opposites exclude one another, but also concrete things, which, although
not in themselves opposed, contain opposites; these, I say, also reject
the idea which is opposed to that which is contained in them, and at the
advance of that they either perish or withdraw. There is the number
three for example; will not that endure annihilation or anything sooner
than be converted into an even number, remaining three?
Very true, said Cebes.
And yet, he said, the number two is certainly not opposed to the number
three?
It is not.
Then not only do opposite ideas repel the advance of one another, but
also there are other things which repel the approach of opposites.
That is quite true, he said.
Suppose, he said, that we endeavor, if possible, to determine what these
are.
By all means.
Are they not, Cebes, such as compel the things of which they have
possession, not only to take their own form, but also the form of some
opposite?
What do you mean?
I mean, as I was just now saying, and have no need to repeat to you,
that those things which are possessed by the number three must not only
be three in number, but must also be odd.
Quite true.
And on this oddness, of which the number three has the impress, the
opposite idea will never intrude?
No.
And this impress was given by the odd principle?
Yes.
And to the odd is opposed the even?
True.
Then the idea of the even number will never arrive at three?
No.
Then three has no part in the even?
None.
Then the triad or number three is uneven?
Very true.
To return then to my distinction of natures which are not opposites, and
yet do not admit opposites: as, in this instance, three, although not
opposed to the even, does not any the more admit of the even, but always
brings the opposite into play on the other side; or as two does not
receive the odd, or fire the cold -- from these examples (and there are
many more of them) perhaps you may be able to arrive at the general
conclusion that not only opposites will not receive opposites, but also
that nothing which brings the opposite will admit the opposite of that
which it brings in that to which it is brought. And here let me
recapitulate -- for there is no harm in repetition. The number five will
not admit the nature of the even, any more than ten, which is the double
of five, will admit the nature of the odd -- the double, though not
strictly opposed to the odd, rejects the odd altogether. Nor again will
parts in the ratio of 3:2, nor any fraction in which there is a half,
nor again in which there is a third, admit the notion of the whole,
although they are not opposed to the whole. You will agree to that?
Yes, he said, I entirely agree and go along with you in that.
And now, he said, I think that I may begin again; and to the question
which I am about to ask I will beg you to give not the old safe answer,
but another, of which I will offer you an example; and I hope that you
will find in what has been just said another foundation which is as
safe. I mean that if anyone asks you "what that is, the inherence of
which makes the body hot," you will reply not heat (this is what I call
the safe and stupid answer), but fire, a far better answer, which we are
now in a condition to give. Or if anyone asks you "why a body is
diseased," you will not say from disease, but from fever; and instead of
saying that oddness is the cause of odd numbers, you will say that the
monad is the cause of them: and so of things in general, as I dare say
that you will understand sufficiently without my adducing any further
examples.
Yes, he said, I quite understand you.
Tell me, then, what is that the inherence of which will render the body
alive?
The soul, he replied.
And is this always the case?
Yes, he said, of course.
Then whatever the soul possesses, to that she comes bearing life?
Yes, certainly.
And is there any opposite to life?
There is, he said.
And what is that?
Death.
Then the soul, as has been acknowledged, will never receive the opposite
of what she brings. And now, he said, what did we call that principle
which repels the even?
The odd.
And that principle which repels the musical, or the just?
The unmusical, he said, and the unjust.
And what do we call the principle which does not admit of death?
The immortal, he said.
And does the soul admit of death?
No.
Then the soul is immortal?
Yes, he said.
And may we say that this is proven?
Yes, abundantly proven, Socrates, he replied.
And supposing that the odd were imperishable, must not three be
imperishable?
Of course.
And if that which is cold were imperishable, when the warm principle
came attacking the snow, must not the snow have retired whole and
unmelted -- for it could never have perished, nor could it have remained
and admitted the heat?
True, he said.
Again, if the uncooling or warm principle were imperishable, the fire
when assailed by cold would not have perished or have been extinguished,
but would have gone away unaffected?
Certainly, he said.
And the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also
imperishable, the soul when attacked by death cannot perish; for the
preceding argument shows that the soul will not admit of death, or ever
be dead, any more than three or the odd number will admit of the even,
or fire or the heat in the fire, of the cold. Yet a person may say: "But
although the odd will not become even at the approach of the even, why
may not the odd perish and the even take the place of the odd?" Now to
him who makes this objection, we cannot answer that the odd principle is
imperishable; for this has not been acknowledged, but if this had been
acknowledged, there would have been no difficulty in contending that at
the approach of the even the odd principle and the number three took up
their departure; and the same argument would have held good of fire and
heat and any other thing.
Very true.
And the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also
imperishable, then the soul will be imperishable as well as immortal;
but if not, some other proof of her imperishableness will have to be
given.
No other proof is needed, he said; for if the immortal, being eternal,
is liable to perish, then nothing is imperishable.
Yes, replied Socrates, all men will agree that God, and the essential
form of life, and the immortal in general, will never perish.
Yes, all men, he said -- that is true; and what is more, gods, if I am
not mistaken, as well as men.
Seeing then that the immortal is indestructible, must not the soul, if
she is immortal, be also imperishable?
Most certainly.
Then when death attacks a man, the mortal portion of him may be supposed
to die, but the immortal goes out of the way of death and is preserved
safe and sound?
True.
Then, Cebes, beyond question the soul is immortal and imperishable, and
our souls will truly exist in another world!
I am convinced, Socrates, said Cebes, and have nothing more to object;
but if my friend Simmias, or anyone else, has any further objection, he
had better speak out, and not keep silence, since I do not know how
there can ever be a more fitting time to which he can defer the
discussion, if there is anything which he wants to say or have said.
But I have nothing more to say, replied Simmias; nor do I see any room
for uncertainty, except that which arises necessarily out of the
greatness of the subject and the feebleness of man, and which I cannot
help feeling.
Yes, Simmias, replied Socrates, that is well said: and more than that,
first principles, even if they appear certain, should be carefully
considered; and when they are satisfactorily ascertained, then, with a
sort of hesitating confidence in human reason, you may, I think, follow
the course of the argument; and if this is clear, there will be no need
for any further inquiry.
That, he said, is true.
But then, O my friends, he said, if the soul is really immortal, what
care should be taken of her, not only in respect of the portion of time
which is called life, but of eternity! And the danger of neglecting her
from this point of view does indeed appear to be awful. If death had
only been the end of all, the wicked would have had a good bargain in
dying, for they would have been happily quit not only of their body, but
of their own evil together with their souls. But now, as the soul
plainly appears to be immortal, there is no release or salvation from
evil except the attainment of the highest virtue and wisdom. For the
soul when on her progress to the world below takes nothing with her but
nurture and education; which are indeed said greatly to benefit or
greatly to injure the departed, at the very beginning of its pilgrimage
in the other world.
For after death, as they say, the genius of each individual, to whom he
belonged in life, leads him to a certain place in which the dead are
gathered together for judgment, whence they go into the world below,
following the guide who is appointed to conduct them from this world to
the other: and when they have there received their due and remained
their time, another guide brings them back again after many revolutions
of ages. Now this journey to the other world is not, as Aeschylus says
in the "Telephus," a single and straight path -- no guide would be
wanted for that, and no one could miss a single path; but there are many
partings of the road, and windings, as I must infer from the rites and
sacrifices which are offered to the gods below in places where three
ways meet on earth. The wise and orderly soul is conscious of her
situation and follows in the path; but the soul which desires the body,
and which, as I was relating before, has long been fluttering about the
lifeless frame and the world of sight, is after many struggles and many
sufferings hardly and with violence carried away by her attendant
genius, and when she arrives at the place where the other souls are
gathered, if she be impure and have done impure deeds, or been concerned
in foul murders or other crimes which are the brothers of these, and the
works of brothers in crime -- from that soul everyone flees and turns
away; no one will be her companion, no one her guide, but alone she
wanders in extremity of evil until certain times are fulfilled, and when
they are fulfilled, she is borne irresistibly to her own fitting
habitation; as every pure and just soul which has passed through life in
the company and under the guidance of the gods has also her own proper
home.
Now the earth has divers wonderful regions, and is indeed in nature and
extent very unlike the notions of geographers, as I believe on the
authority of one who shall be nameless.
What do you mean, Socrates? said Simmias. I have myself heard many
descriptions of the earth, but I do not know in what you are putting
your faith, and I should like to know.
Well, Simmias, replied Socrates, the recital of a tale does not, I
think, require the art of Glaucus; and I know not that the art of
Glaucus could prove the truth of my tale, which I myself should never be
able to prove, and even if I could, I fear, Simmias, that my life would
come to an end before the argument was completed. I may describe to you,
however, the form and regions of the earth according to my conception of
them.
That, said Simmias, will be enough.
Well, then, he said, my conviction is that the earth is a round body in
the center of the heavens, and therefore has no need of air or any
similar force as a support, but is kept there and hindered from falling
or inclining any way by the equability of the surrounding heaven and by
her own equipoise. For that which, being in equipoise, is in the center
of that which is equably diffused, will not incline any way in any
degree, but will always remain in the same state and not deviate. And
this is my first notion.
Which is surely a correct one, said Simmias.
Also I believe that the earth is very vast, and that we who dwell in the
region extending from the river Phasis to the Pillars of Heracles, along
the borders of the sea, are just like ants or frogs about a marsh, and
inhabit a small portion only, and that many others dwell in many like
places. For I should say that in all parts of the earth there are
hollows of various forms and sizes, into which the water and the mist
and the air collect; and that the true earth is pure and in the pure
heaven, in which also are the stars -- that is the heaven which is
commonly spoken of as the ether, of which this is but the sediment
collecting in the hollows of the earth. But we who live in these hollows
are deceived into the notion that we are dwelling above on the surface
of the earth; which is just as if a creature who was at the bottom of
the sea were to fancy that he was on the surface of the water, and that
the sea was the heaven through which he saw the sun and the other stars
-- he having never come to the surface by reason of his feebleness and
sluggishness, and having never lifted up his head and seen, nor ever
heard from one who had seen, this region which is so much purer and
fairer than his own. Now this is exactly our case: for we are dwelling
in a hollow of the earth, and fancy that we are on the surface; and the
air we call the heaven, and in this we imagine that the stars move. But
this is also owing to our feebleness and sluggishness, which prevent our
reaching the surface of the air: for if any man could arrive at the
exterior limit, or take the wings of a bird and fly upward, like a fish
who puts his head out and sees this world, he would see a world beyond;
and, if the nature of man could sustain the sight, he would acknowledge
that this was the place of the true heaven and the true light and the
true stars. For this earth, and the stones, and the entire region which
surrounds us, are spoilt and corroded, like the things in the sea which
are corroded by the brine; for in the sea too there is hardly any noble
or perfect growth, but clefts only, and sand, and an endless slough of
