncorruption, about which I will, if you like, give you my own\nexperience; and you can apply this, if you think that anything which I\nsay will avail towards the solution of your difficulty.\n\nI should very much like, said Cebes, to hear what you have to say.\n\nThen I will tell you, said Socrates. When I was young, Cebes, I\nhad a prodigious desire to know that department of philosophy which is\ncalled Natural Science; this appeared to me to have lofty aims, as\nbeing the science which has to do with the causes of things, and which\nteaches why a thing is, and is created and destroyed; and I was always\nagitating myself with the consideration of such questions as these: Is\nthe growth of animals the result of some decay which the hot and\ncold principle contracts, as some have said? Is the blood the\nelement with which we think, or the air, or the fire? or perhaps\nnothing of this sort-but the brain may be the originating power of the\nperceptions of hearing and sight and smell, and memory and opinion may\ncome from them, and science may be based on memory and opinion when no\nlonger in motion, but at rest. And then I went on to examine the decay\nof them, and then to the things of heaven and earth, and at last I\nconcluded that I was wholly incapable of these inquiries, as I will\nsatisfactorily prove to you. For I was fascinated by them to such a\ndegree that my eyes grew blind to things that I had seemed to\nmyself, and also to others, to know quite well; and I forgot what I\nhad before thought to be self-evident, that the growth of man is the\nresult of eating and drinking; for when by the digestion of food flesh\nis added to flesh and bone to bone, and whenever there is an\naggregation of congenial elements, the lesser bulk becomes larger\nand the small man greater. Was not that a reasonable notion?\n\nYes, said Cebes, I think so.\n\nWell; but let me tell you something more. There was a time when I\nthought that I understood the meaning of greater and less pretty well;\nand when I saw a great man standing by a little one I fancied that one\nwas taller than the other by a head; or one horse would appear to be\ngreater than another horse: and still more clearly did I seem to\nperceive that ten is two more than eight, and that two cubits are more\nthan one, because two is twice one.\n\nAnd what is now your notion of such matters? said Cebes.\n\nI should be far enough from imagining, he replied, that I knew the\ncause of any of them, indeed I should, for I cannot satisfy myself\nthat when one is added to one, the one to which the addition is made\nbecomes two, or that the two units added together make two by reason\nof the addition. For I cannot understand how, when separated from\nthe other, each of them was one and not two, and now, when they are\nbrought together, the mere juxtaposition of them can be the cause of\ntheir becoming two: nor can I understand how the division of one is\nthe way to make two; for then a different cause would produce the same\neffect-as in the former instance the addition and juxtaposition of one\nto one was the cause of two, in this the separation and subtraction of\none from the other would be the cause. Nor am I any longer satisfied\nthat I understand the reason why one or anything else either is\ngenerated or destroyed or is at all, but I have in my mind some\nconfused notion of another method, and can never admit this.\n\nThen I heard someone who had a book of Anaxagoras, as he said, out\nof which he read that mind was the disposer and cause of all, and I\nwas quite delighted at the notion of this, which appeared admirable,\nand I said to myself: If mind is the disposer, mind will dispose all\nfor the best, and put each particular in the best place; and I\nargued that if anyone desired to find out the cause of the\ngeneration or destruction or existence of anything, he must find out\nwhat state of being or suffering or doing was best for that thing, and\ntherefore a man had only to consider the best for himself and\nothers, and then he would also know the worse, for that the same\nscience comprised both. And I rejoiced to think that I had found in\nAnaxagoras a teacher of the causes of existence such as I desired, and\nI imagined that he would tell me first whether the earth is flat or\nround; and then he would further explain the cause and the necessity\nof this, and would teach me the nature of the best and show that\nthis was best; and if he said that the earth was in the centre, he\nwould explain that this position was the best, and I should be\nsatisfied if this were shown to me, and not want any other sort of\ncause. And I thought that I would then go and ask him about the sun\nand moon and stars, and that he would explain to me their\ncomparative swiftness, and their returnings and various states, and\nhow their several affections, active and passive, were all for the\nbest. For I could not imagine that when he spoke of mind as the\ndisposer of them, he would give any other account of their being as\nthey are, except that this was best; and I thought when he had\nexplained to me in detail the cause of each and the cause of all, he\nwould go on to explain to me what was best for each and what was\nbest for all. I had hopes which I would not have sold for much, and\nI seized the books and read them as fast as I could in my eagerness to\nknow the better and the worse.\n\nWhat hopes I had formed, and how grievously was I disappointed! As I\nproceeded, I found my philosopher altogether forsaking mind or any\nother principle of order, but having recourse to air, and ether, and\nwater, and other eccentricities. I might compare him to a person who\nbegan by maintaining generally that mind is the cause of the actions\nof Socrates, but who, when he endeavored to explain the causes of my\nseveral actions in detail, went on to show that I sit here because\nmy body is made up of bones and muscles; and the bones, as he would\nsay, are hard and have ligaments which divide them, and the muscles\nare elastic, and they cover the bones, which have also a covering or\nenvironment of flesh and skin which contains them; and as the bones\nare lifted at their joints by the contraction or relaxation of the\nmuscles, I am able to bend my limbs, and this is why I am sitting here\nin a curved posture: that is what he would say, and he would have a\nsimilar explanation of my talking to you, which he would attribute\nto sound, and air, and hearing, and he would assign ten thousand other\ncauses of the same sort, forgetting to mention the true cause, which\nis that the Athenians have thought fit to condemn me, and\naccordingly I have thought it better and more right to remain here and\nundergo my sentence; for I am inclined to think that these muscles and\nbones of mine would have gone off to Megara or Boeotia-by the dog of\nEgypt they would, if they had been guided only by their own idea of\nwhat was best, and if I had not chosen as the better and nobler\npart, instead of playing truant and running away, to undergo any\npunishment which the State inflicts. There is surely a strange\nconfusion of causes and conditions in all this. It may be said,\nindeed, that without bones and muscles and the other parts of the body\nI cannot execute my purposes. But to say that I do as I do because\nof them, and that this is the way in which mind acts, and not from the\nchoice of the best, is a very careless and idle mode of speaking. I\nwonder that they cannot distinguish the cause from the condition,\nwhich the many, feeling about in the dark, are always mistaking and\nmisnaming. And thus one man makes a vortex all round and steadies\nthe earth by the heaven; another gives the air as a support to the\nearth, which is a sort of broad trough. Any power which in disposing\nthem as they are disposes them for the best never enters into their\nminds, nor do they imagine that there is any superhuman strength in\nthat; they rather expect to find another Atlas of the world who is\nstronger and more everlasting and more containing than the good is,\nand are clearly of opinion that the obligatory and containing power of\nthe good is as nothing; and yet this is the principle which I would\nfain learn if anyone would teach me. But as I have failed either to\ndiscover myself or to learn of anyone else, the nature of the best,\nI will exhibit to you, if you like, what I have found to be the second\nbest mode of inquiring into the cause.\n\nI should very much like to hear that, he replied.\n\nSocrates proceeded: I thought that as I had failed in the\ncontemplation of true existence, I ought to be careful that I did\nnot lose the eye of my soul; as people may injure their bodily eye\nby observing and gazing on the sun during an eclipse, unless they take\nthe precaution of only looking at the image reflected in the water, or\nin some similar medium. That occurred to me, and I was afraid that\nmy soul might be blinded altogether if I looked at things with my eyes\nor tried by the help of the senses to apprehend them. And I thought\nthat I had better have recourse to ideas, and seek in them the truth\nof existence. I dare say that the simile is not perfect-for I am\nvery far from admitting that he who contemplates existence through the\nmedium of ideas, sees them only \"through a glass darkly,\" any more\nthan he who sees them in their working and effects. However, this\nwas the method which I adopted: I first assumed some principle which I\njudged to be the strongest, and then I affirmed as true whatever\nseemed to agree with this, whether relating to the cause or to\nanything else; and that which disagreed I regarded as untrue. But I\nshould like to explain my meaning clearly, as I do not think that\nyou understand me.\n\nNo, indeed, replied Cebes, not very well.\n\nThere is nothing new, he said, in what I am about to tell you; but\nonly what I have been always and everywhere repeating in the\nprevious discussion and on other occasions: I want to show you the\nnature of that cause which has occupied my thoughts, and I shall\nhave to go back to those familiar words which are in the mouth of\neveryone, and first of all assume that there is an absolute beauty and\ngoodness and greatness, and the like; grant me this, and I hope to\nbe able to show you the nature of the cause, and to prove the\nimmortality of the soul.\n\nCebes said: You may proceed at once with the proof, as I readily\ngrant you this.\n\nWell, he said, then I should like to know whether you agree with\nme in the next step; for I cannot help thinking that if there be\nanything beautiful other than absolute beauty, that can only be\nbeautiful in as far as it partakes of absolute beauty-and this I\nshould say of everything. Do you agree in this notion of the cause?\n\nYes, he said, I agree.\n\nHe proceeded: I know nothing and can understand nothing of any other\nof those wise causes which are alleged; and if a person says to me\nthat the bloom of color, or form, or anything else of that sort is a\nsource of beauty, I leave all that, which is only confusing to me, and\nsimply and singly, and perhaps foolishly, hold and am assured in my\nown mind that nothing makes a thing beautiful but the presence and\nparticipation of beauty in whatever way or manner obtained; for as\nto the manner I am uncertain, but I stoutly contend that by beauty all\nbeautiful things become beautiful. That appears to me to be the only\nsafe answer that I can give, either to myself or to any other, and\nto that I cling, in the persuasion that I shall never be overthrown,\nand that I may safely answer to myself or any other that by beauty\nbeautiful things become beautiful. Do you not agree to that?\n\nYes, I agree.\n\nAnd that by greatness only great things become great and greater\ngreater, and by smallness the less becomes less.\n\nTrue.\n\nThen if a person remarks that A is taller by a head than B, and B\nless by a head than A, you would refuse to admit this, and would\nstoutly contend that what you mean is only that the greater is greater\nby, and by reason of, greatness, and the less is less only by, or by\nreason of, smallness; and thus you would avoid the danger of saying\nthat the greater is greater and the less by the measure of the head,\nwhich is the same in both, and would also avoid the monstrous\nabsurdity of supposing that the greater man is greater by reason of\nthe head, which is small. Would you not be afraid of that?\n\nIndeed, I should, said Cebes, laughing.\n\nIn like manner you would be afraid to say that ten exceeded eight\nby, and by reason of, two; but would say by, and by reason of, number;\nor that two cubits exceed one cubit not by a half, but by\nmagnitude?-that is what you would say, for there is the same danger in\nboth cases.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nAgain, would you not be cautious of affirming that the addition of\none to one, or the division of one, is the cause of two? And you would\nloudly asseverate that you know of no way in which anything comes into\nexistence except by participation in its own proper essence, and\nconsequently, as far as you know, the only cause of two is the\nparticipation in duality; that is the way to make two, and the\nparticipation in one is the way to make one. You would say: I will let\nalone puzzles of division and addition-wiser heads than mine may\nanswer them; inexperienced as I am, and ready to start, as the proverb\nsays, at my own shadow, I cannot afford to give up the sure ground\nof a principle. And if anyone assails you there, you would not mind\nhim, or answer him until you had seen whether the consequences which\nfollow agree with one another or not, and when you are further\nrequired to give an explanation of this principle, you would go on\nto assume a higher principle, and the best of the higher ones, until\nyou found a resting-place; but you would not refuse the principle\nand the consequences in your reasoning like the Eristics-at least if\nyou wanted to discover real existence. Not that this confusion\nsignifies to them who never care or think about the matter at all, for\nthey have the wit to be well pleased with themselves, however great\nmay be the turmoil of their ideas. But you, if you are a\nphilosopher, will, I believe, do as I say.\n\nWhat you say is most true, said Simmias and Cebes, both speaking\nat once.\n\nEch. Yes, Phaedo; and I don't wonder at their assenting. Anyone\nwho has the least sense will acknowledge the wonderful clear. of\nSocrates' reasoning.\n\nPhaed. Certainly, Echecrates; and that was the feeling of the\nwhole company at the time.\n\nEch. Yes, and equally of ourselves, who were not of the company, and\nare now listening to your recital. But what followed?\n\nPhaedo. After all this was admitted, and they had agreed about the\nexistence of ideas and the participation in them of the other things\nwhich derive their names from them, Socrates, if I remember rightly,\nsaid:-\n\nThis is your way of speaking; and yet when you say that Simmias is\ngreater than Socrates and less than Phaedo, do you not predicate of\nSimmias both greatness and smallness?\n\nYes, I do.\n\nBut still you allow that Simmias does not really exceed Socrates, as\nthe words may seem to imply, because he is Simmias, but by reason of\nthe size which he has; just as Simmias does not exceed Socrates\nbecause he is Simmias, any more than because Socrates is Socrates, but\nbecause he has smallness when compared with the greatness of Simmias?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd if Phaedo exceeds him in size, that is not because Phaedo is\nPhaedo, but because Phaedo has greatness relatively to Simmias, who is\ncomparatively smaller?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd therefore Simmias is said to be great, and is also said to be\nsmall, because he is in a mean between them, exceeding the smallness\nof the one by his greatness, and allowing the greatness of the other\nto exceed his smallness. He added, laughing, I am speaking like a\nbook, but I believe that what I am now saying is true.\n\nSimmias assented to this.\n\nThe reason why I say this is that I want you to agree with me in\nthinking, not only that absolute greatness will never be great and\nalso small, but that greatness in us or in the concrete will never\nadmit the small or admit of being exceeded: instead of this, one of\ntwo things will happen-either the greater will fly or retire before\nthe opposite, which is the less, or at the advance of the less will\ncease to exist; but will not, if allowing or admitting smallness, be\nchanged by that; even as I, having received and admitted smallness\nwhen compared with Simmias, remain just as I was, and am the same\nsmall person. And as the idea of greatness cannot condescend ever to\nbe or become small, in like manner the smallness in us cannot be or\nbecome great; nor can any other opposite which remains the same ever\nbe or become its own opposite, but either passes away or perishes in\nthe change.\n\nThat, replied Cebes, is quite my notion.\n\nOne of the company, though I do not exactly remember which of\nthem, on hearing this, said: By Heaven, is not this the direct\ncontrary of what was admitted before-that out of the greater came\nthe less and out of the less the greater, and that opposites are\nsimply generated from opposites; whereas now this seems to be\nutterly denied.\n\nSocrates inclined his head to the speaker and listened. I like\nyour courage, he said, in reminding us of this. But you do not observe\nthat there is a difference in the two cases. For then we were speaking\nof opposites in the concrete, and now of the essential opposite which,\nas is affirmed, neither in us nor in nature can ever be at variance\nwith itself: then, my friend, we were speaking of things in which\nopposites are inherent and which are called after them, but now\nabout the opposites which are inherent in them and which give their\nname to them; these essential opposites will never, as we maintain,\nadmit of generation into or out of one another. At the same time,\nturning to Cebes, he said: Were you at all disconcerted, Cebes, at our\nfriend's objection?\n\nThat was not my feeling, said Cebes; and yet I cannot deny that I am\napt to be disconcerted.\n\nThen we are agreed after all, said Socrates, that the opposite\nwill never in any case be opposed to itself?\n\nTo that we are quite agreed, he replied.\n\nYet once more let me ask you to consider the question from another\npoint of view, and see whether you agree with me: There is a thing\nwhich you term heat, and another thing which you term cold?\n\nCertainly.\n\nBut are they the same as fire and snow?\n\nMost assuredly not.\n\nHeat is not the same as fire, nor is cold the same as snow?\n\nNo.\n\nAnd yet you will surely admit that when snow, as before said, is\nunder the influence of heat, they will not remain snow and heat; but\nat the advance of the heat the snow will either retire or perish?\n\nVery true, he replied.\n\nAnd the fire too at the advance of the cold will either retire or\nperish; and when the fire is under the influence of the cold, they\nwill not remain, as before, fire and cold.\n\nThat is true, he said.\n\nAnd in some cases the name of the idea is not confined to the\nidea; but anything else which, not being the idea, exists only in\nthe form of the idea, may also lay claim to it. I will try to make\nthis clearer by an example: The odd number is always called by the\nname of odd?\n\nVery true.\n\nBut is this the only thing which is called odd? Are there not\nother things which have their own name, and yet are called odd,\nbecause, although not the same as oddness, they are never without\noddness?-that is what I mean to ask-whether numbers such as the number\nthree are not of the class of odd. And there are many other\nexamples: would you not say, for example, that three may be called\nby its proper name, and also be called odd, which is not the same with\nthree? and this may be said not only of three but also of five, and\nevery alternate number-each of them without being oddness is odd,\nand in the same way two and four, and the whole series of alternate\nnumbers, has every number even, without being evenness. Do you admit\nthat?\n\nYes, he said, how can I deny that?\n\nThen now mark the point at which I am aiming: not only do\nessential opposites exclude one another, but also concrete things,\nwhich, although not in themselves opposed, contain opposites; these, I\nsay, also reject the idea which is opposed to that which is\ncontained in them, and at the advance of that they either perish or\nwithdraw. There is the number three for example; will not that\nendure annihilation or anything sooner than be converted into an\neven number, remaining three?\n\nVery true, said Cebes.\n\nAnd yet, he said, the number two is certainly not opposed to the\nnumber three?\n\nIt is not.\n\nThen not only do opposite ideas repel the advance of one another,\nbut also there are other things which repel the approach of opposites.\n\nThat is quite true, he said.\n\nSuppose, he said, that we endeavor, if possible, to determine what\nthese are.\n\nBy all means.\n\nAre they not, Cebes, such as compel the things of which they have\npossession, not only to take their own form, but also the form of some\nopposite?\n\nWhat do you mean?\n\nI mean, as I was just now saying, and have no need to repeat to you,\nthat those things which are possessed by the number three must not\nonly be three in number, but must also be odd.\n\nQuite true.\n\nAnd on this oddness, of which the number three has the impress,\nthe opposite idea will never intrude?\n\nNo.\n\nAnd this impress was given by the odd principle?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd to the odd is opposed the even?\n\nTrue.\n\nThen the idea of the even number will never arrive at three?\n\nNo.\n\nThen three has no part in the even?\n\nNone.\n\nThen the triad or number three is uneven?\n\nVery true.\n\nTo return then to my distinction of natures which are not opposites,\nand yet do not admit opposites: as, in this instance, three,\nalthough not opposed to the even, does not any the more admit of the\neven, but always brings the opposite into play on the other side; or\nas two does not receive the odd, or fire the cold-from these\nexamples (and there are many more of them) perhaps you may be able\nto arrive at the general conclusion that not only opposites will not\nreceive opposites, but also that nothing which brings the opposite\nwill admit the opposite of that which it brings in that to which it is\nbrought. And here let me recapitulate-for there is no harm in\nrepetition. The number five will not admit the nature of the even, any\nmore than ten, which is the double of five, will admit the nature of\nthe odd-the double, though not strictly opposed to the odd, rejects\nthe odd altogether. Nor again will parts in the ratio of 3:2, nor\nany fraction in which there is a half, nor again in which there is a\nthird, admit the notion of the whole, although they are not opposed to\nthe whole. You will agree to that?\n\nYes, he said, I entirely agree and go along with you in that.\n\nAnd now, he said, I think that I may begin again; and to the\nquestion which I am about to ask I will beg you to give not the old\nsafe answer, but another, of which I will offer you an example; and\nI hope that you will find in what has been just said another\nfoundation which is as safe. I mean that if anyone asks you \"what that\nis, the inherence of which makes the body hot,\" you will reply not\nheat (this is what I call the safe and stupid answer), but fire, a far\nbetter answer, which we are now in a condition to give. Or if anyone\nasks you \"why a body is diseased,\" you will not say from disease,\nbut from fever; and instead of saying that oddness is the cause of odd\nnumbers, you will say that the monad is the cause of them: and so of\nthings in general, as I dare say that you will understand sufficiently\nwithout my adducing any further examples.\n\nYes, he said, I quite understand you.\n\nTell me, then, what is that the inherence of which will render the\nbody alive?\n\nThe soul, he replied.\n\nAnd is this always the case?\n\nYes, he said, of course.\n\nThen whatever the soul possesses, to that she comes bearing life?\n\nYes, certainly.\n\nAnd is there any opposite to life?\n\nThere is, he said.\n\nAnd what is that?\n\nDeath.\n\nThen the soul, as has been acknowledged, will never receive the\nopposite of what she brings. And now, he said, what did we call that\nprinciple which repels the even?\n\nThe odd.\n\nAnd that principle which repels the musical, or the just?\n\nThe unmusical, he said, and the unjust.\n\nAnd what do we call the principle which does not admit of death?\n\nThe immortal, he said.\n\nAnd does the soul admit of death?\n\nNo.\n\nThen the soul is immortal?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nAnd may we say that this is proven?\n\nYes, abundantly proven, Socrates, he replied.\n\nAnd supposing that the odd were imperishable, must not three be\nimperishable?\n\nOf course.\n\nAnd if that which is cold were imperishable, when the warm principle\ncame attacking the snow, must not the snow have retired whole and\nunmelted-for it could never have perished, nor could it have\nremained and admitted the heat?\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nAgain, if the uncooling or warm principle were imperishable, the\nfire when assailed by cold would not have perished or have been\nextinguished, but would have gone away unaffected?\n\nCertainly, he said.\n\nAnd the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also\nimperishable, the soul when attacked by death cannot perish; for the\npreceding argument shows that the soul will not admit of death, or\never be dead, any more than three or the odd number will admit of\nthe even, or fire or the heat in the fire, of the cold. Yet a person\nmay say: \"But although the odd will not become even at the approach of\nthe even, why may not the odd perish and the even take the place of\nthe odd?\" Now to him who makes this objection, we cannot answer that\nthe odd principle is imperishable; for this has not been acknowledged,\nbut if this had been acknowledged, there would have been no difficulty\nin contending that at the approach of the even the odd principle and\nthe number three took up their departure; and the same argument\nwould have held good of fire and heat and any other thing.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also\nimperishable, then the soul will be imperishable as well as\nimmortal; but if not, some other proof of her imperishableness will\nhave to be given.\n\nNo other proof is needed, he said; for if the immortal, being\neternal, is liable to perish, then nothing is imperishable.\n\nYes, replied Socrates, all men will agree that God, and the\nessential form of life, and the immortal in general, will never\nperish.\n\nYes, all men, he said-that is true; and what is more, gods, if I\nam not mistaken, as well as men.\n\nSeeing then that the immortal is indestructible, must not the\nsoul, if she is immortal, be also imperishable?\n\nMost certainly.\n\nThen when death attacks a man, the mortal portion of him may be\nsupposed to die, but the immortal goes out of the way of death and\nis preserved safe and sound?\n\nTrue.\n\nThen, Cebes, beyond question the soul is immortal and\nimperishable, and our souls will truly exist in another world!\n\nI am convinced, Socrates, said Cebes, and have nothing more to\nobject; but if my friend Simmias, or anyone else, has any further\nobjection, he had better speak out, and not keep silence, since I do\nnot know how there can ever be a more fitting time to which he can\ndefer the discussion, if there is anything which he wants to say or\nhave said.\n\nBut I have nothing more to say, replied Simmias; nor do I see any\nroom for uncertainty, except that which arises necessarily out of\nthe greatness of the subject and the feebleness of man, and which I\ncannot help feeling.\n\nYes, Simmias, replied Socrates, that is well said: and more than\nthat, first principles, even if they appear certain, should be\ncarefully considered; and when they are satisfactorily ascertained,\nthen, with a sort of hesitating confidence in human reason, you may, I\nthink, follow the course of the argument; and if this is clear,\nthere will be no need for any further inquiry.\n\nThat, he said, is true.\n\nBut then, O my friends, he said, if the soul is really immortal,\nwhat care should be taken of her, not only in respect of the portion\nof time which is called life, but of eternity! And the danger of\nneglecting her from this point of view does indeed appear to be awful.\nIf death had only been the end of all, the wicked would have had a\ngood bargain in dying, for they would have been happily quit not\nonly of their body, but of their own evil together with their souls.\nBut now, as the soul plainly appears to be immortal, there is no\nrelease or salvation from evil except the attainment of the highest\nvirtue and wisdom. For the soul when on her progress to the world\nbelow takes nothing with her but nurture and education; which are\nindeed said greatly to benefit or greatly to injure the departed, at\nthe very beginning of its pilgrimage in the other world.\n\nFor after death, as they say, the genius of each individual, to whom\nhe belonged in life, leads him to a certain place in which the dead\nare gathered together for judgment, whence they go into the world\nbelow, following the guide who is appointed to conduct them from\nthis world to the other: and when they have there received their due\nand remained their time, another guide brings them back again after\nmany revolutions of ages. Now this journey to the other world is\nnot, as Aeschylus says in the \"Telephus,\" a single and straight\npath-no guide would be wanted for that, and no one could miss a single\npath; but there are many partings of the road, and windings, as I must\ninfer from the rites and sacrifices which are offered to the gods\nbelow in places where three ways meet on earth. The wise and orderly\nsoul is conscious of her situation and follows in the path; but the\nsoul which desires the body, and which, as I was relating before,\nhas long been fluttering about the lifeless frame and the world of\nsight, is after many struggles and many sufferings hardly and with\nviolence carried away by her attendant genius, and when she arrives at\nthe place where the other souls are gathered, if she be impure and\nhave done impure deeds, or been concerned in foul murders or other\ncrimes which are the brothers of these, and the works of brothers in\ncrime-from that soul everyone flees and turns away; no one will be her\ncompanion, no one her guide, but alone she wanders in extremity of\nevil until certain times are fulfilled, and when they are fulfilled,\nshe is borne irresistibly to her own fitting habitation; as every pure\nand just soul which has passed through life in the company and under\nthe guidance of the gods has also her own proper home.\n\nNow the earth has divers wonderful regions, and is indeed in\nnature and extent very unlike the notions of geographers, as I believe\non the authority of one who shall be nameless.\n\nWhat do you mean, Socrates? said Simmias. I have myself heard many\ndescriptions of the earth, but I do not know in what you are putting\nyour faith, and I should like to know.\n\nWell, Simmias, replied Socrates, the recital of a tale does not, I\nthink, require the art of Glaucus; and I know not that the art of\nGlaucus could prove the truth of my tale, which I myself should\nnever be able to prove, and even if I could, I fear, Simmias, that\nmy life would come to an end before the argument was completed. I\nmay describe to you, however, the form and regions of the earth\naccording to my conception of them.\n\nThat, said Simmias, will be enough.\n\nWell, then, he said, my conviction is that the earth is a round body\nin the center of the heavens, and therefore has no need of air or\nany similar force as a support, but is kept there and hindered from\nfalling or inclining any way by the equability of the surrounding\nheaven and by her own equipoise. For that which, being in equipoise,\nis in the center of that which is equably diffused, will not incline\nany way in any degree, but will always remain in the same state and\nnot deviate. And this is my first notion.\n\nWhich is surely a correct one, said Simmias.\n\nAlso I believe that the earth is very vast, and that we who dwell in\nthe region extending from the river Phasis to the Pillars of Heracles,\nalong the borders of the sea, are just like ants or frogs about a\nmarsh, and inhabit a small portion only, and that many others dwell in\nmany like places. For I should say that in all parts of the earth\nthere are hollows of various forms and sizes, into which the water and\nthe mist and the air collect; and that the true earth is pure and in\nthe pure heaven, in which also are the stars-that is the heaven\nwhich is commonly spoken of as the ether, of which this is but the\nsediment collecting in the hollows of the earth. But we who live in\nthese hollows are deceived into the notion that we are dwelling\nabove on the surface of the earth; which is just as if a creature\nwho was at the bottom of the sea were to fancy that he was on the\nsurface of the water, and that the sea was the heaven through which he\nsaw the sun and the other stars-he having never come to the surface by\nreason of his feebleness and sluggishness, and having never lifted\nup his head and seen, nor ever heard from one who had seen, this\nregion which is so much purer and fairer than his own. Now this is\nexactly our case: for we are dwelling in a hollow of the earth, and\nfancy that we are on the surface; and the air we call the heaven,\nand in this we imagine that the stars move. But this is also owing\nto our feebleness and sluggishness, which prevent our reaching the\nsurface of the air: for if any man could arrive at the exterior limit,\nor take the wings of a bird and fly upward, like a fish who puts his\nhead out and sees this world, he would see a world beyond; and, if the\nnature of man could sustain the sight, he would acknowledge that\nthis was the place of the true heaven and the true light and the\ntrue stars. For this earth, and the stones, and the entire region\nwhich surrounds us, are spoilt and corroded, like the things in the\nsea which are corroded by the brine; for in the sea too there is\nhardly any noble or perfect growth, but clefts only, and sand, and\nan endless slough of mud: and even the shore is not to be compared\nto the fairer sights of this world. And greater far is the superiority\nof the other. Now of that upper earth which is under the heaven, I can\ntell you a charming tale, Simmias, which is well worth hearing.\n\nAnd we, Socrates, replied Simmias, shall be charmed to listen.\n\nThe tale, my friend, he said, is as follows: In the first place, the\nearth, when looked at from above, is like one of those balls which\nhave leather coverings in twelve pieces, and is of divers colors, of\nwhich the colors which painters use on earth are only a sample. But\nthere the whole earth is made up of them, and they are brighter far\nand clearer than ours; there is a purple of wonderful luster, also the\nradiance of gold, and the white which is in the earth is whiter than\nany chalk or snow. Of these and other colors the earth is made up, and\nthey are more in number and fairer than the eye of man has ever\nseen; and the very hollows (of which I was speaking) filled with air\nand water are seen like light flashing amid the other colors, and have\na color of their own, which gives a sort of unity to the variety of\nearth. And in this fair region everything that grows-trees, and\nflowers, and fruits-is in a like degree fairer than any here; and\nthere are hills, and stones in them in a like degree smoother, and\nmore transparent, and fairer in color than our highly valued\nemeralds and sardonyxes and jaspers, and other gems, which are but\nminute fragments of them: for there all the stones are like our\nprecious stones, and fairer still. The reason of this is that they are\npure, and not, like our precious stones, infected or corroded by the\ncorrupt briny elements which coagulate among us, and which breed\nfoulness and disease both in earth and stones, as well as in animals\nand plants. They are the jewels of the upper earth, which also\nshines with gold and silver and the like, and they are visible to\nsight and large and abundant and found in every region of the earth,\nand blessed is he who sees them. And upon the earth are animals and\nmen, some in a middle region, others dwelling about the air as we\ndwell about the sea; others in islands which the air flows round, near\nthe continent: and in a word, the air is used by them as the water and\nthe sea are by us, and the ether is to them what the air is to us.\nMoreover, the temperament of their seasons is such that they have no\ndisease, and live much longer than we do, and have sight and hearing\nand smell, and all the other senses, in far greater perfection, in the\nsame degree that air is purer than water or the ether than air. Also\nthey have temples and sacred places in which the gods really dwell,\nand they hear their voices and receive their answers, and are\nconscious of them and hold converse with them, and they see the sun,\nmoon, and stars as they really are, and their other blessedness is\nof a piece with this.\n\nSuch is the nature of the whole earth, and of the things which are\naround the earth; and there are divers regions in the hollows on the\nface of the globe everywhere, some of them deeper and also wider\nthan that which we inhabit, others deeper and with a narrower\nopening than ours, and some are shallower and wider; all have numerous\nperforations, and passages broad and narrow in the interior of the\nearth, connecting them with one another; and there flows into and\nout of them, as into basins, a vast tide of water, and huge\nsubterranean streams of perennial rivers, and springs hot and cold,\nand a great fire, and great rivers of fire, and streams of liquid mud,\nthin or thick (like the rivers of mud in Sicily, and the\nlava-streams which follow them), and the regions about which they\nhappen to flow are filled up with them. And there is a sort of swing\nin the interior of the earth which moves all this up and down. Now the\nswing is in this wise: There is a chasm which is the vastest of them\nall, and pierces right through the whole earth; this is that which\nHomer describes in the words,\n\n\"Far off, where is the inmost depth beneath the earth\";\n\nand which he in other places, and many other poets, have called\nTartarus. And the swing is caused by the streams flowing into and\nout of this chasm, and they each have the nature of the soil through\nwhich they flow. And the reason why the streams are always flowing\nin and out is that the watery element has no bed or bottom, and is\nsurging and swinging up and down, and the surrounding wind and air\ndo the same; they follow the water up and down, hither and thither,\nover the earth-just as in respiring the air is always in process of\ninhalation and exhalation; and the wind swinging with the water in and\nout produces fearful and irresistible blasts: when the waters retire\nwith a rush into the lower parts of the earth, as they are called,\nthey flow through the earth into those regions, and fill them up as\nwith the alternate motion of a pump, and then when they leave those\nregions and rush back hither, they again fill the hollows here, and\nwhen these are filled, flow through subterranean channels and find\ntheir way to their several places, forming seas, and lakes, and\nrivers, and springs. Thence they again enter the earth, some of them\nmaking a long circuit into many lands, others going to few places\nand those not distant, and again fall into Tartarus, some at a point a\ngood deal lower than that at which they rose, and others not much\nlower, but all in some degree lower than the point of issue. And\nsome burst forth again on the opposite side, and some on the same\nside, and some wind round the earth with one or many folds, like the\ncoils of a serpent, and descend as far as they can, but always\nreturn and fall into the lake. The rivers on either side can descend\nonly to the center and no further, for to the rivers on both sides the\nopposite side is a precipice.\n\nNow these rivers are many, and mighty, and diverse, and there are\nfour principal ones, of which the greatest and outermost is that\ncalled Oceanus, which flows round the earth in a circle; and in the\nopposite direction flows Acheron, which passes under the earth through\ndesert places, into the Acherusian Lake: this is the lake to the\nshores of which the souls of the many go when they are dead, and after\nwaiting an appointed time, which is to some a longer and to some a\nshorter time, they are sent back again to be born as animals. The\nthird river rises between the two, and near the place of rising\npours into a vast region of fire, and forms a lake larger than the\nMediterranean Sea, boiling with water and mud; and proceeding muddy\nand turbid, and winding about the earth, comes, among other places, to\nthe extremities of the Acherusian Lake, but mingles not with the\nwaters of the lake, and after making many coils about the earth\nplunges into Tartarus at a deeper level. This is that\nPyriphlegethon, as the stream is called, which throws up jets of\nfire in all sorts of places. The fourth river goes out on the opposite\nside, and falls first of all into a wild and savage region, which is\nall of a dark-blue color, like lapis lazuli; and this is that river\nwhich is called the Stygian River, and falls into and forms the Lake\nStyx, and after falling into the lake and receiving strange powers\nin the waters, passes under the earth, winding round in the opposite\ndirection to Pyriphlegethon, and meeting in the Acherusian Lake from\nthe opposite side. And the water of this river too mingles with no\nother, but flows round in a circle and falls into Tartarus over\nagainst Pyriphlegethon, and the name of this river, as the poet\nsays, is Cocytus.\n\nSuch is the name of the other world; and when the dead arrive at the\nplace to which the genius of each severally conveys them, first of all\nthey have sentence passed upon them, as they have lived well and\npiously or not. And those who appear to have lived neither well nor\nill, go to the river Acheron, and mount such conveyances as they can\nget, and are carried in them to the lake, and there they dwell and\nare purified of their evil deeds, and suffer the penalty of the wrongs\nwhich they have done to others, and are absolved, and receive the\nrewards of their good deeds according to their deserts. But those\nwho appear to be incurable by reason of the greatness of their\ncrimes-who have committed many and terrible deeds of sacrilege,\nmurders foul and violent, or the like-such are hurled into Tartarus,\nwhich is their suitable destiny, and they never come out. Those\nagain who have committed crimes, which, although great, are not\nunpardonable-who in a moment of anger, for example, have done violence\nto a father or mother, and have repented for the remainder of their\nlives, or who have taken the life of another under like extenuating\ncircumstances-these are plunged into Tartarus, the pains of which they\nare compelled to undergo for a year, but at the end of the year the\nwave casts them forth-mere homicides by way of Cocytus, parricides and\nmatricides by Pyriphlegethon-and they are borne to the Acherusian\nLake, and there they lift up their voices and call upon the victims\nwhom they have slain or wronged, to have pity on them, and to\nreceive them, and to let them come out of the river into the lake. And\nif they prevail, then they come forth and cease from their troubles;\nbut if not, they are carried back again into Tartarus and from\nthence into the rivers unceasingly, until they obtain mercy from those\nwhom they have wronged: for that is the sentence inflicted upon them\nby their judges. Those also who are remarkable for having led holy\nlives are released from this earthly prison, and go to their pure home\nwhich is above, and dwell in the purer earth; and those who have\nduly purified themselves with philosophy live henceforth altogether\nwithout the body, in mansions fairer far than these, which may not\nbe described, and of which the time would fail me to tell.\n\nWherefore, Simmias, seeing all these things, what ought not we to do\nin order to obtain virtue and wisdom in this life? Fair is the\nprize, and the hope great.\n\nI do not mean to affirm that the description which I have given of\nthe soul and her mansions is exactly true-a man of sense ought\nhardly to say that. But I do say that, inasmuch as the soul is shown\nto be immortal, he may venture to think, not improperly or unworthily,\nthat something of the kind is true. The venture is a glorious one, and\nhe ought to comfort himself with words like these, which is the reason\nwhy lengthen out the tale. Wherefore, I say, let a man be of good\ncheer about his soul, who has cast away the pleasures and ornaments of\nthe body as alien to him, and rather hurtful in their effects, and has\nfollowed after the pleasures of knowledge in this life; who has\nadorned the soul in her own proper jewels, which are temperance, and\njustice, and courage, and nobility, and truth-in these arrayed she\nis ready to go on her journey to the world below, when her time comes.\nYou, Simmias and Cebes, and all other men, will depart at some time or\nother. Me already, as the tragic poet would say, the voice of fate\ncalls. Soon I must drink the poison; and I think that I had better\nrepair to the bath first, in order that the women may not have the\ntrouble of washing my body after I am dead.\n\nWhen he had done speaking, Crito said: And have you any commands for\nus, Socrates-anything to say about your children, or any other\nmatter in which we can serve you?\n\nNothing particular, he said: only, as I have always told you, I\nwould have you look to yourselves; that is a service which you may\nalways be doing to me and mine as well as to yourselves. And you\nneed not make professions; for if you take no thought for\nyourselves, and walk not according to the precepts which I have\ngiven you, not now for the first time, the warmth of your\nprofessions will be of no avail.\n\nWe will do our best, said Crito. But in what way would you have us\nbury you?\n\nIn any way that you like; only you must get hold of me, and take\ncare that I do not walk away from you. Then he turned to us, and added\nwith a smile: I cannot make Crito believe that I am the same\nSocrates who have been talking and conducting the argument; he fancies\nthat I am the other Socrates whom he will soon see, a dead body-and he\nasks, How shall he bury me? And though I have spoken many words in the\nendeavor to show that when I have drunk the poison I shall leave you\nand go to the joys of the blessed-these words of mine, with which I\ncomforted you and myself, have had, I perceive, no effect upon\nCrito. And therefore I want you to be surety for me now, as he was\nsurety for me at the trial: but let the promise be of another sort;\nfor he was my surety to the judges that I would remain, but you must\nbe my surety to him that I shall not remain, but go away and depart;\nand then he will suffer less at my death, and not be grieved when he\nsees my body being burned or buried. I would not have him sorrow at my\nhard lot, or say at the burial, Thus we lay out Socrates, or, Thus\nwe follow him to the grave or bury him; for false words are not only\nevil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil. Be of good\ncheer, then, my dear Crito, and say that you are burying my body only,\nand do with that as is usual, and as you think best.\n\nWhen he had spoken these words, he arose and went into the bath\nchamber with Crito, who bade us wait; and we waited, talking and\nthinking of the subject of discourse, and also of the greatness of our\nsorrow; he was like a father of whom we were being bereaved, and we\nwere about to pass the rest of our lives as orphans. When he had taken\nthe bath his children were brought to him-(he had two young sons and\nan elder one); and the women of his family also came, and he talked to\nthem and gave them a few directions in the presence of Crito; and he\nthen dismissed them and returned to us.\n\nNow the hour of sunset was near, for a good deal of time had\npassed while he was within. When he came out, he sat down with us\nagain after his bath, but not much was said. Soon the jailer, who\nwas the servant of the Eleven, entered and stood by him, saying: To\nyou, Socrates, whom I know to be the noblest and gentlest and best\nof all who ever came to this place, I will not impute the angry\nfeelings of other men, who rage and swear at me when, in obedience\nto the authorities, I bid them drink the poison-indeed, I am sure that\nyou will not be angry with me; for others, as you are aware, and not\nI, are the guilty cause. And so fare you well, and try to bear lightly\nwhat must needs be; you know my errand. Then bursting into tears he\nturned away and went out.\n\nSocrates looked at him and said: I return your good wishes, and will\ndo as you bid. Then, turning to us, he said, How charming the man\nis: since I have been in prison he has always been coming to see me,\nand at times he would talk to me, and was as good as could be to me,\nand now see how generously he sorrows for me. But we must do as he\nsays, Crito; let the cup be brought, if the poison is prepared: if\nnot, let the attendant prepare some.\n\nYet, said Crito, the sun is still upon the hilltops, and many a\none has taken the draught late, and after the announcement has been\nmade to him, he has eaten and drunk, and indulged in sensual delights;\ndo not hasten then, there is still time.\n\nSocrates said: Yes, Crito, and they of whom you speak are right in\ndoing thus, for they think that they will gain by the delay; but I\nam right in not doing thus, for I do not think that I should gain\nanything by drinking the poison a little later; I should be sparing\nand saving a life which is already gone: I could only laugh at\nmyself for this. Please then to do as I say, and not to refuse me.\n\nCrito, when he heard this, made a sign to the servant, and the\nservant went in, and remained for some time, and then returned with\nthe jailer carrying a cup of poison. Socrates said: You, my good\nfriend, who are experienced in these matters, shall give me directions\nhow I am to proceed. The man answered: You have only to walk about\nuntil your legs are heavy, and then to lie down, and the poison will\nact. At the same time he handed the cup to Socrates, who in the\neasiest and gentlest manner, without the least fear or change of color\nor feature, looking at the man with all his eyes, Echecrates, as his\nmanner was, took the cup and said: What do you say about making a\nlibation out of this cup to any god? May I, or not? The man\nanswered: We only prepare, Socrates, just so much as we deem enough. I\nunderstand, he said: yet I may and must pray to the gods to prosper my\njourney from this to that other world-may this, then, which is my\nprayer, be granted to me. Then holding the cup to his lips, quite\nreadily and cheerfully he drank off the poison. And hitherto most of\nus had been able to control our sorrow; but now when we saw him\ndrinking, and saw too that he had finished the draught, we could no\nlonger forbear, and in spite of myself my own tears were flowing fast;\nso that I covered my face and wept over myself, for certainly I was\nnot weeping over him, but at the thought of my own calamity in\nhaving lost such a companion. Nor was I the first, for Crito, when\nhe found himself unable to restrain his tears, had got up and moved\naway, and I followed; and at that moment. Apollodorus, who had been\nweeping all the time, broke out in a loud cry which made cowards of us\nall. Socrates alone retained his calmness: What is this strange\noutcry? he said. I sent away the women mainly in order that they might\nnot offend in this way, for I have heard that a man should die in\npeace. Be quiet, then, and have patience.\n\nWhen we heard that, we were ashamed, and refrained our tears; and he\nwalked about until, as he said, his legs began to fail, and then he\nlay on his back, according to the directions, and the man who gave him\nthe poison now and then looked at his feet and legs; and after a while\nhe pressed his foot hard and asked him if he could feel; and he\nsaid, no; and then his leg, and so upwards and upwards, and showed\nus that he was cold and stiff. And he felt them himself, and said:\nWhen the poison reaches the heart, that will be the end. He was\nbeginning to grow cold about the groin, when he uncovered his face,\nfor he had covered himself up, and said (they were his last\nwords)-he said: Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to\npay the debt? The debt shall be paid, said Crito; is there anything\nelse? There was no answer to this question; but in a minute or two a\nmovement was heard, and the attendants uncovered him; his eyes were\nset, and Crito closed his eyes and mouth.\n\nSuch was the end, Echecrates, of our friend, whom I may truly call\nthe wisest, and justest, and best of all the men whom I have ever\nknown.\n\n-THE END-",
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    "license": null,
    "methodology_url": null
  }
}