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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 connection 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's having put some of Æsop's fables into metre since his imprisonment, and he asks, for the satisfaction of the poet Evenus, what has 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 showing 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 show 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 begins12 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 can not 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 has 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 Cebes13 says that he agrees with all else that had been said, but can not 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 anywhere. Socrates, therefore, proposes to inquire into the probability of the case, a fit employment for him under his present circumstances.
His first argument14 is drawn from the ancient belief prevalent among 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 versa. To explain this more clearly, he proceeds to show 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.
Cebes15 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, Socrates16 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 Cebes17 both agree in admitting that Socrates has proved the pre-existence of the soul, but insist that he has not shown 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 Cebes19 are unconvinced. The former objects that the soul, according to Socrates's own showing, 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 proceeds20 to show, in a moment, the fallacy of Simmias's 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 can not he 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 all things, 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 endeavoring to find out the reasons of things. He therefore assumed that there are 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, Socrates22 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 can not 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, can not co-exist; for instance, the number three has no contrary, yet it contains within itself the idea of odd, which is the contrary of 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's reasoning, can not help still entertaining doubts on the subject. If, however, the soul is immortal, Socrates proceeds,23 great need is there in this life to endeavor 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 then24 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 endeavor 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 showing 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 color or countenance at all, but, as he was wont, looking steadfastly 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 lay down on his back; and his body, from the feet upward, 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."
