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Phaedo, known to the ancients also by the descriptive title On the Soul, is a drama about Socrates' last hours and his death in the jail at Athens. On the way back home to Elis, one of his intimates, Phaedo, who was with him then, stops off at Phlius, in the Peloponnese. There he reports it all to a group of Py- thagoreans settled there since their expulsion from Southern Italy. The Pytha- gorean connection is carried further in the dialogue itself, since Socrates' two fellow discussants, Simmias and Cebes — from Thebes, the other city where ex- pelled members of the brotherhood settled — are associates of Philolaus, the lead- ing Pythagorean there. Pythagoreans were noted for their belief in the immortal- ity of the soul and its reincarnation in human or animal form and for the consequent concern to keep one's soul pure by avoiding contamination with the body, so as to win the best possible next life. Socrates weaves all these themes into his oion discussion of the immortality of the soul. It is noteivorthy that these Pythagorean elements are lacking from the Apol- ogy, where Socrates expresses himself noncommittally and unconcernedly about the possibility of immortality — and from Crito, as well as the varied dis- cussions of the soul's virtues in such dialogues as Euthyphro, Laches, and Protagoras. Those dialogues are of course not records of discussions the histori- cal Socrates actually held, but Plato seems to take particular pains to indicate that Phaedo does not give us Socrates' actual last conversation or even one that fits at all closely his actual views. He takes care to tell us that he was not present on the last day: Phaedo says he zoas ill. Socrates makes much of the hu- man intellect's affinity to eternal Forms of Beauty, Justice, and other normative notions, and of mathematical properties and objects, such as Oddness and Even- ness and the integers Two, Three, and the rest, as well as physical forces such as Hot and Cold, all existing in a nonphysical realm accessible only to abstract thought. None of this comports well with Socrates' description of his philosophi- cal interests in the Apology or with the way he conducts his inquiries in Plato's 'Socratic' dialogues. It is generally agreed that both the Pythagorean motifs of immortality and purification and the theory of eternal Forms that is linked with them in this dialogue are Plato's own contribution. Indeed, the Phaedo's affinities in philosophical theory go not toward the Socratic dia- logues, but to Symposium and Republic. There is an unmistakable reference to Meno's theory of theoretical knowledge (of geometry, and also of the nature of human virtue) as coming by recollection of objects known before birth. But now the claim is made that this recollection is of Forms.
Phaedo concludes with a myth, describing the fate of the soul after death. Concluding myths in other dialogues, with which this one should be compared, are those in Gorgias and Republic. It should also be compared with the myth in Socrates' second speech in the Phaedrus. Despite the Platonic innovations in philosophical theory, the Phaedo pres- ents a famously movittg picture of Socrates' deep commitment to philosophy and the philosophical life even, or especially, in the face of an unjustly imposed
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57 ECHECRATES: Were you with Socrates yourself, Phaedo, on the day when he drank the poison in prison, or did someone else tell you about it? PHAEDO: I was there myself, Echecrates. ECHECRATES: What are the things he said before he died? And how did he die? I should be glad to hear this. Hardly anyone from Phlius visits b Athens nowadays, nor has any stranger come from Athens for some time who could give us a clear account of what happened, except that he drank the poison and died, but nothing more. 58 PHAEDO: Did you not even hear how the trial went? ECHECRATES: Yes, someone did tell us about that, and we wondered that he seems to have died a long time after the trial took place. Why was that, Phaedo? PHAEDO: That was by chance, Echecrates. The day before the trial, as it happened, the prow of the ship that the Athenians send to Delos had been crowned with garlands. ECHECRATES: What ship is that? PHAEDO: It is the ship in which, the Athenians say, Theseus once sailed to Crete, taking with him the two lots of seven victims.^1 He saved them b and was himself saved. The Athenians vowed then to Apollo, so the story goes, that if they were saved they would send a mission to Delos every year. And from that time to this they send such an annual mission to the god. They have a law to keep the city pure while it lasts, and no execution may take place once the mission has begun until the ship has made its journey to Delos and returned to Athens, and this can sometimes take a c long time if the winds delay it. The mission begins when the priest of Apollo crowns the prow of the ship, and this happened, as I say, the day before Socrates' trial. That is why Socrates was in prison a long time between his trial and his execution.
Translated by G.M.A. Grube.
- Legend says that Minos, king of Crete, compelled the Athenians to send seven youths and seven maidens every year to be sacrificed to the Minotaur until Theseus saved them and killed the monster.
ECHECRATES: Was there anyone else? PHAEDO: I think these were about all. ECHECRATES: Well then, what do you say the conversation was about? PHAEDO: I will try to tell you everything from the beginning. On the d previous days also both the others and I used to visit Socrates. We foregath- ered at daybreak at the court where the trial took place, for it was close to the prison, and each day we used to wait around talking until the prison should open, for it did not open early. When it opened we used to go in to Socrates and spend most of the day with him. On this day we gathered e rather early, because when we left the prison on the previous evening we were informed that the ship from Delos had arrived, and so we told each other to come to the usual place as early as possible. When we arrived the gatekeeper who used to answer our knock came out and told us to wait and not go in until he told us to. "The Eleven/'^3 he said, "are freeing Socrates from his bonds and telling him how his death will take place 60 today." After a short time he came and told us to go in. We found Socrates recently released from his chains, and Xanthippe—you know her—sitting by him, holding their baby. When she saw us, she cried out and said the sort of thing that women usually say: "Socrates, this is the last time your friends will talk to you and you to them." Socrates looked at Crito. "Crito," he said, "let someone take her home." And some of Crito's people led her b away lamenting and beating her breast. Socrates sat up on the bed, bent his leg and rubbed it with his hand, and as he rubbed he said: "What a strange thing that which men call pleasure seems to be, and how astonishing the relation it has with what is thought to be its opposite, namely pain! A man cannot have both at the same time. Yet if he pursues and catches the one, he is almost always bound to catch the other also, like two creatures with one head. I think c that if Aesop had noted this he would have composed a fable that a god wished to reconcile their opposition but could not do so, so he joined their two heads together, and therefore when a man has the one, the other follows later. This seems to be happening to me. My bonds caused pain in my leg, and now pleasure seems to be following." Cebes intervened and said: "By Zeus, yes, Socrates, you did well to remind me. Evenus^4 asked me the day before yesterday, as others had d done before, what induced you to write poetry after you came to prison, you who had never composed any poetry before, putting the fables of Aesop into verse and composing the hymn to Apollo. If it is of any concern to you that I should have an answer to give to Evenus when he repeats his question, as I know he will, tell me what to say to him." Tell him the truth, Cebes, he said, that 1 did not do this with the idea of rivaling him or his poems, for I knew that would not be easy, but I
- The Eleven were the police commissioners of Athens.
- Socrates refers to Evenus as a Sophist and teacher of the young in Apology 20a, c.
tried to find out the meaning of certain dreams and to satisfy my conscience e in case it was this kind of art they were frequently bidding me to practice. The dreams were something like this: the same dream often came to me in the past, now in one shape now in another, but saying the same thing: "Socrates," it said, "practice and cultivate the arts." In the past I imagined that it was instructing and advising me to do what 1 was doing, such as those who encourage runners in a race, that the dream was thus bidding 61 me do the very thing I was doing, namely, to practice the art of philosophy, this being the highest kind of art, and I was doing that. But now, after my trial took place, and the festival of the god was preventing my execution, 1 thought that, in case my dream was bidding me to practice this popular art, I should not disobey it but compose poetry. I thought it safer not to leave here until 1 had satisfied my conscience by b writing poems in obedience to the dream. So I first wrote in honor of the god of the present festival. After that I realized that a poet, if he is to be a poet, must compose fables, not arguments. Being no teller of fables myself, I took the stories 1 knew and had at hand, the fables of Aesop, and I versified the first ones 1 came across. Tell this to Evenus, Cebes, wish him well and bid him farewell, and tell him, if he is wise, to follow me as soon as possible. 1 am leaving today, it seems, as the Athenians so order it. c Said Simmias: "What kind of advice is this you,are giving to Evenus, Socrates? I have met him many times, and from my observation he is not at all likely to follow it willingly." How so, said he, is Evenus not a philosopher? I think so, Simmias said. Then Evenus will be willing, like every man who partakes worthily of philosophy. Yet perhaps he will not take his own life, for that, they say, is not right. As he said this, Socrates put his feet on the ground and d remained in this position during the rest of the conversation. Then Cebes asked: "How do you mean Socrates, that it is not right to do oneself violence, and yet that the philosopher will be willing to follow one who is dying?" Come now, Cebes, have you and Simmias, who keep company with Philolaus,^5 not heard about such things? Nothing definite, Socrates. Indeed, I too speak about this from hearsay, but T do not mind telling you what I have heard, for it is perhaps most appropriate for one who is about to depart yonder to tell and examine tales about what we believe e that journey to be like. What else could one do in the time we have until sunset? But whatever is the reason, Socrates, for people to say that it is not right to kill oneself? As to your question just now, I have heard Philolaus say this when staying in Thebes and I have also heard it from others, but I have never heard anyone give a clear account of the matter.
- See Introductory Note.
You are both justified in what you say, and I think you mean that I b must make a defense against this, as if I were in court. You certainly must, said Simmias. Come then, he said, let me try to make my defense to you more convinc- ing than it was to the jury. For, Simmias and Cebes, I should be wrong not to resent dying if I did not believe that I should go first to other wise and good gods, and then to men who have died and are better than men are here. Be assured that, as it is, I expect to join the company of good c men. This last I would not altogether insist on, but if I insist on anything at all in these matters, it is that I shall come to gods who are very good masters. That is why I am not so resentful, because I have good hope that some future awaits men after death, as we have been told for years, a much better future for the good than for the wicked. Well now, Socrates, said Simmias, do you intend to keep this belief to yourself as you leave us, or would you share it with us? I certainly think d it would be a blessing for us too, and at the same time it would be your defense if you convince us of what you say. I will try, he said, but first let us see what it is that Crito here has, I think, been wanting to say for quite a while. What else, Socrates, said Crito, but what the man who is to give you the poison has been telling me for some time, that I should warn you to talk as little as possible. People get heated when they talk, he says, and one should not be heated when taking the poison, as those who do must e sometimes drink it two or three times. Socrates replied: "Take no notice of him; only let him be prepared to administer it twice or, if necessary, three times." I was rather sure you would say that, Crito said, but he has been bother- ing me for some time. Let him be, he said. I want to make my argument before you, my judges, as to why I think that a man who has truly spent his life in philosophy is probably right to be of good cheer in the face of death and to be very hopeful that after death he will attain the greatest blessings yonder. I will 64 try to tell you, Simmias and Cebes, how this may be so. I am afraid that other people do not realize that the one aim of those who practice philosophy in the proper manner is to practice for dying and death. Now if this is true, it would be strange indeed if they were eager for this all their lives and then resent it when what they have wanted and practiced for a long time comes upon them. Simmias laughed and said: "By Zeus, Socrates, you made me laugh, though I was in no laughing mood just now. I think that the majority, on b hearing this, will think that it describes the philosophers very well, and our people in Thebes would thoroughly agree that philosophers are nearly dead and that the majority of men is well aware that they deserve to be. And they would be telling the truth, Simmias, except for their being aware. They are not aware of the way true philosophers are nearly dead,
c nor of the way they deserve to be, nor of the sort of death they deserve. But nevjer mind them, he said, let us talk among ourselves. Do we believe that there is such a thing as death? Certainly, said Simmias. Is it anything else than the separation of the soul from the body? Do we believe that death is this, namely, that the body comes to be separated by itself apart from the soul, and the soul comes to be separated by itself apart from the body? Is death anything else than that? No, that is what it is, he said. Consider then, my good sir, whether you share my opinion, for this will d lead us to a better knowledge of what we are investigating. Do you think it is the part of a philosopher to be concerned with such so-called pleasures as those of food and drink? By no means. What about the pleasures of sex? Not at all. What of the other pleasures concerned with the service of the body? Do you think such a man prizes them greatly, the acquisition of distinguished clothes and shoes and the other bodily ornaments? Do you think he values e these or despises them, except in so far as one cannot do without them? I think the true philosopher despises them. Do you not think, he said, that in general such a man's concern is not with the body but that, as far as he can, he turns away from the body towards the soul? I do. 65 So in the first place, such things show clearly that the philosopher more than other men frees the soul from association with the body as much as possible? Apparently. A man who finds no pleasure in such things and has no part in them is thought by the majority not to deserve to live and to be close to death; the man, that is, who does not care for the pleasures of the body. What you say is certainly true. Then what about the actual acquiring of knowledge? Is the body an obstacle when one associates with it in the search for knowledge? I mean, b for example, do men find any truth in sight or hearing, or are not even the poets forever telling us that we do not see or hear anything accurately, and surely if those two physical senses are not clear or precise, our other senses can hardly be accurate, as they are all inferior to these. Do you not think so? I certainly do, he said. When then, he asked, does the soul grasp the truth? For whenever it attempts to examine anything with the body, it is clearly deceived by it. c True. Is it not in reasoning if anywhere that any reality becomes clear to the soul?
Worst of all, if we do get some respite from it and turn to some investigation, everywhere in our investigations the body is present and makes for confu- sion and fear, so that it prevents us from seeing the truth. "It really has been shown to us that, if we are ever to have pure knowl- e edge, we must escape from the body and observe things in themselves with the soul by itself. It seems likely that we shall, only then, when we are dead, attain that which we desire and of which we claim to be lovers, namely, wisdom, as our argument shows, not while we live; for if it is impossible to attain any pure knowledge with the body, then one of two things is true: either we can never attain knowledge or we can do so after 67 death. Then and not before, the soul is by itself apart from the body. While we live, we shall be closest to knowledge if we refrain as much as possible from association with the body and do not join with it more than we must, if we are not infected with its nature but purify ourselves from it until the god himself frees us. In this way we shall escape the contamination of the body's folly; we shall be likely to be in the company of people of the same kind, and by our own efforts we shall know all that is pure, which is b presumably the truth, for it is not permitted to the impure to attain the pure." Such are the things, Simmias, that all those who love learning in the proper manner must say to one another and believe. Or do you not think so? I certainly do, Socrates. And if this is true, my friend, said Socrates, there is good hope that on arriving where I am going, if anywhere, I shall acquire what has been our c chief preoccupation in our past life, so that the journey that is now ordered for me is full of good hope, as it is also for any other man who believes that his mind has been prepared and, as it were, purified. It certainly is, said Simmias. And does purification not turn out to be what we mentioned in our argument some time ago, namely, to separate the soul as far as possible from the body and accustom it to gather itself and collect itself out of d every part of the body and to dwell by itself as far as it can both now and in the future, freed, as it were, from the bonds of the body? Certainly, he said. And that freedom and separation of the soul from the body is called death? That is altogether so. It is only those who practice philosophy in the right way, we say, who always most want to free the soul; and this release and separation of the soul from the body is the preoccupation of the philosophers? So it appears. Therefore, as I said at the beginning, it would be ridiculous for a man to train himself in life to live in a state as close to death as possible, and e then to resent it when it comes? Ridiculous, of course.
Plwedo 59
In fact/ Simmias, he said, those who practice philosophy in the right way are in training for dying and they fear death least of all men. Consider it from this point of view: if they are altogether estranged from the body and desire to have their soul by itself, would it not be quite absurd for them to be afraid and resentful when this happens? If they did not gladly set out for a place, where, on arrival, they may hope to attain that for which they had yearned during their lifetime, that is, wisdom, and where 68 they would be rid of the presence of that from which they are estranged? Many men, at the death of their lovers, wives or sons, were willing to go to the underworld, driven by the hope of seeing there those for whose company they longed, and being with them. Will then a true lover of wisdom, who has a similar hope and knows that he will never find it to any extent except in Hades, be resentful of dying and not gladly undertake the journey thither? One must surely think so, my friend, if he is a true philosopher, for he is firmly convinced that he will not find pure knowledge b anywhere except there. And if this is so, then, as I said just now, would it not be highly unreasonable for such a man to fear death? It certainly would, by Zeus, he said. Then you have sufficient indication, he said, that any man whom you see resenting death was not a lover of wisdom but a lover of the body, c and also a lover of wealth or of honors, either or both. It is certainly as you say. And, Simmias, he said, does not what is called courage belong especially to men of this disposition? Most certainly. And the quality of moderation which even the majority call by that name, that is, not to get swept off one's feet by one's passions, but to treat them with disdain and orderliness, is this not suited only to those who d most of all despise the body and live the life of philosophy? Necessarily so, he said. If you are willing to reflect on the courage and moderation of other people, you will find them strange. In what way, Socrates? You know that they all consider death a great evil? Definitely, he said. And the brave among them face death, when they do, for fear of greater evils? That is so. Therefore, it is fear and terror that make all men brave, except the philosophers. Yet it is illogical to be brave through fear and cowardice. It certainly is. e What of the moderate among them? Is their experience not similar? Is it license of a kind that makes them moderate? We say this is impossible, yet their experience of this unsophisticated moderation turns out to be similar: they fear to be deprived of other pleasures which they desire, so
believe that the soul still exists after a man has died and that it still possesses some capability and intelligence. What you say is true, Cebes, Socrates said, but what shall we do? Do you want to discuss whether this is likely to be true or not? Personally, said Cebes, I should like to hear your opinion on the subject. I do not think, said Socrates, that anyone who heard me now, not even a comic poet, could say that 1 am babbling and discussing things that do c not concern me, so we must examine the question thoroughly, if you think we should do so. Let us examine it in some such a manner as this: whether the souls of men who have died exist in the underworld or not. We recall an ancient theory that souls arriving there come from here, and then again that they arrive here and are born here from the dead. If that is true, that the living come back from the dead, then surely our souls must exist there, for they could not come back if they did not exist, and this is a sufficient d proof that these things are so if it truly appears that the living never come from any other source than from the dead, if this is not the case we should need another argument. Quite so, said Cebes. Do not, he said, confine yourself to humanity if you want to understand this more readily, but take all animals and all plants into account, and, in short, for all things which come to be, let us see whether they come to be e in this way, that is, from their opposites if they have such, as the beautiful is the opposite of the ugly and the just of the unjust, and a thousand other things of the kind. Let us examine whether those that have an opposite must necessarily come to be from their opposite and from nowhere else, as for example when something comes to be larger it must necessarily become larger from having been smaller before. Yes. Then if something smaller comes to be, it will come from something larger before, which became smaller? 71 That is so, he said. And the weaker comes to be from the stronger, and the swifter from the slower? Certainly, Further, if something worse comes to be, does it not come from the better, and the juster from the more unjust? Of course. So we have sufficiently established that all things come to be in this way, opposites from opposites? Certainly. There is a further point, something such as this, about these opposites: between each of those pairs of opposites there are two processes: from the b one to the other and then again from the other to the first; between the larger and the smaller there is increase and decrease, and we call the one increasing and the other decreasing? Yes, he said.
And so too there is separation and combination, cooling and heating, and all such things, even if sometimes we do not have a name for the process, but in fact it must be everywhere that they come to be from one another, and that there is a process of becoming from each into the other? Assuredly, he said. c Well then, is there an opposite to living, as sleeping is the opposite of being awake? Quite so, he said. What is it? Being dead, he said. Therefore, if these are opposites, they come to be from one another, and there are two processes of generation between the two? Of course. I will tell you, said Socrates, one of the two pairs I was just talking about, the pair itself and the two processes, and you will tell me the other. d I mean, to sleep and to be awake; to be awake comes from sleeping, and to sleep comes from being awake. Of the two processes one is going to sleep, the other is waking up. Do you accept that, or not? Certainly. You tell me in the same way about life and death. Do you not say that to be dead is the opposite of being alive? I do. And they come to be from one another? Yes. What comes to be from being alive? Being dead. And what comes to be from being dead? One must agree that it is being alive. Then, Cebes, living creatures and things come to be from the dead? e So it appears, he said. Then our souls exist in the underworld. That seems likely. Then in this case one of the two processes of becoming is clear, for dying is clear enough, is it not? It certainly is. What shall we do then? Shall we not supply the opposite process of becoming? Is nature to be lame in this case? Or must we provide a process of becoming opposite to dying? We surely must. And what is that? Coming to life again. 72 Therefore, he said, if there is such a thing as coming to life again, it would be a process of coming from the dead to the living? Quite so. It is agreed between us then that the living come from the dead in this way no less than the dead from the living and, if that is so, it seems to be
a diagram or something else of that kind, this will show most clearly that such is the case.^9 If this does not convince you, Simmias, said Socrates, see whether you agree if we examine it in some such way as this, for do you doubt that what we call learning is recollection? It is not that I doubt, said Simmias, but I want to experience the very thing we are discussing, recollection, and from what Cebes undertook to say, I am now remembering and am pretty nearly convinced. Nevertheless, I should like to hear now the way you were intending to explain it. c This way, he said. We surely agree that if anyone recollects anything, he must have known it before. Quite so, he said. Do we not also agree that when knowledge comes to mind in this way, it is recollection? What way do I mean? Like this: when a man sees or hears or in some other way perceives one thing and not only knows that thing but also thinks of another thing of which the knowledge is not the same but different, are we not right to say that he recollects the second thing that comes into his mind? d How do you mean? Things such as this: to know a man is surely a different knowledge from knowing a lyre. Of course. Well, you know what happens to lovers: whenever they see a lyre, a garment or anything else that their beloved is accustomed to use, they know the lyre, and the image of the boy to whom it belongs comes into their mind. This is recollection, just as someone, on seeing Simmias, often recollects Cebes, and there are thousands of other such occurrences. Thousands indeed, said Simmias. Is this kind of thing not recollection of a kind? he said, especially so e when one experiences it about things that one had forgotten, because one had not seen them for some time?—Quite so. Further, he said, can a man seeing the picture of a horse or a lyre recollect a man, or seeing a picture of Simmias recollect Cebes?—Certainly. Or seeing a picture of Simmias, recollect Simmias himself?—He cer- tainly can. 74 In all these cases the recollection can be occasioned by things that are similar, but it can also be occasioned by things that are dissimilar?—Jt can. When the recollection is caused by similar things, must one not of necessity also experience this: to consider whether the similarity to that which one recollects is deficient in any respect or complete?—One must. Consider, he said, whether this is the case: we say that there is something that is equal. I do not mean a stick equal to a stick or a stone to a stone,
- Cf. Meno 81e ff., where Socrates does precisely that.
or anything of that kind, but something else beyond all these, the Equal itself. Shall we say that this exists or not? Indeed we shall, by Zeus, said Simmias, most definitely. b And do we know what this is?—Certainly. Whence have we acquired the knowledge of it? Is it not from the things we mentioned just now, from seeing sticks or stones or some other things that are equal we come to think of that other which is different from them? Or doesn't it seem to you to be different? Look at it also this way: do not equal stones and sticks sometimes, while remaining the same, appear to one to be equal and to another to be unequal?—Certainly they do. But what of the equals themselves? Have they ever appeared unequal c to you, or Equality to be Inequality? Never, Socrates. These equal things and the Equal itself are therefore not the same? I do not think they are the same at all, Socrates. But it is definitely from the equal things, though they are different from that Equal, that you have derived and grasped the knowledge of equality? Very true, Socrates. Whether it be like them or unlike them? Certainly. It makes no difference. As long as the sight of one thing makes you think of another, whether it be similar or dissimilar, this must of necessity be recollection? d Quite so. Well then, he said, do we experience something like this in the case of equal sticks and the other equal objects we just mentioned? Do they seem to us to be equal in the same sense as what is Equal itself? Is there some deficiency in their being such as the Equal, or is there not? A considerable deficiency, he said. Whenever someone, on seeing something, realizes that that which he now sees wants to be like some other reality but falls short and cannot be e like that other since it is inferior, do we agree that the one who thinks this must have prior knowledge of that to which he says it is like, but deficiently so? Necessarily. Well, do we also experience this about the equal objects and the Equal itself, or do we not? Very definitely. We must then possess knowledge of the Equal before that time when we first saw the equal objects and realized that all these objects strive to 75 be like the Equal but are deficient in this. That is so. Then surely we also agree that this conception of ours derives from seeing or touching or some other sense perception, and cannot come into our mind in any other way, for all these senses, I say, are the same.
I have no means of choosing at the moment, Socrates. Well, can you make this choice? What is your opinion about it? A man who has knowledge would be able to give an account of what he knows, or would he not? He must certainly be able to do so, Socrates, he said. And do you think everybody can give an account of the things we were mentioning just now? I wish they could, said Simmias, but I'm afraid it is much more likely that by this time tomorrow there will be no one left who can do so adequately. So you do not think that everybody has knowledge of those things? c No indeed. So they recollect what they once learned? They must. When did our souls acquire the knowledge of them? Certainly not since we were born as men. Indeed no. Before that then? Yes. So then, Simmias, our souls also existed apart from the body before they took on human form, and they had intelligence. Unless we acquire the knowledge at the moment of birth, Socrates, for that time is still left to us. Quite so, my friend, but at what other time do we lose it? We just now d agreed that we are not born with that knowledge. Do we then lose it at the very time we acquire it, or can you mention any other time? I cannot, Socrates. I did not realize that I was talking nonsense. So this is our position, Simmias? he said. If those realities we are always talking about exist, the Beautiful and the Good and all that kind of reality, and we refer all the things we perceive to that reality, discovering that it existed before and is ours, and we compare these things with it, then, just e as they exist, so our soul must exist before we are born. If these realities do not exist, then this argument is altogether futile. Is this the position, that there is an equal necessity for those realities to exist, and for our souls to exist before we were born? If the former do not exist, neither do the latter? I do not think, Socrates, said Simmias, that there is any possible doubt that it is equally necessary for both to exist, and it is opportune that our argument comes to the conclusion that our soul exists before we are born, 77 and equally so that reality of which you are now speaking. Nothing is so evident to me personally as that all such things must certainly exist, the Beautiful, the Good, and all those you mentioned just now. I also think that sufficient proof of this has been given. Then what about Cebes? said Socrates, for we must persuade Cebes also. He is sufficiently convinced I think, said Simmias, though he is the most difficult of men to persuade by argument, but 1 believe him to be fully convinced that our soul existed before we were born. I do not think myself, b however, that it has been proved that the soul continues to exist after
death; the opinion of the majority which Cebes mentioned still stands, that when a man dies his soul is dispersed and this is the end of its existence. What is to prevent the soul coming to be and being constituted from some other source, existing before it enters a human body and then, having done so and departed from it, itself dying and being destroyed? c You are right, Simmias, said Cebes. Half of what needed proof has been proved, namely, that our soul existed before we were born, but further proof is needed that it exists no less after we have died, if the proof is to be complete. It has been proved even now, Simmias and Cebes, said Socrates, if you are ready to combine this argument with the one we agreed on before, that every living thing must come from the dead. If the soul exists before, d it must, as it comes to life and birth, come from nowhere else than death and being dead, so how could it avoid existing after death since it must be born again? What you speak of has then even now been proved. However, I think you and Simmias would like to discuss the argument more fully. You seem to have this childish fear that the wind would really dissolve e and scatter the soul, as it leaves the body, especially if one happens to die in a high wind and not in calm weather. Cebes laughed and said: Assuming that we were afraid, Socrates, try to change our minds, or rather do not assume that we are afraid, but perhaps there is a child in us who has these fears; try to persuade him not to fear death like a bogey. You should, said Socrates, sing a charm over him every day until you have charmed away his fears. 78 Where shall we find a good charmer for these fears, Socrates, he said, now that you are leaving us? Greece is a large country, Cebes, he said, and there are good men in it; the tribes of foreigners are also numerous. You should search for such a charmer among them all, sparing neither trouble nor expense, for there is nothing on which you could spend your money to greater advantage. You must also search among yourselves, for you might not easily find people who could do this better than yourselves. b That shall be done, said Cebes, but let us, if it pleases you, go back to the argument where we left it. Of course it pleases me. Splendid, he said. We must then ask ourselves something like this: what kind of thing is likely to be scattered? On behalf of what kind of thing should one fear this, and for what kind of thing should one not fear it? We should then examine to which class the soul belongs, and as a result either fear for the soul or be of good cheer. What you say is true. c Is not anything that is composite and a compound by nature liable to be split up into its component parts, and only that which is noncomposite, if anything, is not likely to be split up?
