_Socr._ Desist, then, Crito, and let us pursue this course, since this way the deity leads us.
INTRODUCTION TO THE PHÆDO.
This dialogue presents us with an account of the manner in which Socrates spent the last day of his life, and how he met his death. The main subject is that of the soul’s immortality, which Socrates takes upon himself to prove with as much certainty as it is possible for the human mind to arrive at. The question itself, though none could be better suited to the occasion, arises simply and naturally from the general conversation that precedes it.
When his friends visit him in the morning for the purpose of spending this his last day with him, they find him sitting up in bed and rubbing his leg, which had just been freed from bonds. He remarks on the unaccountable alternation and connexion between pleasure and pain, and adds that Æsop, had he observed it, would have made a fable from it.
This remark reminds Cebes of Socrates’ having put some of Æsop’s fables into metre since his imprisonment, and he asks, for the satisfaction of the poet Evenus, what had induced him to do so. Socrates explains his reason, and concludes by bidding him tell Evenus to follow him as soon as he can. Simmias expresses his surprise at this message, on which Socrates asks, “Is not Evenus a philosopher?” and on the question being answered in the affirmative, he says, that he or any philosopher would be willing to die, though perhaps he would not commit violence on himself. This, again, seems a contradiction to Simmias, but Socrates explains it by shewing that our souls are placed in the body by God, and may not leave it without His permission. Whereupon Cebes objects, that in that case foolish men only would wish to die and quit the service of the best of masters, to which Simmias agrees. Socrates, therefore, proposes to plead his cause before them, and to shew that there is a great probability that after this life he shall go into the presence of God and good men, and be happy in proportion to the purity of his own mind.
He begins[12] by stating that philosophy itself is nothing else than a preparation for and meditation on death. Death and philosophy have this in common: death separates the soul from the body, philosophy draws off the mind from bodily things to the contemplation of truth and virtue: for he is not a true philosopher who is led away by bodily pleasures, since the senses are the source of ignorance and all evil; the mind, therefore, is entirely occupied in meditating on death, and freeing itself as much as possible from the body. How, then, can such a man be afraid of death? He who grieves at the approach of death cannot be a true lover of wisdom, but is a lover of his body. And, indeed, most men are temperate through intemperance, that is to say, they abstain from some pleasures that they may the more easily and permanently enjoy others. They embrace only a shadow of virtue, not virtue itself, since they estimate the value of all things by the pleasures they afford.
Whereas the philosopher purifies his mind from all such things, and pursues virtue and wisdom for their own sakes. This course Socrates himself had pursued to the utmost of his ability, with what success he should shortly know; and on these grounds he did not repine at leaving his friends in this world, being persuaded that in another he should meet with good masters and good friends.
----- Upon this Cebes[13] says that he agrees with all else that had been said, but cannot help entertaining doubts of what will become of the soul when separated from the body, for the common opinion is that it is dispersed and vanishes like breath or smoke, and no longer exists any where. Socrates, therefore, proposes to enquire into the probability of the case, a fit employment for him under his present circumstances.
----- His first argument[14] is drawn from the ancient belief prevalent amongst men, that souls departing hence exist in Hades, and are produced again from the dead. If this be true, it must follow that our souls are there, for they could not be produced again if they did not exist: and its truth is confirmed by this, that it is a general law of nature that contraries are produced from contraries, the greater from the less, strong from weak, slow from swift, heat from cold, and in like manner life from death, and _vice versâ_. To explain this more clearly, he proceeds to shew that what is changed passes from one state to another, and so undergoes three different states, first the actual state, then the transition, and thirdly the new state, as from a state of sleep, by awaking to being awake: in like manner birth is a transition from a state of death to life, and dying from life to death, so that the soul, by the act of dying, only passes to another state; if it were not so, all nature would in time become dead, just as if people did not awake out of sleep all would at last be buried in eternal sleep. Whence the conclusion is that the souls of men are not annihilated by death.
----- Cebes[15] agrees to this reasoning, and adds that he is further convinced of its truth by calling to mind an argument used by Socrates on former occasions, that knowledge is nothing but reminiscence, and if this is so, the soul must have existed and had knowledge before it became united to the body.
----- But in case Simmias should not yet be satisfied, Socrates[16] proceeds to enlarge on this, his second argument, drawn from reminiscence. We daily find that we are carried from the knowledge of one thing to another. Things perceived by the eyes, ears, and other senses, bring up the thought of other things: thus the sight of a lyre or a garment reminds us of a friend, and not only are we thus reminded of sensible objects, but of things which are comprehended by the mind alone, and have no sensitive existence. For we have formed in our minds an idea of abstract equality, of the beautiful, the just, the good, in short, of every thing which we say exists without the aid of the senses, for we use them only in the perception of individual things, whence it follows that the mind did not acquire this knowledge in this life, but must have had it before, and therefore the soul must have existed before.
----- Simmias and Cebes[17] both agree in admitting that Socrates has proved the pre-existence of the soul, but insist that he has not shewn it to be immortal, for that nothing hinders but that, according to the popular opinion, it may be dispersed at the dissolution of the body. To which Socrates replies, that if their former admissions are joined to his last argument, the immortality, as well as the pre-existence of the soul, has been sufficiently proved. For if it is true that any thing living is produced from that which is dead, then the soul must exist after death, otherwise it could not be produced again.
----- However to remove the apprehension that the soul may be dispersed by a wind as it were, Socrates proceeds, in his third argument[18], to examine that doubt more thoroughly. What then is meant by being dispersed but being dissolved into its parts? In order therefore to a thing being capable of dispersion it must be compounded of parts. Now there are two kinds of things, one compounded, the other simple, the former kind is subject to change, the latter not, and can be comprehended by the mind alone. The one is visible, the other invisible; and the soul, which is invisible, when it employs the bodily senses wanders and is confused, but when it abstracts itself from the body it attains to the knowledge of that which is eternal, immortal, and unchangeable. The soul, therefore, being uncompounded and invisible must be indissoluble, that is to say immortal.
----- Still Simmias and Cebes[19] are unconvinced. The former objects, that the soul, according to Socrates’ own shewing, is nothing but a harmony resulting from a combination of the parts of the body, and so may perish with the body as the harmony of a lyre does when the lyre itself is broken. And Cebes, though he admits that the soul is more durable than the body, yet objects that it is not therefore of necessity immortal but may in time wear out, and it is by no means clear that this is not its last period.
----- These objections produce a powerful effect on the rest of the company, but Socrates, undismayed, exhorts them not to suffer themselves to be deterred from seeking the truth by any difficulties they may meet with; and then proceeds[20] to shew, in a moment, the fallacy of Simmias’ objection. It was before admitted, he says, that the soul existed before the body, but harmony is produced after the lyre is formed, so that the two cases are totally different. And further, there are various degrees of harmony, but every soul is as much a soul as any other. But then what will a person who holds this doctrine, that the soul is harmony, say of virtue and vice in the soul? Will he call them another kind of harmony and discord? If so, he will contradict himself, for it is admitted that one soul is not more or less a soul than another, and therefore one cannot be more or less harmonized than another, and one could not admit of a greater degree of virtue or vice than another; and indeed a soul, being harmony, could not partake of vice at all, which is discord.
----- Socrates, having thus satisfactorily answered the argument adduced by Simmias, goes on to rebut that of Cebes[21], who objected that the soul might in time wear out. In order to do this, he relates that when a young man he attempted to investigate the causes of every thing, why they exist and why they perish; and in the course of his researches finding the futility of attributing the existence of things to what are called natural causes, he resolved on endeavouring to find out the reasons of things. He therefore assumed that there is a certain abstract beauty, and goodness, and magnitude, and so of all other things: the truth of which being granted he thinks he shall be able to prove that the soul is immortal.
----- This then being conceded by Cebes, Socrates[22] argues that every thing that is beautiful is so from partaking of abstract beauty, and great from partaking of magnitude, and little from partaking of littleness.
Now it is impossible he argues that contraries can exist in the same thing at the same time, for instance the same thing cannot possess both magnitude and littleness, but one will withdraw at the approach of the other: and not only so, but things which, though not contrary to each other, yet always contain contraries within themselves cannot co-exist; for instance the number three has no contrary, yet it contains within itself the idea of odd, which is the contrary to even, and so three never can become even; in like manner heat while it is heat can never admit the idea of its contrary, cold. Now if this method of reasoning is applied to the soul it will be found to be immortal; for life and death are contraries, and never can co-exist, but wherever the soul is there is life, so that it contains within itself that which is contrary to death, and consequently can never admit of death; therefore it is immortal.
----- With this he closes his arguments in support of the soul’s immortality.
Cebes owns himself convinced, but Simmias, though he is unable to make any objection to the soundness of Socrates’ reasoning, cannot help still entertaining doubts on the subject. If, however, the soul is immortal, Socrates proceeds[23], great need is there in this life to endeavour to become as wise and good as possible. For if death were a deliverance from every thing it would be a great gain for the wicked, but since the soul appears to be immortal, it must go to the place suited to its nature. For it is said that each person’s demon conducts him to a place where he receives sentence according to his deserts.
----- He then[24] draws a fanciful picture of the various regions of the earth, to which the good and the bad will respectively go after death, and exhorts his friends to use every endeavour to acquire virtue and wisdom in this life, “for,” he adds, “the reward is noble and the hope great.”
----- Having thus brought his subject to a conclusion, Socrates proposes to bathe himself, in order not to trouble others to wash his dead body.
Crito thereupon asks if he has any commands to give, and especially how he would be buried, to which he, with his usual cheerfulness, makes answer, “Just as you please, if only you can catch me;” and then, smiling, he reminds them that after death he shall be no longer with them, and begs the others of the party to be sureties to Crito for his absence from the body, as they had been before bound for his presence before his judges.
After he had bathed, and taken leave of his children and the women of his family, the officer of the Eleven comes in to intimate to him that it is now time to drink the poison. Crito urges a little delay, as the sun had not yet set, but Socrates refuses to make himself ridiculous by shewing such a fondness for life; the man who is to administer the poison is therefore sent for, and on his holding out the cup, Socrates, neither trembling nor changing colour or countenance at all, but, as he was wont, looking stedfastly at the man, asked if he might make a libation to any one, and being told that no more poison than enough had been mixed, he simply prayed that his departure from this to another world might be happy, and then drank off the poison readily and calmly.
His friends, who had hitherto with difficulty restrained themselves, could no longer control the outward expressions of grief, to which Socrates said, “What are you doing, my friends? I, for this reason chiefly, sent away the women, that they might not commit any folly of this kind. For I have heard that it is right to die with good omens. Be quiet, therefore, and bear up.”
When he had walked about for a while his legs began to grow heavy, so he laid down on his back, and his body, from the feet upwards, gradually grew cold and stiff. His last words were, “Crito, we owe a cock to Æsculapius: pay it, therefore, and do not neglect it.”
“This,” concludes Phædo, “was the end of our friend, a man, as we may say, the best of all his time that we have known, and moreover, the most wise and just.”
PHÆDO, OR THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
FIRST ECHECRATES, PHÆDO.
THEN SOCRATES, APOLLODORUS, CEBES, SIMMIAS, AND CRITO.
------- _Ech._ Were you personally present, Phædo, with Socrates on that day when he drank the poison in prison? or did you hear an account of it from some one else?
_Phæd._ I was there myself, Echecrates.
_Ech._ What then did he say before his death? and how did he die? for I should be glad to hear: for scarcely any citizen of Phlius[25] ever visits Athens now, nor has any stranger for a long time come from thence, who was able to give us a clear account of the particulars, except that he died from drinking poison; but he was unable to tell us any thing more.
----- Footnote 25: Phlius, to which Echecrates belonged, was a town of Sicyonia in Peloponnesus.
----- 2. _Phæd._ And did you not hear about the trial how it went off?
_Ech._ Yes; some one told me this; and I wondered, that as it took place so long ago, he appears to have died long afterwards. What was the reason of this, Phædo?
_Phæd._ An accidental circumstance happened in his favour, Echecrates: for the poop of the ship which the Athenians send to Delos, chanced to be crowned on the day before the trial.
_Ech._ But what is this ship?
_Phæd._ It is the ship, as the Athenians say, in which Theseus formerly conveyed the fourteen boys and girls to Crete, and saved both them and himself. They, therefore, made a vow to Apollo on that occasion, as it is said, that if they were saved they would every year despatch a solemn embassy to Delos; which from that time to the present, they send yearly to the god. 3. When they begin the preparations for this solemn embassy, they have a law that the city shall be purified during this period, and that no public execution shall take place until the ship has reached Delos, and returned to Athens: and this occasionally takes a long time, when the winds happen to impede their passage. The commencement of the embassy is when the priest of Apollo has crowned the poop of the ship.
And this was done, as I said, on the day before the trial: on this account Socrates had a long interval in prison between the trial and his death.
4. _Ech._ And what, Phædo, were the circumstances of his death? what was said and done? and who of his friends were with him? or would not the magistrates allow them to be present, but did he die destitute of friends?
_Phæd._ By no means; but some, indeed several, were present.
_Ech._ Take the trouble, then, to relate to me all the particulars as clearly as you can, unless you have any pressing business.
_Phæd._ I am at leisure, and will endeavour to give you a full account: for to call Socrates to mind, whether speaking myself or listening to some one else, is always most delightful to me.
5. _Ech._ And indeed, Phædo, you have others to listen to you who are of the same mind. However, endeavour to relate every thing as accurately as you can.
_Phæd._ I was indeed wonderfully affected by being present, for I was not impressed with a feeling of pity, like one present at the death of a friend; for the man appeared to me to be happy, Echecrates, both from his manner and discourse, so fearlessly and nobly did he meet his death: so much so, that it occurred to me, that in going to Hades he was not going without a divine destiny, but that when he arrived there he would be happy, if any one ever was. For this reason I was entirely uninfluenced by any feeling of pity, as would seem likely to be the case with one present on so mournful an occasion; nor was I affected by pleasure from being engaged in philosophical discussions, as was our custom; for our conversation was of that kind. But an altogether unaccountable feeling possessed me, a kind of unusual mixture compounded of pleasure and pain together, when I considered that he was immediately about to die. And all of us who were present were affected in much the same manner, at one time laughing, at another weeping, one of us especially, Apollodorus, for you know the man and his manner.
_Ech._ How should I not?
6. _Phæd._ He, then, was entirely overcome by these emotions; and I too was troubled, as well as the others.
_Ech._ But who were present, Phædo?
_Phæd._ Of his fellow-countrymen, this Apollodorus was present, and Critobulus, and his father Crito, moreover Hermogenes, Epigenes, Æschines, and Antisthenes; Ctesippus the Pæanian, Menexenus, and some other of his countrymen were also there: Plato I think was sick.
_Ech._ Were any strangers present?
_Phæd._ Yes: Simmias the Theban, Cebes, and Phædondes: and from Megara, Euclides and Terpsion.
7. _Ech._ But what! were not Aristippus and Cleombrotus present?
_Phæd._ No: for they were said to be at Ægina.
_Ech._ Was any one else there?
_Phæd._ I think that these were nearly all who were present.
_Ech._ Well now: what do you say was the subject of conversation?
_Phæd._ I will endeavour to relate the whole to you from the beginning.
On the preceding days I and the others were constantly in the habit of visiting Socrates, meeting early in the morning at the court-house where the trial took place, for it was near the prison. 8. Here then we waited every day till the prison was opened, conversing with each other; for it was not opened very early, but, as soon as it was opened we went in to Socrates, and usually spent the day with him. On that occasion however, we met earlier than usual; for on the preceding day, when we left the prison in the evening, we heard that the ship had arrived from Delos. We therefore urged each other to come as early as possible to the accustomed place; accordingly we came, and the porter, who used to admit us, coming out, told us to wait, and not enter until he called us.
“For,” he said, “the Eleven are now freeing Socrates from his bonds, and announcing to him that he must die to-day.” But in no long time he returned, and bade us enter.
9. When we entered, we found Socrates just freed from his bonds, and Xantippe, you know her, holding his little boy and sitting by him. As soon as Xantippe saw us, she wept aloud and said such things as women usually do on such occasions, as “Socrates, your friends will now converse with you for the last time and you with them.” But Socrates, looking towards Crito, said, “Crito, let some one take her home.” Upon which some of Crito’s attendants led her away, wailing and beating herself.
But Socrates sitting up in bed, drew up his leg, and rubbed it with his hand, and as he rubbed it, said; “What an unaccountable thing, my friends, that seems to be, which men call pleasure; and how wonderfully is it related towards that which appears to be its contrary, pain; in that they will not both be present to a man at the same time, yet, if any one pursues and attains the one, he is almost always compelled to receive the other, as if they were both united together from one head.
10. “And it seems to me,” he said, “that if Æsop had observed this he would have made a fable from it, how the deity, wishing to reconcile these warring principles, when he could not do so, united their heads together, and from hence whomsoever the one visits the other attends immediately after; as appears to be the case with me, since I suffered pain in my leg before from the chain, but now pleasure seems to have succeeded.”
Hereupon Cebes, interrupting him, said, “By Jupiter, Socrates, you have done well in reminding me: with respect to the poems which you made, by putting into metre those Fables of Æsop and the hymn to Apollo, several other persons asked me, and especially Evenus recently, with what design you made them after you came here, whereas before you had never made any. 11. If, therefore, you care at all that I should be able to answer Evenus, when he asks me again, for I am sure he will do so, tell me what I must say to him.”
“Tell him the truth then, Cebes,” he replied, “that I did not make them from a wish to compete with him, or his poems, for I knew that this would be no easy matter; but that I might discover the meaning of certain dreams, and discharge my conscience, if this should happen to be the music which they have often ordered me to apply myself to. For they were to the following purport: often in my past life the same dream visited me, appearing at different times in different forms, yet always saying the same thing, ‘Socrates,’ it said, ‘apply yourself to and practise music.’ 12. And I formerly supposed that it exhorted and encouraged me to continue the pursuit I was engaged in, as those who cheer on racers, so that the dream encouraged me to continue the pursuit I was engaged in, namely, to apply myself to music, since philosophy is the highest music, and I was devoted to it. But now since my trial took place, and the festival of the god retarded my death, it appeared to me that, if by chance the dream so frequently enjoined me to apply myself to popular music, I ought not to disobey it but do so, for that it would be safer for me not to depart hence before I had discharged my conscience by making some poems in obedience to the dream. Thus, then, I first of all composed a hymn to the god whose festival was present, and after the god, considering that a poet, if he means to be a poet, ought to make fables and not discourses, and knowing that I was not skilled in making fables, I therefore put into verse those fables of Æsop, which were at hand, and were known to me, and which first occurred to me.
13. Tell this then to Evenus, Cebes, and bid him farewell, and, if he is wise, to follow me as soon as he can. But I depart, as it seems, to-day; for so the Athenians order.”
To this Simmias said; “What is this, Socrates, which you exhort Evenus to do? for I often meet with him; and from what I know of him, I am pretty certain that he will not at all be willing to comply with your advice.”
“To me he seems to be so,” said Simmias.
“Then he will be willing,” rejoined Socrates, “and so will every one who worthily engages in this study; perhaps indeed he will not commit violence on himself, for that they say is not allowable.” And as he said this he let down his leg from the bed on the ground, and in this posture continued during the remainder of the discussion.
Cebes then asked him, “What do you mean, Socrates, by saying that it is not lawful to commit violence on one’s-self, but that a philosopher should be willing to follow one who is dying?”
14. “What, Cebes, have not you and Simmias, who have conversed familiarly with Philolaus[26] on this subject, heard?”
----- Footnote 26: A Pythagorean of Crotona.
“I however speak only from hearsay; what then I have heard I have no scruple in telling. And perhaps it is most becoming for one who is about to travel there, to enquire and speculate about the journey thither, what kind we think it is. What else can one do in the interval before sunset?”
“Why then, Socrates, do they say that it is not allowable to kill one’s-self? for I, as you asked just now, have heard both Philolaus, when he lived with us, and several others say that it was not right to do this; but I never heard any thing clear upon the subject from any one.”
15. “Then you should consider it attentively,” said Socrates, “for perhaps you may hear: probably however, it will appear wonderful to you, if this alone of all other things is an universal truth[27], and it never happens to a man, as is the case in all other things, that at sometimes and to some persons only it is better to die than to live; yet that these men for whom it is better to die—this probably will appear wonderful to you—may not without impiety do this good to themselves, but must await another benefactor.”
----- Footnote 27: Namely, “that it is better to die than live.”
----- 16. Then Cebes, gently smiling, said, speaking in his own dialect[28], “Jove be witness.”
----- Footnote 28: Ἴττω Bœotian for ἴστω.
----- “And indeed,” said Socrates, “it would appear to be unreasonable, yet still perhaps it has some reason on its side. The maxim indeed given on this subject in the mystical doctrines[29], that we men are in a kind of prison, and that we ought not to free ourselves from it and escape, appears to me difficult to be understood, and not easy to penetrate.
This however appears to me, Cebes, to be well said, that the gods take care of us, and that we men are one of their possessions. Does it not seem so to you?”
----- Footnote 29: Of Pythagoras.
“Therefore,” said he, “if one of your slaves were to kill himself, without your having intimated that you wished him to die, should you not be angry with him, and should you not punish him if you could?”
“Certainly,” he replied.
“Perhaps then in this point of view, it is not unreasonable to assert, that a man ought not to kill himself before the deity lays him under a necessity of doing so, such as that now laid on me.”
17. “This, indeed,” said Cebes, “appears to be probable. But what you said just now, Socrates, that philosophers should be very willing to die, appears to be an absurdity, if what we said just now is agreeable to reason, that it is God who takes care of us, and that we are his property. For that the wisest men should not be grieved at leaving that service in which they govern them who are the best of all masters, namely the gods, is not consistent with reason. For surely he cannot think that he will take better care of himself when he has become free: but a foolish man might perhaps think thus, that he should fly from his master, and would not reflect that he ought not to fly from a good one, but should cling to him as much as possible, therefore he would fly against all reason: but a man of sense would desire to be constantly with one better than himself. Thus, Socrates, the contrary of what you just now said is likely to be the case; for it becomes the wise to be grieved at dying, but the foolish to rejoice.”
18. Socrates, on hearing this, appeared to me to be pleased with the pertinacity of Cebes, and looking towards us, said, “Cebes, you see, always searches out arguments, and is not at all willing to admit at once any thing one has said.”
Whereupon Simmias replied; “But indeed, Socrates, Cebes appears to me, now, to say something to the purpose: for with what design should men really wise fly from masters who are better than themselves, and so readily leave them? And Cebes appears to me to direct his argument against you, because you so easily endure to abandon both us, and those good rulers, as you yourself confess, the gods.”
“You speak justly,” said Socrates, “for I think you mean that I ought to make my defence to this charge, as if I were in a court of justice.”
“Certainly,” replied Simmias.
19. “Come then,” said he, “I will endeavour to defend myself more successfully before you than before the judges. For,” he proceeded, “Simmias and Cebes, if I did not think that I should go first of all amongst other deities who are both wise and good, and, next, amongst men who have departed this life, better than any here, I should be wrong in not grieving at death: but now be assured, I hope to go amongst good men, though I would not positively assert it; that, however, I shall go amongst gods who are perfectly good masters, be assured I can positively assert this, if I can any thing of the kind. So that, on this account, I am not so much troubled, but I entertain a good hope that something awaits those who die, and that, as was said long since, it will be far better for the good than the evil.”
20. “What then, Socrates,” said Simmias, “would you go away keeping this persuasion to yourself, or would you impart it to us? For this good appears to me to be also common to us; and at the same time it will be an apology for you, if you can persuade us to believe what you say.”
“I will endeavour to do so,” he said. “But first let us attend to Crito here, and see what it is he seems to have for some time wished to say.”
“What else, Socrates,” said Crito, “but what he who is to give you the poison told me some time ago, that I should tell you to speak as little as possible? For he says that men become too much heated by speaking, and that nothing of this kind ought to interfere with the poison, and that otherwise, those who did so were sometimes compelled to drink two or three times.”
To which Socrates replied, “Let him alone, and let him attend to his own business, and prepare to give it me twice, or, if occasion requires, even thrice.”
21. “I was almost certain what you would say,” answered Crito, “but he has been some time pestering me.”
“Never mind him,” he rejoined.
“But now I wish to render an account to you, my judges, of the reason why a man who has really devoted his life to philosophy, when he is about to die, appears to me, on good grounds, to have confidence, and to entertain a firm hope that the greatest good will befal him in the other world, when he has departed this life. How then this comes to pass, Simmias and Cebes, I will endeavour to explain.
“For as many as rightly apply themselves to philosophy seem to have left all others in ignorance, that they aim at nothing else than to die and be dead. If this then is true, it would surely be absurd to be anxious about nothing else than this during their whole life, but, when it arrives, to be grieved at what they have been long anxious about and aimed at.”
22. Upon this, Simmias, smiling, said, “By Jupiter, Socrates, though I am not now at all inclined to smile, you have made me do so; for I think that the multitude, if they heard this, would think it was very well said in reference to philosophers, and that our countrymen particularly would agree with you, that true philosophers do desire death, and that they are by no means ignorant that they deserve to suffer it.”
“And indeed, Simmias, they would speak the truth, except in asserting that they are not ignorant; for they are ignorant of the sense in which true philosophers desire to die, and in what sense they deserve death, and what kind of death. But,” he said, “let us take leave of them, and speak to one another. Do we think that death is any thing?”
“Certainly,” replied Simmias.
23. “Is it any thing else than the separation of the soul from the body?
and is not this to die, for the body to be apart by itself separated from the soul, and for the soul to subsist apart by itself separated from the body? Is death any thing else than this?”
“No, but this,” he replied.
“Consider then, my good friend, whether you are of the same opinion as me; for thus I think we shall understand better the subject we are considering. Does it appear to you to be becoming in a philosopher to be anxious about pleasures, as they are called, such as meats and drinks?”
“By no means, Socrates,” said Simmias.
“But what? about the pleasures of love?”
“Not at all.”
24. “What then? does such a man appear to you to think other bodily indulgences of value? for instance, does he seem to you to value or despise the possession of magnificent garments and sandals, and other ornaments of the body, except so far as necessity compels him to use them?”
“The true philosopher,” he answered, “appears to me to despise them.”
“Does not then,” he continued, “the whole employment of such a man appear to you to be, not about the body, but to separate himself from it as much as possible, and be occupied about his soul?”
“It does.”
“First of all then, in such matters, does not the philosopher, above all other men, evidently free his soul as much as he can from communion with the body?”
“It appears so.”
25. “And it appears, Simmias, to the generality of men, that he who takes no pleasure in such things, and who does not use them, does not deserve to live; but that he nearly approaches to death who cares nothing for the pleasures that subsist through the body.”
“You speak very truly.”
“But what with respect to the acquisition of wisdom, is the body an impediment or not, if any one takes it with him as a partner in the search? What I mean is this: Do sight and hearing convey any truth to