Chapter VII: Part 7

Nor can I think that you are at all justified, Socrates, in
betraying your own life when you might be saved; in acting
thus you are playing into the hands of your enemies, who
are hurrying on your destruction. And further I should say
that you are deserting your own children; for you might
bring them up and educate them; instead of which you go
away and leave them, and they will have to take their chance;
and if they do not meet with the usual fate of orphans, there
will be small thanks to you. No man should bring children
into the world who is unwilling to persevere to the end in
their nurture and education. But you appear to be choosing
the easier part, not the better and manlier, which would have
been more becoming in one who professes to care for virtue
in all his actions, like yourself. And indeed, I am ashamed
not only of you, but of us who are your friends, when I reflect
that the whole business will be attributed entirely to our want
of courage. The trial need never have come on, or might
have been managed differently; and this last act, or crowning
folly, will seem to have occurred through our negligence and
cowardice, who might have saved you, if we had been good for 46
anything; and you might have saved yourself, for there was
no difficulty at all. See now, Socrates, how sad and discreditable
are the consequences, both to us and you. Make up
your mind then, or rather have your mind already made up,
for the time of deliberation is over, and there is only one
thing to be done, which must be done this very night, and if
we delay at all will be no longer practicable or possible; I
beseech you therefore, Socrates, be persuaded by me, and do
as I say.

[Sidenote: Socrates is one of those who must be guided by reason.]

[Sidenote: _The answer of Socrates._]

[Sidenote: Ought he to follow the opinion of the many or of the few, of the wise or of the unwise?]

_Soc._ Dear Crito, your zeal is invaluable, if a right one; but
if wrong, the greater the zeal the greater the danger; and
therefore we ought to consider whether I shall or shall not do
as you say. For I am and always have been one of those
natures who must be guided by reason, whatever the reason
may be which upon reflection appears to me to be the best;
and now that this chance has befallen me, I cannot repudiate
my own words: the principles which I have hitherto honoured
and revered I still honour, and unless we can at once find
other and better principles, I am certain not to agree with you;
no, not even if the power of the multitude could inflict many
more imprisonments, confiscations, deaths, frightening us like
children with hobgoblin terrors[19]. What will be the fairest
way of considering the question? Shall I return to your
old argument about the opinions of men?—we were saying
that some of them are to be regarded, and others not.
Now were we right in maintaining this before I was condemned?
And has the argument which was once good
now proved to be talk for the sake of talking—mere childish
nonsense? That is what I want to consider with your help,
Crito:—whether, under my present circumstances, the argument
appears to be in any way different or not; and is to be
allowed by me or disallowed. That argument, which, as I
believe, is maintained by many persons of authority, was to
the effect, as I was saying, that the opinions of some men are
to be regarded, and of other men not to be regarded. Now
you, Crito, are not going to die to-morrow—at least, there is no 47
human probability of this—and therefore you are disinterested
and not liable to be deceived by the circumstances in which
you are placed. Tell me then, whether I am right in saying
that some opinions, and the opinions of some men only, are to
be valued, and that other opinions, and the opinions of other
men, are not to be valued. I ask you whether I was right in
maintaining this?

_Cr._ Certainly.

_Soc._ The good are to be regarded, and not the bad?

_Cr._ Yes.

_Soc._ And the opinions of the wise are good, and the
opinions of the unwise are evil?

_Cr._ Certainly.

_Soc._ And what was said about another matter? Is the
pupil who devotes himself to the practice of gymnastics
supposed to attend to the praise and blame and opinion of
every man, or of one man only—his physician or trainer,
whoever he may be?

[Sidenote: _First principles._]

_Cr._ Of one man only.

_Soc._ And he ought to fear the censure and welcome the
praise of that one only, and not of the many?

_Cr._ Clearly so.

_Soc._ And he ought to act and train, and eat and drink in
the way which seems good to his single master who has
understanding, rather than according to the opinion of all
other men put together?

_Cr._ True.

_Soc._ And if he disobeys and disregards the opinion and
approval of the one, and regards the opinion of the many
who have no understanding, will he not suffer evil?

_Cr._ Certainly he will.

_Soc._ And what will the evil be, whither tending and what
affecting, in the disobedient person?

_Cr._ Clearly, affecting the body; that is what is destroyed
by the evil.

[Sidenote: The opinion of the one wise man is to be followed.]

_Soc._ Very good; and is not this true, Crito, of other
things which we need not separately enumerate? In
questions of just and unjust, fair and foul, good and evil,
which are the subjects of our present consultation, ought we
to follow the opinion of the many and to fear them; or the
opinion of the one man who has understanding? ought we
not to fear and reverence him more than all the rest of the
world: and if we desert him shall we not destroy and injure
that principle in us which may be assumed to be improved
by justice and deteriorated by injustice;—there is such a
principle?

_Cr._ Certainly there is, Socrates.

_Soc._ Take a parallel instance:—if, acting under the advice
of those who have no understanding, we destroy that which
is improved by health and is deteriorated by disease, would
life be worth having? And that which has been destroyed
is—the body?

_Cr._ Yes.

_Soc._ Could we live, having an evil and corrupted body?

_Cr._ Certainly not.

[Sidenote: _The application of them to the present case._]

_Soc._ And will life be worth having, if that higher part of
man be destroyed, which is improved by justice and depraved
by injustice? Do we suppose that principle, whatever it
may be in man, which has to do with justice and injustice, to 48
be inferior to the body?

_Cr._ Certainly not.

_Soc._ More honourable than the body?

_Cr._ Far more.

[Sidenote: No matter what the many say of us.]

_Soc._ Then, my friend, we must not regard what the many
say of us: but what he, the one man who has understanding
of just and unjust, will say, and what the truth will say.
And therefore you begin in error when you advise that we
should regard the opinion of the many about just and unjust,
good and evil, honourable and dishonourable.—‘Well,’
some one will say, ‘but the many can kill us.’

_Cr._ Yes, Socrates; that will clearly be the answer.

[Sidenote: Not life, but a good life, to be chiefly valued.]

_Soc._ And it is true: but still I find with surprise that the
old argument is unshaken as ever. And I should like to
know whether I may say the same of another proposition—that
not life, but a good life, is to be chiefly valued?

_Cr._ Yes, that also remains unshaken.

_Soc._ And a good life is equivalent to a just and honourable
one—that holds also?

_Cr._ Yes, it does.

[Sidenote: Admitting these principles, ought I to try and escape or not?]

_Soc._ From these premisses I proceed to argue the question
whether I ought or ought not to try and escape without the
consent of the Athenians: and if I am clearly right in
escaping, then I will make the attempt; but if not, I will
abstain. The other considerations which you mention, of
money and loss of character and the duty of educating one’s
children, are, I fear, only the doctrines of the multitude, who
would be as ready to restore people to life, if they were able,
as they are to put them to death—and with as little reason.
But now, since the argument has thus far prevailed, the only
question which remains to be considered is, whether we
shall do rightly either in escaping or in suffering others to
aid in our escape and paying them in money and thanks,
or whether in reality we shall not do rightly; and if the
latter, then death or any other calamity which may ensue
on my remaining here must not be allowed to enter into the
calculation.

_Cr._ I think that you are right, Socrates; how then shall
we proceed?

[Sidenote: _First principles._]

_Soc._ Let us consider the matter together, and do you
either refute me if you can, and I will be convinced; or else
cease, my dear friend, from repeating to me that I ought to
escape against the wishes of the Athenians: for I highly
value your attempts to persuade me to do so, but I may not
be persuaded against my own better judgment. And now
please to consider my first position, and try how you can 49
best answer me.

_Cr._ I will.

[Sidenote: May we sometimes do evil that good may come?]

_Soc._ Are we to say that we are never intentionally to do
wrong, or that in one way we ought and in another way we
ought not to do wrong, or is doing wrong always evil and
dishonourable, as I was just now saying, and as has been
already acknowledged by us? Are all our former admissions
which were made within a few days to be thrown
away? And have we, at our age, been earnestly discoursing
with one another all our life long only to discover that we
are no better than children? Or, in spite of the opinion of
the many, and in spite of consequences whether better or
worse, shall we insist on the truth of what was then said,
that injustice is always an evil and dishonour to him who
acts unjustly? Shall we say so or not?

_Cr._ Yes.

_Soc._ Then we must do no wrong?

_Cr._ Certainly not.

_Soc._ Nor when injured injure in return, as the many
imagine; for we must injure no one at all[20]?

_Cr._ Clearly not.

_Soc._ Again, Crito, may we do evil?

_Cr._ Surely not, Socrates.

[Sidenote: May we render evil for evil?]

_Soc._ And what of doing evil in return for evil, which is the
morality of the many—is that just or not?

_Cr._ Not just.

_Soc._ For doing evil to another is the same as injuring
him?

_Cr._ Very true.

[Sidenote: _The address of the Laws._]

[Sidenote: Or is evil always to be deemed evil? Are you of the same mind as formerly about all this?]

_Soc._ Then we ought not to retaliate or render evil for evil
to any one, whatever evil we may have suffered from him.
But I would have you consider, Crito, whether you really
mean what you are saying. For this opinion has never been
held, and never will be held, by any considerable number of
persons; and those who are agreed and those who are not
agreed upon this point have no common ground, and can
only despise one another when they see how widely they
differ. Tell me, then, whether you agree with and assent to
my first principle, that neither injury nor retaliation nor
warding off evil by evil is ever right. And shall that be the
premiss of our argument? Or do you decline and dissent
from this? For so I have ever thought, and continue to
think; but, if you are of another opinion, let me hear what
you have to say. If, however, you remain of the same mind
as formerly, I will proceed to the next step.

[Sidenote: Crito assents.]

_Cr._ You may proceed, for I have not changed my mind.

[Sidenote: Then ought Socrates to desert or not?]

_Soc._ Then I will go on to the next point, which may be
put in the form of a question:—Ought a man to do what he
admits to be right, or ought he to betray the right?

_Cr._ He ought to do what he thinks right.

_Soc._ But if this is true, what is the application? In
leaving the prison against the will of the Athenians, do I 50
wrong any? or rather do I not wrong those whom I ought
least to wrong? Do I not desert the principles which were
acknowledged by us to be just—what do you say?

_Cr._ I cannot tell, Socrates; for I do not know.

[Sidenote: The Laws come and argue with him.—Can a State exist in which law is set aside?]

_Soc._ Then consider the matter in this way:—Imagine that
I am about to play truant (you may call the proceeding by
any name which you like), and the laws and the government
come and interrogate me: ‘Tell us, Socrates,’ they say;
‘what are you about? are you not going by an act of yours
to overturn us—the laws, and the whole state, as far as in
you lies? Do you imagine that a state can subsist and not
be overthrown, in which the decisions of law have no power,
but are set aside and trampled upon by individuals?’ What
will be our answer, Crito, to these and the like words?
Any one, and especially a rhetorician, will have a good deal
to say on behalf of the law which requires a sentence to be
carried out. He will argue that this law should not be set
aside; and shall we reply, ‘Yes; but the state has injured us
and given an unjust sentence.’ Suppose I say that?

[Sidenote: _The address of the Laws._]

_Cr._ Very good, Socrates.

[Sidenote: Has he any fault to find with them?]

[Sidenote: No man has any right to strike a blow at his country any more than at his father or mother.]

_Soc._ ‘And was that our agreement with you?’ the law
would answer; ‘or were you to abide by the sentence of the
state?’ And if I were to express my astonishment at their
words, the law would probably add: ‘Answer, Socrates,
instead of opening your eyes—you are in the habit of asking
and answering questions. Tell us,—What complaint have
you to make against us which justifies you in attempting to
destroy us and the state? In the first place did we not
bring you into existence? Your father married your mother
by our aid and begat you. Say whether you have any objection
to urge against those of us who regulate marriage?’
None, I should reply. ‘Or against those of us who after
birth regulate the nurture and education of children, in
which you also were trained? Were not the laws, which
have the charge of education, right in commanding your
father to train you in music and gymnastic?’ Right, I
should reply. Well then, since you were brought into the
world and nurtured and educated by us, can you deny in the
first place that you are our child and slave, as your fathers
were before you? And, if this is true you are not on equal
terms with us; nor can you think that you have a right to do
to us what we are doing to you. Would you have any right
to strike or revile or do any other evil to your father or your
master, if you had one, because you have been struck or
reviled by him, or received some other evil at his hands?—you
would not say this? And because we think right to 51
destroy you, do you think that you have any right to destroy
us in return, and your country as far as in you lies? Will
you, O professor of true virtue, pretend that you are justified
in this? Has a philosopher like you failed to discover that
our country is more to be valued and higher and holier far
than mother or father or any ancestor, and more to be regarded
in the eyes of the gods and of men of understanding?
also to be soothed, and gently and reverently entreated when
angry, even more than a father, and either to be persuaded,
or if not persuaded, to be obeyed? And when we are
punished by her, whether with imprisonment or stripes, the
punishment is to be endured in silence; and if she lead us
to wounds or death in battle, thither we follow as is right;
neither may any one yield or retreat or leave his rank, but
whether in battle or in a court of law, or in any other place,
he must do what his city and his country order him; or he
must change their view of what is just: and if he may do no
violence to his father or mother, much less may he do
violence to his country.’ What answer shall we make to
this, Crito? Do the laws speak truly, or do they not?

_Cr._ I think that they do.

[Sidenote: _‘Listen to us, Socrates.’_]

[Sidenote: The Laws argue that he has made an implied agreement with them which he is not at liberty to break at his pleasure.]

_Soc._ Then the laws will say: ‘Consider, Socrates, if we
are speaking truly that in your present attempt you are
going to do us an injury. For, having brought you into
the world, and nurtured and educated you, and given you
and every other citizen a share in every good which we had
to give, we further proclaim to any Athenian by the liberty
which we allow him, that if he does not like us when he has
become of age and has seen the ways of the city, and made
our acquaintance, he may go where he pleases and take his
goods with him. None of us laws will forbid him or interfere
with him. Any one who does not like us and the city, and
who wants to emigrate to a colony or to any other city, may
go where he likes, retaining his property. But he who has
experience of the manner in which we order justice and
administer the state, and still remains, has entered into an
implied contract that he will do as we command him. And
he who disobeys us is, as we maintain, thrice wrong; first,
because in disobeying us he is disobeying his parents;
secondly, because we are the authors of his education;
thirdly, because he has made an agreement with us that he
will duly obey our commands; and he neither obeys them 52
nor convinces us that our commands are unjust; and we do
not rudely impose them, but give him the alternative of
obeying or convincing us;—that is what we offer, and he
does neither.

[Sidenote: _The address of the Laws._]

‘These are the sort of accusations to which, as we were
saying, you, Socrates, will be exposed if you accomplish
your intentions; you, above all other Athenians.’ Suppose
now I ask, why I rather than anybody else? they will
justly retort upon me that I above all other men have
acknowledged the agreement. ‘There is clear proof,’
they will say, ‘Socrates, that we and the city were not displeasing
to you. Of all Athenians you have been the most
constant resident in the city, which, as you never leave, you
may be supposed to love[21]. For you never went out of the
city either to see the games, except once when you went to
the Isthmus, or to any other place unless when you were on
military service; nor did you travel as other men do. Nor
had you any curiosity to know other states or their laws:
your affections did not go beyond us and our state; we were
your special favourites, and you acquiesced in our government
of you; and here in this city you begat your children,
which is a proof of your satisfaction. Moreover, you might
in the course of the trial, if you had liked, have fixed the
penalty at banishment; the state which refuses to let you go
now would have let you go then. But you pretended that you
preferred death to exile[22], and that you were not unwilling to
die. And now you have forgotten these fine sentiments,
and pay no respect to us the laws, of whom you are the
destroyer; and are doing what only a miserable slave would
do, running away and turning your back upon the compacts
and agreements which you made as a citizen. And first of
all answer this very question: Are we right in saying that
you agreed to be governed according to us in deed, and
not in word only? Is that true or not?’ How shall we
answer, Crito? Must we not assent?

_Cr._ We cannot help it, Socrates.

[Sidenote: This agreement he is now going to break.]

_Soc._ Then will they not say: ‘You, Socrates, are breaking
the covenants and agreements which you made with us at
your leisure, not in any haste or under any compulsion or
deception, but after you have had seventy years to think
of them, during which time you were at liberty to leave
the city, if we were not to your mind, or if our covenants
appeared to you to be unfair. You had your choice, and
might have gone either to Lacedaemon or Crete, both which
states are often praised by you for their good government,
or to some other Hellenic or foreign state. Whereas you, 53
above all other Athenians, seemed to be so fond of the state,
or, in other words, of us her laws (and who would care about
a state which has no laws?), that you never stirred out of her;
the halt, the blind, the maimed were not more stationary
in her than you were. And now you run away and forsake
your agreements. Not so, Socrates, if you will take our
advice; do not make yourself ridiculous by escaping out of
the city.

[Sidenote: _‘Listen to us, Socrates.’_]

[Sidenote: If he does he will injure his friends and will disgrace himself.]

‘For just consider, if you transgress and err in this sort of
way, what good will you do either to yourself or to your
friends? That your friends will be driven into exile and
deprived of citizenship, or will lose their property, is
tolerably certain; and you yourself, if you fly to one of the
neighbouring cities, as, for example, Thebes or Megara,
both of which are well governed, will come to them as an
enemy, Socrates, and their government will be against you,
and all patriotic citizens will cast an evil eye upon you as
a subverter of the laws, and you will confirm in the minds of
the judges the justice of their own condemnation of you.
For he who is a corrupter of the laws is more than likely to
be a corrupter of the young and foolish portion of mankind.
Will you then flee from well-ordered cities and virtuous
men? and is existence worth having on these terms? Or
will you go to them without shame, and talk to them,
Socrates? And what will you say to them? What you
say here about virtue and justice and institutions and laws
being the best things among men? Would that be decent
of you? Surely not. But if you go away from well-governed
states to Crito’s friends in Thessaly, where there
is great disorder and licence, they will be charmed to hear
the tale of your escape from prison, set off with ludicrous
particulars of the manner in which you were wrapped in a
goatskin or some other disguise, and metamorphosed as the
manner is of runaways; but will there be no one to remind
you that in your old age you were not ashamed to violate
the most sacred laws from a miserable desire of a little more
life? Perhaps not, if you keep them in a good temper; but
if they are out of temper you will hear many degrading
things; you will live, but how?—as the flatterer of all men,
and the servant of all men; and doing what?—eating and
drinking in Thessaly, having gone abroad in order that you
may get a dinner. And where will be your fine sentiments
about justice and virtue? Say that you wish to live for the 54
sake of your children—you want to bring them up and
educate them—will you take them into Thessaly and deprive
them of Athenian citizenship? Is this the benefit which
you will confer upon them? Or are you under the impression
that they will be better cared for and educated
here if you are still alive, although absent from them; for
your friends will take care of them? Do you fancy that if
you are an inhabitant of Thessaly they will take care of them,
and if you are an inhabitant of the other world that they
will not take care of them? Nay; but if they who call
themselves friends are good for anything, they will—to be
sure they will.

[Sidenote: _There is no answer._]

[Sidenote: Let him think of justice first, and of life and children afterwards.]

‘Listen, then, Socrates, to us who have brought you up.
Think not of life and children first, and of justice afterwards,
but of justice first, that you may be justified before the
princes of the world below. For neither will you nor any
that belong to you be happier or holier or juster in this life,
or happier in another, if you do as Crito bids. Now you
depart in innocence, a sufferer and not a doer of evil; a
victim, not of the laws but of men. But if you go forth,
returning evil for evil, and injury for injury, breaking the
covenants and agreements which you have made with us,
and wronging those whom you ought least of all to wrong,
that is to say, yourself, your friends, your country, and us,
we shall be angry with you while you live, and our brethren,
the laws in the world below, will receive you as an enemy;
for they will know that you have done your best to destroy
us. Listen, then, to us and not to Crito.’

[Sidenote: The mystic voice.]

This, dear Crito, is the voice which I seem to hear murmuring
in my ears, like the sound of the flute in the ears of
the mystic; that voice, I say, is humming in my ears, and
prevents me from hearing any other. And I know that
anything more which you may say will be vain. Yet speak,
if you have anything to say.

_Cr._ I have nothing to say, Socrates.

_Soc._ Leave me then, Crito, to fulfil the will of God, and to
follow whither he leads.

FOOTNOTES

[17] Homer, Il. ix. 363.

[18] Cp. Apol. 37 C, D.

[19] Cp. Apol. 30 C.

[20] e. g. cp. Rep. i. 335 E.

[21] Cp. Phaedr. 230 C.

[22] Cp. Apol. 37 D.

PHAEDO.

INTRODUCTION.

[Sidenote: _Phaedo._]

[Sidenote: ANALYSIS.]

After an interval of some months or years, and at Phlius, =Steph.= 57
a town of Peloponnesus, the tale of the last hours of Socrates
is narrated to Echecrates and other Phliasians by Phaedo the
‘beloved disciple.’ The Dialogue necessarily takes the form of a
narrative, because Socrates has to be described acting as well as 58
speaking. The minutest particulars of the event are interesting
to distant friends, and the narrator has an equal interest in them.

[Sidenote: _Analysis 60-64._]

During the voyage of the sacred ship to and from Delos, which
has occupied thirty days, the execution of Socrates has been
deferred. (Cp. Xen. Mem. iv. 8. 2.) The time has been passed by
him in conversation with a select company of disciples. But now 59
the holy season is over, and the disciples meet earlier than usual
in order that they may converse with Socrates for the last time.
Those who were present, and those who might have been
expected to be present, are mentioned by name. There are
Simmias and Cebes (Crito 45 B), two disciples of Philolaus whom
Socrates ‘by his enchantments has attracted from Thebes’ (Mem.
iii. 11. 17), Crito the aged friend, the attendant of the prison, who
is as good as a friend—these take part in the conversation.
There are present also, Hermogenes, from whom Xenophon
derived his information about the trial of Socrates (Mem. iv. 8. 4),
the ‘madman’ Apollodorus (Symp. 173 D), Euclid and Terpsion
from Megara (cp. Theaet. sub init.), Ctesippus, Antisthenes,
Menexenus, and some other less-known members of the Socratic
circle, all of whom are silent auditors. Aristippus, Cleombrotus,
and Plato are noted as absent. Almost as soon as the friends of 60
Socrates enter the prison Xanthippè and her children are sent
home in the care of one of Crito’s servants. Socrates himself has
just been released from chains, and is led by this circumstance to
make the natural remark that ‘pleasure follows pain.’ (Observe
that Plato is preparing the way for his doctrine of the alternation
of opposites.) ‘Aesop would have represented them in a fable as
a creature with two bodies and a single head.’ The mention of Aesop
reminds Cebes of a question which had been asked by Evenus
the poet (cp. Apol. 20 A): ‘Why Socrates, who was not a
poet, while in prison had been putting Aesop into verse?’—‘Because
several times in his life he had been warned in dreams that 61
he should practise music; and as he was about to die and was not
certain of what was meant, he wished to fulfil the admonition in
the letter as well as in the spirit, by writing verses as well as by
cultivating philosophy. Tell this to Evenus; and say that I would
have him follow me in death.’ ‘He is not at all the sort of man to
comply with your request, Socrates.’ ‘Why, is he not a philosopher?’
‘Yes.’ ‘Then he will be willing to die, although he
will not take his own life, for that is held to be unlawful.’

Cebes asks why suicide is thought not to be right, if death is to 62
be accounted a good? Well, (1) according to one explanation,
because man is a prisoner, who must not open the door of his
prison and run away—this is the truth in a ‘mystery.’ Or (2)
rather, because he is not his own property, but a possession of
the gods, and has no right to make away with that which does
not belong to him. But why, asks Cebes, if he is a possession of
the gods, should he wish to die and leave them? for he is under
their protection; and surely he cannot take better care of himself
than they take of him. Simmias explains that Cebes is really 63
referring to Socrates, whom they think too unmoved at the
prospect of leaving the gods and his friends. Socrates answers
that he is going to other gods who are wise and good, and
perhaps to better friends; and he professes that he is ready to
defend himself against the charge of Cebes. The company shall
be his judges, and he hopes that he will be more successful in
convincing them than he had been in convincing the court.

[Sidenote: _Analysis 64-73._]

The philosopher desires death—which the wicked world will 64
insinuate that he also deserves: and perhaps he does, but not in
any sense which they are capable of understanding. Enough of
them: the real question is, What is the nature of that death
which he desires? Death is the separation of soul and body—and
the philosopher desires such a separation. He would like to
be freed from the dominion of bodily pleasures and of the senses,
which are always perturbing his mental vision. He wants to get 65
rid of eyes and ears, and with the light of the mind only to
behold the light of truth. All the evils and impurities and
necessities of men come from the body. And death separates him from 66
these corruptions, which in life he cannot wholly lay aside. Why
then should he repine when the hour of separation arrives? 67
Why, if he is dead while he lives, should he fear that other death,
through which alone he can behold wisdom in her purity? 68

Besides, the philosopher has notions of good and evil unlike
those of other men. For they are courageous because they are
afraid of greater dangers, and temperate because they desire 69
greater pleasures. But he disdains this balancing of pleasures
and pains, which is the exchange of commerce and not of virtue.
All the virtues, including wisdom, are regarded by him only as
purifications of the soul. And this was the meaning of the
founders of the mysteries when they said, ‘Many are the wand-bearers
but few are the mystics.’ (Cp. Matt. xxii. 14: ‘Many are
called, but few are chosen.’) And in the hope that he is one of
these mystics, Socrates is now departing. This is his answer to
any one who charges him with indifference at the prospect of
leaving the gods and his friends.

Still, a fear is expressed that the soul upon leaving the body 70
may vanish away like smoke or air. Socrates in answer appeals
first of all to the old Orphic tradition that the souls of the dead
are in the world below, and that the living come from them.
This he attempts to found on a philosophical assumption that
all opposites—e. g. less, greater; weaker, stronger; sleeping, 71
waking; life, death—are generated out of each other. Nor can
the process of generation be only a passage from living to dying,
for then all would end in death. The perpetual sleeper (Endymion) 72
would be no longer distinguished from the rest of
mankind. The circle of nature is not complete unless the living
come from the dead as well as pass to them.

[Sidenote: _Analysis 73-80._]

The Platonic doctrine of reminiscence is then adduced as a
confirmation of the pre-existence of the soul. Some proofs of
this doctrine are demanded. One proof given is the same as that 73
of the Meno (82 foll.), and is derived from the latent knowledge of
mathematics, which may be elicited from an unlearned person
when a diagram is presented to him. Again, there is a power of
association, which from seeing Simmias may remember Cebes, or
from seeing a picture of Simmias may remember Simmias. The 74
lyre may recall the player of the lyre, and equal pieces of wood
or stone may be associated with the higher notion of absolute
equality. But here observe that material equalities fall short of
the conception of absolute equality with which they are compared,
and which is the measure of them. And the measure or
standard must be prior to that which is measured, the idea of 75
equality prior to the visible equals. And if prior to them, then
prior also to the perceptions of the senses which recall them, and
therefore either given before birth or at birth. But all men have 76
not this knowledge, nor have any without a process of reminiscence;
which is a proof that it is not innate or given at birth,
unless indeed it was given and taken away at the same instant.
But if not given to men in birth, it must have been given before
birth—this is the only alternative which remains. And if we had
ideas in a former state, then our souls must have existed and
must have had intelligence in a former state. The pre-existence 77
of the soul stands or falls with the doctrine of ideas.

It is objected by Simmias and Cebes that these arguments only
prove a former and not a future existence. Socrates answers this
objection by recalling the previous argument, in which he had
shown that the living come from the dead. But the fear that the
soul at departing may vanish into air (especially if there is a wind
blowing at the time) has not yet been charmed away. He proceeds: 78
When we fear that the soul will vanish away, let us ask
ourselves what is that which we suppose to be liable to dissolution?
Is it the simple or the compound, the unchanging or
the changing, the invisible idea or the visible object of sense?
Clearly the latter and not the former; and therefore not the soul, 79
which in her own pure thought is unchangeable, and only when
using the senses descends into the region of change. Again, the
soul commands, the body serves: in this respect too the soul is 80
akin to the divine, and the body to the mortal. And in every
point of view the soul is the image of divinity and immortality,
and the body of the human and mortal. And whereas the body is
liable to speedy dissolution, the soul is almost if not quite
indissoluble. (Cp. Tim. 41 A.) Yet even the body may be preserved
for ages by the embalmer’s art: how unlikely, then, that the soul
will perish and be dissipated into air while on her way to the
good and wise God! She has been gathered into herself; holding
aloof from the body, and practising death all her life long, and she 81
is now finally released from the errors and follies and passions of
men, and for ever dwells in the company of the gods.

[Sidenote: _Analysis 80-85._]

But the soul which is polluted and engrossed by the corporeal,
and has no eye except that of the senses, and is weighed down
by the bodily appetites, cannot attain to this abstraction. In her
fear of the world below she lingers about the sepulchre, loath to
leave the body which she loved, a ghostly apparition, saturated
with sense, and therefore visible. At length entering into some
animal of a nature congenial to her former life of sensuality or 82
violence, she takes the form of an ass, a wolf or a kite. And of
these earthly souls the happiest are those who have practised
virtue without philosophy; they are allowed to pass into gentle
and social natures, such as bees and ants. (Cp. Rep. x. 619 C,
Meno 100 A.) But only the philosopher who departs pure is
permitted to enter the company of the gods. (Cp. Phaedrus 249.)
This is the reason why he abstains from fleshly lusts, and not
because he fears loss or disgrace, which is the motive of other
men. He too has been a captive, and the willing agent of his 83
own captivity. But philosophy has spoken to him, and he has
heard her voice; she has gently entreated him, and brought him
out of the ‘miry clay,’ and purged away the mists of passion and
the illusions of sense which envelope him; his soul has escaped
from the influence of pleasures and pains, which are like nails
fastening her to the body. To that prison-house she will not 84
return; and therefore she abstains from bodily pleasures—not
from a desire of having more or greater ones, but because she
knows that only when calm and free from the dominion of the
body can she behold the light of truth.

[Sidenote: _Analysis 85-93._]

Simmias and Cebes remain in doubt; but they are unwilling
to raise objections at such a time. Socrates wonders at their
reluctance. Let them regard him rather as the swan, who,
having sung the praises of Apollo all his life long, sings at his 85
death more lustily than ever. (Cp. 60 D.) Simmias acknowledges
that there is cowardice in not probing truth to the bottom.
‘And if truth divine and inspired is not to be had, then let a man
take the best of human notions, and upon this frail bark let him
sail through life.’ He proceeds to state his difficulty: It has 86
been argued that the soul is invisible and incorporeal, and
therefore immortal, and prior to the body. But is not the soul
acknowledged to be a harmony, and has she not the same
relation to the body, as the harmony—which like her is invisible—has
to the lyre? And yet the harmony does not survive the
lyre. Cebes has also an objection, which like Simmias he expresses
in a figure. He is willing to admit that the soul is more
lasting than the body. But the more lasting nature of the soul 87
does not prove her immortality; for after having worn out many
bodies in a single life, and many more in successive births and
deaths, she may at last perish, or, as Socrates afterwards restates
the objection, the very act of birth may be the beginning of her
death, and her last body may survive her, just as the coat of an
old weaver is left behind him after he is dead, although a man is 88
more lasting than his coat. And he who would prove the immortality
of the soul, must prove not only that the soul outlives
one or many bodies, but that she outlives them all.

The audience, like the chorus in a play, for a moment interpret
the feelings of the actors; there is a temporary depression, and 89
then the enquiry is resumed. It is a melancholy reflection that
arguments, like men, are apt to be deceivers; and those who
have been often deceived become distrustful both of arguments
and of friends. But this unfortunate experience should not make
us either haters of men or haters of arguments. The want of 90
health and truth is not in the argument, but in ourselves.
Socrates, who is about to die, is sensible of his own weakness; 91
he desires to be impartial, but he cannot help feeling that he has
too great an interest in the truth of the argument. And therefore
he would have his friends examine and refute him, if they think
that he is in error.

[Sidenote: _Analysis 93-98._]

At his request Simmias and Cebes repeat their objections.
They do not go to the length of denying the pre-existence of 92
ideas. Simmias is of opinion that the soul is a harmony of the
body. But the admission of the pre-existence of ideas, and
therefore of the soul, is at variance with this. (Cp. a parallel
difficulty in Theaet. 203, 204.) For a harmony is an effect, 93
whereas the soul is not an effect, but a cause; a harmony follows,
but the soul leads; a harmony admits of degrees, and the soul
has no degrees. Again, upon the supposition that the soul is
a harmony, why is one soul better than another? Are they more
or less harmonized, or is there one harmony within another?
But the soul does not admit of degrees, and cannot therefore be 94
more or less harmonized. Further, the soul is often engaged in
resisting the affections of the body, as Homer describes Odysseus
rebuking his heart.’ Could he have written this under the idea 95
that the soul is a harmony of the body? Nay rather, are we not
contradicting Homer and ourselves in affirming anything of the
sort?

The goddess Harmonia, as Socrates playfully terms the argument
of Simmias, has been happily disposed of; and now an
answer has to be given to the Theban Cadmus. Socrates recapitulates
the argument of Cebes, which, as he remarks, involves 96
the whole question of natural growth or causation; about this he
proposes to narrate his own mental experience. When he was
young he had puzzled himself with physics: he had enquired
into the growth and decay of animals, and the origin of thought,
until at last he began to doubt the self-evident fact that growth
is the result of eating and drinking; and so he arrived at the
conclusion that he was not meant for such enquiries. Nor was
he less perplexed with notions of comparison and number. At
first he had imagined himself to understand differences of greater
and less, and to know that ten is two more than eight, and the
like. But now those very notions appeared to him to contain a
contradiction. For how can one be divided into two? or two be 97
compounded into one? These are difficulties which Socrates
cannot answer. Of generation and destruction he knows nothing.
But he has a confused notion of another method in which matters
of this sort are to be investigated. (Cp. Rep. iv. 435 D; vii.
533 A; Charm. 170 foll.)

[Sidenote: _Analysis 98-102._]

Then he heard some one reading out of a book of Anaxagoras,
that mind is the cause of all things. And he said to himself: If
mind is the cause of all things, surely mind must dispose them all
for the best. The new teacher will show me this ‘order of the 98
best’ in man and nature. How great had been his hopes and how
great his disappointment! For he found that his new friend was
anything but consistent in his use of mind as a cause, and that he
soon introduced winds, waters, and other eccentric notions. (Cp.
Arist. Metaph. i. 4, 5.) It was as if a person had said that Socrates
is sitting here because he is made up of bones and muscles, 99
instead of telling the true reason—that he is here because the
Athenians have thought good to sentence him to death, and he has
thought good to await his sentence. Had his bones and muscles
been left by him to their own ideas of right, they would long ago
have taken themselves off. But surely there is a great confusion
of the cause and condition in all this. And this confusion also
leads people into all sorts of erroneous theories about the position
and motions of the earth. None of them know how much stronger
than any Atlas is the power of the best. But this ‘best’ is still
undiscovered; and in enquiring after the cause, we can only hope
to attain the second best.

Now there is a danger in the contemplation of the nature of things,
as there is a danger in looking at the sun during an eclipse, 100
unless the precaution is taken of looking only at the image reflected
in the water, or in a glass. (Cp. Laws x. 897 D; Rep. vii. 516 foll.)
‘I was afraid,’ says Socrates, ‘that I might injure the eye of the
soul. I thought that I had better return to the old and safe method
of ideas. Though I do not mean to say that he who contemplates
existence through the medium of ideas sees only through a glass
darkly, any more than he who contemplates actual effects.’

If the existence of ideas is granted to him, Socrates is of opinion
that he will then have no difficulty in proving the immortality of
the soul. He will only ask for a further admission:—that beauty
is the cause of the beautiful, greatness the cause of the great,
smallness of the small, and so on of other things. This is a safe 101
and simple answer, which escapes the contradictions of greater
and less (greater by reason of that which is smaller!), of addition
and subtraction, and the other difficulties of relation. These
subtleties he is for leaving to wiser heads than his own; he prefers
to test ideas by the consistency of their consequences, and, if
asked to give an account of them, goes back to some higher idea or
hypothesis which appears to him to be the best, until at last he
arrives at a resting-place. (Rep. vi. 510 foll.; Phil. 16 foll.)

[Sidenote: _Analysis 102-107._]

The doctrine of ideas, which has long ago received the assent of 102
the Socratic circle, is now affirmed by the Phliasian auditor to
command the assent of any man of sense. The narrative is continued;
Socrates is desirous of explaining how opposite ideas may
appear to co-exist but do not really co-exist in the same thing or
person. For example, Simmias may be said to have greatness
and also smallness, because he is greater than Socrates and less
than Phaedo. And yet Simmias is not really great and also small,
but only when compared to Phaedo and Socrates. I use the
illustration, says Socrates, because I want to show you not only
that ideal opposites exclude one another, but also the opposites in
us. I, for example, having the attribute of smallness remain small,
and cannot become great: the smallness which is in me drives out
greatness. 103

One of the company here remarked that this was inconsistent
with the old assertion that opposites generated opposites. But
that, replies Socrates, was affirmed, not of opposite ideas either in
us or in nature, but of opposition in the concrete—not of life and
death, but of individuals living and dying. When this objection
has been removed, Socrates proceeds: This doctrine of the mutual
exclusion of opposites is not only true of the opposites themselves,
but of things which are inseparable from them. For example,
cold and heat are opposed; and fire, which is inseparable from
heat, cannot co-exist with cold, or snow, which is inseparable
from cold, with heat. Again, the number three excludes the
number four, because three is an odd number and four is an even
number, and the odd is opposed to the even. Thus we are able to 104
proceed a step beyond ‘the safe and simple answer.’ We may
say, not only that the odd excludes the even, but that the number
three, which participates in oddness, excludes the even. And in 105
like manner, not only does life exclude death, but the soul, of
which life is the inseparable attribute, also excludes death. And
that of which life is the inseparable attribute is by the force of the
terms imperishable. If the odd principle were imperishable, then 106
the number three would not perish but remove, on the approach
of the even principle. But the immortal is imperishable; and
therefore the soul on the approach of death does not perish but
removes.

Thus all objections appear to be finally silenced. And now the 107
application has to be made: If the soul is immortal, ‘what manner
of persons ought we to be?’ having regard not only to time but to
eternity. For death is not the end of all, and the wicked is not
released from his evil by death; but every one carries with him
into the world below that which he is or has become, and that
only.

[Sidenote: _Analysis 107-112._]

For after death the soul is carried away to judgment, and when
she has received her punishment returns to earth in the course of
ages. The wise soul is conscious of her situation, and follows the 108
attendant angel who guides her through the windings of the world
below; but the impure soul wanders hither and thither without
companion or guide, and is carried at last to her own place, as the
pure soul is also carried away to hers. ‘In order that you may
understand this, I must first describe to you the nature and
conformation of the earth.’

Now the whole earth is a globe placed in the centre of the
heavens, and is maintained there by the perfection of balance. 109
That which we call the earth is only one of many small hollows,
wherein collect the mists and waters and the thick lower air; but
the true earth is above, and is in a finer and subtler element.
And if, like birds, we could fly to the surface of the air, in the
same manner that fishes come to the top of the sea, then we should
behold the true earth and the true heaven and the true stars. Our 110
earth is everywhere corrupted and corroded; and even the land,
which is fairer than the sea, for that is a mere chaos or waste of
water and mud and sand, has nothing to show in comparison of
the other world. But the heavenly earth is of divers colours,
sparkling with jewels brighter than gold and whiter than any snow,
having flowers and fruits innumerable. And the inhabitants 111
dwell some on the shore of the sea of air, others in ‘islets of the
blest,’ and they hold converse with the gods, and behold the sun,
moon and stars as they truly are, and their other blessedness is of
a piece with this.

[Sidenote: _Analysis 112-116._]