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Phaedo

P >> Plato >> Phaedo




Yes, he said, I entirely agree and go along with you in that.

And now, he said, let us begin again; and do not you answer my question in
the words in which I ask it: let me have not the old safe answer of which
I spoke at first, but another equally safe, of which the truth will be
inferred by you from what has been just said. I mean that if any one asks
you 'what that is, of which the inherence makes the body hot,' you will
reply not heat (this is what I call the safe and stupid answer), but fire,
a far superior answer, which we are now in a condition to give. Or if any
one asks you 'why a body is diseased,' you will not say from disease, but
from fever; and instead of saying that oddness is the cause of odd numbers,
you will say that the monad is the cause of them: and so of things in
general, as I dare say that you will understand sufficiently without my
adducing any further examples.

Yes, he said, I quite understand you.

Tell me, then, what is that of which the inherence will render the body
alive?

The soul, he replied.

And is this always the case?

Yes, he said, of course.

Then whatever the soul possesses, to that she comes bearing life?

Yes, certainly.

And is there any opposite to life?

There is, he said.

And what is that?

Death.

Then the soul, as has been acknowledged, will never receive the opposite of
what she brings.

Impossible, replied Cebes.

And now, he said, what did we just now call that principle which repels the
even?

The odd.

And that principle which repels the musical, or the just?

The unmusical, he said, and the unjust.

And what do we call the principle which does not admit of death?

The immortal, he said.

And does the soul admit of death?

No.

Then the soul is immortal?

Yes, he said.

And may we say that this has been proven?

Yes, abundantly proven, Socrates, he replied.

Supposing that the odd were imperishable, must not three be imperishable?

Of course.

And if that which is cold were imperishable, when the warm principle came
attacking the snow, must not the snow have retired whole and unmelted--for
it could never have perished, nor could it have remained and admitted the
heat?

True, he said.

Again, if the uncooling or warm principle were imperishable, the fire when
assailed by cold would not have perished or have been extinguished, but
would have gone away unaffected?

Certainly, he said.

And the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also
imperishable, the soul when attacked by death cannot perish; for the
preceding argument shows that the soul will not admit of death, or ever be
dead, any more than three or the odd number will admit of the even, or fire
or the heat in the fire, of the cold. Yet a person may say: 'But although
the odd will not become even at the approach of the even, why may not the
odd perish and the even take the place of the odd?' Now to him who makes
this objection, we cannot answer that the odd principle is imperishable;
for this has not been acknowledged, but if this had been acknowledged,
there would have been no difficulty in contending that at the approach of
the even the odd principle and the number three took their departure; and
the same argument would have held good of fire and heat and any other
thing.

Very true.

And the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also
imperishable, then the soul will be imperishable as well as immortal; but
if not, some other proof of her imperishableness will have to be given.

No other proof is needed, he said; for if the immortal, being eternal, is
liable to perish, then nothing is imperishable.

Yes, replied Socrates, and yet all men will agree that God, and the
essential form of life, and the immortal in general, will never perish.

Yes, all men, he said--that is true; and what is more, gods, if I am not
mistaken, as well as men.

Seeing then that the immortal is indestructible, must not the soul, if she
is immortal, be also imperishable?

Most certainly.

Then when death attacks a man, the mortal portion of him may be supposed to
die, but the immortal retires at the approach of death and is preserved
safe and sound?

True.

Then, Cebes, beyond question, the soul is immortal and imperishable, and
our souls will truly exist in another world!

I am convinced, Socrates, said Cebes, and have nothing more to object; but
if my friend Simmias, or any one else, has any further objection to make,
he had better speak out, and not keep silence, since I do not know to what
other season he can defer the discussion, if there is anything which he
wants to say or to have said.

But I have nothing more to say, replied Simmias; nor can I see any reason
for doubt after what has been said. But I still feel and cannot help
feeling uncertain in my own mind, when I think of the greatness of the
subject and the feebleness of man.

Yes, Simmias, replied Socrates, that is well said: and I may add that
first principles, even if they appear certain, should be carefully
considered; and when they are satisfactorily ascertained, then, with a sort
of hesitating confidence in human reason, you may, I think, follow the
course of the argument; and if that be plain and clear, there will be no
need for any further enquiry.

Very true.

But then, O my friends, he said, if the soul is really immortal, what care
should be taken of her, not only in respect of the portion of time which is
called life, but of eternity! And the danger of neglecting her from this
point of view does indeed appear to be awful. If death had only been the
end of all, the wicked would have had a good bargain in dying, for they
would have been happily quit not only of their body, but of their own evil
together with their souls. But now, inasmuch as the soul is manifestly
immortal, there is no release or salvation from evil except the attainment
of the highest virtue and wisdom. For the soul when on her progress to the
world below takes nothing with her but nurture and education; and these are
said greatly to benefit or greatly to injure the departed, at the very
beginning of his journey thither.

For after death, as they say, the genius of each individual, to whom he
belonged in life, leads him to a certain place in which the dead are
gathered together, whence after judgment has been given they pass into the
world below, following the guide, who is appointed to conduct them from
this world to the other: and when they have there received their due and
remained their time, another guide brings them back again after many
revolutions of ages. Now this way to the other world is not, as Aeschylus
says in the Telephus, a single and straight path--if that were so no guide
would be needed, for no one could miss it; but there are many partings of
the road, and windings, as I infer from the rites and sacrifices which are
offered to the gods below in places where three ways meet on earth. The
wise and orderly soul follows in the straight path and is conscious of her
surroundings; but the soul which desires the body, and which, as I was
relating before, has long been fluttering about the lifeless frame and the
world of sight, is after many struggles and many sufferings hardly and with
violence carried away by her attendant genius, and when she arrives at the
place where the other souls are gathered, if she be impure and have done
impure deeds, whether foul murders or other crimes which are the brothers
of these, and the works of brothers in crime--from that soul every one
flees and turns away; no one will be her companion, no one her guide, but
alone she wanders in extremity of evil until certain times are fulfilled,
and when they are fulfilled, she is borne irresistibly to her own fitting
habitation; as every pure and just soul which has passed through life in
the company and under the guidance of the gods has also her own proper
home.

Now the earth has divers wonderful regions, and is indeed in nature and
extent very unlike the notions of geographers, as I believe on the
authority of one who shall be nameless.

What do you mean, Socrates? said Simmias. I have myself heard many
descriptions of the earth, but I do not know, and I should very much like
to know, in which of these you put faith.

And I, Simmias, replied Socrates, if I had the art of Glaucus would tell
you; although I know not that the art of Glaucus could prove the truth of
my tale, which I myself should never be able to prove, and even if I could,
I fear, Simmias, that my life would come to an end before the argument was
completed. I may describe to you, however, the form and regions of the
earth according to my conception of them.

That, said Simmias, will be enough.

Well, then, he said, my conviction is, that the earth is a round body in
the centre of the heavens, and therefore has no need of air or any similar
force to be a support, but is kept there and hindered from falling or
inclining any way by the equability of the surrounding heaven and by her
own equipoise. For that which, being in equipoise, is in the centre of
that which is equably diffused, will not incline any way in any degree, but
will always remain in the same state and not deviate. And this is my first
notion.

Which is surely a correct one, said Simmias.

Also I believe that the earth is very vast, and that we who dwell in the
region extending from the river Phasis to the Pillars of Heracles inhabit a
small portion only about the sea, like ants or frogs about a marsh, and
that there are other inhabitants of many other like places; for everywhere
on the face of the earth there are hollows of various forms and sizes, into
which the water and the mist and the lower air collect. But the true earth
is pure and situated in the pure heaven--there are the stars also; and it
is the heaven which is commonly spoken of by us as the ether, and of which
our own earth is the sediment gathering in the hollows beneath. But we who
live in these hollows are deceived into the notion that we are dwelling
above on the surface of the earth; which is just as if a creature who was
at the bottom of the sea were to fancy that he was on the surface of the
water, and that the sea was the heaven through which he saw the sun and the
other stars, he having never come to the surface by reason of his
feebleness and sluggishness, and having never lifted up his head and seen,
nor ever heard from one who had seen, how much purer and fairer the world
above is than his own. And such is exactly our case: for we are dwelling
in a hollow of the earth, and fancy that we are on the surface; and the air
we call the heaven, in which we imagine that the stars move. But the fact
is, that owing to our feebleness and sluggishness we are prevented from
reaching the surface of the air: for if any man could arrive at the
exterior limit, or take the wings of a bird and come to the top, then like
a fish who puts his head out of the water and sees this world, he would see
a world beyond; and, if the nature of man could sustain the sight, he would
acknowledge that this other world was the place of the true heaven and the
true light and the true earth. For our earth, and the stones, and the
entire region which surrounds us, are spoilt and corroded, as in the sea
all things are corroded by the brine, neither is there any noble or perfect
growth, but caverns only, and sand, and an endless slough of mud: and even
the shore is not to be compared to the fairer sights of this world. And
still less is this our world to be compared with the other. Of that upper
earth which is under the heaven, I can tell you a charming tale, Simmias,
which is well worth hearing.

And we, Socrates, replied Simmias, shall be charmed to listen to you.

The tale, my friend, he said, is as follows:--In the first place, the
earth, when looked at from above, is in appearance streaked like one of
those balls which have leather coverings in twelve pieces, and is decked
with various colours, of which the colours used by painters on earth are in
a manner samples. But there the whole earth is made up of them, and they
are brighter far and clearer than ours; there is a purple of wonderful
lustre, also the radiance of gold, and the white which is in the earth is
whiter than any chalk or snow. Of these and other colours the earth is
made up, and they are more in number and fairer than the eye of man has
ever seen; the very hollows (of which I was speaking) filled with air and
water have a colour of their own, and are seen like light gleaming amid the
diversity of the other colours, so that the whole presents a single and
continuous appearance of variety in unity. And in this fair region
everything that grows--trees, and flowers, and fruits--are in a like degree
fairer than any here; and there are hills, having stones in them in a like
degree smoother, and more transparent, and fairer in colour than our
highly-valued emeralds and sardonyxes and jaspers, and other gems, which
are but minute fragments of them: for there all the stones are like our
precious stones, and fairer still (compare Republic). The reason is, that
they are pure, and not, like our precious stones, infected or corroded by
the corrupt briny elements which coagulate among us, and which breed
foulness and disease both in earth and stones, as well as in animals and
plants. They are the jewels of the upper earth, which also shines with
gold and silver and the like, and they are set in the light of day and are
large and abundant and in all places, making the earth a sight to gladden
the beholder's eye. And there are animals and men, some in a middle
region, others dwelling about the air as we dwell about the sea; others in
islands which the air flows round, near the continent: and in a word, the
air is used by them as the water and the sea are by us, and the ether is to
them what the air is to us. Moreover, the temperament of their seasons is
such that they have no disease, and live much longer than we do, and have
sight and hearing and smell, and all the other senses, in far greater
perfection, in the same proportion that air is purer than water or the
ether than air. Also they have temples and sacred places in which the gods
really dwell, and they hear their voices and receive their answers, and are
conscious of them and hold converse with them, and they see the sun, moon,
and stars as they truly are, and their other blessedness is of a piece with
this.

Such is the nature of the whole earth, and of the things which are around
the earth; and there are divers regions in the hollows on the face of the
globe everywhere, some of them deeper and more extended than that which we
inhabit, others deeper but with a narrower opening than ours, and some are
shallower and also wider. All have numerous perforations, and there are
passages broad and narrow in the interior of the earth, connecting them
with one another; and there flows out of and into them, as into basins, a
vast tide of water, and huge subterranean streams of perennial rivers, and
springs hot and cold, and a great fire, and great rivers of fire, and
streams of liquid mud, thin or thick (like the rivers of mud in Sicily, and
the lava streams which follow them), and the regions about which they
happen to flow are filled up with them. And there is a swinging or see-saw
in the interior of the earth which moves all this up and down, and is due
to the following cause:--There is a chasm which is the vastest of them all,
and pierces right through the whole earth; this is that chasm which Homer
describes in the words,--

'Far off, where is the inmost depth beneath the earth;'

and which he in other places, and many other poets, have called Tartarus.
And the see-saw is caused by the streams flowing into and out of this
chasm, and they each have the nature of the soil through which they flow.
And the reason why the streams are always flowing in and out, is that the
watery element has no bed or bottom, but is swinging and surging up and
down, and the surrounding wind and air do the same; they follow the water
up and down, hither and thither, over the earth--just as in the act of
respiration the air is always in process of inhalation and exhalation;--and
the wind swinging with the water in and out produces fearful and
irresistible blasts: when the waters retire with a rush into the lower
parts of the earth, as they are called, they flow through the earth in
those regions, and fill them up like water raised by a pump, and then when
they leave those regions and rush back hither, they again fill the hollows
here, and when these are filled, flow through subterranean channels and
find their way to their several places, forming seas, and lakes, and
rivers, and springs. Thence they again enter the earth, some of them
making a long circuit into many lands, others going to a few places and not
so distant; and again fall into Tartarus, some at a point a good deal lower
than that at which they rose, and others not much lower, but all in some
degree lower than the point from which they came. And some burst forth
again on the opposite side, and some on the same side, and some wind round
the earth with one or many folds like the coils of a serpent, and descend
as far as they can, but always return and fall into the chasm. The rivers
flowing in either direction can descend only to the centre and no further,
for opposite to the rivers is a precipice.

Now these rivers are many, and mighty, and diverse, and there are four
principal ones, of which the greatest and outermost is that called Oceanus,
which flows round the earth in a circle; and in the opposite direction
flows Acheron, which passes under the earth through desert places into the
Acherusian lake: this is the lake to the shores of which the souls of the
many go when they are dead, and after waiting an appointed time, which is
to some a longer and to some a shorter time, they are sent back to be born
again as animals. The third river passes out between the two, and near the
place of outlet pours into a vast region of fire, and forms a lake larger
than the Mediterranean Sea, boiling with water and mud; and proceeding
muddy and turbid, and winding about the earth, comes, among other places,
to the extremities of the Acherusian Lake, but mingles not with the waters
of the lake, and after making many coils about the earth plunges into
Tartarus at a deeper level. This is that Pyriphlegethon, as the stream is
called, which throws up jets of fire in different parts of the earth. The
fourth river goes out on the opposite side, and falls first of all into a
wild and savage region, which is all of a dark-blue colour, like lapis
lazuli; and this is that river which is called the Stygian river, and falls
into and forms the Lake Styx, and after falling into the lake and receiving
strange powers in the waters, passes under the earth, winding round in the
opposite direction, and comes near the Acherusian lake from the opposite
side to Pyriphlegethon. And the water of this river too mingles with no
other, but flows round in a circle and falls into Tartarus over against
Pyriphlegethon; and the name of the river, as the poets say, is Cocytus.

Such is the nature of the other world; and when the dead arrive at the
place to which the genius of each severally guides them, first of all, they
have sentence passed upon them, as they have lived well and piously or not.
And those who appear to have lived neither well nor ill, go to the river
Acheron, and embarking in any vessels which they may find, are carried in
them to the lake, and there they dwell and are purified of their evil
deeds, and having suffered the penalty of the wrongs which they have done
to others, they are absolved, and receive the rewards of their good deeds,
each of them according to his deserts. But those who appear to be
incurable by reason of the greatness of their crimes--who have committed
many and terrible deeds of sacrilege, murders foul and violent, or the
like--such are hurled into Tartarus which is their suitable destiny, and
they never come out. Those again who have committed crimes, which,
although great, are not irremediable--who in a moment of anger, for
example, have done violence to a father or a mother, and have repented for
the remainder of their lives, or, who have taken the life of another under
the like extenuating circumstances--these are plunged into Tartarus, the
pains of which they are compelled to undergo for a year, but at the end of
the year the wave casts them forth--mere homicides by way of Cocytus,
parricides and matricides by Pyriphlegethon--and they are borne to the
Acherusian lake, and there they lift up their voices and call upon the
victims whom they have slain or wronged, to have pity on them, and to be
kind to them, and let them come out into the lake. And if they prevail,
then they come forth and cease from their troubles; but if not, they are
carried back again into Tartarus and from thence into the rivers
unceasingly, until they obtain mercy from those whom they have wronged:
for that is the sentence inflicted upon them by their judges. Those too
who have been pre-eminent for holiness of life are released from this
earthly prison, and go to their pure home which is above, and dwell in the
purer earth; and of these, such as have duly purified themselves with
philosophy live henceforth altogether without the body, in mansions fairer
still which may not be described, and of which the time would fail me to
tell.

Wherefore, Simmias, seeing all these things, what ought not we to do that
we may obtain virtue and wisdom in this life? Fair is the prize, and the
hope great!

A man of sense ought not to say, nor will I be very confident, that the
description which I have given of the soul and her mansions is exactly
true. But I do say that, inasmuch as the soul is shown to be immortal, he
may venture to think, not improperly or unworthily, that something of the
kind is true. The venture is a glorious one, and he ought to comfort
himself with words like these, which is the reason why I lengthen out the
tale. Wherefore, I say, let a man be of good cheer about his soul, who
having cast away the pleasures and ornaments of the body as alien to him
and working harm rather than good, has sought after the pleasures of
knowledge; and has arrayed the soul, not in some foreign attire, but in her
own proper jewels, temperance, and justice, and courage, and nobility, and
truth--in these adorned she is ready to go on her journey to the world
below, when her hour comes. You, Simmias and Cebes, and all other men,
will depart at some time or other. Me already, as the tragic poet would
say, the voice of fate calls. Soon I must drink the poison; and I think
that I had better repair to the bath first, in order that the women may not
have the trouble of washing my body after I am dead.

When he had done speaking, Crito said: And have you any commands for us,
Socrates--anything to say about your children, or any other matter in which
we can serve you?

Nothing particular, Crito, he replied: only, as I have always told you,
take care of yourselves; that is a service which you may be ever rendering
to me and mine and to all of us, whether you promise to do so or not. But
if you have no thought for yourselves, and care not to walk according to
the rule which I have prescribed for you, not now for the first time,
however much you may profess or promise at the moment, it will be of no
avail.

We will do our best, said Crito: And in what way shall we bury you?

In any way that you like; but you must get hold of me, and take care that I
do not run away from you. Then he turned to us, and added with a smile:--I
cannot make Crito believe that I am the same Socrates who have been talking
and conducting the argument; he fancies that I am the other Socrates whom
he will soon see, a dead body--and he asks, How shall he bury me? And
though I have spoken many words in the endeavour to show that when I have
drunk the poison I shall leave you and go to the joys of the blessed,--
these words of mine, with which I was comforting you and myself, have had,
as I perceive, no effect upon Crito. And therefore I want you to be surety
for me to him now, as at the trial he was surety to the judges for me: but
let the promise be of another sort; for he was surety for me to the judges
that I would remain, and you must be my surety to him that I shall not
remain, but go away and depart; and then he will suffer less at my death,
and not be grieved when he sees my body being burned or buried. I would
not have him sorrow at my hard lot, or say at the burial, Thus we lay out
Socrates, or, Thus we follow him to the grave or bury him; for false words
are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil. Be of
good cheer, then, my dear Crito, and say that you are burying my body only,
and do with that whatever is usual, and what you think best.

When he had spoken these words, he arose and went into a chamber to bathe;
Crito followed him and told us to wait. So we remained behind, talking and
thinking of the subject of discourse, and also of the greatness of our
sorrow; he was like a father of whom we were being bereaved, and we were
about to pass the rest of our lives as orphans. When he had taken the bath
his children were brought to him--(he had two young sons and an elder one);
and the women of his family also came, and he talked to them and gave them
a few directions in the presence of Crito; then he dismissed them and
returned to us.

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