Phaedo
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PHAEDO
By Plato
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
INTRODUCTION.
After an interval of some months or years, and at Phlius, 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 speaking. The minutest particulars of
the event are interesting to distant friends, and the narrator has an
equal interest in them.
During the voyage of the sacred ship to and from Delos, which has
occupied thirty days, the execution of Socrates has been deferred.
(Compare Xen. Mem.) The time has been passed by him in conversation with
a select company of disciples. But now 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), two disciples of Philolaus whom Socrates
'by his enchantments has attracted from Thebes' (Mem.), 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.), the 'madman' Apollodorus (Symp.), Euclid and Terpsion from
Megara (compare Theaet.), 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 Socrates enter the prison Xanthippe 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 two-headed creature of the gods.' The mention of Aesop reminds
Cebes of a question which had been asked by Evenus the poet (compare
Apol.): '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 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 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 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.
The philosopher desires death--which the wicked world will 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 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
these corruptions, which in life he cannot wholly lay aside. Why then
should he repine when the hour of separation arrives? Why, if he is dead
while he lives, should he fear that other death, through which alone he
can behold wisdom in her purity?
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 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.' (Compare Matt. xxii.: '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 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, 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) 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.
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 of the Meno, 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
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 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 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 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: 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, 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 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. (Compare Tim.) 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 is now finally released from
the errors and follies and passions of men, and for ever dwells in the
company of the gods.
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 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. (Compare Republic,
Meno.) But only the philosopher who departs pure is permitted to enter
the company of the gods. (Compare Phaedrus.) 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 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 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.
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 death more lustily than ever.
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 been
argued that the soul is invisible and incorporeal, and therefore