us, that will be an answer to the charge against yourself.
I will do my best, replied Socrates. But you must first let me hear what
Crito wants; he was going to say something to me.
Only this, Socrates, replied Crito: the attendant who is to give you the
poison has been telling me that you are not to talk much, and he wants
me to let you know this; for that by talking heat is increased, and this
interferes with the action of the poison; those who excite themselves
are sometimes obliged to drink the poison two or three times.
Then, said Socrates, let him mind his business and be prepared to give
the poison two or three times, if necessary; that is all.
I was almost certain that you would say that, replied Crito; but I was
obliged to satisfy him.
Never mind him, he said.
And now I will make answer to you, O my judges, and show that he who has
lived as a true philosopher has reason to be of good cheer when he is
about to die, and that after death he may hope to receive the greatest
good in the other world. And how this may be, Simmias and Cebes, I will
endeavor to explain. For I deem that the true disciple of philosophy is
likely to be misunderstood by other men; they do not perceive that he is
ever pursuing death and dying; and if this is true, why, having had the
desire of death all his life long, should he repine at the arrival of
that which he has been always pursuing and desiring?
Simmias laughed and said: Though not in a laughing humor, I swear that I
cannot help laughing when I think what the wicked world will say when
they hear this. They will say that this is very true, and our people at
home will agree with them in saying that the life which philosophers
desire is truly death, and that they have found them out to be deserving
of the death which they desire.
And they are right, Simmias, in saying this, with the exception of the
words "They have found them out"; for they have not found out what is
the nature of this death which the true philosopher desires, or how he
deserves or desires death. But let us leave them and have a word with
ourselves: Do we believe that there is such a thing as death?
To be sure, replied Simmias.
And is this anything but the separation of soul and body? And being dead
is the attainment of this separation; when the soul exists in herself,
and is parted from the body and the body is parted from the soul -- that
is death?
Exactly: that and nothing else, he replied.
And what do you say of another question, my friend, about which I should
like to have your opinion, and the answer to which will probably throw
light on our present inquiry: Do you think that the philosopher ought to
care about the pleasures -- if they are to be called pleasures -- of
eating and drinking?
Certainly not, answered Simmias.
And what do you say of the pleasures of love -- should he care about
them?
By no means.
And will he think much of the other ways of indulging the body -- for
example, the acquisition of costly raiment, or sandals, or other
adornments of the body? Instead of caring about them, does he not rather
despise anything more than nature needs? What do you say?
I should say the true philosopher would despise them.
Would you not say that he is entirely concerned with the soul and not
with the body? He would like, as far as he can, to be quit of the body
and turn to the soul.
That is true.
In matters of this sort philosophers, above all other men, may be
observed in every sort of way to dissever the soul from the body.
That is true.
Whereas, Simmias, the rest of the world are of opinion that a life which
has no bodily pleasures and no part in them is not worth having; but
that he who thinks nothing of bodily pleasures is almost as though he
were dead.
That is quite true.
What again shall we say of the actual acquirement of knowledge? -- is
the body, if invited to share in the inquiry, a hinderer or a helper? I
mean to say, have sight and hearing any truth in them? Are they not, as
the poets are always telling us, inaccurate witnesses? and yet, if even
they are inaccurate and indistinct, what is to be said of the other
senses? -- for you will allow that they are the best of them?
Certainly, he replied.
Then when does the soul attain truth? -- for in attempting to consider
anything in company with the body she is obviously deceived.
Yes, that is true.
Then must not existence be revealed to her in thought, if at all?
Yes.
And thought is best when the mind is gathered into herself and none of
these things trouble her -- neither sounds nor sights nor pain nor any
pleasure -- when she has as little as possible to do with the body, and
has no bodily sense or feeling, but is aspiring after being?
That is true.
And in this the philosopher dishonors the body; his soul runs away from
the body and desires to be alone and by herself?
That is true.
Well, but there is another thing, Simmias: Is there or is there not an
absolute justice?
Assuredly there is.
And an absolute beauty and absolute good?
Of course.
But did you ever behold any of them with your eyes?
Certainly not.
Or did you ever reach them with any other bodily sense? (and I speak not
of these alone, but of absolute greatness, and health, and strength, and
of the essence or true nature of everything). Has the reality of them
ever been perceived by you through the bodily organs? or rather, is not
the nearest approach to the knowledge of their several natures made by
him who so orders his intellectual vision as to have the most exact
conception of the essence of that which he considers?
Certainly.
And he attains to the knowledge of them in their highest purity who goes
to each of them with the mind alone, not allowing when in the act of
thought the intrusion or introduction of sight or any other sense in the
company of reason, but with the very light of the mind in her clearness
penetrates into the very fight of truth in each; he has got rid, as far
as he can, of eyes and ears and of the whole body, which he conceives of
only as a disturbing element, hindering the soul from the acquisition of
knowledge when in company with her -- is not this the sort of man who,
if ever man did, is likely to attain the knowledge of existence?
There is admirable truth in that, Socrates, replied Simmias.
And when they consider all this, must not true philosophers make a
reflection, of which they will speak to one another in such words as
these: We have found, they will say, a path of speculation which seems
to bring us and the argument to the conclusion that while we are in the
body, and while the soul is mingled with this mass of evil, our desire
will not be satisfied, and our desire is of the truth. For the body is a
source of endless trouble to us by reason of the mere requirement of
food; and also is liable to diseases which overtake and impede us in the
search after truth: and by filling us so full of loves, and lusts, and
fears, and fancies, and idols, and every sort of folly, prevents our
ever having, as people say, so much as a thought. For whence come wars,
and fightings, and factions? whence but from the body and the lusts of
the body? For wars are occasioned by the love of money, and money has to
be acquired for the sake and in the service of the body; and in
consequence of all these things the time which ought to be given to
philosophy is lost. Moreover, if there is time and an inclination toward
philosophy, yet the body introduces a turmoil and confusion and fear
into the course of speculation, and hinders us from seeing the truth:
and all experience shows that if we would have pure knowledge of
anything we must be quit of the body, and the soul in herself must
behold all things in themselves: then I suppose that we shall attain
that which we desire, and of which we say that we are lovers, and that
is wisdom, not while we live, but after death, as the argument shows;
for if while in company with the body the soul cannot have pure
knowledge, one of two things seems to follow -- either knowledge is not
to be attained at all, or, if at all, after death. For then, and not
till then, the soul will be in herself alone and without the body. In
this present life, I reckon that we make the nearest approach to
knowledge when we have the least possible concern or interest in the
body, and are not saturated with the bodily nature, but remain pure
until the hour when God himself is pleased to release us. And then the
foolishness of the body will be cleared away and we shall be pure and
hold converse with other pure souls, and know of ourselves the clear
light everywhere; and this is surely the light of truth. For no impure
thing is allowed to approach the pure. These are the sort of words,
Simmias, which the true lovers of wisdom cannot help saying to one
another, and thinking. You will agree with me in that?
Certainly, Socrates.
But if this is true, O my friend, then there is great hope that, going
whither I go, I shall there be satisfied with that which has been the
chief concern of you and me in our past lives. And now that the hour of
departure is appointed to me, this is the hope with which I depart, and
not I only, but every man who believes that he has his mind purified.
Certainly, replied Simmias.
And what is purification but the separation of the soul from the body,
as I was saying before; the habit of the soul gathering and collecting
herself into herself, out of all the courses of the body; the dwelling
in her own place alone, as in another life, so also in this, as far as
she can; the release of the soul from the chains of the body?
Very true, he said.
And what is that which is termed death, but this very separation and
release of the soul from the body?
To be sure, he said.
And the true philosophers, and they only, study and are eager to release
the soul. Is not the separation and release of the soul from the body
their especial study?
That is true.
And as I was saying at first, there would be a ridiculous contradiction
in men studying to live as nearly as they can in a state of death, and
yet repining when death comes.
Certainly.
Then, Simmias, as the true philosophers are ever studying death, to
them, of all men, death is the least terrible. Look at the matter in
this way: how inconsistent of them to have been always enemies of the
body, and wanting to have the soul alone, and when this is granted to
them, to be trembling and repining; instead of rejoicing at their
departing to that place where, when they arrive, they hope to gain that
which in life they loved (and this was wisdom), and at the same time to
be rid of the company of their enemy. Many a man has been willing to go
to the world below in the hope of seeing there an earthly love, or wife,
or son, and conversing with them. And will he who is a true lover of
wisdom, and is persuaded in like manner that only in the world below he
can worthily enjoy her, still repine at death? Will he not depart with
joy? Surely he will, my friend, if he be a true philosopher. For he will
have a firm conviction that there only, and nowhere else, he can find
wisdom in her purity. And if this be true, he would be very absurd, as I
was saying, if he were to fear death.
He would, indeed, replied Simmias.
And when you see a man who is repining at the approach of death, is not
his reluctance a sufficient proof that he is not a lover of wisdom, but
a lover of the body, and probably at the same time a lover of either
money or power, or both?
That is very true, he replied.
There is a virtue, Simmias, which is named courage. Is not that a
special attribute of the philosopher?
Certainly.
Again, there is temperance. Is not the calm, and control, and disdain of
the passions which even the many call temperance, a quality belonging
only to those who despise the body and live in philosophy?
That is not to be denied.
For the courage and temperance of other men, if you will consider them,
are really a contradiction.
How is that, Socrates?
Well, he said, you are aware that death is regarded by men in general as
a great evil.
That is true, he said.
And do not courageous men endure death because they are afraid of yet
greater evils?
That is true.
Then all but the philosophers are courageous only from fear, and because
they are afraid; and yet that a man should be courageous from fear, and
because he is a coward, is surely a strange thing.
Very true.
And are not the temperate exactly in the same case? They are temperate
because they are intemperate -- which may seem to be a contradiction,
but is nevertheless the sort of thing which happens with this foolish
temperance. For there are pleasures which they must have, and are afraid
of losing; and therefore they abstain from one class of pleasures
because they are overcome by another: and whereas intemperance is
defined as "being under the dominion of pleasure," they overcome only
because they are overcome by pleasure. And that is what I mean by saying
that they are temperate through intemperance.
That appears to be true.
Yet the exchange of one fear or pleasure or pain for another fear or
pleasure or pain, which are measured like coins, the greater with the
less, is not the exchange of virtue. O my dear Simmias, is there not one
true coin for which all things ought to exchange? -- and that is wisdom;
and only in exchange for this, and in company with this, is anything
truly bought or sold, whether courage or temperance or justice. And is
not all true virtue the companion of wisdom, no matter what fears or
pleasures or other similar goods or evils may or may not attend her? But
the virtue which is made up of these goods, when they are severed from
wisdom and exchanged with one another, is a shadow of virtue only, nor
is there any freedom or health or truth in her; but in the true exchange
there is a purging away of all these things, and temperance, and
justice, and courage, and wisdom herself are a purgation of them. And I
conceive that the founders of the mysteries had a real meaning and were
