PH^DOJN : 
 
 OR, 
 
 A DIALOGUE ON THE 
 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 BY 
 
 PLATO. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL GREEK BY MADAM DACIER. 
 
 NOTES AND EMENDATIONS. 
 
 TO WHICH IS PREFIXED 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, BY FENELON. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, TO WHICH IS ADDED THE OPINIONS OF ANCIENT, 
 
 INTERMEDIATE, AND MODERN PHILOSOPHERS AND DIVINES 
 
 ON THE SOUL'S IMMORTALITY. 
 
 Plato thnu reason's! well. 
 
 Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire. 
 
 This lousing- after immortality ? 
 
 Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror 
 
 Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul 
 
 Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
 
 'Tis the divinity thai stirs within us; 
 
 'Tis henven itself that p«ii.ts out au hereafter, 
 
 And intimates eternity to mau. Addison's Calo. 
 
 Dr. Roger Aschntn, on a visit to the family of the Marquis of Dorset, at his seat at 
 Broadg-tte, found on Ins arrival that Lady Jane Grey was a one, the rest of the family 
 berg engaged inn hit. ting party: to his gTeat surprise he found her readinr the Phanlon 
 ot I'Taio. She observed to liim that the sport which her friends were enjoying-, was hut a 
 shadow compared witij the pleasuie she received from this sublime author.— M ist Aikin. 
 
 NF.W-YORK : 
 
 WILLIAM GOWANS. 
 1849. 
 

 
 [Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1833, by William 
 Oowans, in the office of the United States for the Southern District of 
 New- York. J 
 
 Gift 
 W. L». Shoemaker 
 7 $ '06 
 
 NEW YORK ! 
 
 WILLIAM VAN NORUEN, PRINTER, 
 
 NO. 39 WILLIAM STRKKT. 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO THOSE WHO 
 
 THINK. 
 
THE 
 
 LIFE OF PLATO 
 
 Plato, the sublimity of whose doctrine has 
 procured him the appellation of the Divine, was 
 born in the eighty-eighth Olympiad. He was 
 descended from one of the most illustrious fami- 
 lies in Athens ; by his father, whose name was 
 Aristo, he was descended of Codrus ; and by his 
 mother, Perictione. of Solon. 
 
 As to himself, his name was at first Aristocles ; 
 but being tall and robust, and especially, as he 
 had a large forehead and broad shoulders, he 
 was afterwards named Plato, (a) by which he was 
 afterwards distinguished. 
 
 It is said, that, whilst yet in his cradle, bees 
 shed honey on his lips ; which was considered as 
 a presage of that astonishing eloquence, by which 
 he afterwards distinguished himself above all the 
 Greeks. 
 
6 LIFE OF PLATO. 
 
 During his youth, poetry was his favourite 
 study ; and he then composed two tragedies and 
 several elegies, all of which, when he resolved to 
 devote himself to philosophy, he threw into the 
 fire. 
 
 When his father presented him to Socrates to 
 form his mind, he was twenty years of age. The 
 night prior to this Socrates had a dream, in 
 which he seemed to have in his bosom a young 
 swan, which, when the feathers were come upon 
 it, displayed its wings ; and, singing with inex- 
 pressible sweetness, with intrepid flight raised it- 
 self to the highest regions of the air. That phi- 
 losopher did not doubt but it referred to Plato, to 
 whom he applied it ; considering it as a presage 
 of that unbounded fame which his pupil was 
 destined one day to enjoy. 
 
 He adhered inviolably to Socrates while the 
 latter lived ; but after his death he attached him- 
 self to Cratylus, who followed the opinions of 
 Heraclitus, and to Hermogenes, who entertained 
 those of Parmenides. (6) 
 
 At the age of twenty-eight, he, with the other 
 followers of Socrates, went to Megara, to study 
 under Euclid ;(c) he next went to Cyrene, where 
 he studied mathematics under Theodorus; from 
 
LIFE OF PLATO. 7 
 
 that place he passed into Italy, to hear the les- 
 sons of Philolaus, Archytas of Tarentum, and 
 Euritus, the three famous Pythagoreans of that 
 time. Not contented with all he could learn from 
 these great masters, he travelled into Egypt, to 
 receive the instructions of the doctors and priests 
 of that country ; and he had formed the design of 
 going to India also, but was prevented by the 
 wars by which Asia was at that time convulsed. 
 
 Upon his return to Athens (d) after all his tra- 
 vels, he settled in a quarter called the Academy, 
 an unwholesome place, which he purposely chose 
 as a necessary corrective to that overgrown state 
 of body, with good health, which he then possess- 
 ed. The remedy had the desired effect ; for he 
 there had a quartan ague, which lasted a year 
 and a half; but by temperance and proper regi- 
 men he managed so well that he recovered from 
 that fever, which confirmed his health and 
 strengthened his constitution. 
 
 On three different occasions he served as a 
 soldier : the first time at Tanagra, the second at 
 Corinth, and the third at Delos, in which last ex- 
 pedition his party was victorious. He was three 
 times in Sicily also; on the first occasion he was 
 induced by curiosity to visit that island, that he 
 
3 LIFE OF PLATO. 
 
 might see the volcano of Mount ^Etna ; he was 
 then forty years of age. He appeared at this 
 time at the court of Dionysius the elder, tyrant 
 of Sicily, who had expressed a desire to see him. 
 
 The freedom with which Plato spoke against 
 tyranny would have cost him his life, had it not 
 been for the good offices of Dion and Aristomenes. 
 Dionysius put him, notwithstanding, into the 
 hands of the Lacedaemonian ambassador Polides, 
 to whom he gave orders to sell him for a slave ; 
 by this ambassador he was brought to Egina, 
 where he was sold. There was in Egina a law 
 by which all Athenians were prohibited, on pain 
 of death, from coming into that island. Under 
 pretence of enforcing this law, one Charmander 
 accused him as worthy of being put to death ; but 
 some having alleged that the law was made 
 against men, and not against philosophers, it was 
 thought fit to profit by the distinction, and, ac- 
 cordingly, to sell him. Happily for him, Anni- 
 ceris of Cyrene, who was then at Egina, bought 
 him for twenty mine; sent him back to Athens, 
 and thus restored him to his friends. 
 
 Polides, the Lacedemonian who first sold him, 
 was defeated by Chabrias and afterwar Is perish- 
 ed by sea, as a punishment for what he had made 
 
LIFE OF PLATO, 9 
 
 the philosopher Plato suffer, as, it was pretended, 
 a demon had declared to himself. 
 
 Dionysius the elder, knowing that he had re- 
 turned to Athens, and fearing lest he should 
 avenge himself by aspersing his character, con- 
 descended to write to him, and, in some measure, 
 to beg his pardon. Plato, in his answer, assured 
 him that he might keep himself perfectly at ease 
 on that head ; for that philosophy gave him too 
 much employment to leave him any time to think 
 of him. Some of his enemies having reproached 
 him for having been abandoned by the tyrant 
 Dionysius, " It is not," said he, "Dionysius that 
 has abandoned Plato ; it is Plato who has aban- 
 doned Dionysius." 
 
 He went a second time into Sicily, in the reign 
 of Dionysius the younger, in the hope of induc- 
 ing that tyrant to restore their liberty to his fel- 
 low-citizens, or, at least to govern his subjects 
 with mildness; but seeing that the tyrant, so far 
 from profiting by his lessons, had banished Dion, 
 and was continuing to exercise the same despo- 
 tism as his father had done, he returned to 
 Athens after a stay of four months, notwithstand- 
 ing the urgency of the tyrant, who paid him every 
 
10 LIFE OF PLATO. 
 
 attention, and who exerted himself to the utmost 
 to detain him. 
 
 He returned to the tyrant of Syracuse a third 
 time, urging him to permit the return of Dion, 
 and pressing him to divest himself of the sove- 
 reign power ; but as Dionysius, after granting his 
 request, failed in canning it into effect, he re- 
 proached him with breaking his word, and irri- 
 tated him to such a degree that he was in danger 
 of his life, which he might have perhaps lost, had 
 not Archytas of Tarentum sent an ambassador 
 with a ship for the express purpose of redemand- 
 ing him from the tyrant. At the request of Archy- 
 tas, Dionysius not only permitted him to return, 
 but furnished the vessel with all provisions ne- 
 cessary for the voyage. 
 
 Plato now set off for Athens, with the resolu- 
 tion never again to leave it. He was received 
 there with uncommon marks of distinction; but 
 though strongly urged to take a share in the go- 
 vernment, he refused it, thinking it impossible to 
 do any good in it amid the general depravation 
 of manners which then prevailed. 
 
 But nothing is a stronger proof of the high esti- 
 mation in which he was held in Greece, than 
 
LIFE OP PLATO. 11 
 
 what happened to him at the Olympic games.. 
 He was received as a god descended from hea- 
 ven ; and all the different nations of Greece, 
 though ever eager to gaze upon spectacles, and 
 though the magnificence of the Olympic games 
 had drawn them together from every quarter, left 
 the chariot-races and the combats of the Athletae 
 to pay their undivided attention to Plato, and to 
 express the pleasure which they felt on seeing a 
 man whom they had heard utter so many won- 
 derful things. 
 
 He spent his life in celibacy, observed the 
 strictest rules of decorum, and never transgressed 
 the laws of continence. Such was his self-com- 
 mand, that even in his youth he was never ob- 
 served to laugh immoderately; and so complete- 
 ly had he the mastery over his passions, that he 
 was never observed to be angry. Connected with 
 this, is the account given us of a young man who 
 had been brought up with him ; this youth hav- 
 ing been afterwards brought home by his parents, 
 was one day surprised at seeing his father in a 
 rage, and could not refrain remarking, "that he 
 had never seen any thing like this in Plato's 
 house." It never happened but once, that he 
 was a little irritated against one of his slaves, who 
 
12 LIFE OF PLATO. 
 
 had committed a considerable fault; he made 
 him be corrected by another, saying, that "as 
 he was a little angry, he himself was not in a 
 capacity to punish him." 
 
 Though he was naturally of a melancholy and 
 studious turn of mind, as we are informed by 
 Aristotle, (e) he was possessed of affability and a 
 certain degree of pleasantry, and amused him- 
 self on some occasions with innocent railleries. 
 He sometimes advised Xenocrates and Dion, 
 whose characters he thought too much tinctured 
 with severity, "to sacrifice to the Graces," in 
 order to become more gentle and affable. 
 
 He had several scholars, of whom the most dis- 
 tinguished were Speusippus, his nephew, by Poto- 
 na his sister, who had marred Eurimedon ; Xeno- 
 crates of Chalcedon, and the celebrated Aristotle. 
 It is alleged that Thcophrastus also was among 
 the number of bis auditors, and that Demosthenes 
 always considered him as his master. This last, 
 indeed, having taken sanctuary to save himself 
 from the hands of Antipater, when Archias, whom 
 Antipatcr had sent to seize him, promised him his 
 life to induce him to leave his asylum ; " Forbid 
 it, Heaven! " said he, " that, after hearing Xeno- 
 crates and Plato on the immortality of the soul, I 
 
LIFE OF PLATO* 
 
 13 
 
 should prefer a shameful life to an honourable 
 death." 
 
 Two women likewise have been reckoned 
 among the number of his disciples. The one 
 was Lasthenia of Mantinea, and the other Axio- 
 thea of Phlysia, both of whom used to dress like 
 men, as more suited to the dignity of philosophy, 
 which they professed. 
 
 So highly did he value geometry, and so ne- 
 cessary did he deem it to philosophy, that he 
 caused this inscription to be written on the en- 
 trance into the academy : "Let no one enter here 
 who is not conversant in geometry*" 
 
 All the works of Plato, (except his letters, of 
 which twelve only are now extant,) are in the 
 form of dialogues. These dialogues may be 
 divided into three kinds : those in which he re- 
 futes the sophists ; others, m which the instruc- 
 tion of youth is his object; and the third kind 
 consists of those which are adapted to persons 
 arrived at maturity* There is; still another dis- 
 tinction to be made in these dialogues ; for all 
 that Plato says in his own character, in his let- 
 ters, in his books concerning laws, and in his 
 Epinomis, he delivers as his own real and proper 
 doctrine ; but what he delivers- under borrowed 
 
14 LIFE OF PLATO. 
 
 names, as that of Socrates, Timaeus, Parmenides,- 
 or Zeno, he gives as probable only, without war- 
 ranting the truth of what is affirmed. 
 
 What is said in the character of Socrates, how- 
 ever, in these dialogues, though quite in the style 
 and method which Socrates followed in disputa- 
 tion, we are not to consider as always the true 
 sentiments of that philosopher; since Socrates 
 himself, on reading the dialogue entitled Lysis 
 on Friendship, which Plato had written while his 
 master was alive, could not help charging him 
 with misrepresentation, by exclaiming: "Im- 
 mortal gods ! how many things this young man 
 represents me as saying, of which I never so 
 much as thought ! " 
 
 The style of Plaio, according to the testimony 
 of his scholar Aristotle, kept a mean distance, so 
 to speak, between the elevation of poesy and the 
 simplicity of prose. So admirable was it in the 
 eyes of Cicero, that he makes no hesitation in 
 saying, that were Jupiter to converse in the lan- 
 guage of men, he would express himself exactly 
 in Plato's phrase. Panaetius used to style him the 
 Homer of philosophers, which coincides very much 
 with the judgment afterwards passed on him by 
 Quintilian, who treats him as divine and Homeric. 
 
LIFE OF PLATO. 15 
 
 He formed a system of doctrines, composed of 
 the opinions of three philosophers. In what re- 
 gards physics and sensible objects, he follows 
 the sentiments of Heraclitus. In metaphysics, 
 and those subjects which are addressed exclu- 
 sively to the intellect, he has taken Pythagoras 
 for his guide. In politics and morals he consi- 
 dered Socrates to be superior to all, and follow- 
 ed him exclusively as his model. 
 
 Plato (as Plutarch relates in chap. iii. book 1. 
 On the Opinions of Philosophers,) admitted three 
 first principles : god, matter, idea. God, as the 
 universal intelligence ; matter, as the substratum 
 or first requisite in generation and corruption 5 
 idea, as an incorporeal substance, resident in the 
 divine mind* 
 
 He indeed acknowledged the world to be the 
 work of a God who created, but did not by that 
 term understand creation in its strict and proper 
 sense ; for he supposed that God had only formed 
 or built it, so to speak, out of matter which had 
 eternally pre-existed ; so that this God is the 
 creator of the world in so far only as he has 
 destroyed the chaos, and given form to brute, in- 
 active matter ; as architects and masons, by cut- 
 ting and arranging in a certain order inactive 
 
16 LIFE OF PLATO. 
 
 stones, may thus be called the makers or builders 
 of the house. (/) 
 
 It has always been supposed that Plato had 
 some knowledge of the true God, the result either 
 of his own reason or of the writings of the He- 
 brews, to which he might have had access ; (g) but 
 it must at the same time be granted, that Plato is 
 one of those philosophers of whom Paul speaks 
 when he says : " Knowing God, they glorified 
 him not as God, but indulged the vanity of their 
 own imaginations." (h) 
 
 In fact, he acknowledges, in his Epinomis, three 
 kinds of gods; superior, inferior, and intermedi- 
 ate. The superior gods, according to him, in 
 habit the heavens, and by the excellence of their" 
 nature, and by the place in which they reside, are 
 so far exalted above us, that, except by the inter 
 vention of the intermediate gods, who inhabit the 
 air, and whom he styles daemons, mankind can 
 hold no intercourse with them. 
 
 These daemons the superior gods commission 
 as ministers to the human race. They carry the 
 commands of the gods to men ; and to the gods, 
 the offerings and vows of men. Each has his own 
 department in the government of the world : they 
 preside over oracles and divinations; and are the 
 
LIFE OF PLATO, 17 
 
 authors of all the miracles which are performed, 
 and of the prodigies which happen* 
 
 There is every reason to believe that Plato's 
 notions of the second species of gods were found- 
 ed on what is said of angels in scripture, of 
 which he had some knowledge; but "besides, these, 
 he admits a third kind of gods, inferior to the 
 second ; these he places in rivers. He contents 
 himself by qualifying them with the title of demi- 
 gods, and assigning them the power of sending 
 dreams, and performing other wonders, like the 
 intermediate gods. He says farther, that all the 
 elements and all the parts of the universe are full 
 of these demi-gods, who, according to him, some- 
 times appear and then vanish from our view. 
 Here you have, in all probability, the origin of 
 sylphs, salamanders, the elves, (ondains,) and the 
 gnomes of the Cabala, (i) » 
 
 Plato also taught the doctrine of Mytempsy- 
 chosis, which he had borrowed from Pythagoras 
 and adapted to his own system; as may be seen 
 in his Dialogues entitled Phaedon, Phasdrus, and 
 Timaeus, &c. 
 
 Though Plato has composed an excellent dia- 
 logue on the immortality of the soul, yet he has 
 fallen into gross errors on this subject, both in re- 
 3 
 
18 LIFE OF PLATO. 
 
 lation to the substance of the soul, which he be- 
 lieved to be composed of two parts, — the one spi- 
 ritual, the other corporeal ; and, in regard to its 
 origin, considering souls as pre-existing, and de- 
 rived from heaven, to animate different bodies in 
 succession ; and that, after having been purified, 
 they shall return to heaven, from which, at the 
 end of a certain number of years, they shall be 
 again employed to animate, successively, different 
 bodies ; so that there would be nothing but a con- 
 tinual round of defilement and purification, of re- 
 turns to heaven and dismissions to earth, to ani- 
 mate bodies. 
 
 As he thought that these souls did not forget 
 entirely what they had experienced in the differ- 
 ent bodies which they had animated, he pretended 
 that the knowledge which they acquire is remi- 
 niscence of what they had formerly known, rather 
 than new knowledge; and on this gratuitously 
 assumed reminiscence he founded his dogma of 
 the pre-existence of souls, (j) 
 
 But, without dilating any more on the opinions 
 of this philosopher, which he has considerably in- 
 volved in mysticism, suffice it to say, that his doc- 
 trines on many points appeared so novel and so 
 sublime, that during his life they procured him 
 
LIFE OF PLATO. 19 
 
 the epithet Divine ; and after his death made him 
 be regarded almost as a god. 
 
 He died on his birthday, in the first year of the 
 hundred and eighth Olympiad, aged eighty-one 
 years. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 LIFE OF PLATO. 
 
 (a) That is broad, nXarcov, being derived from n\arvs- 
 
 (b) Parmenides flourished about the ninety-ninth Olym- 
 piad. Plato has testified his regard for him, by having in- 
 scribed his dialogue concerning Ideas with his name. — Vide 
 Diog. Laert. 
 
 (c) This was a step which, in their situation, prudence 
 would dictate to Plato, as well as to the other scholars of 
 Socrates ; for, if vengeful odium burst on the head of the 
 venerable Socrates, how much more might it on his follow- 
 ers ? — Vid, Rollin, Anc. His. vol. iii. book ix. c. 4. § 7. 
 
 {d) Things had now taken a turn at Athens: " Melitus 
 was condemned to die, and the rest of Socrates's enemies 
 banished. Plutarch observes, that all those who had any 
 share in this black calumny against Socrates, were held in 
 such abomination among the citizens, that no one would 
 
20 NOTES TO THE 
 
 give them fire, answer them any question, or go into the 
 same bath with them, and had the place cleansed where they 
 had bathed, lest they should be polluted by touching it ; 
 which drove them to such despair, that many of them killed 
 themselves." — Rollin, ubi supra. 
 
 (e) Aristotle was a scholar of Plato. 
 
 (/) None of the ancient heathen philosophers ever enter- 
 tained any sublime notions of the Deity or creation. That 
 from nothing, nothing can be produced, was received as an 
 axiom which it would be madness to dispute ; and measuring 
 the power of the Deity by their own, they were in a great mea- 
 sure ignorant of both. Revelation represents the Deity calling 
 existence out of nothing, and creating the world by the word 
 of his power. This is an idea that transcends, in sublimity, 
 all that heathen poets ever sung, or heathen philosophers 
 ever taught. Longinus, who had seen the Scriptures, says, 
 that the most sublime expression that ever he had seen or 
 heard was that of the Jewish lawgiver : — " God said let there 
 be light ; and there was light." 
 
 (g) Some parts of the Septuagint version of the Old Testa- 
 ment in Greek might have been seen by Plato while in. Egypt, 
 though it was certainly not completed till at least seventy 
 years after his death ; for it is most probable, that the ver- 
 sion now in question was the production of different, and 
 considerably distant periods ; and that it was completed and 
 collected, under the patronage of Ptolemy Philadelphia, about 
 A. M. 3727, or before Christ 27 G years. (Vid. Stack-house, 
 Hist, of Bible, vol. 1. Apparat. p. 87. Rollin, Anc. Hist. vol. 
 vii. (10 vol. cop.) p. 276. and Bos. edit, of LXX. prole g.) At 
 the same time, the advocates of Divine Revelation have very 
 little temptation to claim the doctrines of Plato as peculiar 
 
LIFE OF PLATO. 21 
 
 to the Scriptures. Vid. Shuckford's Connexions, vol. i. pref. 
 p. 51. edit. Lond. 1743. 
 
 (h) Rom. i. 21. Instead of adopting our English transla- 
 tion, I have followed Fenelon. 
 
 (i) Vid. Le compte de Gabalis, and Pope's Rape of the 
 Lock. 
 
 (/) The reasoning here exhibited, on which Plato found- 
 ed the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, comes under 
 that species of sophism styled by logicians reasoning in a 
 circle. Thus, the very light of the heathens was darkness, 
 and the foundation of their confidence was nothing more 
 stable than doubt. (Vid. Tusc. Qucest. lib. i.) It was reserv- 
 ed for Jesus Christ " to bring life and immortality to light 
 by the gospel." 
 
 Plato supposed the human soul to be an emanation from the 
 divinity: " Divince particulam aurce ;" and that after puri 
 fication by various transmigrations, it was again re-absorbed 
 into the divine essence. But this hypothesis, instead of prov- 
 ing, would disprove the immortality of the soul. The emana- 
 tion from the divinity, for instance, that constituted the soul 
 of Plato, was a distinct individual whilst it animated his body, 
 or any other body into which it might afterwards enter ; its 
 enjoyments and sufferings were referable to the individual 
 called self, by an unavoidable impulse or spontaneity of na- 
 ture ; or, to speak more philosophically, by a continuity of 
 consciousness, linked together by memory and producing an 
 invincible conviction of personal identity ; but when re-ab- 
 sorbed into the divine essence, its personal identity and ap- 
 propriating consciousness must cease with its separate exist- 
 ence ; and, to the individual, this is equal to annihilation. 
 Again, on the supposition that the soul was created, (the. 
 
 only rational or tenable doctrine,) Plato and his disciples 
 
 3* 
 
22 NOTES TO THE LIFE OF PLATO. 
 
 allowed that it must perish, " Volt enim (Panatius scil.) quod 
 nemo negat, quicquid natum sit, interire." — Tusc. Disput. lib. 
 i. 32. The natural tendency of Plato's doctrine, then, is to 
 prove the soul to be mortal, and the Deity mutable and perish- 
 able, by an indefinite number of emanations. It is only by con- 
 sidering the acquisitions of the ancients that we can ascertain 
 our own advantages ; and in the case to which we have now 
 been attending, we see how true it is, that even the wisest of 
 them, " by wisdom knew not God ;" and that their most 
 laboured arguments to prove the immortality of the soul, 
 went no farther than "a fond desire and longing after im- 
 mortality." 
 
 For a specimen of beautiful confusion, in explaining 
 Plato's doctrine of the immortality of the soul, see Cicero's 
 S omnium Scipionis ; and, for a proof of its incapability to 
 convince his own mind, see his Tusculan Questions, Lib. 1. 
 sub. init. 
 
THE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO 
 
 PH^DON 
 
 Socrates, in his Apology and in his Crito, 
 teaches us how we ought to form our lives ; and 
 here he instructs us how to die, and what 
 thoughts to entertain at the hour of death. By 
 explaining his own views and designs, which 
 were the spring of all his actions, he furnishes 
 us with a proof of the most important of all truths, 
 and of that which ought to regulate our life. For 
 the immortality of the soul is a point of such im- 
 portance, that it includes all the truths of religion, 
 and all the motives that ought to excite and di- 
 rect us. So that our first duty is to satisfy our- 
 selves on this point; self-love and mere human 
 interest ought to spur us up to understand it ; not 
 
24 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to speak, that there is not a more fatal condition 
 than to be ignorant of the nature of death, which 
 appears as terrible as unavoidable. For, accord- 
 ing to the notion we have of it, we may draw con- 
 sequences directly opposite, for managing the 
 conduct of our lives and the choice of our plea- 
 sures. Socrates spends the last day of his life in 
 discoursing with his friends upon this great sub- 
 ject. He unfolds all the reasons that require the 
 belief of the immortality of the soul, and refutes 
 all the objections they moved to the contrary, 
 which are the very same that are made use of 
 at this day. He demonstrates the hope they 
 ought to have of a happier life, and lays before 
 them all that this blessed hope requires to make 
 it solid and lasting, to prevent their being delud- 
 ed by a vain hope; and, after all, meeting with 
 the punishment allotted to the wicked instead of 
 the rewards provided for the good. 
 
 This conference was occasioned by a truth 
 that was casually started, viz : that a true philo- 
 sopher ought to desire to die, and to endeavour 
 it. This position, taken literally, seemed to in- 
 sinuate that a philosopher might lay violent 
 hands on himself. But Socrates makes it out 
 that there is nothing more unjust; and that for 
 
INTRODUCTION. 25 
 
 so much as man is god's creature and property, 
 he ought not to remove out of this life without 
 his orders. What should it be then that made 
 the philosopher have such a love of death ? (It 
 could be nothing but the hope of the good things 
 he expected in another life.) What is the ground 
 of this hope ? Here we are presented with the 
 grounds assigned by a heathen philosopher, viz : 
 man is bbrn to know the truth, but he can never 
 attain to a perfect knowledge of it in this life, by 
 reason that his body is an obstacle. Perfect 
 knowledge is reserved for the life to come. 
 
 Then the soul must be immortal, since after 
 death it operates and knows. As for man's being 
 born for the knowledge of truth, that cannot be 
 called in question, since he was born to know God. 
 From thence it follows, that a true philosopher 
 hates and contemns his body, which stands in 
 the way of his union to God; that he wishes to 
 be rid of it, and looks upon death as a passage to 
 a better life. This solid hope gives being to that 
 true temperance and valour which is the lot of 
 true philosophers ; for other men are only valiant 
 through fear, and temperate through intempe- 
 rance ; their virtue is only a slave to vice. 
 
 They object to Socrates, that the soul is nothing 
 
26 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 but a vapour, that vanishes and disperses itself at 
 death. Socrates combats that opinion with one 
 that has a great deal of strength in his mouth, but 
 becomes much stronger when supported by the 
 true religion, which alone can set it in its full light. 
 The argument is this : in nature, contraries pro- 
 duce their opposites ; so that death, being an ope- 
 ration of nature, ought to produce life, that being 
 its contrary ; and by consequence, the death must 
 be born again. The soul, then, is not dead, since 
 it must revive the body. 
 
 Before we proceed farther, it is fit to take no- 
 tice of an error that is couched under this prin- 
 ciple, which only the Christian religion can at 
 once discover and refute : this is what Socrates 
 and all other philosophers are infinitely mistaken 
 in— making death a natural thing, there is nothing 
 more falseADeath is so far from being natural, that 
 nature abhors it ; and it was far from the design 
 of God in the state in which man was first creat- 
 ed. For he created him holy, innocent, and by 
 consequence immortal ; it was only sin that 
 brought death into the world. But this fatal league 
 betwixt sin and death could not triumph over 
 the designs of God, who had created man for im- 
 mortality. He knew how to snatch the victory out 
 
INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 of their hands, by bringing man to life again, 
 even in the shades and horrors of death itself. 
 Thus shall the dead revive at the resurrection, 
 pursuant to the doctrine of the Christians, which 
 teaches that death must give up those it has swal- 
 lowed down. So that the principle which Socrates 
 did not fully comprehend, is an unshaken truth, 
 which bears the B marks of the ancient tradition 
 that the heathens had altered and corrupted. 
 
 The third argument alleged by Socrates as a 
 proof of the immortality of the soul, is that of re- 
 membrance ; which likewise bears the marks of 
 that ancient tradition corrupted by the heathens. 
 To find out the truth couched under this argument, 
 I advance the following conjectures. 
 
 It seems the philosophers grounded this opi- 
 nion of remembrance upon some texts of the Pro- 
 phets that they did not well understand ; such as 
 that of Jeremiah, " before I formed thee in the 
 belly, I knew thee f and perhaps their opinion 
 was fortified by the ideas and instinct we have for 
 several things that were never learned in this world. 
 Inshort,we meet with unquestionable marks of cer- 
 tain resentments that revive some lights within our 
 minds, or the remains of a past grandeur that we 
 have lost by sin. And from whence do these pro- 
 
28 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ceed ? that inexplicable cypher has no other key 
 but the knowledge of original sin. Our soul was 
 created so as to be adorned with all manner of 
 knowledge suitable to its nature ; and now is sensi- 
 ble of its being deprived of the same. The 
 philosophers felt this misery, and were not ad- 
 mitted to know the true cause ; in order to un- 
 riddle the mystery, they invented this creation 
 of souls before the body, and a remembrance 
 that is the consequence thereof. But w r e, who are 
 guided by a surer light, know that if man were 
 not degenerated he would still enjoy the full 
 knowledge of the truths he formerly knew ; and if 
 he had never been any other than corrupted, he 
 w r ould have had no idea of these truths. This 
 unties the knot. Man had knowledge before he 
 was corrupted, and after his corruption forgot it. 
 He can recover nothing but confused idea?, and 
 stands in need of a new light to illuminate them. 
 Xo human reason could have fathomed this. It 
 faintly unravelled part of the mystery, as well as 
 it could, and the explication it gave discovers 
 some footsteps of the ancient truth ; for it points 
 both to the first state of happiness and knowledge, 
 and to the second of misery and obscurity. 
 Thus may we make a useful application of the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 doctrine of remembrance, and the errors of phi- 
 losophers may oftentimes serve to establish the 
 most incomprehensible truths of the Christian re- 
 ligion, and shew that the heathens did not want 
 traditions relating to them. 
 
 The fourth argument is taken from the nature 
 of the soul. Destruction reaches only compound ** 
 bodies : but we may clearly perceive that the soul 
 is simple and immaterial, and bears a resemblance 
 of something divine, immortal and intelligent ; for 
 it embraces the pure essence of things ; it mea- 
 sures all by ideas, which are eternal patterns, and 
 unites itself to them when the body does not hin- 
 der it ; so that it is spiritual, indissoluble, and 
 consequently immortal, as being not capable of 
 dissolution by any other means than the will of 
 him who created it. 
 
 Notwithstanding the force of these proofs, and 
 their tendency to keep up this hope in the soul, 
 Socrates and his friends own, that it is almost im- 
 possible to ward off doubts and uncertainties, for 
 our reason is too weak and degenerate to arrive 
 at the full knowledge of truth in this world. So 
 that it is a wise man's business to choose from 
 amongst those arguments of the philosophers, for 
 the immortality of the soul, that which to him 
 4 
 
80 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 seems best and most forcible, and capable to con- 
 duct him safely through the dangerous shelves of 
 this life, till he obtains a full assurance either 
 of some promise, or by some divine revelation ; 
 for that is the only vessel that is secure from dan- 
 ger. By this the most refined paganism pays 
 homage to the Christian religion, and all colour 
 or excuse for incredulity is taken off; for the 
 Christian religion affords promises, revelations T 
 and, which is yet more considerable, the accom- 
 plishment of them. 
 
 They move two objections to Socrates : one, 
 that the soul is only the harmony resulting from 
 the just proportion of the qualities of the body 5 
 the other, that though the soul be more durable 
 than the body, yet it dies at last, after having 
 made use of several bodies ; just as a man dies 
 after he has worn several suits of clothes. 
 
 Socrates, before he makes any answer, stops a 
 little and deplores the misfortune of man, who, 
 by hearing the disputes of the ignorant that con 
 tradict every thing, persuade thcmselvesthatt here 
 is no such thing as clear, solid, and sensible rea- 
 son ; but that every thing is uncertain. Like as 
 those who, being cheated by men, become men- 
 haters; so they being imposed upon by arguments, 
 become haters of reason ; that is, they take up an 
 
INTRODUCTION. 31 
 
 absolute hatred against all reason in general, and 
 will not hear any argument. Socrates makes out 
 the injustice of this procedure. He shows that 
 when two things are equally uncertain, wisdom di- 
 rects us to choose that which is most advantageous 
 with the least danger. Now, beyond all dispute, 
 such is the immortality of the soul, and therefore 
 it ought to be embraced. For if this opinion prove 
 true after our death, are we not considerable 
 gainers? and if it prove false, what do we lose? 
 
 Then he attacks that objection which repre- 
 sents the soul as a harmony, and refutes it by so- 
 lid and convincing arguments, which at the same 
 time prove the immortality of the soul. 
 
 His arguments are these : harmony always 
 depends upon the parts that conspire together, 
 and is never opposite to them ; but the soul has 
 no dependence upon the body, and always stands 
 on the opposite side. Harmony admits of less 
 and more, but the soul does not ; from whence it 
 would follow that all souls should be equal, that 
 none of them are vicious, and that the souls of 
 beasts are equally good, and of the same nature 
 with those of men ; which is contrary to all rea- 
 son. 
 
 In music, the body commands the harmony ; 
 
32 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 but in nature, the soul commands the body. In 
 music, the harmony can never give a sound con- 
 trary to the particular sounds of the parts that 
 bend or unbend, or move ; but in nature, the 
 soul has a contrary sound to that of the body; it 
 attacks all passions and desires ; it checks, curbs, 
 and punishes the body ; so that it must needs be 
 of a very different and opposite nature; which 
 proves its spirituality and divinity. For nothing 
 but what is spiritual and divine can be wholly 
 opposite to what is material and earthly. 
 
 The second objection was : That the soul 
 might outlive the body, yet that does not con- 
 clude its immortality ; since we know nothing to 
 the contrary, but that it dies at last, after having 
 animated the body several times. 
 
 In answer to this objection, Socrates says we 
 must trace the first original of the being and cor- 
 ruption of Entities. If that be once agreed upon, 
 we shall find no difficulty in determining what 
 things are corruptible and what not. But what 
 path shall we follow in this enquiry? must it be 
 that of Physicks ? These Physicks are so un- 
 certain, that, instead of being instructive, they 
 only blind and mislead us. This he makes out 
 from his own experience, so that there is a ne- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 33 
 
 cessity of going beyond this science, and having 
 recourse to metaphysicks, which alone can afford 
 us the certain knowledge of the reasons and 
 causes of beings, and of that which constitutes 
 their essences. For effects may be discovered 
 by their causes; but the causes can never be 
 known by their effects. And upon this account 
 we must have recourse to the divine knowledge, 
 which Anaxagoras was so sensible of that he 
 ushered in his treatise of Physicks by this great 
 principle, that knowledge is the cause of being. 
 But, instead of keeping up to that principle, he 
 fell in again with that of second causes, and by 
 that means deceived the expectations of his hear- 
 ers. 
 
 In order to make out the immortality of the 
 soul, we must correct this order of Anaxagoras, 
 and sound to the bottom of the above-mentioned 
 principle ; which, if we do, we shall be satisfied 
 that God placed every thing in the most con- 
 venient state. Now this best and most suitable 
 state must be the object of our inquiry, to 
 which purpose we must know wherein the par- 
 ticular good of every particular thing consists, 
 and what the general good of all things is. This 
 4* 
 
34 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 discovery will make out the immortality of the 
 soul. 
 
 In this view Socrates raises his thoughts to im- 
 material qualities and eternal ideas ; that is, he 
 affirms that there is something that is in itself 
 good, fine, just, and great, which is the first cause ; 
 and that all things in this world that are good, 
 fine, just, or great, are only such by the commu- 
 nication of that first cause, since there is no other 
 cause of the existence of things hut the partici- 
 pation of the essence proper to each subject. 
 
 This participation is so contrived, that contra- 
 ries are never found in the same subject. From 
 which principle it follows by a necessary conse- 
 quence, that the soul, which gives life to the body, 
 not as an accidental form that adheres to it, but 
 as a substantial form, subsisting in itself, and liv- 
 ing formally by itself, as the corporeal idea, and 
 effectually enlivening the body, can never be 
 subject to death, that being the opposite to life; 
 and that the soul, being incapable of dying, can- 
 not be worsted by any attack of this enemy; and 
 is in effect imperishable, like the immaterial 
 qualities, justice, fortitude, and temperance; but 
 with this difference, that these immaterial quali- 
 ties subsist independently and of themselves, aw 
 
INTRODUCTION. 35 
 
 being the same thing with God himself; whereas 
 the soul is a created being, that may be dissolved 
 by the will of its creator. In a word, the soul 
 stands in the same relation to the life of the 
 body, that the idea of God does to the soul. 
 
 The only objection they could invent upon this 
 head, was, that the greatness of the subject, and 
 man's natural infirmity, are the two sources of 
 man's distrust and incredulity upon this head. 
 Whereupon Socrates endeavours to dry up these 
 two sources. 
 
 He attacks their distrust, by shewing that the 
 opinion of the soul's immortality suits all the ideas 
 of God. For by this mortality, virtue would be 
 prejudicial to men of probity, and vice beneficial 
 to the wicked ; which cannot be imagined. So 
 that there is a necessity of another life for re- 
 warding the good and punishing the bad. And 
 the soul, being immortal, carries along with it into 
 the other world its good and bad actions, its vir- 
 tues and vices, which are the occasion of its eter- 
 nal happiness or misery. From whence, by a 
 necessary consequence, we may gather what care 
 we ought to take of it in this life. 
 
 To put a stop to the torrent of incredulity, he 
 
36 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 has recourse to two things, which naturally de« 
 mand a great deference from man, and cannot 
 be denied without a visible authority. The first 
 is, the ceremonies and sacrifices of religion itself, 
 which are only representations of what would be 
 put in execution in hell. The other is the autho- 
 rity of antiquity, which maintained the immor- 
 tality of the soul ; in pursuit of which, he men- 
 tions some ancient traditions that point to the 
 truth published by Moses and the prophets, not- 
 withstanding the fables that overwhelm them. 
 Thus we see a Greek philosopher, and no Chris- 
 tian, supplies the want of proof, which is too na] 
 tural to man, and silences the most obstinate pre- 
 judices by having recourse to the oracles of God, 
 which they were in some measure acquainted 
 with; and by so doing, makes answer to Sim- 
 mias, who had objected that the doctrine of the 
 immortality of the soul stood in need of some 
 promise or divine revelation to procure its recep- 
 tion. Though some blinded Christians reject the 
 authority of our Holy Writ, and refuse to sub 
 mit to it; yet we see the good Socrates had so 
 much light as to make use of it to support his 
 faith, if I may so speak, and to strengthen this 
 sweet hope of a blessed eternity. He shows 
 
INTRODUCTION. 37 
 
 that he knew how to distinguish the fabulous 
 part of tradition from the truth, and affirms no- 
 thing but what is conformable to the Scriptures, 
 particularly the last judgment of the good and 
 the bad ; necessary purgation of those who de- 
 part this life under a load of sin ; the eternal 
 torments of those who committed mortal sins in 
 this life ; the pardon of venial sins after satisfac- 
 tion and repentance ; the happiness of those who 
 during the whole course of their lives renounced 
 the pleasures of the body, and only courted the 
 pleasure of true knowledge, that is, the know- 
 ledge of God ; and beautified their souls with 
 proper ornaments, such as temperance, justice, 
 fortitude, liberty, and truth. He does not joke 
 upon the groundless Metempsychosis, or return 
 of souls to animate bodies in this life ; but speaks 
 seriously, and shows that after death all is over ; 
 the wicked are thrown forever into the bottom- 
 less abyss, and the righteous conveyed to the 
 mansions of the blessed. Those who are neither 
 righteous nor wicked, but commit sins in this life 
 which they always repented of, are committed to 
 places of torment till they are sufficiently purn 
 fied. 
 When Socrates made an end of his discourse, 
 
38 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 his friends asked what orders he would give con- 
 cerning his affairs. The only orders I give, 
 replied he, is to take care of yourselves, and to 
 make yourselves as like to God as possible. 
 Then they asked him, how he would be interred? 
 This question offended him. He would not have 
 himself confounded with his corpse, which was 
 only to be interred. And though the expression 
 seems to import little, he shewed that such false 
 expressions gave very dangerous wounds to the 
 souls of men. 
 
 He goes and bathes ; his wife and children are 
 brought to him ; he talks to them a minute, and 
 then dismisses them. Upon his coming out of 
 the bath, the cup is presented to him. He takes 
 it, collects his thoughts within himself, prays, 
 and drinks it off with an admirable tranquillity of 
 mind. Finding that he approaches his end, he 
 gives them to know that he rebigncd his soul into 
 the hands of him who gave it, and of the true 
 physician who was coming to heal it. This was 
 the exit of Socrates. Paganism never afforded 
 such an admirable example ; and yet a certain 
 modern author is so ignorant of its beauty, that 
 he places it infinitely below that of Pctronius, the 
 famous disciple of Epicurus. He did not em- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 39 
 
 ploy the last hours of his life, says that author, 
 in discoursing on the immortality of the soul, but 
 chose a more pleasant death in imitating the 
 sweetness of the swan, and causing some agree- 
 able and touching verses to be recited to him. 
 This was a fine imitation ; it seems Petronius 
 sung what they read to him. But this was not 
 all. Nevertheless, continues he, he reserved 
 some minutes for thinking of his affairs, and dis- 
 tributed rewards to some of his slaves and punish- 
 ed others. Let them talk of Socrates, says he, and 
 boast of his constancy and bravery in drinking 
 up the poison ! Petronius is not behind him ; 
 nay, he is justly entitled to a preference upon the 
 score of his forsaking a life infinitely more de- 
 lightful than that of the sage of Greece ; and that 
 too, with the same tranquillity of mind and even- 
 ness of temper. 
 
 We have no need of long dissertations to make 
 out the vast difference between the death of So- 
 crates and that of this Epicurean, whom Tacitus 
 himself, notwithstanding his paganism, did not 
 dare to applaud. On one side we are presented 
 with the view of a man that spent his last mo- 
 ments in making his friends better ; recommending 
 to them the hope of a blessed eternity; and shew- 
 
40 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ing what that hope requires of them ; a man that 
 died with his eyes intent upon God, praying to 
 him, and blessing him, without any reflections 
 upon his enemies who condemned him so unjustly. 
 On the other side, we meet with a voluptuous 
 person, in whom all sentiments of virtue are quite 
 extinguished ; who, to be rid of his own fears, 
 occasioned his own death; and in his exit would 
 admit of no other entertainment but agreeable 
 poems and pleasant verses ; who spent the last 
 moments of his time in rewarding those of his 
 slaves ; who doubtless had been the ministers and 
 accomplices of his sensualities, and seeing those 
 punished who perhaps had shewn an aversion to 
 his vices. A good death ought to be ushered by 
 a good life. Now, a life spent in vice, effeminacy 
 and debauchery, is much short of one entirety 
 taken up in the exercise of virtue, and the solid 
 pleasure of true knowledge, and adorned with 
 the venerable ornaments of temperance, justice, 
 fortitude, liberty, and truth. One of Socrates 7 
 dying words was, that those who entertained bad 
 discourses upon death, wounded the soul very 
 dangerously ; and what would not he have said 
 of those who scruple not to write them ? 
 
 But it is probable this author did not foresee 
 
INTRODUCTION. 41 
 
 the consequences of this unjust preference. He 
 wrote like a man of this world, that never knew 
 Socrates. Had he known him, he would certain- 
 ly have formed a juster judgment ; and, in like 
 manner, if he had known Seneca or Plutarch, he 
 would not have equalled or preferred Petronius to 
 them. Had he made the best use of his under- 
 standing, he would have seen reasons to doubt, 
 that the Petronius now read is the Petronius of 
 Tacitus, whose death he so much admires ; and 
 would have met with some just objections, which 
 at least gave occasion to suspect its being 
 spurious. But to return to Socrates. 
 
 His doctrine of death's being no affliction, but, 
 on the contrary, a passage to a happier life, 
 made considerable progress. Some philosophers 
 gave such lively demonstrations of it in their 
 lectures, that the greatest part of their disciples 
 laid violent hands on themselves in order to over- 
 take that happier life. Ptolemasus Philadelphus 
 prohibited Hegisias of Cyrene to teach it in his 
 school, for fear of dispeopling his kingdom ; and 
 the poets of that prince's court, siding with him, 
 as they commonly do, used all means to decry 
 that doctrine and those who were prevailed upon 
 to embrace it. It was their pernicious complai- 
 
42 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sance that occasioned what we now read in Calli- 
 machus against the immortality of the soul ; and, 
 above all, that famous epigram Cicero alledges 
 to have been written against Cleombrotus of Am- 
 bracia, but was certainly designed likewise against 
 Plato. It is to this purpose Cleombrotus of Am- 
 bracia, having paid his last compliment to the sun, 
 threw himself headlong from the top of a tower 
 into hell ; not that he had done any thing worthy 
 of death, but only had read Plato's Treatise on 
 the Immortality of the Soul. (1) 
 
 But, after all, it redounds to the glory of So- 
 crates and Plato, and the doctrine of the immor- 
 tality of the soul, that none but such enemies as 
 those oppose it. 
 
PH^DON: 
 
 OE 
 
 A DIALOGUE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Echecrates and Phaeton. 
 
 Ec. (2) Phaedon, were you present when So- 
 crates (3) drank the poison ? or did any body 
 give you an account how he behaved in that 
 juncture ? 
 
 Ph. (4) I was present. 
 
 Ec. What were his last words then, and how 
 did he die ? You will oblige me much with the 
 relation : for the Phliasians (5) have but little 
 correspondence with the Athenians, and it is a 
 great while since we had any stranger from 
 Athens to acquaint us how things went. We 
 only heard that he died after drinking the poison, 
 but could not understand any particulars relating 
 to his death. 
 
44 THE PHiEDON 
 
 Ph. What! did you not hear how he was ar- 
 raigned ? 
 
 Ec. Yes, truly, somebody told us that ; and 
 we thought it strange that his sentence was so 
 long in being put into execution after his trial. 
 
 Ph. That happened only by chance : for the 
 day before his trial, the stern of the sacred ship 
 which the Athenians send every year to, Delos, 
 was crowned for the voyage. 
 
 Ec. What is that sacred ship ? 
 
 Ph. If you believe the Athenians, it is the 
 same ship in which Theseus transported the four- 
 teen young children to Crete, and brought them 
 safe back again ; and it is said the Athenians at 
 that time vowed to Apollo, that if the children 
 were preserved from the impending danger, they 
 Wpuld send every year, to Delos, presents and 
 victims aboard the same vessel: and this they do 
 ever since. As soon as the ship is cleared and 
 ready to put to sea, they purify the city, and ob- 
 serve an inviolable law for putting none to death 
 before the return of the ship. Now sometimes 
 it stays long out, especially if the winds be con- 
 trary. This festival, which is properly called 
 Theoria, commences when the priest of Apollo 
 has crowned the stern of the vessel. Now, a* 
 
OF PLATO. 45 
 
 I told you, this happened on the day preceding 
 the trial of Socrates ; and it was upon that ac- 
 count that he was kept so long in prison, after 
 his being committed. 
 
 Ec. And during his imprisonment what did he 
 do ? What said he ?. Who was with him ? Did 
 the judges order him to be kept from visits ? And 
 did he die without the assistance of his friends ? 
 
 Ph. Not at all ; several of his friends remain- 
 ed with him to the last minute. 
 
 Ec. If you are at leisure, pray relate the whole 
 story. 
 
 Ph. At present I have nothing to do, and so 
 shall endeavour to satisfy your demands. Be- 
 sides, I take the greatest pleasure in the world in 
 speaking, or hearing others speak, of Socrates. 
 
 Ec. Assure yourself, Phasdon, you shall not 
 take more pleasure in speaking than I in hear- 
 ing. Begin, pray ; and, above all, take care to 
 omit nothing. 
 
 Ph. You will be surprised when you hear 
 what a condition I was then in. I was so far 
 from being sensibly touched with the misfortune 
 of a friend whom I loved most tenderly, and 
 who died before my eyes, that I envied his cir- 
 cumstances, and could not forbear to admire the 
 
 5* 
 
46 THE PH^EDON 
 
 goodness, sweetness, and tranquillity, that ap- 
 peared in all his discourses, and the bravery he 
 shewed upon the approach of death. Every 
 thing that I saw furnished me with a proof that 
 he did not pass to the shades below without the 
 assistance of some Deity, that took care to con- 
 duct him, and put him in possession of the 
 transcendent felicity of the blessed. But as, on 
 one hand, these thoughts stifled all the senti- 
 ments of compassion that might seem due at such 
 a mortifying sight ; so, on the other hand, they 
 lessened the pleasure I was wont to have in 
 hearing all his other discourses, and affected me 
 with that sorrowful reflection, that in the space 
 of a minute this divine man would leave us for 
 ever. Thus was my heart tossed with contrary 
 motions that I could not define. It was not pro- 
 perly either pleasure or grief, but a confused 
 mixture of these two passions, which produced 
 almost the same effect in all the by-standers. 
 One while we melted into tears, and another 
 while gave surprising signs of real joy and sen- 
 sible pleasure. Above all, Apollodorus (6) dis- 
 tinguished himself upon this occasion ; you 
 know his humour. 
 
 Ec. Nobody knows it better. 
 
OF PLATO. 47 
 
 Ph. In him was the difference of these mo- 
 tions most observable; as for me and all the 
 rest, our behaviour was not so distinguishing, as 
 being mixed with the trouble and confusion I 
 spoke of just now. 
 Ec. Who was there besides yourself 1 
 Ph. There were no other Athenians but 
 Apollodorus, Critobulus (7) and his father Crito, 
 Hermogenes, Epigenes, iEschines, Antisthenes, 
 Ctesippus, Menexemus, and a few more. Plato 
 was sick. 
 
 Ec. Were there no strangers ? 
 Ph. Yes ; Simmias the Theban, and Cebes and 
 Phedondes; and from Megara,(8) Euclides and 
 Terpsion. 
 
 Ec. What! were not Aristippus(9) and Cleom- 
 brotus there ? 
 
 Ph. Certainly not, (10) for it is said they were 
 at iEgina. 
 
 Ec. Who was there besides ? 
 Ph. I believe I have named most of those that 
 were there. 
 
 Ec. Let us hear then what his last discourses 
 were. 
 
 Ph. I shall endeavour to give you a full ac- 
 count, for we never missed one day in visiting 
 
4S THE PH^DON 
 
 Socrates. To this end, we met every morning in 
 the place where he was tried, which was joined 
 to the prison, and there we waited till the prison 
 doors were open 5 at which time we went straight 
 to him, and commonly passed the whole day 
 with him. On the day of his execution we came 
 thither sooner than ordinary, having heard, as 
 we came out of the city, that the ship was re- 
 turned from Delos. When we arrived, the gaoler 
 that used to let us in, came out to us, and desired 
 we should stay a little, and not go in till he came 
 to conduct us ; for, says he, the eleven magis- 
 trates (11) are now untying Socrates, and ac- 
 quainting him that he must die this day. When 
 we came in, we found Socrates unbound, and his 
 wife Xantippe, you know her, sitting by him 
 with one of his children in her arms; and as soon 
 as she espied us, she fell crying and making a 
 noise, as you know women commonly do on 
 such occasions. Socrates, said she, (his is the 
 last time your friends will see you. Upon which, 
 Socrates, turning to Crito, says, Crito, send this 
 woman home. Accordingly it was done. Crito's 
 folks carried Xantippe off, who beat her face and 
 cried bitterly. Ill the mean time Socrates, sitting 
 upon the bed, softly stroked the place of his leg 
 
OF PLATO. 4§ 
 
 where the chain had been fastened, and says, 
 to my mind, what men call pleasure is a pretty 
 odd sort of a thing, which agrees admirably well 
 with pain ; the people believe it is quite contrary 
 because they cannot meet in one and the same 
 subject ; for whoever enjoys the one, must un- 
 avoidably be possessed of the other, as if they 
 were naturally joined. 
 
 Had iEsop been aware of this truth, perhaps 
 he had made a fable of it, and told us that God, 
 designing to reconcile these two enemies, and 
 not being able to accomplish the end, contented 
 himself with binding them to one chain ; so that 
 ever since the one follows the other, according 
 to my experience this minute : for the pain occa- 
 sioned by my chain is followed by a great deal 
 of pleasure. 
 
 I am infinitely glad, replies Cebes, interrupting 
 him, that you have mentioned iEsop, for by so 
 doing, you have put it in my head to ask you a 
 question that many have asked me of late, espe- 
 cially Evenus.(l2) The question relates to your 
 poems in turning the fables of iEsop into verse, 
 and making a hymn to Apollo. They want to 
 know what moved you, who never made verses 
 before, to turn poet since you came into the 
 
50 THE PH^EDON 
 
 prison? If Evenus asks the same question of me 
 again, as I know he will, what would you have 
 me say ? 
 
 You have nothing to do, says Socrates, but to 
 tell him the plain matter of fact as it stands, viz. 
 That I did not at all mean to rival him in poetry, 
 for I know such an attempt was above my reach; 
 but only to trace the meaning of some dreams, 
 and put myself in a capacity of obeying, in case 
 poetry happened to be the music that they al- 
 lotted for my exercise, For you must know, 
 that all my lifetime I have had dreams, which 
 always recommended the same thing to me, 
 sometimes in one form and sometimes in another. 
 Socrates, said they, apply yourself to music. 
 This I always took for a simple exhortation, like 
 that commonly given to those who run races, 
 ordering me to pursue my wonted course of life, 
 and carry on the study of wisdom ; that I made 
 my whole business, which is the most perfect 
 music. But since my trial, the festival of Apollo 
 having retarded the execution of my sentence, I 
 fancied these dreams might have ordered me to 
 apply myself to that vulgar and common sort of 
 music ; and since I was departing from this world, 
 I thought it safer to sanctify myself by obeying 
 
OF PLATO. 51 
 
 the Gods, and essaying to make verses, than to 
 disobey them. Pursuant to this thought, my first 
 essay was a hymn to the God whose festival was 
 then celebrated ; after that, I considered that a 
 true poet, ought not only to make discourses in 
 verse, but likewise fables. Now, finding myself 
 not disposed to invent new fables, I applied my- 
 self to those of iEsop, and turned those into verse 
 that came first into my mind. This, my dear 
 Cebes, is the answer you are to give Evenus, 
 assuring him that I wish him all happiness ; and 
 tell him, that if he be wise he will follow me, for 
 in all appearance I am to make my exit to-day, 
 since the Athenians have given orders to that 
 effect. 
 
 What counsel is that you give to Evenus ? re- 
 plies Simmias ; (13) I have seen that man often, 
 and from what I know of him, I can promise you 
 he will never follow you with his will. 
 
 What, says Socrates, is not Evenus a philoso- 
 pher ? 
 
 I think so, says Simmias. 
 
 Then, replied Socrates, he and all others that 
 are worthy of that profession, will be willing to 
 follow me. I know he will not kill himself, for 
 that, they say, is not lawful. Having spoken 
 
52 THE PHiEDON 
 
 these words, he drew his legs off the bed and 
 seated himself on the ground, in which posture 
 he entertained us the whole remaining part of 
 the day. 
 
 Cebes(14) put the first question to him, which 
 was this : How do you reconcile this, Socrates, 
 that suicide is unlawful, and at the same time 
 that a philosopher ought to follow you ? 
 
 What, says Socrates, did neither you nor Sim- 
 mias ever hear your friend Philolaus (15) discours-e 
 upon that point? 
 
 No, replied they, he never explained himself 
 clearly upon that point. 
 
 As for me, replies Socrates, I know nothing 
 but what I have heard ; and shall not grudge to 
 communicate all that I have learned. Besides, 
 there is no exercise so suitable for a man upon 
 the point of death, as that of examining and 
 endeavouring to know thoroughly that voyage 
 we must all make, and in giving his opinion 
 upon it. 
 
 Where is the ground of that assertion, says 
 Cebcs, that suicide is unlawful ? I have often 
 ncard Philolaus and others say, that it was a bad 
 action, but I never heard them say more. 
 
 Have patience, bays Socrates, you shall know 
 
OF PLATO. 53 
 
 more presently, and perhaps you will be sur- 
 prised to find it an eternal truth which never 
 changes ; whereas most other things in this world 
 alter according to circumstances : this is still the 
 same, even in the case of those to whom death 
 would be more agreeable than life. Is it not a 
 surprising thing that such men are not allowed to 
 possess themselves of the good they want, but 
 are obliged to wait for another deliverer? 
 
 Jupiter only knows that, replied Cebes, smiling. 
 
 This may appear unreasonable to you, says 
 Socrates, but, after all, it is not so. The dis- 
 courses we are entertained with every day in 
 our ceremonies and mysteries, viz. that God has 
 put us in this life, as in a post which we cannot quit 
 without his leave, &c. These, I say, and such 
 like expressions, may seem hard, and surpass our 
 understanding; but nothing is easier to be under- 
 stood, or better said, than this, That the Gods take 
 care of men, and that men are one of the possessions 
 of the Gods. Is not this true? 
 
 Very true, replies Cebes. 
 
 Would not you, continues Socrates, be angry 
 if one of your slaves (16) killed himself without 
 your order, and would you not punish him se- 
 verely if you could. 
 
54 THE PH^DON 
 
 Yes, doubtless, replies Cebes. 
 
 By the same reason, says Socrates, a man should 
 not kill himself, but wait for an express order from 
 God for making his exit, like this sent me now. 
 
 That is granted, says Cebes ; but your saying, 
 that a philosopher ought nevertheless to desire to 
 die, is what I think strange, and I cannot reconcile 
 these two opinions ; especially if it be true, what 
 you said but now, that the Gods take care of men, 
 as being their property : for that a philosopher 
 should not be troubled to be without the Gods for 
 his guardians, and to quit a life where such per- 
 fect beings, the best governors of the world, take 
 care of him, seems very unreasonable to me. Do 
 they imagine they will be more capable to govern 
 themselves when left alone ? I can easily con- 
 ceive that a fool may think it his duty to flee from 
 a good master at any rate, and will not be con- 
 vinced that he ought to stick to what is good, 
 and never lose sight of it : but I affirm that a 
 wise man will never desire to quit a dependence 
 upon a more perfect being than himself. From 
 whence I infer the contrary of what you advanc- 
 ed, and conclude that the wise are sorry to die, 
 and fools are fond of death. 
 
 Socrates seemed to be pleased with Cebes ? 
 
OF PLATO. 55 
 
 wit ; and turning to us, told us that Cebes has al- 
 ways something to object, and takes care not to 
 assent at first to what is told him. 
 
 Indeed, says Simmias, I must say I find a great 
 deal of reason in what Cebes has advanced. 
 What can the sages pretend to gain, by quiting 
 better masters than themselves and willingly de- 
 priving themselves of their aid ? Do you mind 
 that ; it is you alone that he addressed himself to, 
 meaning to reprove you for your insensibility in 
 being so willing to part with us, and quit the 
 Gods, who, according to your own words, are such 
 good and wise governors. 
 
 You are in the right of it, says Socrates ; I see 
 you mean to oblige me to make formal defences, 
 such as I gave in at my trial. 
 
 That is the very thing, replies Simmias. 
 
 Then, says Socrates, you must satisfy your- 
 selves, so that this my last apology may have 
 more influence upon you than my former had 
 upon my judges. For my part, if I thought I 
 should not find in the other world Gods as good 
 and as wise, and men infinitely better, than we are, 
 it would be a piece of injustice in us not to be 
 troubled at death. But, be it known to you, Sim- 
 mias, and to you Cebes, that I hope to arrive at 
 
56 THE PILEDON 
 
 the assembly of the just. Indeed, in this point I 
 may flatter myself: but as for my finding in the 
 world masters infinitely good and wise, that 1 can 
 assure you of as much as things of that nature will 
 bear ; and therefore it is that death is no trouble 
 to me, hoping that there is something reserved for 
 the dead after this life ; and that the good meet 
 with better treatment in the world to come than 
 the bad. 
 
 How, replies Simmias, would you have quitted 
 this life without communicating these sentiments 
 to us ? This, methinks, will be a common good ; 
 and if you convince us of all that you believe with 
 reference to this point, you have made a sufficient 
 apology. 
 
 That is what I design to try, says Socrates ; but 
 I would first hear what Crito has to say ; I thought 
 he had a mind to offer something some time ago. 
 
 I have nothing to say, replies Crito, but what 
 your executioner has been pushing me on to tell 
 you for some time, that you ought to speak as 
 little as possible for fear of overheating yourself, 
 since nothing is more contrary to the operation of 
 poison, insomuch that if you continue to speak 
 so you will be obliged to take two or three 
 doses. (17) 
 
OF PLATO. 57 
 
 Let him do his office, says Socrates ; and make 
 sready two or three doses if he chooses. 
 
 I knew you would give me that answer, replies 
 Crito ; but still he importunes me to speak to you. 
 
 Pray let that alone, says Socrates, and suffer 
 me to explain before you, who are my judges, 
 for what reasons a man enlightened by philosophy 
 ought to die with courage, and a firm hope that in 
 the other world he shall enjoy a felicity beyond 
 any thing in this. Pray do you, Simmias and 
 Cebes, listen to my arguments. 
 
 True philosophers make it the whole business 
 of their lives to learn to die. Now it is extreme- 
 ly ridiculous for them, after they run a whole 
 course incessantly, in order to compass that one 
 end, to shrink and be alarmed when it comes up 
 to them, when they are just in a capacity of ob- 
 taining it after along and painful search. Where- 
 upon Simmias laughed, and told him in earnest, 
 Socrates, you make me laugh, notwithstanding the 
 small occasion I have to laugh in this juncture; 
 for 1 am certain the greatest part of those who 
 hear you talk so, will say you talk much better of 
 the philosophers than you believe. Above all, the 
 Athenians would be glad if every philosopher 
 would learn that lesson so well as to die in effect ; 
 
 
58 THE PHiEDON 
 
 and they will be ready to tell you, that death is 
 the only thing they are worthy of. 
 
 Simmias, says Socrates, our Athenians would 
 so speak the truth, but without knowing it to be 
 such: for Ihey are ignorant in what manner phi- 
 losophers desire to die, or how they are worthy 
 of it. But let us leave the Athenians to them- 
 selves, and talk of things within our own compa- 
 ny. Does death appear to be any thing to you ? 
 
 Yes, without doubt, replies Simmias. 
 
 Is it not, continues Socrates, the separation of 
 soul and body ; so that the body has one separate 
 being and the soul another ? 
 
 Just so, says Simmias. 
 
 Let us try then, my dear Simmias, if your 
 thoughts and mine agree. 
 
 By that means we shall set the object of our 
 present inquiry in a clearer light. Do you think 
 a philosopher courts what the world calls plea- 
 sure, as that of eating, drinking, &c*? 
 
 Not at all, Socrates. 
 
 Nor that of love ? 
 
 By no means. 
 
 Do you think they pursue or mind the other 
 pleasures relating to the body, such as good 
 clothes, handsome shoes, and the other ornaments 
 
OF PLATO. 59 
 
 of dress ? Whether do you think they value or 
 slight those things, when necessity does not en- 
 force their use ? 
 
 In my opinion, replies Simmias, a true philoso- 
 pher must needs contemn them. 
 
 Then you helieve, continuesSocrates, that the 
 body is not at all the object of the care and busi- 
 ness of a philosopher: but, on the contrary, that 
 his whole business is to separate himself from it, 
 and mind only the concerns of his soul. 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 Thus, continues Socrates, it is plain? upon the 
 whole, that a philosopher labours in a more dis- 
 tinguished manner than other men to purchase 
 the freedom of his soul, and cut off all commerce 
 between it and the body. I am likewise of opi- 
 nion, Simmias, that most men will grant, that who- 
 ever avoids those corporeal things, and takes no 
 pleasure in them, is not worthy to live ; and that 
 he who does not use the pleasures of the body, is 
 near to death. 
 
 You speak truth, Socrates. 
 
 But what shall we say of the acquiring of pru- 
 dence ? Is the body an obstacle or not when em- 
 ployed in that work ? I will explain my meaning 
 by an example. 
 
60 THE PILE DON 
 
 Have seeing and hearing any thing of truth in 
 them, and is their testimony faithful? Or are 
 the poets in the right in saying that we neither 
 see nor hear things truly ? For if these two 
 senses of seeing and hearing are not trustworthy, 
 the others, which are much weaker, will be far 
 less such. Do you not think so? 
 
 Yes, without doubt, replies Simmias. 
 
 When does the soul then, continues Socrates, 
 find out the truth ? We see, that while the body 
 is joined in the inquiry, this body plainly cheats 
 and seduces it. 
 
 That is true, says Simmias. 
 
 Is it not by reasoning that the soul embraces 
 truths ? And does it not reason better than be- 
 fore, when it is not encumbered by seeing or 
 hearing, pain or pleasure? When shut up within 
 itself, it bids adieu to the body, and entertains as 
 little correspondence with it as possible ; and 
 pursues the knowledge of things without touching 
 them. 
 
 That is well spoken. 
 
 Is it not, especially upon this occasion, that 
 the soul of a philosopher despises and avoids 
 the bodjr, and wants to be by itself? 
 
 I think so. 
 
OF PLATO. 61 
 
 What shall we say then, my dear Simmias, of 
 all the objects of the soul ? For instance, shall 
 we call justice something or nothing? 
 
 We must certainly give it the title of some- 
 thing. 
 
 Shall we not likewise call it good and fine ? 
 
 Yes, doubtless. 
 
 But did you ever see these objects with the 
 eyes of your body ? 
 
 No, certainly not. 
 
 Or with any other sense ? Did you ever touch 
 any of these things I now speak of, such as mag- 
 nanimity, health, fortitude ; and, in a word, the 
 essence of all other things ? Is the truth of them 
 discovered by the body 1 Or is it not certain, 
 that whoever puts himself in a condition to exa- 
 mine them more narrowly, and trace them to the 
 bottom, will better compass the end and know 
 more of them ? 
 
 That is very true. 
 
 Now the simplest and purest way of examin- 
 ing things, is to pursue every particular by 
 thought alone, without offering to support our me- 
 ditations by seeing,or backing our reason by any 
 other corporeal sense ; by employing the naked 
 thought without any mixture, and so endeavour? 
 
62 THE PH^DON 
 
 ing to trace the pure and genuine essence of 
 things without the ministry of the eyes or ears : 
 the soul being, if I may so speak, entirely disen- 
 gaged from the whole mass of body, which only 
 cumbers the soul, and cramps it in the quest of 
 wisdom and truth, as often as it is admitted to the 
 least correspondence with it. If the essence 
 of things be ever known, must it not be in the 
 manner above-mentioned ? 
 
 Right, Socrates ; you you have spoken incom- 
 parably well. 
 
 Is it not a necessary consequence from this prin- 
 ciple, continues Socrates, that true philosophers 
 should have such language among themselves ? 
 This life is a road, that is apt to mislead us and 
 our reason in all our inquiries; because while we 
 have a body, and while our soul is drowned in so 
 much corruption, we can never attain the object 
 of our wishes, i, e, truth. The body throws a 
 thousand obstacles and crosses in our way by 
 demanding necessary food ; and then the diseases 
 that ensue do quite disorder our inquiry; be- 
 sides, it fills us with love, desires, fears, and a 
 thousand foolish imaginations, insomuch that 
 there is nothing truer than the common saying. 
 that the body will never conduct us to wisdom. 
 
OF PLATO. 63 
 
 What is it that gives rise to wars, and occasions 
 seditions and duelling? Is it not the body and its 
 desires ? In effect, all wars take their rise from 
 the desire of riches, which we are forced to heap 
 up for the sake of the body, in order to supply 
 its wants, and serve it like slaves. It is this that 
 cramps our application to philosophy ; and the 
 greatest of all our evils is, that when it has given 
 us some respite, and we are set upon meditation, 
 it steals in and interrupts our meditations all of a 
 sudden. It cumbers, troubles, and surprises us 
 in such a manner, that it hinders us from disco- 
 vering the truth. Now we have made it out, 
 that in order to trace the purity and truth of any 
 .thing, we should lay aside the body and only 
 employ the soul to examne the objects we pur- 
 sue; so that we can neve™ arrive at the wisdom 
 we court till after death. Reason is on our side. 
 For if it is impossible to know any thing purely 
 while we are in the body one of these things 
 must be true : — either the truth is never known, 
 or it is known after death ; because the soul will 
 then be left to itself and freed from its burden, 
 and not before. And while we are in this life, 
 we can only approach to the truth in proportion 
 to our removing from the body, and renouncing 
 
64 THE PHJSDON 
 
 nil correspondence with it that is not of mere 
 necessity, and keeping ourselves clear from the 
 contagion of its natural corruption, and all its 
 filth, till God himself comes to deliver us. Then 
 indeed, being freed from all bedily folly, we shall 
 converse in all probability with men that enjoy 
 the same liberty, and shall know within ourselves 
 the pure essence of things, which, perhaps, is no- 
 thing but the truth. But he who is not pure, is 
 not allowed to approach to purity itself. This, 
 iny dear Simmias, as I take it, should be the 
 thought and language of the true philosopher. 
 Are not you of the same mind ? 
 
 Most certainly, Socraies. 
 
 Then, my dear Simmias, whoever shall arrive, 
 where I am now g^»irg. has great reason to hope 
 that he will there be possessed of what we look 
 for here with so mucl care and anxiety ; so that 
 the voyage I am now sent upon fills me with a 
 sweet and agreeable nope. And it will have the 
 same effect upon all who are persuaded that the 
 soul must be purged before it knows the truth. 
 Now, the purgation of the soul, as we are saying 
 but just now, is only its separation from the body, 
 its being accustomed to retire and lock itself up, 
 renouncing all commerce with it as possible, and 
 
OF PLATO. 65 
 
 living by itself, whether in this or the other world, 
 without being chained to the body. 
 
 All that is true, Socrates. 
 
 Well ! what we call death; is not that the disen- 
 gagement and separation of the body from the 
 soul? 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 Are not the true philosophers the only men 
 that seek after this disengagement ? and is not 
 that separation and deliverance their whole bu- 
 siness ? 
 
 So I think, Socrates. 
 
 Is it not a ridiculous fancy, that a man that has 
 lived in the expectation of death, and during his 
 whole lifetime has been preparing to die, upon 
 his arrival at the point of desired death, should 
 think to retire and be afraid of it ? Would not 
 that be a very scandalous apostacy ? 
 
 How should it be otherwise f 
 
 It is then certain, Simmias, that death is far 
 from being terrible to true philosophers, that it is 
 their whole business to die ; which may be easily 
 inferred thus : If they slight and contemn their 
 body, and passionately desire to enjoy their soul 
 by itself, is it not a ridiculous way of belying 
 themselves to be afraid when that minute comes ? 
 
66 THE PEUEDON 
 
 And is it not a piece of extravagance to decline 
 going to that place, where those who get to it 
 hope to obtain the good things they have wished 
 for all their life-time ? For they desired wisdom, 
 and a deliverance from the body, as being a bur- 
 den, and the object of their hatred and contempt. 
 Do not many, upon the loss of their mistresses, 
 wives, or children, (18) willingly cut the thread 
 of life, and convey themselves into the other 
 world, merely upon the hope of meeting them 
 and enjoying the company of those they love ? 
 and shall a true lover of wisdom, and one that 
 firmly hopes to attain the perfection of it in the 
 other world, shall he be startled by death, and 
 be unwilling to go to the place that will furnish 
 him with what his soul loves ? Doubtless, my 
 dear Simmias, if he be a true philosopher, he 
 will go with a great deal of pleasure; as being 
 persuaded that there is no place in the regions 
 below which can furnish him with that pure 
 wisdom which he is in quest of. Now, if things 
 stand thus, would it not be a piece of extrava- 
 gance in such a man to fear death? 
 
 To be sure, says Simmias, it would be so in 
 reality. 
 
 And, consequently, continues Socrates, when a 
 
OF PLATO. 67 
 
 man shrinks and retires at the point of death, it 
 is a certain evidence that he loves not wisdom, 
 but his own body, or honour, or riches, or per- 
 haps all three together. 
 
 It is so, Socrates. 
 
 Then, Simmias, is not that which we call fortitude 
 belong in a peculiar manner to philosophers ? and 
 does not temperance, or that sort of wisdom that 
 consists in controlling our desires, and living 
 soberly and modestly, suit admirably well with 
 those who contemn their bodies and live philo- 
 sophically ? 
 
 That is certain, Socrates. 
 
 Were you to inspect the fortitude and tempe- 
 rance of other men, you would find them very 
 ridiculous. 
 
 How so, Socrates ? 
 
 You know, says he, all other men look on death 
 as the greatest affliction. 
 
 That is true, says Simmias. 
 
 When those }^ou call brave suffer death with 
 some courage, they do it only for fear of some 
 greater evil. 
 
 I must grant that. 
 
 And of consequence, all men, except the philo- 
 sophers, are only brave and valiant through fear. 
 
68 THE PILEDON 
 
 And is it not ridiculous to believe a man to be 
 brave and valiant that is only influenced by fear 
 and timorousness ? 
 
 You are right, Socrates. 
 
 Is not the case the same with your temperate 
 persons ? It is only intemperance makes them 
 such. Though at first view this may seem 
 impossible, yet it is no more than what daily 
 experience shews to be the result of that foolish 
 and ridiculous temperance ; for such persons 
 disclaim one pleasure only through fear of being 
 robbed of other pleasures that they covet, and 
 which have an ascendancy over them. They will 
 cry out to you as long as you will, that intempe- 
 rance consists in being ruled and overawed by our 
 passions ; but at the same time that they give you 
 this fine definition, it is only their subjection to 
 some predominant pleasures that makes them dis- 
 card others. This I have said, that they are only 
 temperate through intemperance. 
 
 That is very clear, Socrates. 
 
 Let us not be imposed upon, my dear Simmias ; 
 the straight road to virtue does not lie in shifting 
 pleasure for pleasure, fear for fear, or one melan- 
 choly thought for another, and imitating those 
 
OF PLATO. 69 
 
 who change a large piece of money for many 
 small ones. But wisdom is the only true and 
 unalloyed coin, for which all others must be 
 given in exchange. With that piece of money 
 we purchase all fortitude, temperance, justice. 
 In a word, that virtue is always true which 
 accompanies wisdom, without any dependence 
 upon pleasures, grief, fear, or any other passions. 
 Whereas all other virtues, stript of wisdom, which 
 run upon a perpetual change, are only shadows 
 of virtue. True virtue is really and in effect a 
 purgation from all this sort of passions. Tem- 
 perance, justice, fortitude and prudence, are wis- 
 dom itself ; are not exchanged for passions, but 
 cleanse us from them. And it is pretty evident 
 that those who instituted the purifications, called 
 by us Teletes, i. e. perfect expiations, were per- 
 sons of no contemptible rank, men of great genius, 
 who in the first ages meant by such riddles 
 to let us know (19) that whoever enters the 
 other world without being initiated and purified, 
 shall be hurled headlong into the vast abyss; and 
 that whosoever arrives there after due purgation 
 and expiation, shall be lodged in the apartments 
 of the Gods. For, as the dispensers of these 
 expiations say, there are many who bear the 
 
70 THE PILEDON 
 
 Thyrsus, (20) but few that are possessed by the 
 spirit of God. Now, those who are thus pos- 
 sessed, as I take it, are the true philosophers. 
 I have tried all means to be enlisted in that 
 number, and have made it the business of my 
 whole life to compass my end. If it please God, 
 I hope to know in a minute that my efforts have 
 not been ineffectual, and that success has crowned 
 my endeavours. This, my dear Simmias, and 
 my dear Cebes, is the apology which 1 offer 
 to justify my not being troubled or afflicted for 
 parting with you, and quitting my governors in 
 this life ; hoping to find good friends and rulers 
 there as well as here. This the vulgar cannot 
 digest. However, I shall be satisfied if my de- 
 fences take better with you than they did with 
 my judges. 
 
 Socrates having thus spoken, Cebes took up the 
 discourse to this purpose. Socrates, I agree to the 
 truth of all you have said. There is only one 
 thing that men look upon as incredible, viz. what 
 you have advanced of the soul. (21) For almost 
 every body fancies, that when the soul parts from 
 the body it is no more ; it dies along with it; it 
 vanishes like a vapour or smoke, which ilies off 
 and disperses, and has no existence. For if it 
 
OF PLATO. 71 
 
 subsisted by itself, were gathered and retired into 
 itself, and freed from all the above-mentioned 
 evils ; there were a fair and promising prospect, 
 ascertaining the truth of what you have said. But 
 that the "soul lives after the death of a man that 
 it is sensible, that it acts and thinks ; that, I say, 
 needs both insinuation and solid proofs to make 
 it go down. 
 
 You say right, Cebes, replies Socrates ; but 
 how shall we manage this affair ? Shall we in 
 this interview examine whether it is probable or 
 not? 
 
 I shall be highly pleased, says Cebes, to hear 
 your thoughts upon that subject. 
 
 At least, says Socrates, (22) 1 cannot think that 
 any man hearing us, though he were a comedian, 
 would upbraid me with raillery, and charge me 
 with not speaking of such things as concern us 
 very much. If you have a mind that we should 
 trace this affair to the bottom, my opinion is 
 that we should proceed in the following manner, 
 in order to know whether the souls of the dead 
 have a being in the other world or not. 
 
 It is a very ancient opinion, that souls quitting 
 this world repair to the infernal regions, and af- 
 terwards return to live in this world. If it be so, 
 
72 THE PILE DON 
 
 that men return to life after death, it follows, 
 necessarily, that during that interval their souls 
 are lodged in the lower regions : for if they had 
 not a being, they could not return to this world ; 
 and this be will a sufficient proof of what we affirm, 
 if we be convinced that the living spring from the 
 dead ; if otherwise, then we must look out for 
 other proofs. 
 
 That is certain, says Cebes. 
 
 But to assure ourselves of this truth, replies 
 Socrates, it is not sufficient to examine the point 
 upon the comparison with men ; but likewise 
 upon that with other animals, plants, and what- 
 ever has a vegetable principle. By that means 
 we shall be convinced that all things are born 
 after the same manner ; that is, whatever has a 
 contrary owes its first rise to its contrary. For 
 instance, handsome is the opposite to ugly, and 
 just to unjust ; and the same is the case of an infi- 
 nite number of other things. Now, let us see if 
 it be absolutely necessary that whatever has a 
 contrary should spring from that contrary. As 
 when a thing becomes larger, of necessity it must 
 formerly have been less before it acquired that 
 magnitude ; and when it dwindles into a less 
 form, it must needs have been greater before its 
 
OF PLATO. 73 
 
 diminution. In like manner, the strongest arises 
 from the weakest, and the swiftest from the slowest^ 
 
 That is a plain truth, says Cebes. 
 
 And pray, continues Socrates, when a thing 
 becomes worse, was it not formerly better '? and 
 when it grows just, is it not because it was for- 
 merly unjust ? Yes surely, Socrates. 
 
 Then it is sufficiently proven that every thing 
 is generated by its contrary. 
 
 Sufficiently, Socrates. 
 
 But is not there always a certain medium be- 
 tween these two contraries? There are two 
 births or two processions, one of this from that, 
 another of that from this. The medium between 
 a greater and a less, is increase and diminution, 
 The same is the case of what we call mixing, se- 
 parating, heating, cooling, and all other things in 
 infinitum. For though it sometimes falls out that 
 we have not terms to express those changes and 
 mediums, yet experience shews that, by an abso- 
 solute necessity, things take rise from one another, 
 and pass reciprocally from one" to another through 
 a medium. 
 
 There is no doubt of that. And what, continues 
 Socrates, has not life likewise its contrary, .as 
 .awaking has sleeping ? 
 

 74 THE PHLEDON 
 
 Without doubt, says Cebes. 
 
 What is that contrary ? 
 
 Death. 
 
 Since these two things are opposite, do they not 
 take rise one from the other ? And between these 
 two, are there not two generations or two pro- 
 cessions? 
 
 Why not ? 
 
 But, says Socrates, I am about to tell you how 
 the above-mentioned combination stands, and to 
 shew you the original and progress of each of 
 these two things which make up the compound. 
 Pray tell me how waking and sleeping are re- 
 lated ? Does not sleep beget watchfulness, and 
 watching beget sleep ? and is not the generation 
 of sleep, the falling asleep ? and that of watching, 
 the awaking? 
 
 All very clear. 
 
 Now, pray view the combination of life and 
 death. 
 
 Is not death the opposite of life ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And does not one breed the other ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 What is it that life breeds ? 
 
 Death. 
 
OF PLATO. 75 
 
 What is it that death breeds ? 
 
 It must certainly be life. 
 
 Then, says Socrates, all living things, and man, 
 are bred from death. 
 
 So I think, says Cebes. 
 
 And therefore, continues Socrates, our souls are 
 lodged in the infernal world after death. 
 
 The, consequence seems just. 
 
 But of these two generations, one, viz. death, is 
 very palpable ; it discovers itself to the eye, and 
 is touched by the hand. 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 Shall not we then attribute to death the virtue 
 of producing its contrary, as well as to life ? Or 
 shall we say that nature is lame and maimed on 
 that score ? 
 
 There is an absolute necessity, replies Cebes, 
 of ascribing to death the generation of its con- 
 trary. 
 
 What is that contrary ? 
 
 Reviving, or returning to life. 
 
 If there is such a thing as returning to life, it 
 is nothing else than the birth of the dead, and re- 
 turning to life. And thus we agree that the living 
 are as much the product of the dead as the dead 
 are of the living ; which is an incontestible proof 
 
76 THE PH^EDON 
 
 that the souls of the dead must remain in same 
 place or other whence Ihey may return to life. 
 
 That, as 1 take it, says Cebes, is a necessary con- 
 sequence, from the principles we have agreed on. 
 
 And I look upon it, Cebes, these principles are 
 well grounded : consider them yourself. (23) If 
 ail these contraries had not their productions and 
 generation in their turn, which form a circle ; and 
 if there were nothing but one birth, and one direct 
 production from one to the other, contrary with- 
 out the return of the last contrary to the first that 
 produced it ; were it not so 5 all things would ter- 
 minate in the same figure, and be affected in the 
 same manner, and at last cease to be born. 
 
 I do not perfectly understand you, Socrates. 
 
 There is no difficulty in conceiving what I now 
 mean. If there were nothing but sleep, and if 
 sleep did not produce watching, (24) it is plain 
 that every thing would be an emblem of the fable 
 of Endymion, and nothing would be seen any- 
 where ; because the same thing must happen to 
 them that happened to Endymion, viz. they must 
 always sleep. If every thing were mingled with- 
 out any subsequent separation, we should soon 
 see the doctrine ofAnaxagoras fulfilled, and all 
 things jumbled together. At the same rate, my 
 
OF PLATO. 77 
 
 dear Cebes, (25) if all living things died, and, 
 being dead, continued so without reviving, would 
 not all things unavoidably come to an end at 
 last, insomuch that there would not be a living 
 thing left in being ? For if living things did (26) not 
 arise from dead ones, when the living ones die, 
 of necessity all things must at last be swallowed 
 up by death and entirely annihilated. 
 
 It is necessarily so, replies Cebes ; all that you 
 have said seems to be perfectly obvious. 
 
 In my opinion, Cebes, there is no objection made 
 against these truths, neither are we mistaken in 
 receiving them ; for it is certain that the living 
 rise out of the dead ; that the souls departed have 
 a being; and upon their return to this life, the 
 good souls are in a better, and the bad ones in a 
 worse, condition. 
 
 What you now advance, says Cebes, interrupt- 
 ing Socrates, is only a necessary consequence of 
 another principle that I have often heard you lay 
 down, viz. that all our acquired knowledge is only 
 remembrance ; for if that principle be true, we 
 must necessarily have learned at another time 
 what we call to mind in this. Now that is im- 
 possible, unless our soul had a being before its 
 
78 THE PILEDON 
 
 being invested with this human form ; so that this 
 game principle concludes the immortality of the 
 soul. 
 
 But, Cebes, says Simmias, interrupting him, 
 what demonstration have we of that principle ? 
 Pray refresh my memory with it, for at present 
 it is out of my head. 
 
 There is a very pretty demonstration for it, re- 
 plies Cebes. All men being duly interrogated, 
 find out all things of themselves; which they 
 never could do without knowledge and right rea- 
 son. Put them at unawares upon the figures of 
 geometry, and other things of that nature, they 
 presently perceive that it is correctly stated. 
 
 Simmias, says Socrates, if you will not rely upon 
 this experience, pray try whether the same me- 
 thod will not bring you over to our sentiments. 
 Do you find great difficulty in believing that 
 learning is only remembering ? 
 
 I do not find very much, replies Simmias, but 
 I would gladly learn that remembrance you speak 
 of. By what Cebes has said, I almost remember 
 it, and I begin to believe it; but that shall not 
 hinder me from hearing with pleasure the argu- 
 ments you can offer for it. 
 
OF PLATO. 79 
 
 I argue thus, replies Socrates : we all agree, 
 that in order to remember, a man must have 
 known before what he then recalls to mind. 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 And let us likewise agree upon this, that know- 
 ledge coming in a certain manner is remem- 
 brance. I say, in a certain manner: for instance, 
 when a man by seeing, hearing, or perceiving a 
 thing by any of the senses, knows what it is that 
 thus strikes his senses, and at the same time ima- 
 gines to himself another thing, independent of that 
 knowledge, by virtue of a quite different know- 
 ledge, do we not justly say that the man remem- 
 bers the thing that comes thus into nis mind? 
 
 What do you say, replies Simmias ? 
 
 I say, replies Socrates, for example, that we 
 know a man by one sort of knowledge, and a harp 
 by another. 
 
 That is certain, says Simmias. 
 
 Well then, continues Socrates, do not you know 
 what happens to lovers when they see the harp, 
 habit, or any other thing that their friends or 
 mistresses were accustomed to use ? It is just as 
 I said but now ; upon seeing and knowing the 
 harp, they form in their mind the image of the 
 person to whom the harp belongs. This is re- 
 
SO THE PH^EDON 
 
 membrance. Thus it often happens, that one 
 seeing Simmias, thinks of Cebes. I could cite a 
 thousand other instances. This then is remem- 
 brance, especially when the things called to mind 
 are such as had been forgotten through length of 
 time or being out of sight. 
 
 That is certain, says Simmias. 
 
 But, continues Socrates, upon seeing the pic- 
 ture of a horse or harp, may not one call to mind 
 the man ? And upon seeing the picture of Sim- 
 mias, may not one think of Cebes ? 
 
 Undoubtedly, says Simmias. 
 
 Much more, continues Socrates, upon seeing 
 the picture of Simmias, will he call to mind Sim- 
 mias himself. 
 
 Yes, with ease. 
 
 From all these instances we infer, that remem- 
 brance is occasioned sometimes by the things that 
 are like the object remembered, and sometimes 
 by things that are unlike ; but when one remem- 
 bers any thing by virtue of a likeness, does it not 
 necessarily follow that the mind, at first view, 
 discovers whether the picture resembles the ob- 
 ject designed, partially or perfectly ? 
 
 It must be so, replies Simmias. 
 
 Then pray mind whether your thoughts of 
 
OF PLATO. 81 
 
 what I am about to say agree with mine. Is not 
 there something that we call equality ? I do not 
 speak of the equality between one tree and ano- 
 ther, one stone and another, and several other 
 things that are alike : I speak of the abstract equa- 
 lity of things. Shall we call that something or 
 nothing ? Surely we should call it something ; 
 but that will only come to pass when we mean to 
 speak philosophically, and of marvellous things. 
 
 But then do we know this equality ? 
 
 Without doubt. 
 
 From whence do we derive that knowledge ? 
 Is it not from the things we mentioned just now ? 
 It is upon seeing equal trees, equal stones, and 
 several other things of that kind, that we form 
 the idea of that equality, which is neither the 
 trees nor the stones, but something abstracted 
 from all these objects. Do not you find it so ? 
 Pray take notice, the stones and the trees are 
 always the same, and yet do not they sometimes 
 appear unequal ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 What ! do equal things appear unequal ? or 
 does equality take up the form of inequality ? 
 
 By no means, Socrates. 
 
 8* 
 
82 THE PHjEDON 
 
 Then equality, and the thing which is equal, 
 are two different things. 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 But, after all, these equal things, which are dif- 
 ferent from equality, furnish us with the idea 
 and knowledge of that abstracted equality. 
 
 That is true, says Simmias. 
 
 The case is the same, whether this equality 
 bears a resemblance to the thing which occa- 
 sioned the idea of it, or not. 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 When upon seeing one thing, you call to mind 
 another, it is no matter if it be a resemblance or 
 not ; still it is remembrance. 
 
 Without doubt. 
 
 But what shall we say to this, continues So- 
 crates, when we behold trees or other things that 
 are equal ; are they equal according to the equa- 
 lity of which we have the idea, or not ? 
 
 Very far from it. 
 
 Then we agree upon this : when a man sees 
 any thing before him, and thinks it would be equal 
 to another, but at the same time is so far from 
 being so perfectly equal as the equality of which 
 he has the idea: then, I say, he who thinks thus, 
 
OF PLATO. 83 
 
 must necessarily have known beforehand this 
 intellectual being, which the object resembles, but 
 imperfectly. 
 
 That is necessarily the case ? 
 
 And is it not the same when we compare things 
 equal with the equality ? 
 
 Certainly, Socrates. 
 
 Then of necessity we must have known that 
 equality before the time in which we first saw 
 the equal things, and thereupon thought that they 
 all tended to be equal as equality itself, but could 
 not reach it. 
 
 That is correct. 
 
 But we likewise agree upon this, that this 
 thought can be derived from nothing else but 
 one of our senses ; from seeing, touching, or feel- 
 ing one way or other: and the same conclusion 
 will hold good of all beings, whether intellectual 
 or sensible. 
 
 All things will equally conclude for what you 
 design. 
 
 Then it is from the senses themselves that we 
 derive this thought ; that all the objects of our 
 senses have a tendency towards this intellectual 
 equality, but come short of it : is it not? 
 
 Yes, without doubt, Socrates. 
 
$4 THE PH^IDON 
 
 In effect, Simmias, before we begin to see, feel, 
 or use any of our senses, we must have had the 
 knowledge of this intellectual equality ; else we 
 could not be capable of comparing it with the sen- 
 sible objects, and perceive that they have all a ten- 
 dency towards it, but fall short of its perfection. 
 
 That is a necessary consequence from these 
 premises. 
 
 But is it not certain, that, immediately after our 
 birth, we saw, we heard, and made use of other 
 senses? 
 
 Very true. 
 
 Then it follows, that before that time we had 
 the knowledge of that equality ? 
 
 Without doubt. 
 
 And of course we were possessed of it before 
 we were born. 
 
 I think so. 
 
 If we possessed it before we were born, then 
 we knew things before we were born and imme- 
 diately after our birth ; knew not only what is 
 great, what is small, what is equal, but all other 
 things of that nature. 
 
 For what we now advance of equality ie 
 equally applicable to goodness, justice, sanc- 
 tity ; and, in a word, to all other things that have 
 
OF PLATO. 85 
 
 a real existence ; (27) so that we must of ne- 
 cessity have known all these things before we 
 came into this world. 
 
 That is certain. 
 
 And being possessed of that knowledge, if we 
 did not forget apace every day, we should not 
 only be born with it, but retain it all our life- 
 time. For to know, is only to preserve the know- 
 ledge we have received, and not to lose it. And 
 to forget, is to lose the knowledge we enjoyed 
 before. 
 
 True, Socrates. 
 
 Now if, after having possessed that knowledge 
 before we were born, and having lost it since, 
 we come to retrieve it by the ministry of our 
 senses, which we call learning, shall not we 
 justly entitle it remembrance ? 
 
 Yes, with good reason, Socrates. 
 
 For we have agreed upon this ; that it is very 
 possible that a man seeing, hearing, or perceiving 
 one thing by any of his senses, should frame to 
 himself the imagination of another thing that he 
 had forgotten, to which the thing perceived by 
 the senses has some relation, whether it resem- 
 bles the other or not ; so that one of two things 
 must necessarily follow : either we were born 
 
86 THE PH.EDON 
 
 with that knowledge, and preserved it all along ; 
 or else retrieved it afterwards by remembrance. 
 Which of these two do you pitch upon, Simmias ? 
 Are we born with that knowledge, or do we call 
 it to mind, after having had it and forgotten it ? 
 
 Indeed, Socrates, I do not know which to 
 choose at present. 
 
 But mind what I am to say to you, and then 
 let us see which you will choose. A man that 
 knows any thing, can he give a reason of his 
 knowledge or not ? 
 
 Doubtless he can, Socrates. 
 
 And you think all men can give a reason for 
 what we have been speaking of ? 
 
 I wish they could, replies Simmias ; but I am 
 afraid to-morrow we shall have no one here that 
 is capable of doing it. (28.) 
 
 Then you think all men have not this know- 
 ledge ? 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 Do they call to mind then, the things they have 
 known ? 
 
 That may be. 
 
 At what time did our souls learn that know- 
 ledge ? It cannot be since wc were men. 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
OF PLATO. 87 
 
 Then it must be some time before that ? 
 Yes, without doubt. 
 
 And, of course, Simmias, our souls had a being 
 before that time ; that is to say, before they were 
 invested with a human form ; while they were 
 without the body, r jhey thought, they knew, and 
 they understood. 
 
 Unless you will allow, Socrates, that we learned 
 it at the instant of our birth ; there is no other 
 time left. 
 
 Be it so, my dear Simmias, but at what other 
 time did we lose it 1 For we did not bring it into 
 the world with us, as we concluded just now. 
 Did we lose it at the same instant that we ob- 
 tained it? Or can you assign any other time ?j 
 
 No, Socrates ; I did not perceive that what I 
 said was to no purpose. 
 
 Then, Simmias, this must be a standing truth, — 
 that if the objects of our daily conversation have 
 a real existence ; I mean, if justice, goodness, and 
 all the essence with which, we compare the ob- 
 jects of our senses, and which having an exist- 
 ence before us, proves to be of the same nature 
 with our essence, and is the standard by which 
 we measure all things ; I say, if all these things 
 have a real existence, our soul is likewise entitled 
 
88 THE PH^EDON 
 
 to existence, and that before we were born ; and 
 if these things have no being, then all our dis- 
 courses are useless. Is it not a standing truth, 
 and withal a just and necessary consequence, that 
 the existence of our souls, before our birth, stands 
 and falls with the proof of those things ? 
 
 That consequence, replies Simmias, seems to 
 me to be equally just and wonderful ; and the re- 
 sult of the whole discourse affords something very 
 glorious and desirable on our behalf, since it con- 
 cludes, that before we were born, our souls had 
 an existence as well as that intelligible essence 
 you mentioned before. For my part, I think 
 there is nothing more evident and more sensible 
 than the existence of all these things, viz. good- 
 ness, justice, &c. and you have sufficiently made 
 it out. 
 
 Now for Cebes, says Socrates ; for he must like- 
 wise be convinced. 
 
 I believe, replies Simmias, that although he is 
 one of the most unyielding men upon earth, and 
 almost proof against arguments, yet he will own 
 your proof to be convincing. In the mean time, 
 though I am sufficiently convinced that our souls 
 had a being before we were born, 1 have not yet 
 heard sufficient proof for its continuing to exist 
 

 OF PLATO. §g 
 
 after our death. For that popular opinion whieh 
 Cebes mentioned just now remains in all its force 3 
 viz. that after the death of man, the soul disperses 
 and ceases to be. And indeed, I cannot see why 
 the soul should not be born, or proceed from 
 some part or other, and have a being before it 
 animates the body in this life ; and when it re- 
 moves from the body, cease to be, and make its 
 exit as well as the body. 
 
 You speak well, Simmias, says Cebes ; to my 
 mind Socrates has only proven the half of what 
 he proposed. It is true, he has demonstrated 
 that the soul has a being before the body ; but 
 to complete his demonstration, he should have 
 proven that our soul has an existence after death 
 as well as before this life. 
 
 But I have demonstrated it to you both, replies 
 Socrates, and you will be sensible of it if you 
 join this last proof with what you acknowledged 
 before, viz. that the living rise from the dead. 
 For if it is true that our soul was in being before 
 we were born ; then, of necessity, when it comes 
 to life, it proceeds, so to speak, from the bosom 
 of death ; and why should it not lie under the 
 same necessity of being after death, since it must 
 return to life ? Thus what you speak of is made 
 
90 THE PflLEDON 
 
 out ; but I perceive both of you desire to sound 
 this matter to the bottom, and are apprehensive, 
 like children, that when the soul departs the 
 body, the winds run away with it and disperse 
 it ; especially when a man dies in a open country 
 in a place exposed to the winds. 
 
 Whereupon Cebes smiling, replied, pray then, 
 Socrates, try to dispel our fears, or rather con- 
 vince us as if we feared nothing ; though indeed 
 there be some among us who lie under these 
 childish apprehensions ; persuade us then not to 
 fear death as a vain phantom. 
 
 As for that, says Socrates, you must employ 
 spells and exorcisms every day until you be 
 cured. 
 
 But pray, Socrates, where shall we meet with 
 that excellent conjurer, since you are going to 
 leave us ? 
 
 Greece is large enough, replies Socrates, and 
 well stored with learned men. Besides, there 
 are a great many barbarous nations, which you 
 must scour in order to find out the conjuror, 
 without sparing either labour or expense ; for you 
 cannot employ your money in a better cause. 
 You must likewise look for one among youselves ; 
 for it is possible there may be none found more 
 
OF PLATO. Qi 
 
 capable to perform those enchantments than 
 yourselves. 
 
 We shall obey your orders, Socrates, in look- 
 ing out for one ; but in the' mean time, if you 
 please, let us resume our former discourse. 
 
 With all my heart, Cebes. 
 
 Well said, Socrates. 
 
 The first question we ought to ask ourselves, 
 says Socrates, is, what sort of things they are that 
 are apt to be dissipated ; what things are liable 
 to that accident, and what part of those things ? 
 Then we must inquire into the nature of the soul, 
 and form our fears or our hopes accordingly. 
 
 That is very true. 
 
 Is it not certain that only compound things ad- 
 mit of being dissipated at the same rate that they 
 were compounded ? If there are any uncom- 
 pounded beings, they alone are free from this 
 accident, and naturally incapable of dissipation. 
 
 I think that is very clear, replies Cebes. 
 
 -Is it not very likely, that things which are al- 
 ways the same, and in the same condition, are 
 not at all compounded ; and that those which are 
 liable to perpetual changes, and are never the 
 same, are certainly compounded ? 
 I am of your opinion, Socrates. 
 
92 THE PH^IDON 
 
 Let us betake ourselves to the thing we were 
 speaking of just now, the existence whereof is 
 never contested either in question or answer: 
 Are these things always the same, or do they 
 sometimes change ? — equality, beauty, goodness, 
 and every singular thing, that is the essence it- 
 self: do these receive the least alteration, or are 
 they so pure and simple that they continue al- 
 ways the same without undergoing the least 
 change ? 
 
 Of course, replies Cebes, they must continue 
 the same without alteration. 
 
 And all these fine things, says Socrates ; such 
 as men, horses, habits, moveables, and a great 
 many other things of the same nature, are en- 
 tirely opposite to the former, that they never 
 continue in the same condition, either with refer- 
 ence to' themselves or others, but are subject to 
 perpetual alterations? 
 
 They never continue in the same condition, 
 replies Cebes. 
 
 Now these are the things that are visible, 
 tangible, or perceptible by some other sense ; 
 whereas the former, which continue still the 
 same, can only be reached by thought, as being 
 immaterial and invisible. 
 
OF PLATO. 93 
 
 That is true, Socrates. 
 
 If you please, continues Socrates, I will in* 
 stance, in two things, one visible, the other 
 invisible ; one still the same, and the other be- 
 traying continual alterations. 
 
 With all my heart, says Cebes. 
 
 Let us see, then ; are we not compounded of a 
 body and a soul ? Or are there any other ingre- 
 dients in our composition ? 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 Which of the two things does our body most 
 resemble ? 
 
 All men own that it is most conformable to the 
 visible sort. 
 
 And pray, my dear Cebes, is our soul visible 
 or invisible ? 
 
 It is invisible to men, at least. 
 
 But when we speak of visible or invisible 
 things, we mean with regard to men, without 
 minding any other nature. 
 
 Once more, then, is the soul visible or not? 
 
 It is not visible. 
 
 Then it is invisible or immaterial ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And of course the soul is more conformable 
 
 9* 
 
94 THE PILEDO N 
 
 than the body to the invisible kind of things ; and 
 the body suits better with the visible ? 
 That is self-evident. 
 
 When the soul makes use of the body, in con- 
 sidering any thing by seeing, hearing, or any 
 other sense; that being the sole function of the 
 body, to consider things by the senses ; should 
 not we then say that the body draws the soul 
 upon mutable things ? In this condition, it strays, 
 frets, staggers, and is giddy like a man in drink, 
 by reason of its being engaged in matter*jWhereas, 
 when it pursues things by itself, without calling 
 in the body, it betakes itself to what is pure, im- 
 mortal, immutable ; and, as being of the same 
 nature, dwells constantly upon it when it is mas- 
 ter of itself ; then its errors are at an end, and it 
 is always the same, as being united to what never 
 changes ; and this passion of the soul is what we 
 call wisdom or prudence. 
 
 That is admirably well spoken, Socrates, and a 
 great truth. 
 
 After all, then, which sort of things does the 
 soul seem to resemble most ? 
 
 In my mind, Socrates, there is no man so stu- 
 pid and stiff as not to be obliged, by your method 
 
OF PLATO. 95 
 
 of arguing, to acknowledge that the soul bears a 
 greater resemblance and conformity to the immu- 
 table being than to that which is always upon 
 the change. 
 
 And as for the body ? 
 
 It bears a greater resemblance to the other. 
 
 Let us try another way. During the conjunc- 
 tion of body and soul, nature orders the one to 
 obey and be a slave, and the other to command 
 and hold the empire. Which of these two cha- 
 racters are most suitable to the Divine Being, or 
 to that which is mortal ? Are not you sensible that 
 the divine is only capable of commanding and 
 ruling ; and what is mortal is only worthy of 
 obedience and slavery ? 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 Which of these two, then, agrees best with the 
 soul? 
 
 It is evident, Socrates, that our soul resembles 
 what is divine, and our body what is mortal. 
 
 You see, then, my dear Cebes, the necessary 
 result of all is, that our soul bears a strict resem- 
 blance to what is divine, immortal, intellectual, 
 simple, indissoluble ; and is always the same, and 
 always like it : and that our body does perfectly 
 
96 THE PH^EDON 
 
 resemble what is human, mortal, sensible, com- 
 pounded, dissoluble ; always changing, and never 
 like itself. Can any thing be supposed to destroy 
 that consequence, or make out the contrary ? 
 
 Certainly not, Socrates. 
 
 Does not it then suit with the body to be 
 quickly dissolved, and with the soul to be always 
 indissoluble or something very near it ? 
 
 That is a standing truth. 
 
 Accordingly, you see every day, when a man . 
 dies, his visible body, that continues exposed to 
 our view, and which we call the corpse, that alone 
 admits of dissolution, alteration, and dissipation. 
 This, I say, does not immediately undergo any of 
 these accidents, but continues a long time in 
 its flower, if I may so speak, especially in this 
 season. Bodies embalmed after the manner 
 of those in Egypt, (29) remain entire for an infi- 
 nity of years ; and even in those that corrupt, 
 there are always some parts, such as the bones, 
 nerves, or the like, that continue in a manner im- 
 mortal. Is not this true ? 
 
 Very true. 
 
 Now, as for as the soul, which is an invisible 
 being, that goes to a place like itself, marvellous, 
 
OF PLATO. 97 
 
 pure, and invisible, in the infernal world ; and re- 
 turns to a God full of goodness and wisdom, which 
 I hope will be the fate of my soul in a short time 
 i( it please God, Shall a soul of this nature, and 
 created with all these advantages, be dissipated 
 and annihilated as soon as it parts from the 
 body, as most men believe? No such thing, my 
 dear Simmias and Cebes. I will tell you what 
 will rather come to pass, and what we ought 
 steadfastly to believe. If the soul retains its 
 purity without any mixture of filth from the 
 body, as having entertained no voluntary corre- 
 spondence with it ; but, on the contrary, hav- 
 ing always avoided it, and recollected Jtself 
 within itself, in continual meditations; that is, 
 in studying the true philosophy and effectually 
 learning to die l for philosophy is a preparation 
 for death : I sayflff the soul depart in this condi- 
 tion, it repairs to a being like itself, — a being 
 that is divine, immortal, and full of wisdom ; in 
 which it enjoys an inexpressible felicity, in being 
 freed from its errors, its ignorance, its fears, its 
 amours, that tyrannized over it, and all the other 
 evils pertaining to human nature: and, as it is 
 said of those who have been initiated in holy mys* 
 Series, it truly passes a whole course of eternity 
 
98 THE PILEDON 
 
 with the gods. Ought not this to be the matter 
 of our belief? 
 
 Most certainly, Socrates. 
 
 But if the soul depart full of uncleanness and 
 impurity, as having been all along mingled with 
 the body, always employed in its service, al- 
 ways possessed by the love of it, decoyed and 
 charmed by its pleasures and lusts ; insomuch 
 that it believed there was nothing real or true 
 beyond what is corporeal, — what may be seen, 
 touched, drank, eaten,- or what is the object of 
 carnal pleasure ; that it hated, dreaded, and 
 avoided what the eyes of the body could not des- 
 cry, and all that is intelligible, and can only be 
 enjoyed by philosophy. Do you think, I say, 
 that a soul in this condition can depart pure and 
 simple from the body ? 
 
 No, Socrates, that is impossible. On the con- 
 trary, it departs stained with corporeal pollution, 
 which was rendered natural to it by its continual 
 commerce and too intimate union with the body 
 at a time when it was its constant companion; 
 and was still employed in serving and gratifying it. 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 This pollution, my dear Cebes, is a gross, 
 heavy, earthly, and visible mass 5 and the soul, 
 
OF PLATO. 99 
 
 loaded with such a weight, is dragged into that 
 visible place, not only by the weight, but by its 
 own dreading the light and the invisible place ; 
 and, as we commonly say, it wanders in the 
 church-yards, round the tombs, where dark phan- 
 toms and apparitions are often seen; such as 
 these souls that did not depart the body in pu- 
 rity or simplicity, but polluted with that earthly 
 and visible matter, and makes them degenerate 
 into a visible form. 
 
 That is very likely, Socrates. 
 Yes, without doubt, Cebes ; and it is also likely 
 that it is not the good .but the bad souls that are 
 forced to wander in those places of impurity ; 
 where they suffer for their former bad life, and 
 continue to wander, till, through the love they 
 have to this corporeal mass, which always fol- 
 lows them, they engage again in a new body, 
 and, in all probability, plunge themselves into 
 the same manners and passions as was the occu- 
 pation of their first life. 
 
 What do you say, Socrates ? 
 I say, Cebes, that, for instance, those who made 
 their belly their God, and loved nothing but in- 
 dolence and impurity, without any shame, and 
 without any reserve ; those enter into the bodies 
 
 LOFC, 
 
100 THE PH^DON 
 
 of asses or such like creatures. Do not you think 
 this very probable ? 
 
 Yes, Socrates. 
 
 And those souls which loved only injustice, ty- 
 ranny, and rapine, are employed to animate the 
 bodies of wolves, hawks, and falcons. Where 
 else should souls of this stamp go ? 
 
 No where else, Socrates. 
 
 The cause of all the rest is much the same ; 
 they go to animate the bodies of beasts of differ- 
 ent species, according as they resemble their first 
 courses. 
 
 According to these principles it cannot be 
 otherwise. 
 
 The happiest of all these men, whose souls 
 are sent to the most agreeable place, are those 
 who have always made a profession of popular 
 and civil virtues, which are called temperance 
 and justice ; to which they have brought them- 
 selves only by habit and exercise, without any 
 assistance from philosophy and the mind. 
 
 How can they be so happy, then ? 
 
 It is probable that, after death, their souls are 
 joined to the bodies of politic and meek animals ; 
 such as bees, wasps, and ants : or else return to 
 human bodies, and become temperate and wise 
 
OF PLATO. 101 
 
 men ; but as/for approaching to the nature of 
 God, that is hot at all allowed to those who did 
 not live philosophically, and whose souls did not 
 depart with all their purity. That great privi- 
 lege is reserved for the lovers of true wisdom; 
 and it is upon the consideration of this, my dear 
 Simmias and my dear Cebes, that the true philo- 
 sophers renounce the desires of the body, and 
 keep themselves up from its lusts. They are not 
 apprehensive of the ruin of their families, or of 
 poverty, as the vulgar are, and those who are 
 wedded to their riches : they fear neither igno- 
 miny nor reproach, as those who court only dig- 
 nities and honours. In a word, they renounce all 
 things, and even themselves. 
 
 It would not be suitable for them to do other- 
 wise, replied Cebes. 
 
 No, continued Socrates: in like manner, all 
 those who value their souls, and do not live for 
 the body, depart from all such lusts, and follow a 
 different course from those insensible creatures 
 that do not know where they go. They are per- 
 suaded that they ought not to do any thing con- 
 trary to philosophy, or harbour any thing that 
 destroys its purifications and retards their liberty; 
 
 10 
 
102 THE PH^DON 
 
 and accordingly resign themselves to its con- 
 duct, and follow it whithersoever it leads them. 
 
 What do you say, Socrates ? 
 
 I will explain it to you. The philosophers, find- 
 ing their souls tied and chained to the body, and 
 by that means obliged to employ the body in the 
 pursuit of objects which it cannot follow alone, so 
 that it still floats in an abyss of ignorance, are very 
 sensible that the force of this bond lies in its own 
 desires, insomuch that the prisoner itself helps to 
 lock up the chains. They are sensible that phi- 
 losophy, coming to seize upon the soul in this 
 condition, gently instructs and comforts it, and 
 endeavours to disengage it, by giving it to know 
 that the eye of the body is full of illusion and de- 
 ceit, as well as all its other senses ; by advertising 
 it not to use the body farther than necessity re- 
 quires ; and advising it to recollect and shut up 
 itself within itself; to receive no disposition but 
 its own, after it has examined within itself the in- 
 trinsic nature of every thing, and strip it of the 
 covering that conceals it from our eyes ; and to 
 continue fully persuaded, that whatever is tried 
 by all its other senses, being different from the 
 former discovery, is certainly false. Now, what 
 
OF PLATO. 103 
 
 ever is tried by the corporeal senses, is visible 
 and sensible •, and what it views by itself with- 
 out the ministry of the body, is invisible and 
 intelligible; so that the soul of a true philosopher, 
 being convinced that it should not oppose its own 
 liberty, disclaims, as far as it is possible, the plea- 
 sures, lusts, fears, and sorrows of the body : for 
 it knows that when one has enjoyed many plea- 
 sures, or given way to extreme grief or timorous- 
 ness, or given himself to his desires, he not only 
 is afflicted by the sensible evils known to all the 
 world — such as the loss of health or estate, but 
 is doomed to the last and greatest of evils ; an 
 evil that is so much the more dangerous and ter- 
 rible, because it is not obvious to our senses. 
 
 What evil is that, Socrates ? 
 
 It is this : that the soul being forced to rejoice 
 or be afflicted upon any occasion, is persuaded 
 that what causes its pleasure or grief is a real and 
 true thing, though at the same time it is not : and 
 such is the nature of all sensible and visible things 
 that are capable of occasioning joy or grief. 
 
 That is certain, Socrates. 
 
 Are not these passions then, the chief instru- 
 ments particularly that imprison and mew up the 
 soul within the body ? How is that, Socrates ? 
 
104 THE PH^EDON 
 
 Every pleasure, every melancholy thought, be- 
 ing armed with a strong and keen nail, nails the 
 soul to the body with such force that it becomes 
 material and corporeal, and fancies there are no 
 real and true objects but such as the body ac- 
 counts so : for as it entertains the same opinion, 
 and pursues the same pleasures with the body, so 
 it is obliged to the same actions and habits : for 
 which reason it cannot descend in purity to the 
 lower world, but is daubed all over with the pol- 
 lution of the body it left, and quickly enters ano- 
 ther body ; where it takes root, as if it had been 
 sown, and puts a period to all commerce with the 
 pure, simple, and divine essence. 
 
 That is very true, Socrates. 
 
 These are the motives that oblige the true phi- 
 losophers to make it their business to acquire 
 temperance and fortitude, and not such motives 
 as the vulgar think of. Are not you of my opinion, 
 Cebes ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 All true philosophers will still be of that mind. 
 Their soul will never entertain such a thought, as 
 if philosophy should disengage it, to the end that, 
 when it is freed, it should follow its pleasures and 
 give way to its fears and sorrows ; that it should 
 
OF PLATO. 105 
 
 put on its chains again, and always want to begin 
 again \ like Penelope's web,ion the contrary, it 
 continues in a perfect tranquillity and freedom 
 from passion, and always follows reason for its 
 guide, without departing from its measures ; it 
 incessantly contemplates what is true, divine, im- 
 mutable, and above opinion, being nourished by 
 this pure truth : it is convinced that it ought to 
 follow the same course of life while it is united to 
 the body; and hopes that after death, being sur- 
 rendered to that immortal being as its source, it 
 will be freed from all the afflictions of the human 
 nature. After such a life, and upon such princi- 
 ples, my dear Simmias and Cebes, what should 
 the soul be afraid of ? Shall it fear that, upon 
 its departure from the body, the winds will dissi- 
 pate it and run away with it, and that annihilation 
 will be its fate ? 
 
 Socrates having thus spoken, he paused for a con- 
 siderable time, seeming to be altogether intent 
 upon what he had said. Most of us were in the 
 same condition, and Cebes and Simmias had a 
 short conference together. At last, Socrates per- 
 ceiving their conference, asked them what they 
 were speaking of? 
 Do you think, says he, that my arguments are 
 10* 
 
106 THE PH.EDON 
 
 lame ? I think, indeed, there is room left for a 
 great many doubts and objections, if any will take 
 the pains to retail them out. If you are speaking 
 of any thing else, I have nothing to say ; but 
 though you have no doubts, pray, tell me freely, 
 if you think of any better demonstration, and 
 make me a companion in your inquiry, if you 
 think I can assist you to compass your end. 
 
 I will tell you, says Simmias, the naked truth. 
 It is some time since Cebes and I thought of the 
 same doubts, and being desirous to have them 
 resolved, pushed on one another to propose Ihem 
 to you. But we were both afraid to importune 
 you, and propose disagreeable questions in this 
 unseasonable hour of your present misfortune. 
 
 Oh! my dear Simmias, replies Socrates, smil- 
 ing, certainly I should find great difficulty in per- 
 suading other men that I find no misfortune in 
 my present circumstances, since I cannot get you 
 to believe it. You think that, upon the score of 
 foreknowledge and divining, I am infinitely infe- 
 rior to the swans. When they perceive approach- 
 ing death, they sing more sweetly than before, 
 because of the joy they have in going to the God 
 they serve. But men, through the fear of death, 
 reproach the swans, in saying that they lament 
 
OF PLATO. 10"^ 
 
 their death, and tune their grief in sorrowful 
 notes. They forget to make this reflection, — that 
 no bird sings when it is hungry, or cold, or sad ; 
 nay, not the nightingale, the swallow, or the lap- 
 wing, whose music, they say, is a true lamenta- 
 tion, and the effect of grief; but, after all, these 
 birds do not all sing out of grief, and far less the 
 swans ; which, by reason of their belonging to 
 Apollo, are diviners, and sing more joyfully on the 
 day of their death than before, as foreseeing the 
 good that awaits them in the other world. And 
 as for me, I think I serve Apollo as well as they 
 do ; I am consecrated to that god as well as 
 they; T have received from our common master 
 the art of divining as well as they have; and I am 
 as little concerned for making my exit as they 
 are ; so that you may freely propose what doubts 
 you please, and put questions to me as long as 
 the eleven magistrates suffer me to be here. 
 
 You say well, Socrates, replies Simmias ; since 
 it is so, I will propose my doubts first, and then 
 Cebes shall give in his. I agree with you that it is 
 impossible, or at least very difficult, to know the 
 truth in this life ; and that it is the property of a 
 lazy and a dull head not to weigh exactly what 
 he says, or to supersede the examination be- 
 
108 THE PH^DON 
 
 fore he has made all his efforts, and be obliged to 
 give over by insurmountable difficulties. For one 
 of these two things must be done : we must either 
 learn the truth from others, or find it out our- 
 selves. If both ways fail us, amidst all human 
 reasons^ we must pitch upon the strongest and 
 most forcible, and trust to that as to a ship while 
 we pass through this stormy sea, and endeavour 
 to avoid the tempests and shoals till we find out 
 one more firm and sure; such as a promise or 
 revelation, upon which we may happily accom- 
 plish the voyage of this life, as in a vessel that 
 fears no danger. I shall therefore not be ashamed 
 to put questions to you now that you allow me ; 
 and shall avoid that reproach I might one day 
 cast upon myself, of not having told you my 
 thoughts upon this occasion. When I survey 
 what you spoke to me and to Cebes, I must own 
 ] do not think your proofs sufficient. 
 
 Perhaps you have reason, my dear Simmias; 
 but where does their insufficiency appear ? 
 
 In this : that the same things might be asserted 
 of the harmony of a harp. For one may rea- 
 sonably say, that the harmony of a harp, well 
 stringed and well tuned, is invisible, immaterial, 
 excellent, and divine ; and that the instrument 
 
OF PLATO. 109 
 
 and its strings are the body, the compounded, 
 earthly, and mortal matter; and if the instrument 
 were cut in pieces, or its strings broken, might 
 not one with equal reason affirm, that this har- 
 mony remains after the breaking of the harp, and 
 has no end ? For, since it is evident that the harp 
 remains after the strings are broken ; or that the 
 strings, which are likewise mortal, continue after 
 the harp is broken or dismounted ; it must needs 
 be impossible, might one say, that this immortal 
 and divine harmony should perish before that 
 which is mortal and earthly ; nay, it is necessary 
 that this harmony should continue to be without 
 the least damage, when the body of the harp and 
 its strings are gone to nothing. For, without 
 doubt, Socrates, you are sensible that we hold the 
 soul to be something that resembles a harmony; 
 and that as our body is a being composed of hot 
 and cold, dry and moist, so our soul is nothing 
 else but the harmony resulting from the just pro- 
 portion of these mixed qualities. Now, if our soul 
 is only a sort of harmony, itis evident that when our 
 body is overstretched or unbended by disease, 
 or any other disorder, of necessity our soul, with 
 all its divinity, must come to an end, as well as 
 the other harmonies which consist in sounds, or 
 
HO THE PH^EDON 
 
 are the effects of instruments ; and that the re- 
 mains of every body continue for a considerable 
 time, till they be burnt or mouldered away. This, 
 you see, Socrates, might be alleged in opposition 
 to your arguments ; that if the soul be only a 
 mixture of the qualities of the body, it perisheth 
 first in what we call death. Then Socrates looked 
 upon us all, one after another, as he did often, 
 and began to smile : Simmias speaks with reason, 
 Bays he ; his questions are well put ; and if any 
 one of you have a greater dexterity in answer- 
 ing his objections than I have, why do you not do 
 it ? for he seems thoroughly to understand both 
 my arguments and the exceptions they are liable 
 to. But, before we answer him, it is proper to 
 hear what Cebes has to object ; that while he 
 speaks, we may have time to think upon what 
 we are to say ; and, after we have heard them 
 both, that we may yield if their reasons are uni- 
 form and valid ; and if otherwise, may stand 
 by our principles to the utmost. Tell us, then, 
 Cebes, what it is that hinders you from agreeing 
 with what 1 have laid down ? 
 
 I will tell you, says Cebes : your demonstration 
 Eeems to be lame and imperfect ; it is faulty upon 
 the same head that we took notice of before. 
 
OF PLATO. 1 1 1 
 
 That the soul has a being before its entrance into 
 the body, is admirably well said, and, I think, 
 sufficiently made out ; but I can never be per- 
 suaded that it has likewise an existence after 
 death. At the same time I cannot subscribe to 
 Simmias's allegation, — that the soul is neither 
 stronger nor more durable than the body ; for to 
 me it appears to be infinitely more excellent, 
 But why then, (says the objection,) do you refuse 
 to believe it? Since you see with your eyes, that 
 when a man is dead, his weakest part remains 
 still, is it not therefore absolutely necessary 
 that the more durable part should last yet longer ? 
 Pray take notice if I answer this objection right ; 
 for, to let you into my meaning, I must use re- 
 semblance or comparison as well as Simmias. 
 Your allegation, to my mind, is just the same as 
 if, upon the death of an old tailor, one should say 
 this tailor is not dead ; he has a being still some 
 where or other ; and, for a proof of that, here is 
 the suit of clothes he wore, which he made for 
 himself; so that he is still in being. If any one 
 should not be convinced by this proof, he would 
 not fail to ask him whether the man or the clothes 
 he wears is most durable ? To which, of neces- 
 sity, he must answer that the man is ; and upon 
 
112 THE PH^DON 
 
 this footing your philosopher would pretend to 
 demonstrate, that since the less durable posses- 
 sion of the tailor is still in being, by a stronger 
 consequence he himself is so too. Now, my dear 
 Simmias, the parallel is not just: pray hear what 
 I have to answer to it. 
 
 It is evident, at first view, that the objection is 
 ridiculous. For the tailor having used several 
 suits of clothes, died after them, and only before 
 the last suit, which he had not time to wear 5 and 
 though this suit survived the man, (if I may so 
 speak,) yet we cannot say the man is weaker or 
 less durable than the suit of clothes. This simile 
 is near enough, — for as the man is to his suit of 
 clothes, so is the soul to the body ; and whoever 
 applies to the soul and body what is said of the 
 man and his suit of clothes, will speak to the 
 purpose. For he will make the soul more dur- 
 able, and the body a weaker being, and less 
 capable to hold out for a long time. He will add 
 that every soul wears several bodies, especially 
 i( it lives several years ; for the body wastes 
 while the man is yet alive, and the soul still 
 forms to itself a new habit of body out of the 
 former that decays ; but when the last comes to 
 die, it has then its last habit on, and dies before 
 
OF PLATO. 113 
 
 Its consumption ; and when the soul is dead, the 
 body quickly betrays the weakness of its nature, 
 since it corrupts and moulders away very speed- 
 ily ; so that we cannot put such confidence in your 
 demonstration, as to hold it for a standing truth 
 that our souls continue in being after death. For, 
 supposing it were granted that our soul has not 
 only a being antecedent to our birth, but that, 
 for any thing we know, the souls of some continue 
 in being after death, and it is very possible they 
 may return again to this world, and be born 
 again, so to speak, several times, and die at last ; 
 for the strength and advantage of the soul beyond 
 the body consists in this, — that it can undergo se- 
 veral births, and wear several bodies one after 
 another, as a man does suits of clothes : suppos- 
 ing, I say, that all this were granted, still it can- 
 not be denied but that in all those repeated births 
 it decays and wastes, and at last comes to an end 
 in one of the deaths. However, it is impossible 
 for any man to discern in which of the deaths it is 
 totally sunk: since things stand thus, whoever 
 does not fear death must be senseless ; unless he 
 can demonstrate that the soul is altogether im- 
 mortal and incorruptible. For otherwise every 
 dying man must of necessity be afraid of his soul, 
 
411 THE PH^SDON 
 
 for fear the body it is quitting be its last body, 
 and it perish without any hopes of return. 
 
 Having heard them propose these objections, 
 we were very much troubled, as we afterwards 
 told them that at a time when we were just con- 
 vinced by Socrates' arguments, they should come 
 to amuse us with their objections, and throw us 
 into a fit of unbelief and jealousy, not only of all 
 that had been said to us by Socrates, but likewise 
 of what he might say for the future ; for he would 
 always be apt to believe that either we were not 
 proper judges of the points in debate, or else that 
 his propositions were in themselves incredible. 
 
 EcJu Indeed, Phaedon ; I can easily pardon 
 your trouble on that account. For I myself, while 
 I heard you relate the matter, was saying to my- 
 self, what shall we believe hereafter, since So- 
 crates' arguments, which seemed so valid and 
 convincing, are become doubtful and uncertain ? 
 In effect, that objection of Simmias, that the soul 
 is only a harmony, moves me wonderfully, and 
 always did so. It awakens in me the memory of 
 my being formerly of the same opinion ; so that 
 my belief is unhinged, and I want new proofs to 
 convince me that the soul does not die with the 
 body. Wherefore, prithee, tell me, Phaedon, 
 
OF PLATO. H5 
 
 in the name of God, how Socrates came off; whe- 
 ther he seemed to be as much nettled as you ; or 
 if he maintained his opinion with his wonted tem- 
 per; and, in fine, whether his demonstration gave 
 you full satisfaction, or seemed chargeable with 
 imperfection. 
 
 Pray tell me the whole story, without omitting 
 the minutest circumstances. 
 
 Phmdon. I protest to you, Echecrates, I ad- 
 mired Socrates all my lifetime, and upon this 
 occasion admired him more than ever. That 
 such a man as he had his answers in readiness, is 
 no great surprise; but my greatest admiration 
 was to see, in the first place, with what calmness, 
 patience, and good humour, he received the ob- 
 jections of these youths ; and then how dexte- 
 rously he perceived the impression they had made 
 upon us, and cured us of the same. He rallied 
 us like men put to flight after a defeat, and in- 
 spired us with a fresh ardour, to turn our heads 
 and renew the' charge. 
 
 Ech. How was that ? 
 
 Ph. I am about to tell you. As I sat at his 
 right hand, upon a little stool lower than his, 
 he drew his hand over my head, and taking hold 
 of my hair that hung down upon my shoulders, 
 
116 THE PHiEDON 
 
 as he was wont to do for his diversion ; Phaedon. 
 says he, will you cut this pretty hair to-morrow ? 
 It is probable I shall, said I. If you take my ad- 
 vice, said he, you will not stay so long. What do 
 you mean ? said I. Both you and I, continues 
 he, ought to cut our hair, if our opinion he so far 
 dead that we cannot raise it again. Were I in 
 your place, and defeated, I would make a vow, 
 (30) as the men of Argos did, never to wear my 
 hair till I conquered these arguments of Simmias 
 and Cebes. But, said I, Socrates, you have for- 
 gotten the old proverb, that Hercules himself is 
 not able to engage two ; and why, says he, do you 
 call on me to assist you as your Iolas, while.it is 
 yet time? And accordingly I do call on you, said 
 1 5 not as Hercules did, Iolas, but as Iolas did 
 Hercules. It is no matter for that, says he 5 it is 
 all one. Above all, let us be cautious to avoid 
 one great fault. W T hat fault? said I. That, said 
 he, of being reason-haters ; for such there are, as 
 well as man-haters. The former is the greatest 
 evil in the world, and arises from the same source 
 with the hatred of man. For the latter comes 
 from one man's plighting his faith for another 
 man, without any precaution or inquiry, whom 
 he always took for a true-hearted, solid, and trusty 
 
OF PLATO. 1(7 
 
 man ; but finds him at last to be a false and faith- 
 less cheat: and thus, being cheated in several such 
 instances by those whom he looked upon as his 
 best friends, and at last weary of being so often 
 deceived, he equally hates all men, and is con- 
 vinced there is not one that is not wicked and 
 perfidious. Are not you sensible that this man- 
 hating is formed at this rate by degrees ? Yes, 
 certainly. Is it not a great scandal, then conti- 
 nued he, and a superlative crime, to converse with 
 men without being acquainted with the art of 
 trying and knowing them ? for if one were ac- 
 quainted with this art, he would see how things 
 stand, and would find that the good and the wicked 
 are very rare ; but those in the middle region 
 swarm in infinite numbers. 
 
 What do you say, Socrates ? 
 
 I say, Phaedon, the case of the good and bad is 
 much the same with that of very large or very 
 little men. Do not you see that there is nothing 
 more uncommon than a very big or a very little 
 man? The case is the same with reference to 
 dogs, horses, and all other things ; and may like- 
 wise be applied to swiftness and slowness, hand- 
 someness and deformity, whiteness and blackness. 
 Are not you convinced, that in all these matters 
 11* 
 
118 THE PHJEDON 
 
 the two extremes are very uncommon, and the 
 medium is very .common ? 
 
 I perceive it very plainly, Socrates. 
 
 If a match were proposed for wickedness, would 
 there not be very few that could pretend to the 
 first rank 2 
 
 That is very likely, Socrates. 
 
 It is certainly so, replies he ; but upon this 
 score the case, of reason and man is not exactly 
 the same, I will follow you step by step. The 
 only resemblance of the two, lies in this, that when 
 a man, unskilled in the art of examination, enter- 
 tains a reason as true, and afterwards finds it to 
 be false, whether it be so in itself or not ; and 
 when the same thing happens to him often, as 
 indeed to those who amuse themselves in dis- 
 puting with the Sophists that contradict every 
 thing ; he at last believes himself to be extraor- 
 dinarily well skilled, and fancies he is the only 
 man that has perceived there is nothing true or 
 certain, either in things or reasons ; but that all 
 is like Eurypus, in a continual flux and reflux, 
 and that nothing continues so much as one mi- 
 nute in the same state. 
 
 This is the pure truth, Socrates. 
 
 Is it not then a very deplorable misfortune, my 
 
OF PLATO. 119 
 
 dear Phaedon, that while there are true, certain, 
 and very comprehensible reasons, there should be 
 men found who, after they have suffered them to 
 pass, call them again in question upon hearing 
 these frivolous disputes, where sometimes truth 
 and sometimes falsehood comes uppermost ; and, 
 instead of charging themselves with these doubts, 
 or blaming their want of art, cast the blame at last 
 upon the reasons themselves ; and, being of a sour 
 temper, pass their life in hating and calumniating 
 all.reason, and by that means rob themselves both 
 of truth and knowledge ? 
 
 That is certainly a most deplorable thing, 
 said I. 
 
 We ought ixy be very cautious, continues he, 
 that this misfortune be not our lot, and that we are 
 not prepossessed by this thought, — that there is 
 nothing solid or true in all arguments whatsoever. 
 We should rather be persuaded that it is our- 
 selves who are wanting in solidity and truth, and 
 use our utmost efforts to recover that solidity and 
 justness of thought. This is a duty incumbent 
 upon you, who have time yet to live, and likewise 
 upon me who am about to die ; and I am much 
 afraid, that upon this occasion I have been so far 
 from acting the part of a true philosopher, that I 
 
120 THE PHJEDON 
 
 have behaved myself like a disputant, over- 
 born with prejudice; as all those ignorants do, 
 who in their disputes do not mind the percep- 
 tion of the truth, but mean only to draw their 
 hearers over to their opinions. The only differ- 
 ence between them and me is, that convincing 
 my audience of the truth of what I advance, is not 
 my only aim ; indeed, I shall be infinitely glad if 
 that come to pass : but my chief scope is to per- 
 suade myself of the truth of these things ; for I ar- 
 gue thus, my dear Phaedon, and you will find that 
 this way of arguing is highly useful. If (31) my 
 propositions prove true, it is well done to believe 
 them • and if, after my death, they be found false, 
 I still reap that advantage in this life, that I have 
 been less affected by the evils, which commonly 
 accompany it. But I shall not remain long under 
 this ignorance ; if I were, I should reckon it a great 
 misfortune ; but by good luck it will quickly be 
 dispelled. Being fortified by these thoughts, my 
 dear Simmias and Cebes, I make account to an- 
 swer your objections ; and if you take my advice, 
 you will rely less upon the authority of Socrates 
 than that of the truth. If what I am about to ad- 
 vance appear to be true, embrace it ; if otherwise, 
 attack it with all your force. Thus I shall nei- 
 
OF PLATO. 121 
 
 ther deceive myself nor impose upon you by the 
 influence of zeal and good- will, or quit you like a 
 a wasp that leaves its sting in the wound it has 
 made. 
 
 To begin, then, pray see if I remember right 
 What was objected. Simmias, as I take it, rejects 
 our belief only because he fears our souls, not- 
 withstanding their being divine and more excel- 
 lent, will die before our bodies, as being only a 
 sort of harmony ; and Cebes, if 1 mistake not, 
 granted that the soul is more durable than the 
 body ; but thinks it possible that the soul, after 
 having used several bodies, may die at last when 
 it quits the last body, and that this death of the 
 soul is a true death. Are not these the two points 
 I am to examine, my dear Simmias and Cebes ? 
 
 When they had all agreed that the objections 
 were justly summed up, he continued thus: do 
 you absolutely reject all that I have said, or do 
 you acknowledge part of it to be true ? They 
 answered, that they did not reject the whole. 
 But what, says he, is your opinion of what I told 
 you ? viz. that learning is only remembrance, and 
 that, by a necessary consequence, the soul must 
 have an existence before its conjunction with the 
 body. 
 
122 THE PHiEDON 
 
 As for me, replies Cebes, I perceive the evi- 
 dence of it at first view ; and do not know any 
 principles of more certainty and truth. I am of 
 the same mind, says Simmias, and should think it 
 very strange if ever I changed my opinion. 
 
 But, my dear Theban, continues Socrates, you 
 must needs change it; if you retain your opinion 
 that harmony is compounded, and that the soul 
 is only a sort of harmony arising from the due 
 union of the qualities of the body : for it is pre- 
 sumed you would not believe yourself if you said 
 that harmony has a being before those things 
 of which it is composed. 
 
 Sure enough, replies Simmias ; I would not be- 
 lieve myself if I did. 
 
 Do not you see, then continues Socrates, that 
 you are not of a piece with yourself when you say 
 the soul had a being before it came to animate 
 the body, and at the same time that it is com- 
 pounded of things that had not then an existence ? 
 Do not you compare the soul to a harmony? and 
 is it not evident that the harp, the strings, and the 
 very discordant sound, exist before the harmony, 
 which is an effect that results from all these 
 things, and perish sooner than they ? Does this 
 latter part of your discourse suit with the first ? 
 
OF PLATO. 123 
 
 Not at all, replies Simmias. 
 
 And.yet, continues Socrates, if ever a discourse 
 be all of a piece, it ought to be such when har- 
 mony is its subject. 
 
 That is right, says Simmias. 
 
 But yours is not so, continues Socrates. Let 
 us hear, then, which of these two opinions you side 
 with: — whether is learning only remembrance, or 
 is the soul a sort of harmony ? 
 
 I side with the first, replies Simmias. 
 
 And that opinion, says Socrates, I have ex- 
 plained to you, without having any recourse 
 to demonstration full of similes and examples, 
 which are rather colours of the truth, and 
 therefore please the people best; but as for 
 me, I am of opinion that all discourses proving 
 their point by similes, are full of vanity, and apt 
 to seduce and deceive, unless one be very cau- 
 tious, whether it relate to geometry or any other 
 science : whereas the discourse that I made for 
 proving that knowledge is remembrance, is 
 grounded upon a very creditable hypothesis ; for 
 I told you that the soul exists as well as its es- 
 sence, before it comes to animate the body. By 
 essence I mean the principles from which it de- 
 
 
124 THE PHjEDON 
 
 rives its being, which has no other name, but 
 that which is ; and this proof 1 take to be good 
 and sufficient. 
 
 By that reason, says Simmias, I must not listen 
 either to myself or others, who assert the soul to 
 be a sort of harmony. 
 
 In earnest, Simmias, replies Socrates, do you 
 think that a harmony, or any other piece of com- 
 position, can be any thing different from the parts 
 of which it is compounded ? 
 
 By no means, Socrates. 
 
 Or can it do or suffer what those parts do not ? 
 
 Simmias answered it could not. 
 
 Then, says Socrates, a harmony does not pre- 
 cede but follow the things it is composed of: and 
 it cannot have sounds, motions, or any thing else 
 contrary to its parts. 
 
 Certainly not, replies Simmias. 
 
 But what, continues Socrates, is not all har- 
 mony only, such in proportion to the concord of 
 its parts ? 
 
 1 do not fully understand you, says Simmias. 
 
 I mean, according as the parts have more or 
 less concord, the harmony is more or less a har- 
 mony, — is it not? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
OF PLATO. 125 
 
 Can we say of the soul at the same rate, that a 
 small difference makes a soul to be more or less 
 a soul? 
 
 Certainly not, Socrates. 
 
 How is it, then, in the name of God? 
 
 Do not we say, for example, that such a soul, 
 endowed with understanding and virtue, is good ; 
 and another filled with folly and mischief, is 
 wicked ? Is not this right 1 
 
 Yes, certainly, says Simmias. 
 
 But those who hold the soul to be a harmony, 
 what will they call these qualities of the soul, — 
 that vice and that virtue? Will they say, the one 
 is harmony and the other is discord ? That a 
 virtuous and good soul, being harmony in its na- 
 ture, is entitled to another harmony ; and that a 
 vicious and wicked soul wants that additional 
 harmony*? 
 
 I am not certain, says Simmias ; but indeed it 
 is very probable the patrons of that opinion may 
 advance something similar. 
 
 But we concluded that one soul is not more or 
 less a soul than another ; that is, it is not more or 
 less a harmony than another harmony. 
 
 I own it, says Simmias. 
 
 12 
 
120 THE PILEDON 
 
 And since it is not more or less a harmony, then 
 it has not more or less concord ; is it not so ? 
 
 Yes, certainly, Socrates. 
 
 And since it has not more or less concord, can 
 one have more harmony than another, or must 
 the harmony of them all be equal ? 
 
 Doubtless, it must be equal. 
 
 Since one soul cannot he more or less a soul 
 than another ; by the same reason it cannot have 
 more or less concord than another- 
 
 That is certain. 
 
 Then it necessarily follows that one soul can- 
 not love either more harmony or discord than 
 another? 
 
 I agree to that. 
 
 And in consequence, since the soul is of that 
 nature it cannot have more virtue or vice than 
 another, if vice be discord, and virtue narmony ? 
 
 That is an undeniable fact, Simmias. 
 
 Or, would not right reason rather say that vice 
 could find no place in the soul, if the soul be har- 
 mony; for harmony, continuing in its perfect 
 nature, is not capable of discord ? 
 
 There is no question of that. 
 In like manner the soul, while perfectly a souh 
 is not capable of vice. 
 
OF PLATO. 127 
 
 According to the principles agreed on, I cannot 
 see how it should. 
 
 From the same principles, it will follow that 
 the souls of all animals are equally good, since 
 they are equally souls. 
 
 So I think, says Simmias. 
 
 But do you think that it appears reasonable 
 if the hypothesis of the souls being a harmony be 
 true ? 
 
 Certainly not, Socrates. 
 
 Then I ask you, Simmias, if of all the parts of 
 a man, the soul is not best entitled to command; 
 especially when she is prudent and wise? 
 
 There is no other part can pretend to it. 
 
 Does it command by giving way to the pas- 
 sions of the body, or by resisting them ? As, for 
 example ; when the body is seized with thirst in 
 the cold fit of a fever, does not the soul restrain 
 it from drinking? or when hungry, from eating ? 
 As well as in a thousand other instances ; which 
 manifestly shew that the soul curbs the passions 
 of the body. Is it not so ? 
 
 Without doubt. 
 
 But we agreed above, that the soul, being a 
 sort of harmony, can never sound contrary to 
 the sound of those things which raise, or lower. 
 
128 THE Pfl^DOK 
 
 or move it; nor have other passions different 
 from those of its parts ; and that it is necessarily 
 obliged to follow them, as being incapable to 
 guide them. 
 
 It is certain, we agreed upon that, says Sim- 
 mias : how could we avoid it ? 
 
 But, says Socrates, is it not evident that the 
 conduct of the soul is quite contrary ? That it 
 governs and rules those very things which are al- 
 leged for ingredients in its composition : that it 
 thwarts and attacks them almost all its life-time ; 
 that it is every way their mistress, punishing and 
 repressing some by the harder measures of pain, 
 school exercises, and physic ; and treating others 
 more gently, as contenting itself with threatening 
 or insulting over its lusts, passions, and fears. In a 
 word, we see the soul speaks to the body as some- 
 thing of a different nature from itself; which Ho- 
 mer was sensible of, when, in his Odyssey, he tells 
 us that " Ulysses beating his breast, rebuked his 
 heart, and said to it, support thyself, thou hast 
 sustained greater hardships than these." Do you 
 think the poet spoke that under the apprehensions 
 of the soul's being a harmony, to be managed and 
 conducted by the body? Or, do not you rather 
 believe that he knew it was the soul's part to com- 
 
OF PLATO. 129 
 
 mand, and that it is of a more divine nature than 
 harmony ? 
 
 Yes, Socrates; I am persuaded Homer knew 
 that truth. 
 
 And of course, my dear Simmias, continues So- 
 crates, there is not the least reason for the soul's 
 being a harmony : should we assert it to be such, 
 we should contradict both Homer, that divine 
 poet, and likewise ourselves. 
 
 Simmias yielded, and Socrates proceeded thus. 
 
 I think we have sufficiently tempered and mo- 
 derated this Theban harmony, so that it will do 
 us no harm. But, Cebes, how shall we appease 
 and disarm this Cadmus ? (32) How shall we hit 
 on a discourse duly qualified with a persuasive 
 force ? 
 
 If you will be at the pains, Socrates, you can 
 easily find such a discourse. The last you had 
 against the harmony of the soul, moved me 
 greatly, and indeed beyond my expectation ; 
 for when Simmias proposed his doubts, I thought 
 nothing short of a prodigy or miracle could solve 
 them ; and I was much surprised when I saw 
 he could not stand the first attack : so that now 
 it will be no surprise to me to see Cadmus un- 
 dergo the same fate. 
 
 12* 
 
130 THE PHiEDON 
 
 My dear Cebes, replies Socrates, do not you 
 speak too big upon the matter, lest envy should 
 overturn all I have said, and render it useless and 
 ineffectual. But that is in the hand of God. As 
 for us, let us approach one another, as Homer 
 says, and try our strength and arms. What you 
 want comes all to this point : you would have the 
 immortality and incorruptibily of the soul de- 
 monstrated, to the end that a philosopher who 
 dies bravely in the hopes of being infinitely more 
 happy in the other world than in this, may not 
 hope in vain. You say the soups being a dur- 
 able and divine substance, existing before its 
 union with the body, does not conclude its im- 
 mortality : and the only inference that it will 
 bear is, that it lasts a great while longer, and was 
 in being many ages before us ; during which it 
 knew and did several things, but without immor- 
 tality ; for, on the contrary., the first minute of its 
 descent into the body, is the commencement of 
 its death ; or, as it were, a disease to it : for it 
 passes this life in anguish and trouble, and at last 
 is quite swallowed up and annihilated by what we 
 call death. You add, that it is the same thing 
 whether it animates a body only once, or returns 
 to it several limes, since that does not alter the 
 
OF PLATO. 131 
 
 occasion of our fears ; forasmuch as all wise men 
 ought still to fear death while they are uncertain 
 of the immortality of their souls. This, I suppose, 
 is the sum of what you said ; and I repeat it so 
 often, on purpose that nothing may escape my 
 view, and that you may have the opportunity of 
 adding or impairing as you please. 
 
 At present, says Cebes, I have nothing to alter; 
 that is the just sum of all I have yet said. 
 
 Socrates was silent for some time, as being 
 drowned in profound meditation. At last, Cebes; 
 says he, it is truly not a small matter you de- 
 mand ; for, in order to a just satisfaction, there 
 is a necessity of making a narrow inquiry into 
 the cause of generation and corruption. If you 
 please, I will tell you what happened to me upon 
 this very matter ; and if what I say seem useful 
 to you, you shall be at liberty to make use of it 
 to support your sentiments. 
 
 With all my heart, says Simmias. 
 
 Pray give ear, then, says Socrates: in my youth 
 I had an insatiable desire to study that science 
 which is called natural history ; for I thought it 
 was something great and divine to know the 
 causes of every thing ; of their generation, exist- 
 ence, and death. And I spared no pains, nor 
 
132 THE PILEDON 
 
 omitted any means, for trying, in the first place, 
 if a certain corruption of hot and cold will, as 
 some pretend, give being and nourishment to ani- 
 mals ; if the blood makes the thought ; if the air 
 or fire, or the brain alone are the causes of our 
 senses of seeing, hearing, smelling, &c. ; if me- 
 mory and opinion take their rise from these senses: 
 and if knowledge be the result of memory and 
 opinion. Then I wanted to know the causes of 
 their corruption, and extended my curiosity both 
 to the heavens and the cavities of the earth, and 
 would fain have known the cause of all the phe- 
 nomena we meet with. At last, after a great 
 deal of trouble, I found myself strangely unqua- 
 lified for such inquiries ; and of this I am about 
 to give a sensible proof. This fine study made 
 me so blind in the things 1 knew more evi- 
 dently before, according to my own and other 
 persons' thoughts, that I quite forgot all that I had 
 known upon several subjects, particularly that 
 of a man's growth. I thought it was evident to 
 the whole world, that a man grows only by eat- 
 iag and drinking : for flesh being added to flesh, 
 bones to bones, and all the other parts joined to 
 their similar parts by nourishment, make a small 
 bulk to swell and grow so that a little man be- 
 
OF PLATO. 133 
 
 comes large. This was my thought : do you not 
 think it was just ? 
 
 Yes, certainly, replies Cebes. 
 
 Mind what follows, says Socrates ; I thought 
 likewise that I knew the reason why one man is 
 taller than another by the head, and one horse 
 higher than another; and, with reference to 
 plainer and more sensible things, I thought, for 
 instance, that ten were more than eight, because 
 two were added to it ; that two cubits were larger 
 than one, because they contained one half more. 
 
 And what are your present thoughts of those 
 things, says Cebes ? 
 
 I am so far, replies Socrates, from thinking that 
 1 know the causes of all these things, that when 
 one is added to one, 1 do not believe I can tell 
 whether it is that very one to which the other is 
 added, that becomes two; or whether the one 
 added and the other to which the addition was 
 made, make two together ? For in their separate 
 state each of them was one, and not two ; and af- 
 ter their being placed one by the other, they 
 became two. Neither can I tell how, upon the 
 division of any thing, what was formerly one be- 
 comes two from the very minute of division ; for 
 that cause is quite contrary to that which one and 
 
134 THE PHiEDON 
 
 one become two. There this one and that one 
 became two, by reason of their being placed 
 near and added the one to the other; but here 
 this one thing, becomes two bj reason of its divi- 
 sion and separation. Far less do I pretend to 
 know whence this one thing comes ; and by this 
 method, i. e. by physical reasons, I cannot find 
 out how the least thing takes rise or perishes, or 
 how it exists ; but without so much ceremony, I 
 mix another method of my own with this"; for by 
 this I can learn nothing : having one day heard 
 somebody reading a book of Anaxagoras, (33) 
 who said the divine intellect was the cause of all 
 beings, and drew them up in their proper ranks 
 and classes, 1 was ravished with joy. I perceived 
 there was nothing more certain than this princi- 
 ple, that the intellect is the cause of all beings. 
 Fori justly thought that this intellect, having me- 
 thodized all things, and ranked them in their 
 classes, planting every thing in the place and con- 
 dition that was best and most useful for it ; in 
 which it could best do and suffer whatever the in- 
 tellect had allotted to it ; and I apprehend that 
 the result of this principle was, that the only 
 thing a man ought to look for, either for himself 
 or others, is this better and more useful thing ; for 
 
OF PLATO. 135 
 
 having once found what is best and most use- 
 ful, he will of necessity know what is worst 
 and useless, since there is but one knowledge both 
 for the one and the other. 
 
 Upon this score I was infinitely glad that I 
 had found such a teacher as Anaxagoras, who 9 
 I hoped, would give a satisfactory account of the 
 cause of all things ; and would not only tell me, 
 for instance, that the earth is broad or round, but 
 likewise assign the necessary cause, obliging it to 
 be so ; who would point out to me what is best, 
 and at the same time give me to understand why 
 it was so. In like manner, if he affirmed the seat 
 of the earth to be in the centre of the world, ! 
 expected he would give me a reason why it was 
 so : and after I should have received sufficient in- 
 struction from him, designed never to admit of 
 any other cause for a principle. 
 
 I prepared some questions to be put to him 
 concerning the sun, moon, and other stars, in or- 
 der to know the reasons of their revolutions, 
 motions, and other accidents, and why what each 
 of them does is always the best ; for I could not 
 imagine, that after he had told me that the intel- 
 lect ranked them, and drew them up in order, he 
 could give no other reason for that order than 
 
136 THE PILEDOX 
 
 this — that it was best. And I flattered myself with 
 hopes, that after he had assigned both the gene- 
 ral and particular causes, he would give me to 
 know wherein the particular good of every indi- 
 vidual thing, as well us the common good of all 
 things, consists. 1 would not have parted with 
 these hopes for all the treasures of the world. So 
 I bought his books with a great deal of impatience, 
 and made it my business to peruse them as soon 
 as possibly I could, in order to a speedy know- 
 ledge of the good and evil of all things: but I 
 found myself frustrated of my mighty hopes ; for 
 as soon as I had made a small progress in the 
 perusal, I found the author made no use of this 
 intellect, and assigned no reason of that fine or- 
 der and disposition: but assigned, as causes, the 
 air, whirlwinds, and waters, and other things 
 equally absurd. His whole performance seemed 
 to reach no farther than if a man should say that 
 Socrates docs all by the intellect ; and after that, 
 meaning to give a reason for my actions, should 
 say, for instance, to-day I am set upon my bed, 
 because my body is composed of bones and 
 nerves; the bones being hard and solid, are se- 
 parated by the joints ; and the nerves, being ca- 
 pable to bend and unbend themselves, unite the 
 
OF PLATO. 137 
 
 bones to the flesh and skin, which receive and 
 
 include both the one and the other ; that the 
 
 bones being disengaged at the joints, the nerves, 
 
 which bend and unbend, enable me to fold my 
 
 legs as you see ; and that, forsooth, is the reason 
 
 that I sit in this posture. Or if a man pretending 
 
 to assign the cause of my present conference 
 
 with you, should insist only upon the second 
 
 causes, the voice, the air, hearing, and such other 
 
 things, and should take no notice of the true 
 
 cause,- viz. that the Athenians thought it fit to 
 
 condemn me, and that by the same reason I 
 
 thought it fittest for me to be here, and patiently 
 
 wait the execution of my sentence ; for I can 
 
 safely swear that these nerves and these bones 
 
 should long ere now have been translated to Me- 
 
 gara, or Boeotia, if that had been fitter for me, 
 
 and if I had not been still persuaded that it was 
 
 better for me to endure the punishment I am 
 
 doomed to by my countrymen, than to flee like a 
 
 slave or a banished person. As I take it, it is 
 
 highly ridiculous to assign such causes upon such 
 
 an occasion, and to rest satisfied in them. 
 
 If it be replied, that without hones and nerves, 
 
 and such other things I could not do what I mean 
 
 to do, the allegation is true. But it savours of 
 13 
 
138 THE PILEDON 
 
 the greatest absurdity to fancy that these bones 
 or nerves should be the cause of my actions, 
 rather than the choice of what is best ; and that 
 my intellect is employed on that score : for that 
 were to sink the difference between the cause 
 and the effect, without which the cause could not 
 be such. And yet the vulgar people, who take 
 things by hearsay, and see by other people's eyes, 
 as if they walked in thick darkness, take the true 
 sense of things to be of that nature. Pursuant 
 to this notion, some surround the earth with a 
 vortex that turns eternally round, and suppose it 
 to be fixed in the centre of the universe : others 
 conceive it to be a broad and large trough, which 
 has the air for its base and foundation. And as 
 for the power of him who ranked and disposed 
 of every thing to its best advantage, that is not 
 in their view, and they do not believe that he is 
 entitled to any divine virtue. They fancy' they 
 know of a stronger and more immortal Atlas, bet- 
 ter able to support all things. And this good and 
 immortal bond, that is only capable to unite and 
 comprehend all things, they take for a Chimera. 
 I am of their mind, but would willingly enlist 
 myself a disciple to any that could tell me this 
 cause, let it be what it will. But since I could 
 
OF PLATO. 139 
 
 not compass the knowledge of it, neither by my- 
 self nor others, if you please I will give you an 
 account of a second trial I made in order to find 
 it. { am very desirous to hear it, says Cebes. 
 
 After I had wearied myself in examining all 
 things, I thought it my duty to be cautious of 
 avoiding what happens to those who contemplate 
 an eclipse of the sun ; for they lose the sight of 
 it, unless they be careful to view its reflections in 
 water or any other medium. A thought much 
 like to that came into my head, and I feared I 
 should lose the eyes of my soul if I viewed objects 
 with the eyes of my body, or employed any of 
 my senses in endeavouring to know them. I 
 thought I should have recourse to reason, and 
 contemplate the truth of all things as reflected 
 from it. It is possible the simile I use in explain 
 ing myself is not very just : for I cannot affirm 
 that he who beholds things in the glass of reason, 
 sees them more by reflection and similitude than 
 he who beholds them in their operations. How- 
 ever, the way I followed was this : from that time 
 forward I grounded all upon the reason that seem- 
 ed the best, and took all for truth that I found 
 conformable to it, whether in effects or causes ; 
 and what was not conformable I rejected, as be« 
 
140 THE PILEDON 
 
 ing false. I will explain my meaning more dis- 
 tinctly, for I fancy you do not yet understand 
 me. 
 
 I for my part, says Cebes, do not well under- 
 stand you. 
 
 But after all, says Socrates, I advance no new 
 thing. This is no more than what I have said a 
 thousand times, and particularly in the foregoing 
 dispute : for all that I aim at is to demonstrate 
 what sort of a cause this is that I sought after so 
 carefully. I begin with his qualities, which are 
 so much talked of, and which I take for the foun- 
 dation. 
 
 • I say, then, there is something that is good, fine, 
 just, and great, of itself. If you grant me this 
 principle, I hope by it to demonstrate the cause , 
 and make out the immortality of the soul. 
 
 I grant it, says Cebes : you cannot be too quick 
 in perfecting your demonstration. 
 
 Mind what follows, and see if you agree to it 
 as I take it: if there is any thing fine besides fine- 
 ness itself, it must be such by partaking of thar 
 first good : and so of all the other qualities. 
 
 Are you of this opinion ? 
 
 1 am. 
 
 I protest, continues Socrates, 1 cannot well un- 
 
OF PLATO. 141 
 
 derstand all the other learned causes that are com- 
 monly given us. But if any man ask me what 
 makes a thing fine, — whether the brilliancy of its 
 colours, or the just proportion of its parts and 
 the like, I wave all these plausible reasons which 
 serve to confound me ; and without ceremony or 
 art, make answer, and perhaps too simply, that its 
 fineness is only owing to the presence, or ap- 
 proach, or communication of the original fine be- 
 ing, whatever be the way of that communication : 
 for I am not jet certain in what manner it is ; I 
 only know certainly, that all these fine things are 
 rendered such by the presence of this fine being. 
 While I stand by this principle, I reckon I cannot 
 be deceived ; and I am persuaded that I may 
 safely make answer to all questions whatsoever, 
 that all fine things owe their fineness to the pre- 
 sence of the above-mentioned being. Are not 
 you of the same mind ? 
 
 Yes, certainly, Socrates. 
 
 Are not great and small things rendered such in 
 
 like manner? If one told you that such a thing 
 
 is larger than another by the head, would not 
 
 you think the expression far from being correct ? 
 
 and would not you make answer, that whatever 
 
 is larger, is rendered such by magnitude itself ^ 
 13* 
 
142 THE PHjEDON 
 
 and what is smaller, owes its littleness to littleness 
 itself 1 For if you said that such a thing is 
 greater or smaller than another by the head, 1 
 fancy you would fear being censured for making 
 both the greater and less thing to be such by 
 the same cause ; and besides, for using such an 
 expression as seems to imply that the head, which 
 is a small part, makes the largeness of the greater, 
 which in effect is a monster; for what can be more 
 absurd than to say, that a small matter makes a 
 thing large ? would not you fear such objections ? 
 Yes, certainly, replies Cebes smiling. 
 By the same reason, would not you be afraid 
 to say, that ten is more than eight and surpasses 
 it by two ? And would not you rather say, that 
 ten are more than eight by quantity? In like 
 manner, of two cubits, would not you say they 
 are larger than one by magnitude, rather than by 
 the half? For still there is the same occasion of 
 fear. 
 
 You say truly. 
 
 But when one is added to one, or a thing divid- 
 ed into halves, would not you avoid saying, that 
 in the former case addition makes one and one 
 two ? and in the latter, division makes one thing 
 -me two ? and would not you protest that you 
 
OF PLATO. 143 
 
 know no other cause of the existence of things 
 than the participation of the essence that is pe- 
 culiar to every subject; and consequently no 
 other reason why one and one makes two, but the 
 participation of duality, as one is one by the par- 
 ticipation of unity ? Would not you discard these 
 additions, divisions, and all the other fine answers, 
 and leave them to those who know more than you 
 do ? And, for fear of your own shadow, as the 
 proverb goes, or rather of your ignorance, would 
 not you confine yourself to this principle? And 
 if any one attacked it, would not you let it stand 
 without deigning him an answer till you had sur- 
 veyed all the consequences, to see if they are of 
 a piece or not? And if afterwards you should 
 be obliged to give a reason for them, would not 
 you do it by having recourse to some of these 
 other hypotheses, that should appear to be the 
 best; and so proceed from hypothesis to hypothe- 
 sis, till you lighted upon something that satisfied 
 you as being a sure and standing truth ? At the 
 same time you would not perplex and confound 
 all things, as those disputants do who call every 
 thing in question. It is true, these disputants 
 perhaps are not much concerned for the truth ; 
 and by thus mingling and perplexing all things by 
 
144 THE PILEDON 
 
 an effect of their profound knowledge, they are 
 sure to please themselves. But as for you, if you 
 are true philosophers, you will do as 1 say. 
 
 Simmias and Cebes jointly replied that he said 
 well. 
 
 Echer. Indeed, Phasdon, 1 think it no wonder ; 
 for to my mind Socrates explained his principles 
 with a wonderful neatness, sufficient to make an 
 impression upon any man of common sense. 
 
 Phaed* All the audience thought the same. 
 
 Echer. Even we, who have it only at second 
 hand, find it so. But what was said next ? 
 
 Phaed. If I remember right, after they had 
 granted that the species of things have a real 
 subsistence, and that the things participating in 
 their nature take their denomination from them; 
 then, I say, Socrates interrogated Cebes as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 If your principle be true, when you say Sim- 
 mias is larger than Socrates and less than Phe- 
 don ; do not you imply that both magnitude and 
 littleness are lodged at the same time in Simmias ? 
 
 Yes, replies Cebes. 
 
 But do you not own that this proposition, Sim- 
 mias is larger than Socrates, i c not absolutely and 
 
OF PLATO. 145 
 
 In itself true? For Simmias is not larger because 
 he is Simmias, but because he is possessed of mag- 
 nitude. Neither is he larger than Socrates, be- 
 cause Socrates is Socrates, but because Socrates 
 has littleness in comparison with the magnitude 
 of Simmias. Neither is Simmias less than Phaedon 
 because Phaedon is Phaedon, but because Phaedon 
 is large when compared with Simmias who is little. 
 
 That is true. 
 
 Thus, continues Socrates, Simmias is called both 
 big and little, as being between two; by partak- 
 ing of bigness he is larger than Socrates, and by 
 partaking also of littleness he is less than Phaedon. 
 Then he smiled, and said, I believe I have insist- 
 ed too long on these things ; but I should not have 
 amused myself with these large strokes, had it 
 not been to convince you more effectually of the 
 truth of my principle ; for, as I take it, not only 
 magnitude itself cannot be at the same time big 
 and small ; but besides, the magnitude that is in 
 usdoes not admit of littleness, and hasno mind to be 
 surpassed; for either the magnitude flees and yields 
 itsplace when it sees its enemy approaching, orelse 
 it vanishes and perishes entirely ; and when once 
 it has received it, it desires to continue as it is. 
 As I, for instance, having received littleness while 
 
146 THE PH^DON 
 
 I am as you see me, cannot but be little ; for that 
 which is big does never attempt to be little ; and 
 in like manner, littleness never encroaches upon 
 magnitude. In one word, any of the contraries, 
 while it is what it is, is never to be found with its 
 contrary ; but either disappears or perishes when 
 the others come in. 
 
 Cebes agreed to it. But one of the company, 
 I forget who, addressed himself to Socrates thus : 
 In the name of all the gods, did you not say con- 
 trary to what you now advance ? Did not you 
 conclude upon this, that greater things take rise 
 from the less, and the less from the greater; and, 
 in a word, that contraries do still produce their 
 contraries ? Whereas now, as I take it, you alledge 
 that can never be. 
 
 Whereupon Socrates put his head further out 
 of the bed, and having heard the objection, said 
 to him, indeed you do well to put us in mind of 
 what we said, but you do not perceive the differ- 
 ence between the former and the latter. In the 
 former, we asserted that every contrary owes its 
 being to its contrary ; and in the latter, we teach 
 that a contrary is never opposed to itself, neither 
 in us nor in the course of nature. There we 
 .spoke of things that had contraries, meaning to 
 
OF PLATO. 147 
 
 call every one of them by their proper names 5 
 but here we speak of such things as give a denomi- 
 nation to their subjects, which we told you could 
 never admit of their contraries. Then turning 
 to Cebes, did not this objection, says he, likewise 
 give you some trouble ? 
 
 No indeed, Socrates, replies Cebes ; I can as- 
 sure you that few things are capable to trouble me 
 at present. 
 
 Then we are agreed upon this simple proposi- 
 tion, says Socrates, that a contrary can never be 
 opposed to itself. 
 
 That is true, says Cebes. 
 
 "But what do you say to this ? Is cold and heat 
 any thing ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 What, is it like snow and fire ? 
 
 Certainly not, Socrates. 
 
 Then you own that heat is different from fire, 
 and cold from snow ? 
 
 Without doubt, Socrates, 
 
 I believe you will likewise own, that when the 
 snow receives heat, it is no more what it was, but 
 either gives way or completely disappears when 
 the heat approaches. In like manner the fire will 
 either yield or be extinguished when the cold 
 
148 THE PHiEDON 
 
 prevails npon it; for then it cannot be fire and 
 cold together. 
 
 It is so, says Cebes. 
 
 There are also some contraries that not only 
 give name to their species, but likewise impart it 
 to other things different from it, which preserve 
 its figure and form while they have a being. For 
 instance, must not an odd number have always 
 the same name? 
 
 Yes, certainly'. 
 
 Is that the only thing that is so called ? Or is 
 not there some other thing different from it, which 
 must be called by the same name because it be- 
 longs to its nature never to be without odds ? For 
 instance, must not the ternary number be called 
 not only by its own name, but likewise by the 
 name of an odd number ; though at the same time 
 to be odd and to be three are two different things 
 Now such is the nature of the number three, five, 
 and all other odd numbers; each of them is al- 
 ways odd, and jet their nature is not the same 
 with the nature of the odd. In like manner, even 
 numbers, such as two, four, eight, are all of them 
 even, though at the same time their nature is not 
 that of the even. Do not you own this ? 
 
 How can I do otherwise, says Cebes? 
 
OF PLATO. 149 
 
 Pray mind what I infer from thence. It is, that 
 not only those contraries, which are incapable of 
 receiving their contraries, but all other things 
 which are not opposite one to another, and yet 
 have always their contraries; all these things, I 
 say, are incapable of receiving a form opposite to 
 their own, and either disappear or perish upon 
 the appearance of the opposite form. For in- 
 stance, number three will sink a thousand times 
 rather than become an even number, while it con- 
 tinues to be three. Is it not so ? 
 
 True, replies Cebes. 
 
 But, after all, says Socrates, two are not con- 
 trary to three. 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 Then the contrary species are not the only 
 things that refuse admission to their contraries; 
 since, as you see, other things that are not con- 
 trary, cannot abide the approach of that which 
 has the least shadow of contrariety. 
 
 That is certain. 
 
 Do you desire, then, that I should define-- them 
 as near as possible? 
 
 With all ray heart, Socrates. 
 
 Must not contraries be such things as give such 
 a form to that in which they are lodged, that it is 
 14 
 
150 THE PHiEDON 
 
 not capable of giving admission to another thing 
 that is contrary to them ? 
 
 What do you mean? 
 
 T say, as I said but now, wherever the idea or 
 form of three is lodged, that thing must of neces- 
 sity continue, not only three, but to be odd. 
 
 Who doubts that? 
 
 And, in course, it is impossible for the idea or 
 form that is contrary to its constituent form ever 
 to approach. 
 
 That case is plain. 
 
 Well, is not the constituted form an odd? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Is not even the form that is contrary to the odd ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Then the form of even is never lodged in three ? 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 Then three is incapable of being even? 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 And that because three is odd ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Now this is the conclusion I intended to prove, 
 that some things, not contrary to one another, 
 are as incapable of that other thing as if it were 
 truly a contrary; as, for instance, though three 
 is not contrary to an even number, yet it can ne- 
 
OF PLATO. 151 
 
 ver admit of it. For two brings always something 
 contrary to an odd number, like fire to cold, and 
 several other things. Would not you agree then 
 to this definition — that a contrary does not only re- 
 fuse admission to its contrary, but likewise to that 
 which, being not contrary, brings upon it some- 
 thing of a contrary nature, which by that sort of 
 contrariety destroys its form ? 
 
 I pray you let me hear that again, says Cebes, 
 for it is worth while to hear it often. 
 
 I say, numbers/be will never bean even num- 
 ber; just as ten, which is its double, will never be 
 odd; no more three fourths, or a third part, or 
 any other part of a whole, will never admit of the 
 form and idea of the whole. Do you not under- 
 stand me ? And do you agree with what I say ? 
 
 I understand you, and I agree with you too. 
 
 Since you understand me, says Socrates, pray 
 answer me as I do you ; that is, answer me not 
 what I ask, but something else, according to the 
 idea and example I have given you ; I mean, that 
 besides the true and certain way of answering 
 spoken of already, I have yet another in my view 
 that springs from that, and is fully as sure. For 
 instance, if you ask me what it is, that being in my 
 body, makes it hot, I would not give you this ig- 
 
152 THE PHjEDON 
 
 norant though true answer, — that it is heat; but 
 would draw a more particular answer from what 
 we have been saying, and would tell you that it 
 is fire. And if you should ask what it is that 
 makes the body sick, I would not say it was the 
 sickness, but the fever. If you ask me what 
 makes a number odd, I would not tell you that it 
 is the oddness, but unity, and so of the rest. 
 
 Do you understand what I mean ? 
 
 I understand you perfectly well, replies Cebes. 
 
 Answer me, then, continues Socrates, what 
 makes the body live ? 
 
 The soul. 
 
 Is the soul always the same ? 
 
 How should it be otherwise* 
 
 Does the soul, then, carry life along with it into 
 all the bodies it enters ? 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 Is there any thing that is contrary to life, or is 
 there nothing ? 
 
 Yes, Death is the contrary of life. 
 
 Then the soul will never receive that which is 
 contrary to what it carries in its bosom ? That 
 is a necessary consequence from our principles. 
 
 It is a plain consequence, says Cebes. 
 
 But what name do we give to that which re- 
 
OF PLATO. 153 
 
 fuses admission to the idea and form of even- 
 ness? 
 
 It is the odd number. 
 
 How do we call that which never receives jus- 
 tice, and that which never receives good ? 
 
 The one is called injustice, and the other evil. 
 
 And how do we call that which never admits 
 of death ? 
 
 Immortal. 
 
 Does the soul admit of death ? 
 
 No. 
 
 Then the soul is immortal. 
 
 Most certainly. 
 
 Is that fully demonstrated, or was the demon- 
 stration imperfect ? 
 
 It is fully made out, Socrates. 
 
 If an odd number of necessity were incorrup- 
 tible, would not three be so too ? 
 
 Without doubt ? 
 
 If whatever is without heat were necessarily 
 incorruptible, would not snow, when put to the 
 fire, withdraw itself safe from the danger? For 
 since it cannot perish, it will never receive the 
 heat, notwithstanding its being held to the fire. 
 
 What you say is true. 
 
 In like manner, if that which is not susceptible 
 H* 
 
154 THE PH^DON 
 
 of cold, were by a natural necessity exempted 
 from perishing, though a whole river were thrown 
 upon the fire, it would never go out ; but, on the 
 contrary, would come off with its full force. 
 
 There is an absolute necessity for that, says 
 Cebes. 
 
 Then of course we must say the same of what 
 is immortal; if that which is immortal is incor- 
 ruptible, though death approach to the soul, it 
 shall never fall in the attack. For, as we said 
 but now, the soul will never receive death, and 
 will never die, just as three, or any odd number, 
 will never be even ; fire will never be cold, nor 
 its heat be turned into coldness. 
 
 Perhaps some may answer, that it is true the 
 odd can never become even by the accession of 
 what is even while it continues odd ; but what 
 would hinder the even to take up the room of the 
 odd when it comes to perish ? To this objection 
 it cannot be answered that the odd does not pe- 
 rish, for it is not incorruptible. Had we establish- 
 ed its incorruptibility, we should justly have 
 maintained, that, notwithstanding the attacks of 
 the even, the odd of three would still come off 
 without loss ; and we should have asserted the 
 same of fire, heat, and such other things, should 
 we 1 
 
OF PLATO. 155 
 
 Most certainly, says Cebes. 
 
 And of course, if we agree upon this — that every 
 immortal thing is incorruptible ; it will then follow, 
 not only that the soul is immortal, but that it is 
 incorruptible; and if we cannot agree upon that, 
 we must look out for another proof. 
 
 There is no occasion for that, Socrates, replies 
 Cebes ; for what is it that should avoid corrup- 
 tion and death, if an immortal and eternal being 
 be liable to them ? 
 
 All the world will agree, says Socrates, that 
 God, and life itself, and whatever else is immortal, 
 does not perish. 
 
 At least, says Cebes, all men will profess so. 
 
 The course is absolutely necessary and certain. 
 And, continues Socrates, when a man comes to 
 die, his mortal and corruptible part dies ; but the 
 immortal part goes off safe, and triumphs over 
 death. 
 
 That is plain and evident. 
 
 Then, my dear Cebes, if there be any such 
 thing as an immortal and incorruptible being, 
 such is the soul ; and of course our souls shall 
 live hereafter. 
 
 I have nothing to object, says Cebes, and can- 
 not but yield to your arguments. But if Siramias, 
 
156 THE PH^IDON 
 
 or any of the company, has any thing to offer, they 
 will do well not to stifle it; for when will they 
 find another occasion for discoursing and satisfy- 
 ing themselves upon these important subjects ? 
 
 For my part, says Simmias, I cannot but sub- 
 scribe to what Socrates has said ; but I own that 
 the greatness of the subject, and the natural 
 weakness of man, cause within me a sort of dis- 
 trust and incredulity. 
 
 You have not only spoken well, says Socrates ; 
 but besides, notwithstanding the apparent cer- 
 tainty of our first hypothesis, it is necessary you 
 should reconsider them, in order to a more leisure- 
 ly view, and to convince yourself more clearly 
 and effectually. If you understand them suffi- 
 ciently, you will readily second my thoughts as 
 much as is possible for a man to do ; and when 
 you are once fully convinced, you will need no 
 other proof. 
 
 That is well said, replies Cebes. 
 
 There is one thing more, my friends, that is a 
 very just thought, viz. that if the soul is immor- 
 tal, it stands in need of cultivation and improve- 
 ment, not only in the time that we call the time of 
 life ; but for the future, or what we call the time 
 of eternity. For if you think justly upon this 
 
OF PLATO. 157 
 
 point, you will find it very dangerous to neglect 
 the soul. Were death the dissolution of the 
 whole man, it would be a (34) great advantage to 
 the wicked after death, to be rid at once of their 
 body, their soul, and their vices. But forasmuch 
 as the soul is immortal the only way to avoid 
 those evils and obtain salvation, is to become good 
 and wise. For it carries nothing along with it, 
 but its good or bad actions, and its virtues or 
 vices, which are the cause of its eternal happiness 
 or misery, commencing from the first minute of 
 its arrival in the other world. And it is said, 
 that after the death of every individual person, 
 the demon or genius that was partner with it, and 
 conducted it during life, leads it to a certain place, 
 where all the dead are obliged to appear in order 
 to be judged, and from thence are conducted by 
 a guide to the world below. And after they have 
 there received their good or bad deserts, and 
 continued there their appointed time, another 
 conductor brings them back to this life, after 
 several revolutions of ages. Now this road 
 is not a plain road, else there would be no 
 occasion for guides, and nobody miss their 
 way. But there are several by-ways and cross- 
 ways, as I conjecture from the method of our 
 sacrifices and religious ceremonies. So that 
 
158 THE PHiEDON 
 
 a temperate wise soul follows its guide, and is not 
 ignorant of what happens to it ; but the soul, that 
 is nailed to its body, as I said just now, that is in- 
 flamed with the love of it, and has been long its 
 slave, after much struggling and suffering in this 
 visible world, is at last dragged along against its 
 will by the demon allotted for its guide. And 
 when it arrives at that fatal rendezvous of all 
 souls, if it has been guilty of any impurity, or 
 polluted with murder, or has committed any of 
 those atrocious crimes, that desperate and lost 
 souls are commonly guilty of, the other souls ab- 
 hor it and avoid its company- It finds neither 
 companion nor guide, but wanders in a fearful 
 solitude and horrible desert ; till after a certain 
 time necessity drags it into the mansions it de- 
 serves. Whereas the temperate and pure soul 
 has the gods themselves for its guides and con- 
 ductors, and goes to cohabit with them in the 
 mansions of pleasure prepared for it. For my 
 friends there are several marvellous places in the 
 earth ; and it is not at all such as the describers 
 of it are wont to make it, (35) as I was taught it 
 by one who knew very well. 
 
 What do you say, Socrates? says Simmias, in- 
 terrupting him, I have heard several things of the 
 
OF PLATO. 159 
 
 earth, but not what you have heard. Wherefore 
 I wish you would be pleased to tell us what you 
 know. 
 
 To recount that to you, my dear Simmias, I do 
 not believe we have any occasion for the art of 
 Glaucus. (36) Rut to make out the truth of it, is a 
 more difficult matter, and I question if all the art 
 of Glaucus can reach it. Such an attempt is not 
 only above my reach ; but supposing it were not, 
 the short time I have left me, will not suffer me to 
 embark in so long a discourse. All that I can do 
 is, to give you a general idea of this earth, and 
 the places it contains. 
 
 That will be enough, says Simmias. 
 
 In the first place, continues Socrates, I am per- 
 suaded, that if the earth is placed in the middle 
 of heaven, (the air,) as they say it is, it stands in 
 no need of air, or any other support to prevent its 
 fall. For heaven itself is wrapped equally about 
 it, and its own equilibrium is sufficient to keep it 
 up. For whatever is equally poised in the mid- 
 dle of any thing that presses equally upon it can- 
 not incline to either side, and consequently stands 
 firm and immoveable. This I am convinced of. 
 
 You have every reason to be so, replies Sim- 
 mias. 
 
160 THE PILEDON 
 
 I am farther persuaded, that the earth is very 
 large and spacious, and that we only inhabit that 
 part of it which reaches from the river Phasis to 
 the Straits of Gibralter, upon which we are scat- 
 tered like so many ants dwelling in holes, or like 
 frogs that reside in some marsh near the sea. 
 There are several other nations that inhabit its 
 own parts that are unknown to us ; for all over 
 the earth there are holes of all sizes and figures 
 always filled with gross air, and covered with 
 thick clouds, and overflowed by the waters that 
 rush in on all sides. 
 
 There is another pure earth above the pure 
 heaven where the stars are, which is commonly 
 called aether. The e arth we inhabit is properly 
 nothing else than the sediment of the other, and 
 its grosser part which flows continually into those 
 holes. We are immured in those cells, though 
 we are not sensible of it, and fancy we inhabit the 
 upper part of the pure earth ; much after the same 
 rate, as if one living in the depths of the sea, 
 should fancy his habitation to be above the wa- 
 ters ; and when he sees the sun and stars through 
 the waters, should fancy the sea to be the hea- 
 vens, and by reason of his heaviness and weak- 
 ness, having never put forth his head or raised 
 
OF PLATO. 161 
 
 himself above the waters, should never know that 
 the place we inhabit is purer and finer than his, 
 and should never meet with any person to inform 
 him. This is just our condition, we are mewed 
 up within some hole of the earth, and fancy we 
 live at the top of all, we take the air for the true 
 heavens, in which the stars run their rounds. And 
 the cause of our mistake, is our heaviness and 
 weakness, that keep us from surmounting this 
 thick and muddy air. If any could mount up with 
 wings to the upper surface, he would no sooner 
 put his head out of this gross air, than he would 
 behold what is transacted in those blessed man- 
 sions ; just as the fishes skipping above the sur- 
 face of the water, see what is done in the air in 
 which we breathe, and if he were a man fit for 
 long contemplation, he would find it to be the true 
 heaven and the true light; in a word, to be the 
 true earth. For this earth that we inhabit, these 
 stones, and all these places are entirely corrupted 
 and gnawed, just as whatever is in the sea is cor- 
 roded by the sharpness of the salts. And the sea 
 produces nothing that is perfect or valuable. It 
 contains nothing but caves and mud ; and wher- 
 ever any ground is found, there is nothing but 
 deep sloughs, nothing comparable to what we have 
 
 15 
 
162 THE PH^DON 
 
 here. Now the things in the other mansions are 
 more above what we have here, than what we 
 have here is above what we meet with in the sea. 
 And in order to make you conceive the beauty of 
 this pure earth, situated in the heavens, if you 
 please, I will tell you an interesting story that 
 is worth your hearing. 
 
 We shall hear it, says Simmias, with a great 
 deal of pleasure^ 
 
 First of all, my dear Simmias, continues Soc- 
 rates, if one looks upon this earth from a high 
 place, they say, it looks like one of our packages 
 covered with twelve bands of different colours. 
 For it is varied with a great number of different 
 colours, of which those made use of by our pain- 
 ters are but sorry patterns. For the colours of 
 this earth are infinitely more pure and lively. One 
 is an admirable purple, another a yellow, more 
 sparkling than gold itself, a third a white, more 
 lively than the snow, and so on of all the others, 
 the beauty whereof leaves all our colours far be- 
 hind it. The chinks of this earth are filled with 
 water and air, which make up an infinity of ad- 
 mirable shadows, so wonderfully div.ersified by 
 that infinite variety of colours. In this earth. 
 every thing has a perfection answerable to its 
 
OF PLATO. 163 
 
 qualities. The trees, flowers, fruits, and moun- 
 tains are charmingly beautiful ; they produce all 
 sorts of precious stones of incomparable perfec- 
 tion, clearness, and splendour; those we esteem 
 so much here, such as emeralds, jasper, and sap- 
 phire, are but small parcels of them. 
 
 There is not one in that blessed earth that is 
 not infinitely more pretty than any of ours. The 
 cause of all which is, that all these precious stones 
 are pure, neither gnawed nor spoiled by the aci- 
 dity of the salts, nor the corruption of the sedi- 
 ment or dregs that fall from thence into our lower 
 earth, where they assemble, and infect not only 
 the stones and the earth, but the plants and ani- 
 mals, with all sorts of pollution and disease. 
 
 Besides all these beauties now mentioned, this 
 blessed earth is enriched with gold and silver, 
 which being scattered all over in great abund- 
 ance, casts forth a charming splendour on all 
 sides; so that a sight of this earth is a view of the 
 blessed. It is inhabited by all sorts of animals, 
 and by men, some of whom are cast into the cen- 
 tre of the earth, and others are scattered about 
 the air, as we are about the sea. There are some 
 also that inhabit the isles, formed by the air near 
 the continent. For there the air is the same 
 
164 THE PILEDON 
 
 thing that water and the sea are here ; and the 
 aether does them the same service that the air 
 does to us. Their seasons are so admirably well 
 tempered, that their life is much longer than ours, 
 and always free from distempers ; and as for their 
 sight, hearing, and all their other senses, and. even 
 their intellect itself, they surpass us as far as the 
 aether they breathe in exceeds our gross air for 
 simplicity and purity. They have sacred groves, 
 and temples actually inhabited by the gods, who 
 give evidence of their presence by oracles, divi- 
 nations, inspirations, and all other sensible signs, 
 and who converse with them. They see the sun 
 and moon, without any intervening medium, and 
 view the stars as they are in themselves. And 
 all the other branches of their felicity are propor- 
 tional to these. 
 
 This is the situation of that earth, and this is the 
 matter of all that surrounds it. All about it there 
 are several abysses in its cavities, some of which 
 are deeper and more open than the country we 
 inhabit; others are deeper, but not so open ; and 
 some again have a more extensive breadth but a 
 less depth. All these abysses are bored through 
 in several parts, and have pipes communicating 
 one with another, through which there runs, just 
 
OF PLATO, 165 
 
 as in the caves of Mount ^Etna, a vast quantity of 
 water, very large and deep rivers, springs of cold 
 and hot waters, fountains, and rivers of fire, and 
 other rivers of mud, some thinner and some thick, 
 er, and more muddy, like those torrents of mud 
 and fire that are cast out from the mouth of Mount 
 iEtna. These abysses are filled with these wa- 
 ters in proportion to their falling out of one into 
 another. All these sources move both downwards 
 and upwards, like a vessel hung above the earth ; 
 which vessel is naturally one, and indeed the 
 greatest of these abysses. It goes across the 
 whole earth, and is open on two sides. Homer 
 speaks of it, when he says, 
 
 " I will hurl him deep into the gulfs 
 Of gloomy Tartarus, where Hell shuts fast 
 Her iron gates, and spreads her brazen floor 
 As far below the shades, as earth from heaven. 
 
 Homer is not the only author that called this 
 place by the name of Tartarus ; most of the other 
 poets did the same. All the rivers rendezvous in 
 this abyss, and run out from thence again. Each 
 of these rivers is tinctured with the nature of the 
 earth through which it runs. And the reason of 
 their not stagnating in these abysses, is this, that 
 they find no ground, but roll and throw their wa- 
 15* 
 
166 THE PH.EDON 
 
 ters upside down. The air and wind that girds 
 them about, doc? the same, for it follows them 
 both when they rise above the earth, and when 
 they descend towards us. And just as in the re- 
 spiration of animals there is an incessant ingress 
 and egress of air ; so the air that is mingled with 
 the waters accompanies them in their ingress and 
 egress, and raises raging winds. 
 
 When these waters fall into this lower abyss, 
 they diffuse themselves into all the channels of 
 the springs and rivers, and fill them up ; just as 
 if one were drawing water with two pails, one of 
 which fills as the other empties. For these wa- 
 ters flowing from thence, fill up all our channels, 
 from whence diffusing themselves all about, they 
 fill our seas, rivers, lakes, and fountains. After 
 that they disappear, and diving into the earth, 
 some with a large compass, and others by small 
 turnings, repair to Tartarus, where they enter by 
 other passages than those they came out by, and 
 withal much lower. Some re. enter on the same 
 side to that of their egress ; and some again enter 
 on all sides, after they have made one or several 
 turns round the earth ; like serpents folding 
 their bodies into several rolls ; and having gained 
 entrance, rise up in the middle of the abyss, but 
 
OF PLATO. 167 
 
 cannot reach farther, by reason that the other 
 half is higher than their level. They form several 
 very great and large currents, but there are four 
 principal ones, the greatest of which is the outer- 
 most of all, and is called the ocean. 
 
 Opposite to that is Acheron, which runs through 
 the desert places, and diving through the earth, 
 falls into the marsh, which from it is called the 
 Acherusian lake, whither all souls repair upon 
 their departure from the body ; and having stayed 
 there all the time appointed, some a longer, some 
 a shorter time, are sent back to this world to ani- 
 mate beasts. 
 
 Between Acheron and the ocean, there runs a 
 third river, which retires — again not far from its 
 source, and falls into a vast space full of fire. 
 There it forms a lake greater than our sea, in 
 which the water mixed with mud boils, and set- 
 ting out from thence all black and muddy, runs 
 along the earth to the end of the Acherusian lake, 
 without mixing with its waters ; and after having 
 made several turnings under the earth, throws 
 itself underneath Tartarus. And this is the flam- 
 ing river called Phlegeton, the streams whereof 
 are seen to fly up upon the earth in several places. 
 
 Opposite to this is the fourth river, which falls 
 
168 THE PHJSDON 
 
 first into a horrible wild place, of a bluish colour, 
 called by the name of Stygian, where it forms the 
 formidable lake of Styx. And after it has tinc- 
 tured itself with horrible qualities from the waters 
 of that lake, dives into the earth, where it makes 
 several turns, and directing its course over against 
 Phlegeton, at last meets it in the lake of Ache- 
 ron, where it does not mingle its waters with those 
 of the other rivers ; but after it has run its round 
 on the earth, throws itself into the Tartarus by a 
 passage opposite to that of Phlegeton. This 
 fourth river is called by the poets Cocytus. 
 Nature having thus disposed of all these things, 
 when the dead arrive at the place whither their 
 demon leads them, they are all tried and judged, 
 both those who have lived a holy and just life, and 
 those who have wallowed in injustice and im- 
 piety. 
 
 Those who are found to have lived neither en- 
 tirely a criminal, nor absolutely an innocent life, 
 are sent to the Acheron. There they embark in 
 boats, and are transported to the Acherusian lake, 
 where they dwell and suffer punishment propor- 
 tionable to their crimes, till at last being purified 
 and cleansed from their sins, and set at liberty, 
 they receive the recompence of their good ac- 
 tions. 
 
OF PLATO. 169 
 
 Those whose sins are incurable, and have been 
 guilty of sacrilege and murder, or such other 
 crimes, are by a just and fatal destiny thrown 
 headlong into Tartarus, where they are kept pri- 
 soners for ever. 
 
 But those who are found guilty of curable 
 sins, though very great ones, such as offering vio- 
 lence to their father or mother in a passion, or 
 killing a man, and repenting for it all their life 
 time, must of necessity be likewise cast into 
 Tartarus : but after a year there, the tide throws 
 the homicides back into Cocytus, and the parri- 
 cides into Phlegeton, which draws them into the 
 Acherusian lake. There they cry out bitterly, 
 and invoke those whom they have deprived of 
 life to aid them, and conjure them for forgiveness, 
 and to suffer them to pass the lake and give them 
 admittance. If they are prevailed with, they 
 pass the lake, and are delivered from their mis- 
 ery ; if not, they are cast again into Tartarus, 
 which throws them back into these rivers ; and 
 this continues to be repeated till they have satis- 
 fied the injured persons. For such is the sen- 
 tence pronounced against them. 
 
 But those who have distinguished themselves 
 by a holy life, are released from these earthly 
 
170 THE PH2EDON 
 
 places, these horrible prisons ; and are received 
 above into that pure earth, where they dwell ; 
 and those of them who are sufficiently purged by 
 philosophy, live forever without their body ; and 
 are received into yet more admirable and deli- 
 cious mansions, which I cannot sufficiently de- 
 scribe, neither does the narrow limits of my time 
 allow me to launch into that subject. 
 
 What I told but now is sufficient, my dear 
 Simmias, to show that we ought to labour all our 
 life time to purchase virtue and wisdom, since we 
 have so great a hope, and so great a reward pro- 
 posed to us. 
 
 No man of sense can pretend to assure you, 
 that all these things are just as you have heard : 
 but all thinking men will be positive that the 
 state of the soul, and the place of its abode after 
 death, is absolutely such as I represent it to be, 
 or at least very near it, provided the soul be im- 
 mortal ; and will certainly find it worth his while 
 to run the risk: for what danger is more invit- 
 ing? One must needs be charmed with that 
 blessed hope. (37) And for this reason I have di- 
 lated a little upon this subject. 
 
 Every one that during his life time renounces 
 the pleasures of the body, that lool cd upon the 
 
OF PLATO. 171 
 
 appurtenances of the body as foreign ornaments, 
 and siding with the contrary party, pursued only 
 the pleasures of true knowledge, and beautified 
 the soul, not with foreign ornaments, but with 
 decorations suitable to its nature, such as temper- 
 ance, justice, fortitude, liberty, and truth, such a 
 one, being firmly confident of the happiness of 
 his soul, ought to wait peaceably for the hour of 
 his removal, as being always ready for the voy- 
 age, whenever his fate calls him. 
 
 As for you my dear Simmias and Cebes, and 
 all you of this company, you shall all follow me 
 when your hour comes. Mine is now, and as a 
 tragical poet would say, the surly pilot calls me 
 aboard; wherefore it is time I should go to the 
 bath : for I think it is better to drink the poison 
 after I am washed, in order to save the women 
 the trouble of washing me after I am dead. 
 
 Socrates having thus spoken, Crito addressed 
 himself to Socrates, thus: Alas then ! in God's 
 name be it. But what orders do you give me 
 and the rest here present, with reference to your 
 children, or your affairs, that by putting them in 
 execution, we may at least have the comfort of 
 obliging you ? 
 
 What 1 now recommend to you, Crito, re- 
 
172 THE PHiEDON 
 
 plies Socrates, is what I always recommended, 
 viz. To take care of yourselves. You cannot do 
 yourselves a more considerable piece of service, 
 nor oblige me and my family more (38) than to 
 promise me at this time so to do, whereas if you 
 neglect yourselves, and refuse to form your lives 
 according to the model 1 always proposed to you, 
 and follow it as it were by the footsteps, all your 
 protestations and offers of service will be altoge- 
 ther useless to me. 
 
 We shall do our utmost, Socrates, replies Crito, 
 to obey you. But how will you be buried ? 
 
 Just as you please, says Socrates ; if you can 
 but catch me, and if I do not give you the slip. 
 At the same time, looking upon us with a gentle 
 smile, I cannot, says he, compass my end, in per- 
 suading Crito that this is Socrates who discourses 
 with you, and methodizes all the parts of this dis- 
 course ; and still he fancies that Socrates is the 
 thing that shall see death by and by. He con- 
 founds me with my corps ; and in that view asks 
 how I must be buried ? and all this long discourse 
 that I made to you but now, in order to make it 
 out, that as soon as I shall have taken down the 
 poison, I shall stay no longer with you, but shall 
 depart from hence, and go to enjoy the felicity 
 
OF PLATO. 173 
 
 of the blessed •, in a word, all that I have said for 
 jour consolation and mine, is to no purpose, but 
 it is all lost, with reference to him. I beg of you, 
 that you will be security for me to Crito, but after 
 a contrary manner to that in which he offered to 
 bail me to my judges; for he engaged that I 
 would not be gone. Pray engage for me, that I 
 shall no sooner be dead, but I shall be gone ; to 
 the end that poor Crito may bear my death more 
 steadily; and when he sees my body burnt or 
 interred may not despair, as if I suffered great 
 misery, and say at my funeral, that Socrates is 
 laid out, Socrates is carried out, Socrates is inter- 
 red. For you must know, my dear Crito, says he, 
 turning to him, that speaking amiss of death is 
 not only a fault in the way of speaking, but like- 
 wise wounds the soul. You should have more 
 courage and hope, and say, that my body is to be 
 interred. That you may inter as you please, and 
 in the manner that is most conformable to our 
 laws and customs. 
 
 Having spoken thus, he rose and went into the 
 next room to bathe ; Crito followed him, and he 
 desired we should attend him. Accordingly we 
 all attended him, and entertained ourselves a while 
 with a repetition and farther examination of what 
 16 
 
174 THE PH^DON 
 
 he had said, another while in speaking of the 
 miserable state that was before us. For we all 
 looked upon ourselves as persons deprived of our 
 good father, that were ahout to pass the rest of our 
 lives in an orphan state. 
 
 After he came out of the bath, they brought his 
 children to him; for he had three, two little ones, 
 and one that was much older: and the women of 
 his family came all in to him. He spoke to them 
 some time in the presence of Crito, gave them his 
 advice, and requested them to retire, carry his 
 children along with them, and then come hack to 
 us. It was then towards sun setting, for he had 
 been a long while in the little room. 
 
 When he came in, he sat down upon his bed, 
 without saying much: for much about the same 
 time the officer of the eleven magistrates came in, 
 and drawing near to him, Socrates, says he, I have 
 no occasion to make the same complaint of you, 
 that I have every day of those in the same con- 
 dition; for as soon as I come to acquaint them, 
 by orders from the eleven magistrates that they 
 must drink the poison, they are incensed against 
 me and curse me; hut as for you, ever since you 
 came into this place I have found you to be the 
 most even tempered, the calmest, and the best 
 
OF PLATO. 175 
 
 man that ever entered this prison ; and I am con- 
 fident that at present you are not angry with me; 
 doubtless you are angry with none, but those who 
 are the cause of your misfortunes. You know 
 them without naming. On this occasion, Socra- 
 tes, you know what I come to tell you ; farewell, 
 endeavour to bear this necessity with a constant 
 mind. Having spoke thus, he began to cry, and 
 turning his back upon us, retired a little. Fare- 
 well, my friend, says Socrates, looking upon him, 
 I will follow the counsel you have given me. 
 Mind, says he, what honesty is in this fellow ! 
 During my imprisonment he came often to see me, 
 and discourse with me : he is more worth than all 
 the rest ; how heartily he crys for me ! Let us 
 obey him with a handsome mien, my dear Crito, 
 if the poison be brewed, let him bring it; if not, 
 let him brew it himself. 
 
 But, methinks, Socrates, says Crito, the sun 
 shines upon the mountains, and is not yet set ; and 
 I know several in your circumstances did not 
 drink the poison till a long time after the order 
 was given ; that they supped very well (39) and 
 
 enjoyed any thing they had a mind to : wherefore 
 I conjure you not to press so hard ; you have yet 
 
 time enough. 
 
176 THE PHiEDON 
 
 Those who do as you say, Crito, says Socrates, 
 have their own reasons ; they think it as just as 
 much time gained : and I have likewise my rea- 
 sons for not doing so ; for the only advantage I 
 can have by drinking it later, is to make myself 
 ridiculous to myself, in being so foolishly fond of 
 life, as to pretend to husband it in the last minute 
 when there is no more to come. Go then my 
 dear Crito and do as I bid you do, and not vex 
 me any r longer. 
 
 Whereupon Crito gave the sign to the slave 
 that waited just by. The slave went out, and 
 after he had spent some time in brewing the poi- 
 son, returned accompanied by him that was to give 
 it, and brought it all together in one cup. Socra- 
 tes seeing him come in ; that is very well, my 
 friend, says he; but what must I do ? for you 
 know best, and it is your business to direct me. 
 
 You have nothing else to do, says he, but 
 whenever you have drunk it, to walk until you 
 find your legs stiff, and then to lie down upon 
 your bed. This is all you have to do. And at 
 the same time gave him the cup. Socrates took 
 it, not only without any commotion or change of 
 colour or countenance, but with joy ; and looking 
 upon the fellow with a steady and benign eye, as 
 
OF PLATO. 177 
 
 he was accustomed to do, what do you say of 
 this mixture, says he ; is it allowable to make a 
 drink-offering of it ? Socrates, replied the man, 
 we never brew more at once than what serves for 
 one dose, 
 
 I understand you, says Socrates: hut at least 
 it is lawful for me to pray to the gods, they would 
 bless the voyage, and render it happy. This I 
 beg of them with all my soul. Having said that, 
 he drank it all off, with an admirable tranquillity, 
 and an inexpressible calmness. 
 
 Hitherto we had, almost all of us, the power to 
 refrain from tears ; but when we saw him drink 
 it off, we were no longer masters of ourselves. (40) 
 Notwithstanding all my efforts, I was obliged to 
 cover myself with my mantle, that I might freely 
 regret my condition ; for it was not Socrates' 
 misfortunes, but my own, that I deplored, in re- 
 flecting what a friend I was loosing. Crito, who 
 likewise could not abstain from crying, had pre- 
 vented me, and risen up. And Apollodorus, who 
 scarce ceased to cry during the whole conference, 
 did then howl and cry aloud, insomuch that he 
 moved every body. Only Socrates himself was 
 not at all moved : on the contrary, he reprimand- 
 ed them 5 what are you doing, my friends, says 
 16* 
 
178 THE PH^DON 
 
 he ? what such fine men as you are ! O ! where 
 is virtue ? Was it not for this reason that I sent 
 off those women, for fear they should have fallen 
 into those weaknesses ; for I always heard it said, 
 that a man ought to die in tranquillity, and bless- 
 ing God ? Be composed then, and show more 
 constancy and courage. These words filled us 
 with confusion, and forced us to suppress our 
 tears. 
 
 In the mean time, he continued to walk, and he 
 felt his legs stiff, he lay down on his back, as the 
 man had ordered him. At the same time, the 
 same man that gave him the poison, came up to 
 him, and after looking upon his legs and feet, 
 bound up all his feet with all his force, and asked 
 him if he felt it ? He said no ; then he bound up 
 his legs ; and having carried his hand higher, 
 gave us the signal that he was quite cold. Socra- 
 tes likewise felt himself with his hand, and told 
 us that when the cold came up to his heart, he 
 should leave us. All his lower belly was already 
 frozen : and then uncovering himself, (for he was 
 covered,) Crito says he, (these were his last 
 words) (41.) We owe a cock to iEsculapius, dis- 
 charge this vow for me, and do not forget it. 
 
 It shall be done, says Crito ; but see if you 
 
OF PLATO. 179 
 
 have any thing else to say to us. He made no 
 answer, and after a little space of time, departed. 
 The man who was still by him, having uncovered 
 him, received his last looks, which continued fixed 
 upon him. Crito seeing that, came up and closed 
 his mouth and eyes. 
 
 This, Echecrates, was the exit of our friend, a 
 man who (42) beyond all dispute, was the best, 
 the wisest, the greatest, and justest of all o«r ac- 
 quaintances ! 
 
 FINIS. 
 
NOTES, 
 
 i) The patriotic and virtuous Cato, when he found that 
 an ambitious tyrant had entirely subverted the liberties of his 
 beloved country ; and that there was not the least hopes of 
 restoring her again to that republican splendour from which' 
 she had fallen ; and vexed with the degeneracy of his country- 
 men. After having twice read Plato's treatise, on the immor - 
 tality of the soul, found the prospects of a future existence 
 so glorious and so satisfactorily proven by the Grecian sage ; 
 that, with a sword he put a period to his existence. 
 
 (2) Echecrates was a native of Phlius, a city of Peloponesus, 
 in the territory of Sicyon ; he was a great admirer and strict 
 follower of Socrates. 
 
 (3) Socrates, the most celebrated Philosopher of all an- 
 tiquity, was a native of Athens. His father Sophroniscus 
 was a statuary, and his mother Phaenarete was by profession, 
 a midwife. For some time he followed the occupation of his 
 father, and some have mentioned the statues of the graces, 
 admired for their simplicity and elegance, as the work of his 
 own hands. He was called away from this meaner employ- 
 ment, of which, however, he never blushed, by Crito, who 
 admired his genius and courted his friendship. Philosophy 
 soon became the study of Socrates, and under Archeleus and 
 Anaxagoras he laid the foundation of that exemplary virtue 
 which succeeding ages have ever loved and venerated. He 
 appeared like the rest of his countrymen in the field of 
 battle : he fought with boldness and intrepidity, and to his 
 
182 NOTES TO THE 
 
 courage two of his friends and disciples Xenophon and Al- 
 eibiades, owned the preservation of their lives. But the cha- 
 racter of Socrates appears more conspicuous and dignified as 
 a philosopher and moralist, than as a warrior. He was fond 
 of labour, he inured himself to suffer hardships, and he 
 acquired that serenity of mind, and firmness of countenance, 
 which the most alarming dangers could never destroy, or the 
 most sudden calamities alter. If he was poor, it was from 
 choice, and not the effects of vanity, or the wish of appear- 
 ing singular. He bore injuries with patience, and the insult 
 of malice or resentment he not only treated with contempt, 
 but even received with a mind that expressed some concern, 
 and felt compassion for the depravity of human nature. So 
 singular and so venerable a character was admired by the 
 most enlightened of the Athenians. Socrates was attended 
 by a number of illustrious pupils, whom he instructed by his 
 exemplary life, as well as«by his doctrines. He had no par- 
 ticular place where to deliver his lectures, but the good of 
 his countrymen, and the reformation of their corrupted morals, 
 and not the aggregation of riches, was the object of his study. 
 He was present every where, and drew the attention of his 
 auditors either in the groves of Academus, the Lyceum, or on 
 the banks of the Ilyssus. He spoke with freedom on every 
 subject, religious as well as civil ; and had the courage to 
 condemn the violence of his countrymen, and to withstand 
 the torrent of resentment, by which the Athenian generals 
 were capitally punished for not burying the dead at the battle 
 of Arginusae. This independence of spirit, and that visible 
 superiority of mind and genius over the rest of his country- 
 men, created many enemies to Socrates; but as his character 
 was irreproachable, and his doctrines pure, and void of all 
 obscurity, the voice of malevolence was silent. 
 
 Yet Aristophanes soon undertook at the instigation of 
 
PfLEDON OF PLATO. 183 
 
 Melitus, in his comedy of the Clouds, to ridicule the venerable 
 character of Socrates on the stage ; and when once the way 
 was open to calumny and defamation, the fickle and licen- 
 tious populace paid no reverence to the philosopher whom 
 they had before regarded as a being of a superior order. 
 When this had succeeded, Melitus stood forth to criminate 
 him, together with Anytus and Lycon, and the philosopher 
 was summoned before the tribunal of the five hundred. He 
 was accused of corrupting the Athenian youth, of making 
 innovations in the religion of the Greeks, and of ridiculing 
 the many gods whom the Athenians worshipped ; yet false 
 as this might appear, the accusers relied for the success of 
 their cause upon the perjury of false witnesses, and the envy 
 of the judges, whose ignorance would readily yield to mis- 
 representations, and be influenced and guided by eloquence 
 and artifice. In this their expectations were not frustrated, 
 and while the judges expected submission from Socrates, and 
 that meanness of behaviour and servility of defence which 
 distinguished criminals, the philosopher, perhaps, accelerated 
 his own fall by the firmness of his mind, and his uncomply- 
 ing integrity. Lysias, one of the most celebrated orators of 
 the age, composed an oration in a laboured and pathetic style, 
 which he offered to his friend to be pronounced as his defence 
 in the presence of his judges. 
 
 Socrates read it, but after he had praised the eloquence 
 and the animation of the whole, he rejected it as neither 
 manly nor expressive of fortitude, and comparing it to Sicyo- 
 nian shoes, which though fitting, were proofs of effimanacy, 
 n e observed, that a philosopher ought to be conspicuous for 
 magnanimity, and for firmness of soul. In his apology, he 
 spoke with great animation, and confessed that while others 
 boasted that they were acquainted with every thing, he him- 
 
184 NOTES TO THE 
 
 self knew nothing. The whole discourse was full of sim- 
 plicity and noble grandeur, the energetic language of offended 
 innocence. He modestly said, that what he possessed was 
 applied for the service of the Athenians ; it was his wish to 
 make his fellow citizens happy, and it was a duty which he 
 performed by the. special command of the gods, whose autho- 
 rity, said he, emphatically, to his judges, I regard more than 
 yours. 
 
 Such language from a man who was accused of a capital 
 crime, astonished and irritated the judges. Socrates was 
 condemned, but only by a majority of three voices ; and 
 when he was commanded, according to the spirit of the Athe- 
 nian laws, to pass sentence on himself, and to mention the 
 death he preferred, the philosopher said, For my attempts to 
 teach the Athenian youth justice and moderation, and render 
 the rest of my countrymen more happy, let me be maintained 
 at the public expense the remaining years of my life in the Pry- 
 taneum ; an honour, O Athenians, which I deserve more than 
 the victors at the Olympic games. They make their country- 
 men more happy in appearance, but I have made you so in 
 reality. This exasperated the judges in the highest degree, 
 and he was condemned to drink hemlock. Upon this he ad- 
 dressed the court, and more particularly the judges who had 
 decided in his favour in a pathetic speech. He told them that 
 to die was a pleasure, since he was going to hold converse 
 with the greatest heroes of antiquity ; he recommended to 
 their paternal care his defenceless children ; and as he re- 
 turned to the prison, he exclaimed ; I go to die, you to live : 
 ont which is the best the divinity alone, can know. The solemn 
 celebration of the Delian festivals prevented his execution 
 for thirty days, and during that time he was confined in the 
 orison, and loaded with irons. His friends, and particularly 
 
PHJEDON OF PLATO. 185 
 
 "his disciples, were his constant attendants ; he discoursed 
 with them upon different subjects with all his usual cheer- 
 fulness and serenity. He reproved them for their sorrow, and 
 when one of them was uncommonly grieved, because he was 
 to suffer though innocent, the philosopher replied — Would 
 you then have me die guilty ? With this composure he spent 
 his last days ; he continued to be a preceptor till the moment 
 of his death, and instructed his pupils on questions of the great- 
 est importance. He told them his opinions in support of the 
 immortality of the soul, and reprobated with acrimony the 
 prevalent custom of suicide ; he disregarded the interces- 
 sions of his friends, and when it was in his power to make 
 his escape out of prison, he refused it, and asked with his 
 usual pleasantry, where he could escape death ; where, says 
 he to Crito, who had bribed the gaoler and made his escape 
 certain, Where shall I fly to avoid this irrevocable doom passed 
 on all mankind ? When the hour to drink the poison was 
 come, the executioner presented him the cup with tears in 
 his eyes. Socrates received it with composure, and after he 
 had made a libation to the gods, he drank it with an unaltered 
 countenance, and a few moments afterwards he expired. 
 Such was the end of a man whom the uninfluenced answer 
 of the oracle of Delphi, had pronounced the wisest of 
 mankind. Socrates died 400 years before Christ, in the 
 seventieth year of his age. He was no sooner buried than 
 the Athenians repented of their cruelty ; his accusers were 
 universally despised and shunned ; one suffered death, some 
 were banished, and others, with their own hands, put an 
 end to their life, which their severity to the best of the 
 Athenians had rendered insupportable. The actions, sayings, 
 and opinions of Socrates have been faithfully recorded by two 
 of his pupils, Xenophon and Plato ; and every thing which 
 17 
 
186 NOTES TO THE 
 
 relates to the life and circumstances of this great philosopher 
 is now minutely known. To his poverty* his innocence, and 
 his example, the Greeks were particularly indebted for their 
 greatness and splendour ; and the learning which was univer- 
 sally disseminated by his pupils, gave the whole nation a con- 
 sciousness of their superiority over the rest of the world, not 
 only in the polite arts, but in the more laborious exercises, 
 which their writings celebrated. The philosophy of Socrate? 
 forms an interesting epoch in the history of the human mind.. 
 The son of Sophroniscus derided the more abstruse inquiries 
 and metaphysical researches of his predecessors, and by first 
 introducing moral philosophy, he induced mankind to consi- 
 der themselves, their passions, their opinions, their duties, 
 actions, and faculties. From this it was said that the foun- 
 dation of the Socratic school drew philosophy down from 
 heaven upon the earth. In his attendance upon religious 
 worship Socrates was himself an example ; he believed the 
 divine origin of dreams and omens, and publicly declared that 
 he was accompanied by a demon or invisible conductor, whose 
 frequent interposition stopped him from the commission of 
 evil and the guilt of misconduct. This familiar spirit, how- 
 ever, according to some, was nothing more than a sound 
 judgment assisted by prudence and long experience, which 
 warned him at the approach of danger, and from a genera 1 
 speculation of mankind could foresee what success weuld 
 attend an enterprise, or what calamities would follow an ill- 
 managed administration. As a supporter of the immortality 
 of the soul, he allowed the perfection of a supreme being, 
 from which he deduced the government of the universe. 
 From the resources of experience, as well as nature and obser- 
 vation, he perceived the indiscriminate dispensation of good 
 and evil to mankind by the hand of heaven ; and he was con- 
 
PILEDON OF PLATO. 187 
 
 vinced that none but the most inconsiderate would incur the 
 displeasure of their Creator to avoid poverty or sickness, or 
 to gratify a sensual appetite, which at the end harass their 
 soul with remorse and the consciousness of guilt. F* om this 
 natural view of things, he perceived the relation of one nation 
 with another, and how much the tranquillity of civil society 
 depended upon the proper discharge of these respective duties. 
 The actions of men furnished materials also for his discourse ; 
 to instruct them was his aim, and to render them happy was 
 the ultimate object of his daily lessons. From principles like 
 these, which were enforced by the unparalleled example of an 
 affectionate husband, a tender parent, a warlike soldier, and 
 a patriotic citizen in Socrates, soon after the celebrated sects 
 of the Platonists, the Peripatetics, the Academics, Cyrenaics, 
 Stoics, &c. arose. Socrates never wrote for the public eye, 
 yet many support that the tragedies of his pupil, Euripides, 
 were partly composed by him. He was naturally of a licen- 
 tious disposition, and a physiognomist observed, in looking 
 in the face of the philosopher, that his heart was the most 
 depraved, immodest, and corrupted that ever was in the 
 human breast. This nearly cost the satirist his life ; but So. 
 crates upbraided his disciples, who wished to punish the 
 physiognomist, and declared that his assertions were true, 
 but that all his vicious propensities had been duly corrected 
 and curbed by means of reason. Socrates made a poetical 
 version of iEsop's Fables while in prison. 
 
 (4) Pheedon, an Athenian, was under great obligations to 
 Socrates ; for, being taken prisoner in war, and sold to a 
 merchant that bought slaves, Socrates, who greatly admired 
 his genius, induced Alcibiades or Crito to ransom him. After 
 which he received him into the number of his friends and 
 
188 NOTES TO THE 
 
 disciples. He likewise had the honour of having this dia- 
 logue on the Immortality of the Soul, inscribed with his 
 name. 
 
 (5) Phlias, like many other eities in ancient Greece, was 
 too obscure for the Athenians to have any intercourse with 
 it, except by their merchants, who casually traded there for 
 a particular kind of wine, which the inhabitants of that dis- 
 trict were famed for making. 
 
 (6) Apollodorus, a disciple of Socrates, a man of weak in- 
 tellect, but remarkable for his attachment to his preceptor, 
 when Socrates was condemned and going to prison, he cried 
 out, " that which afflicts me most, Socrates, is to see you die 
 innocent." Socrates smiled, and said, " My friend, would 
 you rather see me die guilty ?" 
 
 (7) Critobulus, Crito, Hermogenes, Epigenes, Aeschines ? 
 Ctesippus, and Menexemus : nothing more is known of these 
 than that they were disciples of Socrates, and, after his death, 
 having fled from Athens, they spread his doctrines over vari- 
 ous parts of the world. Crito wrote several dialogues, but 
 they are now lost. 
 
 Antisthenes, an Athenian, the founder of the sect of the 
 Cynics, and had among his pupils the famous Diogenes ; but 
 when he had heard Socrates, he shut up his school, and told 
 his pupils, " go seek for yoursolvcs a master, 1 havo now 
 found one." He went every day forty stadia to hear the 
 lessons of Socrates. Being asked by one of his pupils, what 
 philosophy had taught him ? ho answered, to live with my-, 
 self. 
 
PHjEDON OF PLATO. 189 
 
 (8) Euclides, a native of Megara, and disciple of Socrates. 
 When the Athenians had forbidden all the people of Megara 
 on pain of death to enter their city, Euclides disguised him- 
 self in female apparel that he might escape their notice and 
 gain an introduction into the presence of Socrates. 
 
 (9) Aristippus, a native of Cyrene, and disciple of So- 
 crates. He was a great epicure, and founded a sect of phi- 
 losophers at Cyrene. He was one of the flatterers of Diony- 
 sius of Sicily. He generally received the surname of Senior, 
 to distinguish him from his grandson, who was a philosopher 
 of the same name. 
 
 (10) The delicacy and keenness of this satire is thus ex- 
 piainedby Demetrius Phalereus. Piato, says he, had a mind 
 to suppress the scandal that Aristippus and Cleombrotus drew 
 upon themselves by feasting at JE gin a, when Socrates, their 
 friend and preceptor, was in prison, without deigning to go 
 to see him, or even to assist on the day of his death, though 
 they were then at the entry of the Athenian harbour. Had 
 he told the whole story, the invective had been too particular ; 
 but with an admirable decency and artfulness, he introduces 
 Phasdon giving a list of those who assisted at his death, and 
 making answer to the question, — whether they were there or 
 not ? That they were at iEgina ; pointing at once to their 
 debauchery and ingratitude. This stroke is the more biting, 
 that the thing points out the horror of the action. Plato 
 might securely have attacked Aristippus and Cleombrotus ; 
 but he chose rather to make use of this figure, which in 
 effect gives the greater blow. This is a notable piece of 
 delicate satire. Athenaeus, by charging Plato with slander 
 upon this score, prejudiced himself more than Plato, 
 
 17* 
 
1£0 NOTES TO THE 
 
 who will always be held up for having this zeal for his 
 master. 
 
 (11) The magistrates were the overseers of the prison and 
 prisoners, and executed the sentences of the judges. 
 
 (12) Evenus, an elegiac poet of Paros, the first that said 
 habit was a second nature. 
 
 (13) Simmias, a philosopher of Thebes, and a scholar of 
 Socrates ; he wrote some dialogues which are now lost. 
 
 (14) Cebes, a Theban philosopher, one of the disciples of 
 Socrates ; he attended his learned preceptor in his last mo- 
 ments, and distinguished himself by three dialogues that he 
 wrote, but more particularly by his tables, which contain a 
 beautiful and affecting picture of human life, delineated with 
 accuracy of judgment and great splendour of sentiment. 
 
 (15) Philolaus was a Pythagorean philosopher, who could 
 not fail to assert his master's doctrine of the unlawfulness of 
 self-murder. He wrote only one volume, which Plato pur- 
 chased at four hundred crowns. 
 
 (1G) It would appear from this passage, that the exalted 
 mind of Plato was still fettered by strong prejudices, the 
 same as some of cur philanthropists and philosophers are at 
 this day, viz. that a portion of the human raco are doomed 
 by nature to remain slaves to their fellow-mortals. 
 
 (17) Probably the executioner meant by this advice to keep 
 on good terms with Socrates, and save his money ; for he 
 
PH^DON OF PLATO. 191 
 
 was to furnish the hemlock, of which a pound (the common 
 dose) cost 12 drachmas, i. e. 3 livres and 12d. 
 
 When Phocion came to drink the poison, the quantity of 
 hemlock proved not sufficient ; and the executioner refused 
 to prepare more except he had twelve drachmas paid him, 
 which was the price of a full draught. As this occasioned 
 a troublesome delay, Phocion called out to his friends, and 
 said, " Since one cannot die on free cost at Athens, give the 
 man his money." This execution was on the 19th day 
 of April, when there was a procession of horsemen in ho- 
 nour of Jupiter. As the cavalcade passed by, some took off 
 their chaplets from their heads, others shed tears as they 
 looked at the prison doors ; all who had not hearts entirely 
 savage, or were not corrupted by rage and envy, looked upon 
 it as a most impious thing, not to have reprieved him at least 
 for that day, and so to have kept the city unpolluted on the 
 festival. 
 
 The proceedings against Phocion put the Greeks in mind 
 of those against Socrates. The treatment of both was equally 
 unjust, and the calamities thence entailed upon Athens were 
 perfectly similar. — 'See Plutarch in Phocion. 
 
 (18) Suicide from love. — We are perpetually reminded by 
 some sad catastrophe that the simple ordinance of nature, 
 devised from human felicity, are liable to frustration and 
 disappointment from human conduct, or circumstances un- 
 forseen by mortal sagacity. Adolescence unfolds the most 
 delightful of all passions which can warm the breast, which 
 each created being is destined by the grand arrangements of 
 the universe to feel ; for its subsistence is the prop of the 
 world. The other passions are awakened at times and at 
 seasons which may occur, but which may not occur because 
 
192 NOTES TO THE 
 
 no immediate and ulterior purposes seem dependent on their 
 subsistence or their energies. They may remain eternally 
 dormant amidst the advances of earthly concerns, and with- 
 out interruption of their order. It is otherwise here ; mutual 
 affection must be necessarily involved, inspiring pleasure 
 while renovating in endless series the depredation of time, 
 and preserving the busy theatre of life from solitude. Yet is 
 this the chief passion refined in the great laboratory of nature 
 to be incorporated with our frame, productive of the most 
 afflicting class of suicides ! Oh love, how delicious are thy 
 pure enjoyments to mortals ! But were it shown how many 
 victims thou hast sacrificed, all the blood thou hast spilt — 
 the philanthropist would hate thee, or bury himself in a 
 desert to be withdrawn from thy seductions. 
 
 Already have the fatal results of rage, of jealousy, disap- 
 pointment, or inverted affections, been described. It is not 
 inconsistent that they should be numerous : nor can the} 7 
 cease or be extirpated, so long as human frailty is liable to be 
 ^hus overborn. But although they should appear most fre- 
 quent from that passion which predominates over the rest, 
 certain causes sometimes operate against them ; while on the 
 other hand they lead to deplorable catastrophes. 
 
 It is more unusual, indeed, that the stronger sex give way 
 to despair, and yield up existence when their hope of pos- 
 sessing the object of desire is frustrated ; but as they can 
 freely shed their blood in testimony of the vehemence of 
 affection, so can they resign life by becoming their own des- 
 troyers. It is true, that the important concerns which for 
 common are specially allotted to their share may save them 
 from solitary brooding over disappointment ; but sudden re- 
 solves may be precipitately executed. Yet the larger cata- 
 logue of suicides among the fairer part of creation is a 
 
PH^DON OF PLATO. 193 
 
 lamentable record of the perverted issue of a passion origi- 
 nally designed for pleasure ; and that which follows the per- 
 juries of men alone is the more cruel, because the bloom of 
 youth and the age of inexperience so often conspire in 
 paving the way to destruction. Even without the contrivance 
 •of stratagem, melancholy instances are afforded by some, 
 too confident in their own strength, how feeble are all reso- 
 lutions to steel the breast against those soft emotions destined 
 to sway untutored mankind. Danger ever hovers in the train 
 of passions : those who deal with them dwell in turbulence, 
 and only self-control can forbid them the victory. 
 
 It is they which ensnare : it is they which, banishing the 
 the hold of reserve, loosen the zone of virgin safety; which 
 belie the rising frown in smiles ; which never find the fond 
 delusion so grateful as when returned as it is inspired. Some 
 there are who vow and mean to give an honest pledge ; who 
 scorn deceit, and hasten to fulfil the assurance which indis- 
 creet affection has prematurely rewarded. But that which 
 passion promises, ascendant reason, nay, abating inclination, 
 often refuses to sanction in performance. Wretched is she 
 who finds, that in an unguarded moment treachery has lulled 
 her to her ruin. Innocence is unsuspicious of guile : those 
 of the worthiest nature think least of vice, they harbour 
 nothingunseen, and so do the best and fairest fall. Where now 
 are all those impassioned endearmeuts, never fading while 
 they were soliciting ? No excellence was sufficiently worthy, 
 no ornament was too bright to adorn an image already trans- 
 eendant. Where the fervid protestations plighting everlast- 
 ing faith, speaking protection, inviting to confidence? 
 Where those delightful hours foretold of indissoluble union, 
 always renovating, for always flowing from the pure source 
 
1^4 NOTES TO THE 
 
 of disinterested affection ? Have they sunk under the load 
 of treachery, or evaporated from cloying possession ? 
 
 The change is frightful, perfidy has distilled its venomous 
 dregs to wound the peace and stain the purity of its victim. 
 While yet held in suspense, she strives to reclaim the de- 
 stroyer — his cold disdain or stern repulse signify, in less 
 equivocal language than from the lips, that the charms of 
 beauty have waned in satiated passion. Conscious dishonour, 
 and the bitter sneer of calumny, bid her fly the social throng ; 
 the shafts of disappointment; having fixed their barbs in her 
 breast, plunge her in despair and desolation. O miserable 
 fate 1 for the dawning of her days was glorious : robed by 
 the graces, she rose refulgent in innocence ; fascination hung 
 on the melody of her voice. As the vernal flower is nurtured 
 by the pearly dew, she flourished while her virtues unfolded 
 under the kindly culture of paternal love. But the sun of 
 her earthly joys has set; this sublunary sphere has been a 
 scene of trial and sorrow ; the night is gathering fast around 
 her. But a brighter world opens a celestial asylum. Yet 
 only a little suffering, transient, short and easily born,-«-and 
 her soul is free. 
 
 " Let not the youth inconsiderately tamper with the virtue 
 of his mistress, and thus prove her assassin by his infidelity. 
 Terrible examples warn the credulous and inexperienced 
 maid of her danger, and teach her to preserve an incessant 
 guard over herself." 
 
 Were it not for certain counteracting principles summoned 
 into operation, this distressing class of suicides perhaps would 
 be immoderately extended. The resentment which naturally 
 follows discovered treachery, inspires its victim with hatred, 
 or excites a thirst to be revenged on the betrayer, which 
 
PrLEDON OF PLATO, 195 
 
 could least be hoped from contemplations of suicide. Affec- 
 tion, also, naturally originating for her offspring, conquers 
 the desire of death, and early solicitudes regarding its wel- 
 fare, tell the mother, who has endured so cruel an injury, to 
 spare herself. After the first dire paroxysm of grief, time, 
 that best unction of human smart, offers its balsam to alle- 
 viate the wound and restore composure. Nevertheless, many., 
 too soft and gentle for indignation, too tender to bear the 
 rude ruffling of adversity and the sharp edge of detraction, 
 voluntarily perish from the dread of shame, 
 
 But it is difficult to trace the source of the catastrophe to 
 a, passion whose subsistence sensibility prompts mankind to 
 disguise, much rather than to disclose to the inquisitive. 
 That magnanimity which actuates the one sex, and that 
 timid reserve animating the other, unite in urging both to 
 concealment. It is so unlikely an issue^to attend affection 
 where known, because of all inducements that should be the 
 strongest to survivance, another construction is put upon 
 the deed: likewise, the definition of suicide from Love has 
 so little correctness, that impatience, rage or jealousy, or 
 chiefly grief, is more just and expressive. So the gamester 
 commits suicide for his losses ; not because he gained, but 
 from regret at his misfortune, or from shame that he cannot 
 keep his engagements. 
 
 No hazard is so deep as to involve the affections, no vio- 
 lence so great as when offered to excited sensibilities., 
 Hence it is probable this kind of suicide never has been rare, 
 Suicide for the loss of kindred. — The anguish we endure 
 on loosing our friends and relatives, testifies how unwilling 
 we are to part with them ; that we are never content with the 
 longest enjoyment of their society i that we never can con- 
 sent to their being torn from our embraces. But, consider- 
 
196 NOTES TO THE 
 
 ing the transience of earthly gifts, that all which we think 
 our own is only lent to us and may be recalled without any- 
 warning, perhaps it is wrong to incorporate our affections so 
 deeply with what is most perishable. Yet our sorrow is be- 
 yond the bounds of consolation. We beat our breasts and 
 tear our hair ; we murmur at the decrees of Providence and 
 disturb the world with our lamentations. Sometimes affec- 
 tionate parents have voluntarily resigned themselves to death, 
 or united in the fate bereaving them of their children. Some- 
 times others, bound by the ties of consanguinity, have refused 
 to remain behind. But chief of all has the privation of hus- 
 bands and protectors, those guardians of tenderness, enlarged 
 the too ample list of suicides. Beginning in the earliest ages 
 of time, self-destruction subsisted thousands of years ago the 
 same as it does at the present day in the east. The same 
 piles were kindled, the same ceremonies observed in the 
 sacrifice, and the same heroic devotion displayed by those 
 from whom fortitude was to be the least expected. It spread 
 in the west, extending to the north, and has been seen in the 
 southern hemisphere. As if an inheritance in families, it 
 has passed from mothers to daughters in lineal succession, so 
 to speak, throughout repeated generations ; nor can we say 
 when it commenced among them, or how it closed. The 
 historian of an ancient race of Messenians, thus continues : 
 " if matters be so, three in successive descent from Marpeza 
 slew themselves for the loss of their husbands." 
 
 Among the ancient Heruli, a tribe wont to appease their 
 their deities by human sacrifice, the wife of any one deceas- 
 ed voluntarily strangled herself soon after at her husband's 
 tomb, to prove her affection and procure the reward of post- 
 humous fame. Her survivance induced everlasting shame, 
 and was the reproach of his relations. On the banks of the 
 
PfLEDON OF PLATO. 197 
 
 Vistula, there formerly dwelt the Winedi, described as " a 
 wicked and odious race," but so affectionate in the conjugal 
 state, that wives would not remain behind their departed 
 spouses ; and she who suffered death by her own hand, in 
 order that her body might be consumed on the same pile as 
 that of her husband, was renowned among the survivors. 
 
 The queens of Sweden accompanied their husbands to the 
 shades, and their cremation at Upsal has been already com- 
 memorated, along with solitary examples in other countries. 
 But all did not feel the duty alike imperious ; for Saxo inveighs 
 against a princess brought from Scotland, who dreaded to die 
 with her husband Amleth. On a certain occasion, Eric, king 
 of Sweden, had made a vow that he would not survive more 
 than ten years, provided he could obtain the victory over his 
 enemies ; but as it was an established custom at that time to 
 bury the wife along with the husband, his queen refused to 
 reside with him until the period when his vow should be ful- 
 filled. 
 
 But in the East, where human reason seems to be most dis- 
 turbed by superstition, and the mental faculties ready to be 
 wound up to the most violent excess of passion, it is an irre- 
 versible obligation on the surviving widow to follow her de- 
 parted husband to the valley of death if she will not remain 
 and be dishonoured. It is rarely that she needs persuasion, 
 or to be reminded of her duty ; though some, standing appal- 
 led by the terrors of approaching torment, or languishing still 
 for the sweets of life, doubtless become a compulsory sacri- 
 fice. 
 
 Their common alacrity to mount the pile and sever them- 
 selves from the world, tell how willing they are to perish by 
 the same flames which they themselves shall kindle. 
 
 No sooner has the husband breathed his last, than his 
 18 
 
198 NOTES TO THE 
 
 widow, immediately, and without the slightest hesitation, an- 
 nounces her determination to join his soul in paradise. While 
 the spot is selected and the pile preparing, she is adorning 
 herself as if for a festal day • and comes forth decked in all 
 her jewels and ornaments. A few religious ceremonies en- 
 sue ; she walks around the structure deliberately, with a col- 
 lected countenance and a firm footstep, and fearlessly ascends 
 its summit. Then taking an affectionate leave of her friends 
 as she distributes her trinkets among them, she herself applies 
 the torch, and clasping her deceased partner in her arms, their 
 ashes mingle together. 
 
 But this is not the only fashion of suicide in the East, 
 though it be the more frequent and the most encouraged 
 there ; for sometimes widows voluntarily inter themselves 
 alive with the bodies of their husbands, after similar ceremo- 
 nies as those which are practised at cremation. 
 
 Shunning this fiery ordeal would incur disgrace, while 
 passing through its torments is believed an unerring guide to 
 eternal felicity, and seals the reputation of the victim. But 
 above all, it is held a duty which is owing to the wedded state, 
 insomuch that, with rare exceptions, concubines are not 
 bound to commit themselves to the flames ; and an amicable 
 competition has been seen between two surviving widows for 
 the privilege of suicide. The duty of perishing is regarded 
 as so imperious, that blooming widows refuse to listen to the 
 prayers of their desponding kindred, or to escape where pow- 
 er would shelter them, and where the cooling affections of the 
 aged cease to urge them to self-immolation for love. They 
 put implicit faith in the joys of futurity, and dread the con- 
 tumely attending evasion of the sacrifice ; which, independ- 
 ently of the warmth of regard for the deceased, arc the mo- 
 tives influencing Eastern widows as well as those of other 
 regions. 
 
PfLEDON OF PLATO. 199 
 
 Suicide from the sense of inferiority. — Pride and vanity 
 whisper illustrious notions of ourselves, and there is scarcely 
 any external flattery too gross for our self-love to reject and 
 despise. Confidence buoys us up in the belief of properties 
 which we neither possess nor are capable of attaining, and 
 thence is the means of fostering imperfections. The vehe- 
 mence of self-love must be necessarily the source of every 
 man's errors ; for he who loves, is blind in respect to the ob- 
 ject of his admiration. But a sense of self-unworthiness 
 may also originate in the gloomy mind of those who never 
 have been deficient in duty, like him in the Scripture, who, in 
 spite of having obeyed the divine ordinances from his youth, 
 still doubted his chance of penetrating the gates of heaven. 
 Forgetting that the pleasures of the world have been devised 
 for enjoyment, and that the delicacies of sense and the per- 
 ceptions of the soul have been gifted on purpose to relish 
 them, weak, vain, and ignorant devotees think of self-pu- 
 nishment as a cure for their defects, as if they alone had been 
 entitled to come in a state of perfection from the hand of the 
 creator. Frequently belief in self-unworthiness is a prelude 
 to decided insanity. Mankind, besides this spiritual affection, 
 are sometimes liable to that regarding temporal matters, 
 which wounds them with painful consciousness of inferiority 
 on a comparison with their fellows. The ancients fable a 
 soothsayer, who, having found some other augur of superior 
 skill and pretensions to himself, died of mortification. 
 
 Among the moderns, various narratives are preserved of 
 rivals for excellence in the arts having had their imperfec- 
 tions forced on their notice by illiberal criticism, or by their 
 own observation, so as to embitter their whole existence. 
 Many persons, addicted to literature, after once offering fa- 
 vourite opinions to the public, and having been warned of 
 their precipitation, never could resolve to adventure again. 
 
200 NOTES TO THE 
 
 Suicide from Indigence. — Notwithstanding the unconquer- 
 able violence of the passions, the sense of dishonour, the 
 dread of an enemy, disappointed affections, or impatience of 
 control, may lead to unreflecting suicide, that resulting 
 from simple weariness of life, from melancholy or indigence, 
 perhaps is the sequel of long premeditation. The statesman 
 never quits the brink of a precipice ; the warrior is always 
 opposed to danger ; the philosopher reasons himself in the 
 belief that, conceiving death an evil, alone makes it so ; and 
 all feeling the uncertainties of their condition, who cannot 
 consent to reverses, must be supposed in a certain state of 
 readiness for that change which may be effected through the 
 medium of their own hands. But is not this a grievous alter- 
 native to the watchful citizen, the lowly, industrious, and 
 willing artizan, who vainly struggles to obtain his own and 
 the bread of his dependent family ? Are not the privations 
 inseparable from an humble sphere, a sufficient evil in them- 
 selves, that the sun shall rise only to light the labourer to his 
 toil, and go down with the scanty earnings which are to 
 gain his scanty fare ? Yet it is distressing to find that hard- 
 ships may become intolerable even to those inured to rigour, 
 that disappointments may prove greater than can be borne. 
 As indigence urges mankind, they are the more reluctant 
 to disclose the truth in soliciting relief of their necessities. 
 Alas ! the remark of the poet is too true, that poverty makes 
 men ridiculous. The stratagems to disguise it are infinite. 
 Patience and resignation, indeed, conjoined with confidence 
 that Providence will not forsake the miserable, counteract 
 the strongest inducements to suicide from poverty. Occupa- 
 tion, likewise, however inconsiderable, engaging the mind 
 for the time, banishes painful reflections and mitigates sor- 
 row : and so long as something better may be expected, we 
 
PH.EDON OF PLATO. 201 
 
 never contemplate any thing worse. The impression con- 
 veyed by the surrounding objects, the scenery and its alterna- 
 tions, divert our thoughts from the unvaried theme in which 
 they are bound up. A greater aggregate of misery is dis- 
 seminated proportionally in great capitals than in the coun- 
 try ; for those whom indigence approaches, shift their abode 
 in hopes of meliorating their fortune ; besides, mankind 
 being sustained by each other, and compelled to call in each 
 other's aid, promotes an influx to places already populous. 
 The inhabitants of cities, too, are concentrated within nar- 
 row limits, bringing them under common and reciprocal 
 observation: those of the : country are widely dispersed, 
 Their pride demands a better appearance than is consistent 
 with their necessities, and they conclude that their mode of 
 life should not seem contemptible in the eyes of their neigh- 
 bours ; an unhappy kind of emulation, indeed too generally 
 diffused among all classes at the present day. Undoubtedly 
 the sense of dishonour is sometimes an ingredient which 
 operates even in the suicides of the indigent.. A far greater 
 proportion of destitute persons is said to perish in this way 
 in Paris than in London. 
 
 Suicide from dishonour. — Sudden indignation, the sense of 
 dishonour, and other sentiments awakened from social rela- 
 tions, are productive of catastrophes equal to those which 
 are consequent on a long train of misery. But this is a prin- 
 ciple which, when restricted within rational limits, is of in- 
 finite utility m the affairs of mankind ; for those will fly from 
 degradation who know their proper place and duties. It is 
 the sense of dishonour which alike raises the weapon against 
 the person of her who apprehends the violence of man to her 
 virtue ; or of the woman whose shame, though from human 
 treachery, is betrayed to the world. It is this which induces 
 18*" 
 
202 NOTES TO THE 
 
 the suicide of the husband, who feels himself disgraced by the 
 conduct of his wife ; and of the mother, who cannot survive 
 her daughter's criminality. It is the sense of dishonour 
 which arms the commander against himself, whose oversight 
 has lost the day; of the statesman who has fallen from his 
 glory ; of the magistrate who is wounded by indignity : nay, 
 of the gamester, who cannot redeem his engagements ; or of 
 him from whom capricious fortune has reft of his all to plunge 
 in penury. The sense of dishonour cements the social com, 
 pact, and strengthens its integrity. It bids us disdain defk 
 ciency to ourselves in deficiency to our neighbours, and to 
 spurn at the envious passion which demeans us to a level 
 with the vile. 
 
 Yet may not the sense of dishonour, so laudable in its 
 proper exercise and acceptation, be carried to an extent of 
 which the rational can hardly approve ? The wicked are 
 not in our keeping ; they may overpower us by their strength ; 
 they may contrive to steal indignities upon us, treacherously 
 to waylay our steps, and brand our fairest name with calumny. 
 But are we to take vengeance on ourselves, or hold that we 
 are accountable for the deed that is another's, seeing our 
 own actions only are within our control ? 
 
 A great many instances could be related of this species of 
 suicides; likewise those from weariness of life, escape from 
 punishment and servitude, &c; but in doing so, it would 
 swell this note into an undue size, so that it would require 
 separate treatise, rather than a note, to give them all at full 
 length. 
 
 (19) Thcro is a pleasant passage to this purpose in the 
 second book of his republic. They say, that by virtue of 
 these purifications and sacrifices, we are delivered from the 
 
PHjEDON OF PLATO. 203 
 
 torments of hell ; but if we neglect them, we shall be liable 
 to all the horrors of the same. 
 
 (20) The thyrsus was a spear wrapt in vines or ivy, carried 
 by the followers of Bacchus. 
 
 (21) This was the imagination of those who denied the 
 immortality of the soul. The author of the book of wisdom 
 has set them in their true colours. Our life (says he) is but 
 a breath ; after death it vanisheth like a vapour, and passes 
 like a cloud, or a mist dispersed by the rays of the sun. Then 
 he tells us, that those who entertain themselves with such 
 language, were not acquainted with the secrets of God, for 
 God created man incorruptible, after his own image ; hence 
 the hope of the just and good is full of immortality : this 
 seems to have been the sentiment of Socrates. 
 
 (22) Plato seems to have levelled this satyrical shaft at 
 Aristophanes, who, in his comedy of the Clouds, has oharged 
 Socrates with amusing himself only with trifles.. 
 
 (23) If death did not give rise to life, as life does to death, 
 all things would quickly be at an end and tumble into their 
 primitive chaos. 
 
 (24) '- Endymion, a shepherd, son of jEthlius and Calyce. 
 It is said that he required of Jupiter to grant him to be always 
 young, and to sleep as much as he would ; whence came the 
 proverb of Endymionis somnum dormire, to express along sleep. 
 Diana saw him naked as he slept on mount Latmos, and was 
 so struck with his beauty that she came down from heaven 
 every night to enjoy his company. Endymion married Chro- 
 
204 NOTES TO THE 
 
 mia, daughter of Itonus, by whom he had three sons — Paeon, 
 Epeus, and yEoIus ; and a daughter called Eurydice. The 
 fable of Endymion's amours with Diana, or the Moon, arises 
 from his knowledge of astronomy ; and as he passed the 
 night on some high mountain, to observe the heavenly bodies, 
 it has been reported that he was courted by the moon. Some 
 suppose that there were two of that name, the son of a king 
 of Elis, and the shepherd or astronomer of Caria. The 
 people of Heraclea maintained that Endymion died on mount 
 Latmos, and the Eleans pretended to show his tomb at Olym- 
 pia in Peloponnesus. 
 
 (25) This appears to be the strongest argument Socrates 
 makes use of. 
 
 (26) I have corrected this passage by reading ^ ytvoilo ; for 
 without pri it was not sense. 
 
 (27) The Greek exposition is very remarkable ; it turns 
 thus, things upon which we have put this stamp, that it is so. 
 That is, to distinguish things that have no true exisitmce, 
 
 (28) This is a great panegyric upon Socrates, and yet done 
 with that modesty worthy of Plato. 
 
 (29) It would appear from this passage that the Greeks 
 were acquainted with the art of embalming as well as the 
 
 Egyptians. 
 
 (30) The Arrives being routed by the Spartans, with whom 
 they waged war for seizing the city of Thyre, cut their hair, 
 and swore solemnly never to suffer it to grow till they had 
 
PH.EDON OF PLATO. 205 
 
 retaken the town that belonged to them ; which happened in 
 the 57th Olympiad, when Crasus V&s besieged at Sardis, 
 Herodot. lib. 1st. 
 
 It was likewise a custom among the Greeks generally to 
 cut off their hair at the death of their friends, and throw it 
 into their tombs. 
 
 (31) If these are true, I am a great gainer with little trou- 
 ble ; if false, I lose nothing ; on the contrary, I have gained 
 a great deal : for besides the hope that supported me through 
 my afflictions, infirmities, and weaknesses, I have been faith- 
 ful, honest, humble, thankful, charitable, sincere, and true ; 
 and have only quitted false and contagious pleasures in ex- 
 change for real and solid ones. 
 
 M. Pascal, in his article 7th, has enlarged on this point, 
 and backed it with a demonstration of infinite force. 
 
 (32) He calls Cebes another Cadmus, because, as Cadmus, 
 by sowing the teeth of the dragon he had killed, fetched out 
 of the bosom of the earth a race of fierce men that lived 
 only one minute, so Cebes, by the opinion of the mortality of 
 the soul, a thing more poisonous than the teeth of a dragon, 
 made all men earthly and beastly, and left them but a very 
 short life. 
 
 (33) Anaxagoras was the first that said the intellect or 
 spirit of God ranked in the parts of matter and put them in 
 motion ; and it was that principle that ushered in his 
 physics into notice. This fair exordium gave Socrates 
 occasion to think that he would explain all the secrets of 
 nature by unfolding the divine virtue displayed upon it, and 
 assigning the reason why every thing was so and so. But 
 
206 NOTES TO THE 
 
 that philosopher did not keep up to his first principle ; "for he 
 waved the first cause, and insisted on second causes, and by 
 so doing frustrated the expectations of his readers. 
 
 (34) The wicked would be happy if the soul were mortal. 
 This principle has a considerable proof of the immortality of 
 the soul couched in it ; for if the soul were mortal, virtue 
 would be pernicious to the good, and vice would be service- 
 able to the wicked, which is unworthy of God, and by con- 
 sequence there must be another life for rewarding the good 
 and punishing the bad. 
 
 (35) Socrates does not mention who taught him this doc- 
 trine of the pure earth ; but it is not a hard matter to find out 
 the author. Proclus himself acknowledges that Socrates and 
 Plato owed this idea to the sacred tradition of the Egyptians 
 and Hebrews. 
 
 (36) When they meant to imply the difficulty of a thing, 
 they used to say, by way of proverb, that they stood in 
 need of Glaucus's art, who, from a man, became a sea-god. 
 But those who comment upon this proverb, alledge it was 
 made upon another Glaucus, who invented the forging of 
 iron ; but I am induced to believe the contrary, by this, that 
 the fable of Glaucus, the sea-god, was founded upon his being 
 an excellent diver ; to which it is probablo Socrates alluded : 
 in earnest, if one would visit the earth he speaks of, of which 
 ours is only a sediment, he must be a better diver than Glau- 
 cus in order to pass tho currents and seas that divide them. 
 He must raise his thoughts above all earth or material things. 
 
 (37) The greatness of the subject, and the natural weak. 
 
PHiEDON OF PLATO. 20? 
 
 ncss of man, are too great occasions of their uncertainty 
 with reference to the immortality of the soul. 
 
 He exhorts his friends to survey his arguments more mi-* 
 nutely after his death, being persuaded that the more they 
 dwell upon them, the more they will be convinced of their 
 ti-uth. 
 
 (88) There is a great deal of sense in what Socrates here' 
 tells his friends : he desires them only to take care of them- 
 selves, and they will prove good men ; and, being such, will 
 do all good offices to his family, although they did not pro^ 
 mise it : for good men are honest, and take pleasure in doing 
 good, and love their neighbours. Whereas, if they neglect 
 themselves, notwithstanding all their fair promises, they 
 would not be capable to do any thing either for him or them- 
 selves. None but the good can be of essential service. How 
 great is this truth ! 
 
 (39) Crito's devotion to his master resembles that of Peter's 
 to our Saviour, when he declared, although all should forsake 
 thee, yet will I not. In like manner Crito exclaimed, most 
 beloved master and teacher, how my heart bleeds at the 
 thoughts of losing thee. I could find numberless excuses 
 to delay the fatal draught that is to separate me and thee 
 ever in this world : how I am affected at the thoughts of 
 being deprived of him that taught me so much practical 
 wisdom, for thou hast been a light unto my feet and a lamp 
 unto my path. Ungrateful Athenians for depriving me 
 and the world of such a god-like man ; how will mankind in 
 future ages execrate your memory for such a foul and mur- 
 derous action ! 
 
208 NOTES TO THE 
 
 (40) Here the reader becomes moved in a manner similar 
 to that in the closing scene of a deep tragedy ; in fact, he feels 
 himself as one of the spectators of the last moments of So- 
 crates, and participates in the same feelings that we suppose 
 his disciples must have had at his exit. 
 
 (41) Those who have not penetrated into the true mean- 
 ing of Socrates, charge him with idolatry and superstition, 
 upon the score of this cock that he had vowed to iEsculapius. 
 But these words should not be taken literally ; they are 
 enigmatical, as many of Plato's are, and can never be under- 
 stood unless we have recourse to figures and allegories. The 
 cock here is the symbol of life, and JEsculapius, the emblem of 
 physic. Socrates' meaning is, that he resigns his soul into 
 the hands of the true physician, who comes to purify and 
 heal him. This explication suits admirably well with the 
 doctrine taught by Socrates in this same treatise, when he 
 shews that religious sacrifices were only figures. Theodorct 
 had a juster notion of this passage than Lactantius and 
 Tertullian ; for he not only did not condemn it, but insi- 
 nuated that it was figurative. In his seventh discourse of the 
 cure of the opinions of the Pagans, I am persuaded, says 
 he, that Socrates ordered a cock to be sacrificed to iEscula- 
 pius, to show the injustice of his condemnation; for he was? 
 condemned for acknowledging no God. 
 
 He owned a God, and showed that his God stood in no 
 need of our sacrifices or homage, and required nothing of us 
 but piety and good works. 
 
 (42) Xenophon, that faithful historian of the actions and 
 memorable sayings of Socrates, gives him the same enco- 
 mium ; and having said that lie was the best man in the 
 
PHJEDON OF PLATO. 209 
 
 world, and the greatest favorite with God, concludes in these 
 words: — And, truly, when I consider the wisdom and greatness 
 of soul, so essential to this man, I find it not more out of my 
 power to forget him, than to remember and not praise him. 
 And if among these who are most studious to excel in virtue, 
 there be any who found a person to converse with, more proper 
 than Socrates for promoting his design, verily, we may well 
 pronounce him the most fortunate of mankind. As for myself, 
 knowing him of a truth to be such a man as I have described ; 
 so pious towards the gods, as never to undertake any thing 
 without having first consulted them : so just towards man, as 
 never to do an injury, even the very slightest, to any one ; 
 whilst many and great were the benefits he conferred on all 
 with whom he had any dealings : "so temperate and chaste, as 
 not to indulge any appetite or inclination, at the expense of 
 whatever was modest or becoming: so prudent as never to err 
 in judging of good and evil ; nor wanting the assistance of 
 others to descriminate rightly concerning them ; so able to dis- 
 course upon, and define with the greatest accuracy not only 
 those things of which we have been speaking of, but likewise 
 of every other ; and looking as it were into the minds of men, 
 discover the very moment for reprehending vice, or stimulating 
 to the love of virtue. Experiencing, as I have done, all these 
 excellencies of Socrates, I can never cease considering him as 
 the most virtuous and the most happy of all mankind. But if 
 there is any one who is disposed to think otherwise, let him go 
 and compare Socrates with any other, and afterwards let him 
 determine. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 19 
 
OPINIONS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ANCIENT, INTERMEDIATE, AND MODERN PHILOSOPHERS 
 
 AND DIVINES, CONCERNING THE 
 
 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Futurity. — " It is indeed a wide ocean" said the abbe, "full of waves and 
 dangers, storms and tempests ; and like the Atlantic before the adventurous 
 Genoese first crossed it, no one comes back to tell us what is beyond But 
 as to the eye of Columbus, enlightened by true genius, it was self-evident 
 that, to harmonize with the known world in which he dwelt, there must be 
 another continent beyond the wide Western sea ; so, to the eye of the reli- 
 gious man, enlightened by revelation it is self-evident that beyond the ocean 
 of time there must be another world to equalize all that is unequal in this. J ' 
 
 " The soul is an inseparable portion of the great universal mind ; in 
 other ivords, of Brahma. Like the Being from whom it emanates, it is, 
 therefore, indestructible. It knows no distinction of time : it is free, im- 
 mutable, eternal. The wind cannot pierce it fire cannot burn it, water 
 cannot drown it, the earth cannot absorb it. It is beyond the reach of the 
 elements, invulnerable, invisible, universal, subsisting in all places, and 
 at all times, and victorious over death." — Sacred Books of the Brahmins. 
 
 There is in man a desire of immortality. This desire is 
 universal, being found in all who are capable of forming a no- 
 tion of a hereafter. There never was that person who could 
 subdue it ; not even the despairing wretch who flies to death for 
 succor, and embraces the hope of annihilation as his only refuge. 
 At the very instant he dreads an immortality which he fears 
 will be miserable, and withdraws himself from a life which he 
 finds so, he wishes there were no such reason for choosing 
 death, and preferring the utter extinction of his being ; which 
 is a manifest argument, that he hath not yet put off' the general 
 desire of immortality. This desire betrays itself in the most 
 professed enemies to the notion of a future state, and the im- 
 mortality of the human soul. 
 
 Not able to suppress the desire, they only change the object, 
 and from themselves transfer it to their memory. Epicurus, as 
 
ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 211 
 
 little as he cared for his soul's living out of his body, was will- 
 ing to believe that his name would live, and when dying, flat- 
 tered himself with the thoughts of surviving in the memory of 
 his scholars, and with the reputation which his philosophical 
 works would procure him. And Horace, a disciple of his, 
 built the same hope upon the imperishable immortality of his po- 
 ems. Says he, " I have erected a monument more lasting than 
 brass, and loftier than the kingly elevated pyramids ; which not 
 the wasting rain, nor the unrestrained north, or a numberless 
 series of years, and the flight of lime, shall be able to destroy. 
 I shall not wholly die, and a great part of me shall escape the 
 goddess of death." — Smart's Translation, Book 3, Ode 30. 
 
 Homer is full of hints and passages that suppose the separate 
 existence of human souls, and there can be little doubt of its 
 being the received opinion of the age he lived in. Let the fol- 
 lowing quotations from the works of this wonderful genius suf- 
 fice — namely, in those remarkable lines which he puts into the 
 mouth of Achilles, after the death of his beloved Patroclus. 
 
 'Tis true, 'tis certain ; man, though dead, retains 
 Part of himself; th' immortal mind remains: 
 The form subsists without the body's aid, 
 iErial semblance, and an empty shade ! 
 
 This night my friend so late in battle lost, 
 Stood at my side, a pensive, plaintive ghost ; 
 Even now familiar, as in life, he came, 
 Alas, how diff'rent ! yet how like the same. 
 
 Pope's Translation, Book 23. 
 
 Elysium or Place of Happiness, where the souls of good men 
 shall inhabit after death. 
 
 Elysium shall be thine ; the blissful plains 
 Of utmost earth, where Radamanthus reigns. 
 Joys ever young unmix'd with pain or fear, 
 Fill the wide circle of th' eternal year : 
 
212 v ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 Stern winter smiles on that auspicious clime ; 
 The fields are florid with unfading prime: 
 From the bleak pole no winds inclement blow, 
 Mould the round hail, or flake the fleecy snow : 
 But from the breezy deep, the blest inhale 
 The frequent murmurs of the western gale.* 
 
 Odys. 4. v. 765. 
 " The Soul, being in its nature one simple, uncompounded 
 thing, cannot be divided, nor consequently perish ; perishing 
 being nothing else but the separation of those parts which be- 
 fore were some way or other held together. Immortality is 
 an endless progression, or continuance in life. But now, what 
 never had life may be incorruptible ; as a point of matter that 
 is without parts, or, if that cannot be without all pores, so as to 
 be in no danger of a dissolution. Or that which once enjoyed 
 life, may for what appears at Jirst view, lose, it again, the sub- 
 stance remaining safe and uncorrupted. Incorruptibility in a 
 living substance is indeed a good step towards the proof of its 
 immortality, but still is no more than a step." 
 
 " That souls do not cease to exist, we are led to believe by 
 the conduct of all nations ; in what seats they reside, and what 
 sort of beings they are, is to be learned from reason ; the ignor- 
 ance of which gave rise to the fables which were grafted on this 
 belief, and are by wise men justly despised." 
 
 "But if we must have recourse to authority, whom can I 
 name of more weight than him,t whom Apollo himself pro- 
 nounced the wisest of men ? His testimony imported that the 
 souls of men are divine, and that being separated from the body, 
 they return to heaven from whence they originally came. This 
 he asserted in all his discourses, and in this opinion agreed with 
 all those philosophers, whom antiquity has reckoned of the 
 Italic sect, and considered as particularly distinguished." 
 
 *Thc above quotations embody the sentiments of (he Greeks during 
 the Homeric ape, on the Immortality of the soul. Plato and other pbilos- 
 ophers of his time, appear (o differ but little from the great father of 
 Poetry, History, and Philosophy, on this subject. | Socrates. 
 
OF THE SOUL. 213 
 
 '* But if the consent of all men be the voice of nature, and 
 all men do universally consent, that something belonging to 
 them remains after their departure from life, we cannot but 
 adopt the general opinion." 
 
 " But the strongest argument is, that nature herself is tacitly 
 persuaded of the immortality of the soul ; which appears from 
 that great concern so generally felt by all, for what shall happen 
 after death/' " He planteth trees which shall benefit another 
 age," says Statins in his Synepohebi — but with what view, un- 
 less future ages may in some sense belong to himself?" 
 
 " Do you think, (said Scipio to Laelius,) that I should ever 
 have undergone so many labors, day and night, in. the senate 
 and in the field, if my glory were to terminate with my life 1 
 Would it not have been much better to have spent my days, 
 without labor or contention, in indolence and tranquillity V But 
 my soul lifting herself up, I know not how, always looking for- 
 ward to posterity, as if, when she shall have departed from the 
 body, she will then at length be but beginning to live. But 
 unless the case be, that our souls are destined to immortality, 
 not that of any person, however excellent, would thus exert 
 itself for the sake of immortal glory." 
 
 " Let our minds be so disposed, as to regard that day (the day 
 of our death) as an happy one to ourselves, dreadful as it is to 
 others. Let us regard death rather as a port of safely, to which 
 We are bound ; at which we should wish to arrive, with all the 
 sail we can make." — Tus. Disputations. 
 
 "O blessed day, when I shall arrive at the divine assembly of 
 souls, when T shall leave this vile crowd and earth behind ; fcr 
 there shall I meet not only those noble Romans which I just 
 now mentioned, but also my Cato, than whom a more worthy 
 and pious man the world has not known. — Cato Major. 
 
 That you, Africa nus, may be more vigorous in defence of the 
 
 Government, know of a certain, that for all them who have saved 
 
 their country from ruin, signally served its interests, amplified and 
 
 bettered the condition thereof, there is a determinate seat in Hea- 
 
 19* 
 
214 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 ven allotted, where they shall enjoy an everlasting age of bliss. 
 And so, Scipio, after the example of your grandfather, and of me 
 who begat you, live justly and piously. It is a piece of justice 
 and piety to be useful to parenis and relations ; but to be useful 
 to one's country, that's the greatest justice and piety, that's the 
 way to Heaven, and the company of those worthies who have 
 finished their course, and now inhabit that place which you see, 
 pointing to the Galaxy. 
 
 " Therefore, if you will lift up your eyes and thoughts to- 
 wards this eternal seat, seek not the applause of the vulgar, nor 
 place all your hope on those rewards which men bestow on 
 men. You must be won by the charms of virtue alone ; as to 
 what others talk of you, let them look to that ; but talk of you 
 they will. The opinion of the world concerning us is bounded 
 within the compass of these countries which we know: no 
 one's fame can be everlasting, it lessens by the death of suc- 
 ceeding generations, till with late posterity 'tis buried. He had 
 no sooner finished this admonition, but I replied : Well, Africa- 
 nus 1 If Heaven is open to those who deserve well of their 
 country, I shall now, though I always trod in my father's and 
 your steps, and never degenerated ; I shall now, having an eye 
 to the reward before me, contend more earnestly to obtain it- 
 Upon this he urged : Be sure you do so, and r-ekon that it is 
 not you who are mortal, but only your body ; for, it is not the 
 form and figure that appears, which consiitutes a man what he 
 is, but it is the mind which is ihe man ; know, then, that thou 
 art a God ; at least, if that be a God which lives, and hns a 
 sense ; which remembers, and takes care of things to come ; 
 which rules, commands, and moves the body over which it is 
 set, as the great God move?, commands and rules the world." 
 
 " They have discovered a worthy secret indeed, who have 
 learned, that when they die, they must wholly perish and be no 
 more ; which to suppose it true — for I dispute not against it — 
 what have they to r^oice at, and be proud of." 
 
 " If I mistake in thinking the soul of man to be immortal, I 
 
OF THE SOUL. 215 
 
 mistake with delight ; nor would I have this mistake, with 
 which I nm pleased, torn from me as long as I live." — Cicero's 
 opinions collected from his various philo sop hical treatises. 
 
 " No ! my dear children ! I can never be persuaded that the 
 soul lives no longer than it dwells in this mortal body, and that 
 it dies on separation. For I see that the soul communicates 
 vigor and motion to mortal bodies during its continuance in 
 them. Neither can I be persuaded that the soul is divested of 
 intelligence on its separation from this gross, senseless body ; 
 but it is probable, that when the soul is separated, it becomes 
 pure and entire, and is then more intelligent. It is evident that, 
 on man's dissolution, every part of him returns to what is of the 
 same nature with itself, except the soul ; that alone is invisible, 
 both during its presence here, and at its departure." — Cyrus's 
 dying words to his children — -from Xenophon. 
 
 " After men are buried, great diversities there arose in opin- 
 ion what become of their souls and ghosts, wandering some 
 this way, and others that ; but this is generally held, that in 
 what estate they were before men were born, in the same they 
 remain when they are dead. For neither body nor soul has 
 any more sense after our dying day than they had before the day 
 of their nativity ; but such is the folly and vanity of men, that 
 it extendeth still even to the future time ; yea, and in the very 
 time of death flatterelh itself with fond imaginations and 
 dreaming of, 1 know not what life after this. For some attri- 
 bute immortality to the soul, others devise a certain transfigura- 
 tion thereof; and there be again who suppose that the ghosts, 
 sequestered from the body, have sense ; whereupon they do 
 them honor and worship, making a God of him that is not so 
 much as a man, as if the manner of men's breathing differed 
 from that in any other living creatures, or as if there were not 
 to be found other things in the world that live much longer 
 than men, and yet no man judgeth in them the like immortality ; 
 but show me what is the substance or body, as it were of the 
 soul by itself? What kind of matter is it apart from the body 1 
 
216 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 Where lieth her cogitation that she hath? How is her seeing? 
 How is her hearing performed? And what toucheth she ? Nay, 
 what is she at all and how is she employed ? Or if there be 
 none of this, what goodness can there be without the same? 
 But I would know where she hath her settling or abiding-place 
 after her departure from the body ? And what an infinite multi- 
 tude of souls, like shadows, would there be in so many ages as 
 well past as to come ? Now surely these be fantastical toys, de- 
 vised by men that would live always, and never make an end. — 
 Pliny the elder. 
 
 If in another world there is a pious mansion for the blessed ; 
 if, as the wisest men have thought, the soul is not extinguished 
 with the body ; may you enjoy a state of eternal felicity ! From 
 that station behold your disconsolate family ; exalt our minds 
 from fond regret and unavailing grief to the contemplation of 
 your virtue. Those we must not lament ; it were impiety to 
 sully them with a tear. To cherish their memory, to embalm 
 them with our praises, and, if our frail condition will permit, to 
 emulate your bright example, will be the truest mark of our 
 respect, the best tribute your family can offer. Your wife will 
 thus preserve the memory of the best of husbands, and thus 
 your daughter will prove her filial piety. 
 
 By dwelling constantly on your words and actions, they will 
 have an illustrious character before their eyes, and not content 
 with the bare image of your mortal frame, they will have what 
 is more valuable, the form and feature of your mind. I do not 
 mean by this to censure the custom of preserving in brass or 
 marble the shape and structure of eminent men ; but busts and 
 6tatues, like their original, are frail and perishable. The soul 
 is formed of finer elements, and its inward form is not to be 
 expressed by the hand of an artist with unconscious matter: 
 our manners and our morals may in some degree trace the re- 
 semblance. 
 
 All of Agricola that gained our love and raised our admira- 
 tion, still subsists, will ever subsist, preserved in the minds 
 
OF THE SOUL. 217 
 
 of men, the register of ages, and the records of fame. Others 
 who figured on the stage of life, and were the worthies of a 
 former day, will sink, for the want of a faithful historian, into 
 the common lot of oblivion, inglorious, and unremembered ; 
 whereas Agricola, delineated with truth, and fairly consigned to 
 posterity, wili survive himself, and triumph over the injuries of 
 time. — Tacitus' Life of Agricola. 
 
 Why thus affrighted at an empty name, 
 A dream of darkness, a fictitious flame 2 
 Vain themes of wit which but in poems pass, 
 And fables of a world that never was. 
 What feels the body when the soul expires, 
 By time corrupted, and consumed by fires ; 
 Nor dies the spirit, but new life repeats, 
 In other forms, and o;ily changes feats. 
 Even I, who these mysterious truths declare, 
 Was once Euphorbus in the Trojan war, &c. 
 
 Then death, so called, is but old matter, dressed 
 In some new figure and a varied vest, 
 Thus all things are but altered, nothing dies, 
 And here and there th' unbody'd spirit flies, 
 By time, or force, or sickness dispossessed, 
 And lodges where it lights, in man or beast, &c. 
 
 Death, so called, can but the form deface, 
 The mortal soul flies out in empty space, 
 To seek her fortune in some other place. — Ovid. 
 
 Alas ! the meanest flowers which gardens yield — 
 The vilest weeds that flourish in the field, 
 Which dead in wintry sepulchres appear, 
 Revive in spring, and bloom another year: 
 But we, the great, the brave, the learn'd, the wise, 
 
218 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 Soon as the hand of death has clos'd our eyes, 
 In tombs forgotten lie, no suns restore, 
 We sleep, forever sleep, to wake no more. 
 
 Bion on the death of JSIoschus. 
 
 The sun that sinks into the main, 
 Sets, with fresh light to rise again : 
 But we, when once our breath is fled, 
 Die, and are number 5 d with the dead, 
 With endless night we close our day, 
 And sleep eternity away. — Catullus. 
 
 How sublime are the verses Job, xiv. 4. " Man cometh 
 forth as a flowpr, and is cut down ; there is hope of a tree, if it 
 be cut down, that it will sprout again, and (hat the lender branch 
 thereof will not cease ; but man dieth and wasteth away; yea, 
 man giveih up the ghost, and where is he 1 He lieth down, and 
 riseth not, till the Heavens be no more. 5 ' 
 
 Lucan puts into the mouth of Pompey the following language 
 concerning this subject, the immortality of the soul. 
 
 " What mean these terrors of the night ? he cries ; 
 
 Why dance these visions vain before our eyes? 
 
 Or endless apathy succeeds to death, 
 
 And sense is lost with our expiring breath ; 
 
 Or if the soul some future life shall know, 
 
 To better worlds immortal shall she go : 
 
 What e'er event the doubtful question clears, 
 
 Death must be still unworthy of our fears. 55 
 
 N. Howe's Translation. 
 
 The soul is immortal ; for whatever moves of itself is im- 
 mortal : but the soul moves of itself; the soul is therefore im- 
 mortal." — Quintilian. 
 
 The soul is one simple and entire thing of itself, and no more 
 
OF THE SOUL. 219^ 
 
 capable of being made up of any extrinsical matter, than it is 
 of being divided in itself, because indeed it is not dissolvable. 
 For if it were compounded it would be capable of dissolution, 
 and if it were capable of dissolution it would not be immortal. 
 Therefore, because it is not mortal, it is neither dissolvable nor 
 divisible. For to be divided it is to be dissolved, and to be dis- 
 solved is to die. — Tertullian. 
 
 The soul of man is intellectual, incorporeal, impassible, im- 
 mortal substance. The soul moves the body, but is itself moved 
 by nothing else, it follows that it must have a principle of mo- 
 tion within itself, and therefore that it will, continue to live and 
 to move of itself after the death and corruption of the body. 
 For the soul cannot die, but it is the body that dies by reason of 
 the soul's departure from it. But if the soul were moved by 
 the body, it would follow, that when the body which moves it 
 is separated from it, it must die. 
 
 But if the soul moves the body, it must much more move it- 
 self; and if it have a principle of motion within itself, it must 
 necessarily live after the death of the body ; for the motion of 
 the soul is nothing but the life of the soul. 
 
 Because the soul is immortal, it is naturally capable of un- 
 derstanding and reasoning about those things which are eternal 
 and immortal. For as the body, because it is mortal, has its 
 senses fitted to perceive fading mortal things, so the soul which 
 contemplates and reasons about immortal things must necessa- 
 rily be itself immortal and live forever. For those notions and 
 speculations it has concerning immortality never forsake it, but 
 still continuing in it, are as it were, an earnest and foretaste of 
 its future eternity. And from hence it comes to pass that it 
 has naturally, and from itself an apprehension and knowledge 
 of God without receiving it by the information and instruction 
 of any one else. — St. Athanasius. 
 
 It is commonly made a question, whether the soul be from the 
 father or from the mother, or procede from both. But this mat- 
 ter I can easily put out of all doubt. For I affirm that neither of 
 
220 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 these three things is true, because souls come into bodies neither 
 from both the parents, nor from either of them. For though 
 the body may corne from the bodies of parents, because some- 
 thing is contributed towards the production of them from both ; 
 yet the soul cannot proceed from the soul of parents ; because 
 nothing can be separated from so little and incomprehensible a 
 thing. Therefore, the business of producing souls beloDgs 
 solely and entirely to God ; according to that of Lucretius, 
 
 Lastly we all from seed celestial rise, 
 
 Which Heaven, our common parent, still supplies. 
 
 For mortals can produce nothing but what is mortal. Nor 
 ought he to be thought the father of the soul who is by no means 
 sensible of his infusing or inspiring it ; nor if he were sensible 
 it could tell how and when it is done. From hence it appears 
 that our souls are not given to us from our parents, but from 
 one and the same God and Father of all ; who alone has estab- 
 lished and knows the laws of the production of all things. 
 
 It remains that 1 should say somewhat concerning the soul. 
 Although its nature and essence cannot be perceived by us, but 
 yet we cannot but understand that the soul is immortal. For 
 whatsover is moved and lives of itself, and can neither be seen 
 or touched, that must be eternal. But philosophers have not 
 yet agreed what the soul is, nor perhaps ever will agree. For 
 some affirm it is the blood, others that it is fire, others air, from 
 whence it has the name of Animo. — Lactantius. 
 
 That our death is only a passage to immortality, and that 
 eternal life cannot succeed unless we go out of the world ; and 
 that this is not so much our exit out of this world as our pas- 
 sage into the next, by which, after having finished our course 
 here, we enter upon eternity. — St. Cyprian. 
 
 Most of those things which we believe your philosophers also 
 thought fit to be believed. For Plato thought as we do, that all 
 our hope is to be placed in God alone : that there will be a 
 
OF THE SOUL. 221 
 
 resurrection of the dead ; and that our souls are immortal. — 
 Arnohius. 
 
 Eternity is no more than everlasting life, and therefore 'tis 
 commonly used to signify that sort of duration, which agrees to 
 that Being that is without beginning, and is always the same. 
 But immortality may be affirmed of what has had a beginning 
 but will have no end, as angels and the souls of men. And 
 incorruptibility of those things that are made, but are incapable 
 of being dissolved. — Isidore. 
 
 'Tis the body that dies and is dissolved, but not the soul nor 
 the spirit. For to die is to lose the vital powers, to cease to 
 breathe, to become inanimate and without motion, and to be 
 resolved into its first principles. But this cannot happen to the 
 soul ; for 'tis the breath of life. — Irenceus. 
 
 The soul is the life, by which every thing that has life is said 
 to live, and every thing that is without life being capable of it, 
 is said to die, that i3 to be deprived of life. The soul, therefore, 
 cannot die. For if it could be deprived of life, it would not be 
 the soul, but something animated with a soul. But if this be 
 absurd, then the soul cannot be capable of that death, which that 
 which is life itself ought not to fear. For if you suppose the soul 
 then to die, when life is departed from it, that life which for- 
 sakes it ought more properly to be called the soul, and so the 
 soul will not be that which is forsaken of life, but the very life 
 itself which departs. For whatever being forsaken of life is 
 said to be dead, that must be understood to be forsaken by the 
 soul. But in regard to the life which departs from such things 
 as die in the very soul itself, therefore, since the soul cannot be 
 parted from itself, it cannot to be sure die. — St. Augustin's. 
 
 Immortality is a necessary consequence of simplicity, and if 
 you will attend I will show how. There is nothing which can 
 destroy its own essence ; for if it could it would never have existed 
 at first, but every thing that is corrupted, is corrupted by some- 
 thing that is contrary to it. Therefore, whatever is corruptible 
 is dissolvable, and whatever is dissolvable must be compounded 
 20 
 
222 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 of several parts, and that which consists of parts must consist 
 of different parts, but that which consists of different parts can 
 never be the same simple thing. But since the soul is simple, and 
 does not consist of parts, it is therefore uncompounded and con- 
 sequently indissolvable, incorrupiible, and immortal. — Maximus. 
 
 The body and soul, says Lucretius, are of the same age ; 
 their inseparable alliance receives a mutual augmentation, and 
 time subjects them both equally to the infirmities of old age. Is 
 not every man sensible that the spiritual faculty is but of little use 
 in the tender and weak bodies of children ? But that the parts 
 being fortified by the increase of a more perfect age, the judg- 
 ment comes to its full strength, and the productions of the mind 
 are in proportion to the augmentation of the body ; but as soon 
 as time begins to make the body feel the shocks of decay, and 
 its strength grows feeble again, the judgment loses its stability ; 
 the tongue is only a stammering interpreter of a mind re- 
 lapsed into its first infancy ; and as at the same time, the cause 
 ceases as well as the effects, may we not justly conclude that as 
 smoke vanishes in the air, so the soul, at its retreat, is not ex- 
 empt from the laws of dissolution ? — Lucretius, Book 3, verse 
 445. 
 
 I hear, also, that there be questions stated Concerning the 
 soul. You are the best judges whether you ought to receive or 
 reject the. complaints that are brought upon this head. But if 
 my opinion be desired in this matter, I must confess that I have 
 read the several opinions that have been vented upon this sub- 
 ject. Some I have read who affirm, that the soul is derived 
 together with the body from some seminal principles. And 
 they endeavor to confirm this by what arguments they can. Of 
 this opinion I suppose, Tertulian and Lactantius among the 
 Latin fathers, to have been, together with some others. Others 
 affirm that God still creates and infuses souls into bodies when 
 they are formed in the womb. Others say that God framed 
 them at first, when he created all things, and now assigns them 
 to bodies according to his pleasure. And this was the opinion 
 
OF THE SOUL. 223 
 
 of Origen and some others of the Greeks. As for myself, I 
 protest before God, that after having read all these opinions, I 
 have not yet framed any certain and determined notion con- 
 cerning this question, but leave it to God to know what truth 
 there is in any of them, or to whom he shall please to reveal it. 
 But yet I do not deny that I have read these several opinions, 
 and must confess myself ignorant which is the right ; only one 
 thing I am sure of, which the Church also plainly delivers, that 
 God is the Creator both of our souls and bodies. — Hvfinus, 
 Apology to Anastasius, the Emperor. 
 
 The animal soul, O Greeks, is not immortal, but yet capable 
 of existing to eternity. For though the souls of such as know 
 not the truth, die and are dissolved with their bodies, yet they 
 will rise again at the end of the world, and endure death by 
 punishment to eternity. And the souls also of such as have 
 knowledge of the truth. Though they will for a time be dis- 
 solved, yet they will not die forever. — Tatian. 
 
 The regular sort of men, beholding the souls of the gener- 
 ality so mutilated and deformed with vice and wickedness, they 
 cannot think of the soul as of any divine and immortal being, 
 though, indeed, they ought to judge of things as they are in 
 their own naked essenceSj and not with respect to that which 
 extra-essentially adheres to them ; which is a great prejudice 
 to knowledge. Contemplate, therefore, the soul of man, divest- 
 ing it of all that which itself is not, or let him that does this, 
 view his own soul, then he will believe it to be immortal when 
 he shall behold it first in an intelligible and pure nature ; he 
 shall then behold his own intellect contemplating, not any sen- 
 sible things, but eternal things, that which is eternal, that is, 
 with itself looking into the intellectual world, being itself made 
 all lucid, intellectual, and shining with the sunbeams of eternal 
 truth, borrowed from the first good, which perpetually rayeth 
 forth his truth upon all intellectual beings. One thus qualified 
 may seem, without any arrogance, to take up the saying of 
 Empedocles. Farewell all earthly allies, I am henceforth no 
 
224 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 mortal being, but an immortal angel ascending up into divinity, 
 and reflecting upon that likeness of it which I find in myself. — 
 Plotinus. 
 
 JEWISH BELIEF. 
 
 The Jews thought the punishments and rewards after life so 
 important a matter, that they counted paradise and hell among 
 the seven things which were created, according to them, before 
 the world. See the Talmudical treatise Nedarim, chap. 4, and 
 the Paraphrast, Jonathan, on Genesis, chap. 2. 
 
 The Rabbins have taught in the Talmudical treatise, entitled 
 Roch Hasschannah, or the beginning of the year, that there are 
 three sorts of people, the just, the wicked, and those who are 
 betwixt both. The just go immediately to eternal life ; the un- 
 just go to hell forever ; and the middle sort go thither only for a 
 time ; after which they come out again : and since Plato taught 
 the same thing in his Paedon, it is conjectured that he had it from 
 a Jewish tradition. 
 
 The Rabbins divide their school into two parts ; the one they 
 call paradise, and the other hell. These were the different de- 
 grees of punishment, of which they fancied the seventh to be 
 eternal, and that the rest had an end. In the same manner the 
 Greeks thought the hades contained a place of happiness and a 
 place of punishment, as may be seen by many passages ; and 
 that of Tartarus in the place of punishment contained those 
 whose sins were so great that their torment was eternal, as we 
 may perceive by Plato. 
 
 St. Justin proved the immortality of the soul, by magical 
 evocations of them that were commonly used among the heath- 
 ens. If this proves any thing in itself, supposing that all these 
 evocations were but cheats, yet St. Justin's argument held at 
 least good against those who thought they could really call 
 back the souls of dead persons, because ihey could not answer 
 if they had not existed after the death of their bodies. So that 
 
OF THE SOUL. 225 
 
 t was at least argumentum ad hominem, as logicians term. 
 He makes use of his dialogue with Typhon, p. 333, of the his- 
 tory of the woman whom Saul desired to call the soul of Sam- 
 uel from the dead, 1 Sam. xxviii. to prove the same thing. Sup- 
 posing that woman deceived Saul, and suborned one to appear 
 instead of Samuel's soul ; we may at least prove, by that, that 
 the Jews as well as the other oriental nations did then believe 
 the immortality of the soul, and it is perhaps the best proof we 
 can find in the Old Testament, to show that the ancient He- 
 brews were not without hopes after death. In the 25ih chap- 
 ter he makes use of a remarkable argument to prove at least the 
 possibility of the resurrection, and to show that we ought not to 
 deny it mereiy because it is not probable. The substance of his 
 argument is as follows. Let us suppose that our so jls are cre- 
 ated immediately by God, without being united to the bodies* 
 saw a drop of liquor, such as that whereof men are conceived, 
 and they were shown in some picture a human body and its 
 admirable disposition, and were told that of this liquor might 
 be born a body like ours, could they believe it unless they saw 
 it? Doubtless they would find it very difficult to believe any 
 such thing ; yet all know this is true. — 31. Le Clerc's remarks 
 upon Justin Martyr. Lon. 1704. 
 
 The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God; and 
 there shall no torment touch them. In the sight of the unwise 
 they seem to die ; and their departure is taken for misery, and 
 their going from us to be utter destruction ; hut they are in 
 peace ; for though they be punished in the sight of men, yet is 
 their hope full of mortality. — Book of Wisdom, iii. 1 — 3. 
 
 For man's body was framed by the great Artificer, who, tak- 
 ing earth fashioned it into a human shape. But the soul was 
 made of no created matter, but proceeded from the Father and 
 Governor of all. For as to what he says, he breathed, &c. 
 nothing else can be meant by it, but a divine spirit proceeding 
 and coming from his blessed and spiritual nature, sent into our 
 bodies as into a colony, for the advantage of mankind, who, 
 20* 
 
226 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 although as to their visible part they are mortal, yet as to their 
 invisible part are immortal. — Philo the Jew. 
 
 DRUIDS' BELIEF. 
 
 The principle point of doctrine of the Druids' system of reli- 
 gion, is a belief in the immortality of the soul ; which doctrine, 
 they think, is an incitement to virtue, and has a tendency to 
 lead men to a contempt of death. They hold the transmigra- 
 tion of souls, and teach the youth, committed to their care, 
 concerning ihe stars and their motions, the magnitude of the 
 earth, the nature of things, and the virtue and power of the 
 immortal gods. 
 
 Lucian mentions the Druids, and their opinion of the soul's 
 immortaliiy. 
 
 The Druids now, while arms are heard no more, 
 Old mysteries and barbarous rites restore : 
 A tribe, who singular religion love, 
 And haunt the lonely coverts of the grove. 
 To these, and these of all mankind alone, 
 The gods are sure revealed, or sure unknown. 
 If dying mortals' dooms they sing aright, 
 No ghost descends lo dwell in dreadful night; 
 No parting souls to grisly Pluto go, 
 Nor seek the dreary, silent shades below : 
 But forth they fly, immortal in their kind, 
 And oiher bodies in new worlds they find. 
 Thus life forever runs its endless race, 
 And like a line, death but divides the space ; 
 A stop which can but for a moment last, 
 A point between the present and the past. 
 
 N. Jiowcs's Translation. 
 
 The Druids, bards, and the people whom they instructed, re- 
 garded all nature as the temple of the Divinity. That ihey 
 
OF THE SOUL. 227 
 
 had notions of a Supreme Being cannot be doubted, since they 
 believed in the immortality of the sou], and in the rewards and 
 punishments of a future life. Their opinion was, that the clouds 
 were the habitation of souls after their separation from the 
 body. The brave and virtuous were received with joy into the 
 aereal palaces of their fathers, whilst the wicked, the cowardly, 
 and the cruel, were excluded the abode of heroes, and con- 
 demned to wander, the sport of every wind. There were dif- 
 ferent mansions in the palaces of the clouds ; the- principal of 
 which were assigned to merit and courage. ; and this idea was 
 a great incitement to the emulation of their warriors. The 
 soul always preserved the same passions which it possessed dur- 
 ing life ; these aerial palaces offered no other enjoyment than 
 what they had preferred when Jiving. They supposed that 
 winds and storms were under the direction of departed spirits, 
 but their power never extended over man. — 31. V Abbe de Tres- 
 san's Mythology. 
 
 The inhabitants of the Marian Islands, who own no deity, and 
 before t e gospel was preached to them, had not the least idea 
 of religion ; they had no temples, altars, sacrifices or priests ; 
 yet believed in the immortality of the soul, and that there is a 
 paradise and hell. For proof of this M. Bayle quotes le Gobien, 
 Histoi:e des Isles Mariennes, pp. 64. edit.de Paris, 1700. 
 
 It was the opinion of the Indian Brachmans, the Persian 
 Magi, the Egyptian Gymnosophists, the Jewish Rabbins, some 
 of the Grecian philosophers and Christian fathers, that the souls 
 of men were created all at first and at several times and occa- 
 sions, upon forfeiture of their better life and condition, dropped 
 down into these terrestrial bodies. This the learned among 
 the Jews made a part of their cabbala, and pretend to have re- 
 ceived it from their great lawgiver, Moses. — Bishop Rust. 
 
 OPINIONS OF VARIOUS PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 Had I no other proof of the immortality of the soul, than the 
 oppression of the just, and the triumph of the wicked in this 
 
228 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 world, this alone would prevent my having the least doubt of it. 
 So shocking a discord amidst the general harmony of things 
 would make me naturally look out for the cause. I should say 
 to myself, we do not cease to exist with this life ; every thing 
 reassmnes its order after death. I should indeed, be embar- 
 rassed to tell where man was to be found, when all his percep- 
 tible properties were destroyed. At present, however, there 
 appears to me no difficulty in this point, as I acknowledge the 
 existence of two different substances. It is very plain, that 
 during n.y corporal life, as I perceive nothing but by means of 
 my senses, whatever is not submitted to their cognizance must 
 escape me. When the union of the body and soul is bro';en, I 
 conceive that the one may be dissolved, and the other preserved 
 entire. Why should the dissolution of the one necessarily 
 bring on that of the other? On the contrary, being so different 
 in their natures, their state of union is a state of violence, and 
 when it is broken they both return to their natural situation ; 
 the active and living substance regains all the force it had em- 
 ployed, in giving motion to the passive and dead substance to 
 which it had been united. Alas! my failings make me but too 
 sensible that man is but half alive in this life, and that the life 
 of the soul commences at the death of the body. — Rosseau's 
 Emilius, ii. 158. 
 
 The human soul, then, having no parts,* must be indissoluble 
 in its nature, by any thing that hath not power to destroy or 
 annihilate it. And since it hath not a natural tendency to 
 annihilation, nor a power to annihilate itself, nor can be anni- 
 hilated by any being finitely powerful, without an imme- 
 diate act of the omnipotent Creator to annihilate it it ?nust 
 endlessly abide an active, perceptive substance, without either 
 fear or hopes of dying through all eternity. — Baxter. 
 
 That all thinking substances are distinct from matter, from 
 
 * Pec for the proof at large in the author's great work entitled " An 
 Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul." 2 vols. 8vo. Lon. 1737. 
 
OF THE SOUL. 229 
 
 whence it necessarily follows, that the soul of man is a spirit, or 
 a simple, indivisible being, and consequently immortal." — Des 
 Cartes. 
 
 All changes in matter, which we either observe or can con- 
 ceive, are merely changes of form ; the parts still remain the 
 same, not be annihilated by any power of nature ; and retain- 
 ing still their specifical solidity, magnitude, &c. Now, if no 
 material substance can perish, and if all its real qualities are 
 inseparable from 'it, much less can the soul, whose substance is 
 an absolute stranger to composition, and whose qualities are 
 much more one with the substance itself, be imagined capable 
 of destruction. — Dr. Blacklock, the blind poet. 
 
 The general expectation which men have of continuing to 
 live in another state beyond the grave, has commonly been ad- 
 mitted as one proof that they shall live. That they generally 
 had such an expectation can scarce be denied. The historians 
 of mankind, their deifications, rites, stories of apparitions, the 
 frequent mention of the Hades, with rewards and punishments 
 hereafter, &c, all testily, that even the heathen world believed 
 that the souls of men survived their bodies. Their ignorance, 
 indeed, of the seat and circumstances of the departed, has begot 
 many errors and superstitions, and these have been multiplied 
 by licentious poets and idle visionaries ; but this, being no 
 more than what is usual in like cases, ought to be no prejudice 
 against the fundamental opinion. — Wollaston. 
 
 The natural course of things cannot be entirely controlled by 
 the impotent endeavors of man : the current is rapid and too 
 strong for him to stop it ; and though the rules which direct it, 
 appear to have been established for the wisest and best pur- 
 poses, they sometimes produce effects which shock all his nat- 
 ural sentiments. That a great combination of men should pre- 
 vail over a small one ; that those who engage in an enterprise 
 with forethought and all necessary preparation, should prevail 
 over such as oppose them without any, and that every end 
 should be acquired by those means only, which nature has es- 
 
230 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 tablished for acquiring it, seems to be a rule, not only necessary 
 and unavoidable in itself, but even useful and proper for rousing 
 the industry and attention of mankind. Yet when, in conse- 
 quence of this rule, violence and artifice prevail over sincerity 
 and justice, what indignation does it not excite in the breast 
 of every human spectator? What sorrow and compassion for 
 the sufferings of the innocent ; and what furious resentment 
 against the success of the oppressor? We are equally grieved 
 and enraged at the wrong that is done, but often find it alto- 
 gether out of our power to redress it. When we thus despair 
 of finding any force upon earth which can check -the triumph 
 of injustice, we naturally appeal to Heaven, and hope that the 
 great father of our nature will himself execute, hereafter, what 
 all the principles which he has given us for the direction of our 
 conduct, prompt us to attempt even here ; that he will com- 
 plete the plan which he himself has thus taught us to begin ; 
 and will, in a life to come, render to every one according to 
 the works which he has performed in this world. And thus we 
 are led to the belief of a future state, not only by the weak- 
 nesses, by the hopes and fears of human nature, but by the no- 
 blest and best principles which belong to it, by the love of vir- 
 tue, and by the abhorrence of vice and injustice. — Smith's 
 Theory of Moral Sentiments. 
 
 When Dr. Franklin had approached to the very close of his 
 life, he reasoned thus coolly with a friend : " Death is as neces- 
 sary to the constitution as sleep ; we shall rise refreshed in 
 the morning. The course of nature must soon put a period 
 to my present mode of existence. This I shall submit to with 
 the less regret, as, having seen, during a long life, a good deal 
 of this world, I feel a growing curiosity to become acquainted 
 with some other, and can cheerfully, wiih filial confidence, re- 
 sign my spirit to (he conduct of that great and good Parent of 
 mankind who created it, and who has so graciously protected 
 and preserved me from my birth to the present hour." 
 
OF THE SOUL. 231 
 
 Our inquiries about the nature of the soul must be bound 
 over at last to religion, for otherwise they still lie open to 
 many errors. For 3 since the substance of the soul was not 
 deduced from the mass of heaven and earth, but immedi- 
 ately from God, how can the knowledge of the reasonable 
 soul be derived from philosophy'? It must be drawn from 
 the same inspiration, from whence its substance first flowed. — 
 Lord Bacon's Advancement of Learning. 
 
 Death is the great divider, but it is of things that are divis- 
 able. The more simple, pure and refined any material thing is, 
 by so much the more permanent and durable it is found to be. 
 The nearer it approaches to the nature of spirit, the farther it is 
 removed from the power of death ; but that which is not mate- 
 rial, or mixed at all, is wholly exempt from the stroke and 
 power of death. It is from the contrariant qualities and jarring 
 humors in mixed bodies, that they come under the law and 
 power of dissolution. Matter and mixture are the doors .at 
 which death enters naturally upon the creatures. — John Flavel. 
 
 MEXICAN OR AxMERICAN INDIANS' BELIEF. 
 
 The Mexican Indians, like most if not all idolatrous nations, 
 had preserved the notion of the soul's immortality, and distin- 
 guished their places of abode for the soul, when separate from the 
 body. Those of soldiers who died in battle, or in captivity 
 among their enemies, and those of women who died in labor, 
 went to the house of the Sun, whom they considered the Lord 
 of Glory, and there they led a life of endless delight ; where 
 every day, at the appearance of the sun's rays, they hailed his 
 birth with rejoicings and with dances, and the sound of voices 
 and instruments accompanied him to his meridian ; then they 
 met with the souls of the women, and with the same festivity 
 accompanied him to his setting. They next supposed that 
 tbese spirits, after four years of this glorious life, went to ani- 
 mate clouds, and birds of beautiful feather and sweet song, but 
 
232 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 always at liberty to rise again to heaven, or to descend upon 
 the earth, to warble and suck the flowers. 
 
 The souls of those who were struck by lightning, of those 
 who died by disease, Went, vwth the souls of the children sacri- 
 ficed to Tlaloc, to a place called Tlalocan, the paradise of that 
 God. This was a cool, shady place, where they had the most 
 delicious repasts, and every other kind of pleasure. Lastly, 
 those who suffered any other kind of death, went to Mictlan, 
 or hell, which they consider to be a place of utter darkness, in 
 the centre of the earth, but where, however, there was no other 
 kind of misery than the darkness just mentioned. All those 
 entitled to a place in Tlalocan were buried, and a rod or bough 
 was placed in their hands, that in that beautiful paradise it 
 might bloom again. The spirits of all those children who had 
 been offered to Tlaloc, were believed to be present at all after 
 sacrifices, under the care of a large and beautiful serpent, called 
 Xtuhcoatl. This serpent was, at other times, supposed to in- 
 habit a cave sacred to the Water God, in the country of the 
 Mistecas. The entrance was concealed, and the sanctuary was 
 consequently known but to few ; it was necessary first to crawl, 
 the space of a rnasket-shot, and then to walk through a path, 
 sometimes broad and sometimes narrow, for a mile, before the 
 great dome was reached ; this was seventy feet long and forty 
 feet wide ; here were the idol and the altar; the former was 
 merely a rude column of stalactite, and the other a rock of the 
 same material. The ways of the cave were so intricate, that 
 many who had unwarily bewildered themselves in it, perished, 
 and were said to have been eaten by the serpent. 
 
 It was not without some dangers that the first named spirits 
 arrived at the mansion of the Sun, where their celestial happi- 
 ness was to begin. In their hands, when dead, the priests of 
 Mexitli placed six aloe leaves, marked with mystic characters. 
 On one of these was to be the passport through the six perils 
 that awaited them. 
 
 The first was that of the falling mountains, between which 
 
OF THE SOUL. - 233 
 
 those who passed would be, if not supernaturally protected, 
 crushed to pieces ; through these the road lay, and also through 
 the path of the great serpent. This was the second trial ; 
 darting lightning from his eyes, and vibrating a tongue of fire, 
 he seized on, and devoured, all who were not provided with 
 mystic aloe leaves. The next danger was from crossing the 
 river of the crocodile, where that monstrous animal was as 'dan- 
 gerous as the great serpent ; the fourth was the passage of the 
 eight deserts ; the fifth, that of the eight hills; and the sixth, 
 the windy plain, lit which the mountains were blown up by the 
 roots ; after this, the way was plain, and the Temple of the Sun 
 open to receive the happy conqueror. — H. Chester's Universal 
 Mythology. 
 
 SCRIPTURE PROOFS. 
 
 The places of Scripture which he mentions to prove the sep- 
 arate existence and immortality of the soul, are partly taken 
 out of the Old, but chiefly out of the New Testament. The texts 
 of the Old Testament on which he insists are these two : Gen. 
 ii. 7, And the Lord formed man of the dust of the ground, 
 and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life ; and so man 
 became a living soul ; And Eccles. xii. 7, where it is said, 
 Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit 
 shall return unto God who gave it. This last text he thinks 
 evidently alludes to the former, and gives a light to the words 
 of Moses, attesting that they also were intended to declare the 
 soul of a man a distinct substance from his body. The proofs 
 which Mr. Turner- brings on the same side out of the New 
 Testament, are (1.) The words of our Savior, Math. x. 28. 
 And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill 
 the soul, but rather fear him who is able to destroy both soul 
 and body in hell. Here (as he observes) is a plain mention of 
 body and soul as distinct substances, and the one liable to tor- 
 ment after the other is destroyed. (2.) Luke xx. 37, 38, where 
 21 
 
234 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 our Savior argues thus: Now that the dead are raised, even 
 Moses showed at the bush, when he callelh the Lord, the God 
 of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob- 
 For he is not the God of the dead, but of the living ; for all 
 live unto him. (3.) Another passage mentioned, and which 
 seems strongly to conclude for the soul's distinct existence and 
 immortality, is Christ's expression to the penitent thief on the 
 cross, This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise. Luke xxiii. 
 43. (4 ) The prayer of St. Paul, 1 Thess. v. 23. I pray 
 God that your whole spirit, soul and body, may be preserved 
 blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ ; is an- 
 other testimony from the New Testament of the soul's separate 
 existence and immortality. (5.) And lastly, another text 
 which our author thinks to be a more undeniably proof than 
 any of the former, is St. Paul's saying, Philip, i. 23, where 
 speaking of the conflict he had within himself as to his de- 
 sires, on one hand of living to preach and propagate the gospel ; 
 and on the other hand of dying to receive the recompense of 
 his labor ; as to the latter he expresses himself thus : For I am 
 in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with 
 Christ, which is far better. Better, than what ? cries our author. 
 Why, adds he, than living to preach the gospel in persecution. 
 This was happier for St. Paul, though the other might be more 
 profitable to the People. Nevertheless, to abide in the flesh is 
 more profitable for you. Ver. 24. — John Turner's Lectures. 
 
 1. What if no revelation of a future state had been made to 
 the Israelites? Can any one say how much God is obliged t0 
 reveal, or what ought to be the sanctions of his laws? It is 
 enough for us that he promises and threatens in general terms 
 He might, if he had chosen, have required obedience withvut 
 making any promises at all ; much less those of a blissful im- 
 mortality. 
 
 2. But the Hebrew sacred Scriptures are full of declarations 
 that there is a reward to the righteous and punishment to the 
 wicked — and there is manifestly no fulfilment of these declara- 
 
OF THE SOUL. 235 
 
 tions upon earth : therefore there must be a fulfilment of them 
 in a future world. Hence the tendency of the Hebrew Scrip- 
 tures is to lead our thoughts to another world. 
 
 3. A very early event in the history of men would suggest 
 these reflections to them — namely, the death of Abel, who was 
 approved by God, and presently murdered, while the murderer 
 survived and built a city. 
 
 4. " In the day thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die." 
 Now, if there be no future state, the serpent has been and will 
 be completely triumphant — for by his wiles our first parents 
 died, and so do all men. How then should the primeval prom- 
 ise be fulfiled, that one descended from the woman should bruise 
 the serpent's head? If it be replied, that the serpent might be 
 bruised without any benefit to us, why was the promise given 
 to our first parents, or left upon record for us? 
 
 Again, death is the punishment of sin; but we read of many 
 who were restored to the favor of God. But if there be no fu- 
 ture state, punishment is executed upon them to its utmost ex- 
 tent : how then can they be said to be restored to the favor of 
 God? 
 
 5. The translation of Enoch. — Why was Enoch taken, with- 
 out dying, to dwell with God, if it was not intended that others 
 of his species should exist in another world ? Enoch was by no 
 means the most eminent servant of God. 
 
 6. The frequent appearance of nngels to good men. — Every 
 such visit would remind them of another world. But to be re- 
 minded of a world where some of God's creatures enjoy his 
 presence, but into which they were never to enter, would be an 
 occasion of extreme pain to those good men who loved God 
 and his service ; and would God needlessly put his servants to 
 pain 1 
 
 7. Gen. xlvii. 9. — The patriarchs spoke of themselves as be- 
 ing strangers and pilgrims— that is, that they were not in their 
 native land, but were travelling. Now, as the apostle argues 
 in the Epistle to the Hebrews, if they had meant the earthly 
 
236 ON THE IMMORTALITY 
 
 land from which they had come, they had full opportunity to 
 return thither, which they never seemed to think of doing, 
 Evidently, therefore, the country they sought was a heavenly one. 
 
 8. Exod. "I am the God of Abraham, and the God of 
 Isaac, and the God of Jacob." — This means more than being 
 their Creator and Preserver, for this he is to all mankind. In 
 Scripture, that God is our God, and that we are his people, are 
 correlative propositions. To be his people, is to be governed, 
 protected, provided for, and loved by him : therefore, to be our 
 God, is to be our Governor, Protector, Supplier, and Friend. 
 But God cannot be the Governor, Protector, &c. of dead people, 
 that is, of non-entities : therefore, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob 
 are all living, though they had died. 
 
 9. The translation of Elijah. — See 5. 
 
 10. 1 Kings, xvii. 22. " And the sonl of the child came 
 into him again, and he revived." — From this they might learn, 
 that the soul can and does exist in a state separate from the 
 body. So 2 Kings, xiii. 21. 
 
 11. "I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall 
 stand at the latter day upon the earth ; and though, after my 
 skin, worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God." 
 
 12. Psalm xvi. 10. " Thou wilt not leave my soul in hell, 
 (in the grave,) thou wilt show me the path of life ; in thy pres- 
 ence is fullness of joy, and at thy right hand are pleasures for 
 evermore." 
 
 Psalm xxvii. 14. " From men of the world, who have their 
 portion in this life — as for me, I shall be satisfied when I awake 
 with thy likeness." 
 
 Psalm xxiii. 4. " Though I walk through the valley of the 
 shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." 
 
 Psalm xlix. 14. " Like sheep they arc laid in the grave, 
 death shall feed on them, and the vpright shall have dominion 
 over them in the morning." 
 
 Psalm Ixxi. 20. " Thou shalt quicken me again, and shall 
 bring me up again from the depths of the earth." 
 
OF THE SOUL. 237 
 
 Pf aim xc. 3. " Thou turnest man to destruction, and sayest, 
 Return, ye children of men." 
 
 13. Prov. xiv. 32. " The wicked is driven away in his wick- 
 edness, but the righteous hath hope in his death." 
 
 Eccles. iii. 21. " Who knoweth the spirit of man, that goeth 
 upward, and the spirit of the beast, that goeth downward to the 
 earth 1" 
 
 Eccles. xi. 9. " Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and 
 walk in the ways of thine heart and in the'sight of thine eyes ; 
 but know thou, that for all these things God will bring the unto 
 judgment." 
 
 14. Isaiah xxv. 8. " He will swallow up death in victory." 
 Isaiah xxvi. 19. "Thy dead men shall live ; together with 
 
 my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell 
 in dust ; for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall 
 cast out the dead." 
 
 15. Daniel xii. 2. " And many of them that sleep in the 
 dust of the earth shall awake ; some to everlasting life, and 
 some to shame and everlasting contempt." 
 
 1G. Hosea xiii. 14. '* I will ransom them from the power of 
 the grave ; I will redeem them from death. O death I will be thy 
 plagues ; O grave, I will be thy destruction." 
 
 St. Paul saith, I would not have you ignorant, brethren, con- 
 cerning them who are asleep, that ye sorrow not as the rest who 
 have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose 
 again, so also we are to believe that them who sleep in Jesus 
 God will bring — from the dead — with him. — 1 Thes. iv. 13. 
 
 But this is now manifested by .the appearing of our Savior 
 Jesus Christ, who hath abolished death, and brought life and 
 immortality to light by the gospel. 
 
 There is hope of a tree if it be cut down, that it will 
 sprout again, &c. But man dieth and wasteth away ; yea, 
 man giveth up the ghost, and where is he 1 ? As the waters fail 
 from the sea, and the flood decayethand dryeth up, so man lieth 
 down and riseth not: till the Heavens be no more, they shall 
 21* 
 
238 ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep. — Job, xiv. 7. 10 
 11. 12. 
 
 Many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth, shall awake, 
 some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting 
 contempt. — Daniel, xii. 2. 
 
 The dust shall return to dust as it was, and the spirit shall 
 return to God who gave it. — Eccl. xii. 7. 
 
 For we know, that if our earthly house of this tabernacle 
 were dissolved, we have a building of God, a house not made 
 with hands, eternal in the heavens. For we that are in this 
 tabernacle do groan, being burdened ; not for that we would be 
 unclothed, but clothed upon, that mortality might be swallowed 
 up of life. — 2 Cor. v. 1. 
 
 Jesus saith unto Martha, thy brother shall rise again. Mar- 
 tha saith unto him, I know that he shall rise, again in the resur- 
 rection at the last day. Jesus saith unto her, I am the resurrec- 
 tion and the life ; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, 
 yet shall he live ; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me 
 shall never die. — John xi. 23 — 26. 
 
 For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my de- 
 parture is at hand ; I have fought a good fight, I have finished 
 my course, I have kept the faith ; henceforth there is laid up 
 for me a crown of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous 
 Judge, shall give me at that day ; and not to me only, but unto 
 all them also that love his appearing. — 2 Timothy, iv. 6, 7,8. 
 
A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 
 
 TREATING ON THE 
 
 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL 
 
 FOR SALE AT THE AFFIXED PRICES, 
 
 BY WILLIAM GOWANS, 
 
 178 Fulton Street, New- York. 
 
 A NEW METHOD of Demonstrating from Reason and Phi- 
 losophy, the four fundamental points of Religion, viz. Ex- 
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 $1 50. Lon. 1756. 
 
 ADDISON, JOSEPH. Evidences of Christianity, with addi- 
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 «fec. &c. l2mo. $ I 00. Dublin, 1761. 
 
 A DISCOURSE Concerning the certainty of a Future and 
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 AMNER RICHARD. Considerations on the doctrines of a 
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 be so, in the Scriptures. 8vo. $1 50. Lon. 1797. 
 
 A DISCOURSE on the certainty of a Future and Immortal 
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 AN INQUIRY into the Knowledge of the Ancient Hebrews 
 concerning a future state. By Joseph Priestly Johnson. 
 $1 00. 1801. 
 
 AN ESSAY. Of Transmigration, in defence of Pythagoras. 
 12mo. $1 00. Lon. 1692. 
 
 AN ENQUIRY into the spirit of truth ; being some serious 
 considerations on the physical, physiological, and moral 
 
>& CATALOGUE OF BOOKS ON THE 
 
 evidences of the natural immortality of man's present phys* 
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 N. York, 1837. 
 
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 A MORAL ESSAY upon the Soul of Man, in three parts. 
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 A PHYSICO, THEOLOGICAL Disccurse upon the Divine 
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 A SHORT TREATISE Concerning the Propagation of the 
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 ALLIN THOMAS. Discourses on the Immateriality and 
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 AMNER, RICUAJID. Considerations on the doctrines of a 
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 AMYRALDUS, MOSES. A Difcour?e concerning the Di- 
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IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. O 
 
 ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY. A Critical Inquiry into the 
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 A VINDICATION of the Account of the Double Doctrine of 
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 ARISTOTLE. Treatises, namely, On the Soul, Sense and 
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 Translated into English by T. Taylor. 4to. Very scarce. 
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 ATHENAGORAS. {The learned Athenian philosopher.) The 
 Apologeticks of. First, for the Christian Religion. Sec- 
 ond, for the truth of the Resurrection, against the Skeptics 
 and Infidels of that age. Together with a curious frag- 
 ment of Justin Martyr on the subject of the Resurrection. 
 And two other fragments, the one attributed to Josephus, 
 the other to Methodius ; concerning the state of the dead. 
 Translated by D. Humphreys. 8vo. Very rare. $3 00. 
 
 Lon. 1714. 
 
 BAKEWELL, FREDERICK C. Natural Evidence of a 
 future life, derived from the properties and actions of ani- 
 mate and inanimate matter. 8vo. pp. 372. $2 00. 
 
 Lon. 1835. 
 
 BALFOU, WALTER. Three Essays on*the intermediate 
 state of the dead. The resurrection from the dead, &c. 
 12mo. 75 cts. Charlestown, 1828. 
 
 BALDWIN, O. An Investigation into Principles, among 
 other things, the Immortality of the Soul. 4to. Bds. 
 $125. Title page lost. 1800. 
 
 BARROW CAPEL. A Lapse of Human Souls in a state of 
 pre-existence, the only original sin. 8vo <j£] 25. Lon. 1756. 
 
 BAULLIER, MR. Essaie Philosophique sur L'Ame Des 
 Betes. 2 vols. 12mo. Calf. $1 50. Amsterdam, 1737. 
 
 BAXTER, A. An Enquiry into the nature of the Human 
 Soul; wherein the immateriality of the soul is evinced 
 
4 CATALOGUE OF BOOKS ON THE 
 
 from the principles of reason and philosophy. 2 vols. 8vo. 
 Calf, 2d ed. $3 00. Lon. 1737. 
 
 BELLAMY, DANIEL. The Truth of the Christian Reli- 
 gion demonstrated both from Reason and Revelation. In 
 twelve discourses. And the Future State demonstrated from 
 the nature of the soul. 8vo. $1 00. Lou. 1744. 
 
 BEHMEN, JACOB. Forty Questions concerning the Soul, 
 propounded by Dr. Balthasar Walter, and answered -by 
 J-icob Behmen. (Alias Teutonicus Philosophus.) And in 
 his answer to the first question is the turned eye, or philo- 
 sophic globe. (Which in itself containeth all mysteries,) 
 with an exposition. To which is added a catalogue of 
 bocks written by Jacob Behmen. 4to. pp. 185. Rare. 
 $2 00. Lon. 1647. 
 
 BENTLEY, RICHARD. Sermons chiefly on the confutation 
 of Atheism. 8vo. Calf, neat, very scarce. $2 00. 
 
 Cambridge, 1724. 
 
 BARROW, CAPEL. Theological Dissertations, namely : A 
 lapse of human souls in a state of pre-exis;ence, the only 
 Original Sin. Deism not consistent with the religion of 
 reason and nature, end and design of Christ's death. Dis- 
 courses concerning Origen, and the chiefest of his opinions, 
 Reprobation and Future Punishment. 4to. $2 00. 
 
 Lon. 1772. 
 
 BISHOP WARBURTOX'S Divine Legation of Moses Ex- 
 amined, in which the Mosaic Theocracy, Hero- Gods, a 
 future, separate state of animal life, and action of the soul 
 after death ; with other principles, are occasionally con- 
 sidered. Bvo. $1 00. Lon 1742. 
 
 BIGLAND, JOHN. Reflections on the Resurrection and As- 
 cension of Christ, 12mo. Bds. 50 cts. Lon. 1810. 
 
 BLACKLOCK, THOMAS. A Treatise on the Immortality 
 of the Soul. To which is prefixed his Poems, and a Life 
 and Character of the author, by Spencc. 8vo. elf. $1 50. 
 
 Lon. 175G. 
 
 BLACKBURN. An Historical View of the controversy con- 
 cerning the intermediate strife and the separate existence of 
 the soul between death and the general resurrection. 8vo. 
 Calf. neat. $@ 00. Lon. 1772. 
 
 BLOUNT, CHARLES. Anima Mundi, or an Historical Nar- 
 raiion of the opinions of the ancients concerning the soul 
 of man after tliis life ; according to unenlightened nature. 
 l2mo. Rare. $1 00. Lon. 1079. 
 
IMMORTALITY OF TBE SOUL. 5 
 
 BOLD, SAMUEL. A Discourse concerning the resurrection 
 of the same body ; with two letters concerning the neces- 
 sary immateriality of creating thinking substances. 12mo. 
 75 cents. Lon. 1705. 
 
 BROUGIiTON, JOHN. Psychilogia, or an account of the 
 nature of the rational Soul. 8vo. Calf. $1 50. 
 
 Lon. 1703. 
 BROUGHTON, T. Prospects of Futurity the nature of the 
 Life to Come, and on the general burning of the world. 
 8vo. $2 00. Lon. 1767. 
 
 BROWN, ISAAC HAWKINS. The Immortality of the 
 Soul: A Poem, translated from the Latin, by John Letece. 
 To which is added the original Poem with a commentary 
 by the translator. 8vo. Calf. $2 00. Lon. 1745. 
 
 BROWN ISAAC HAWKINS. Poems on various Subjects, 
 namely : on the Immortality of the Soul, Latin and Eng- 
 lish. Pipe of Tobacco, &c. &c. Fine portrait, royal 8vo. 
 Paper. 75 cts. Lon. 1768. 
 
 BROWN, JOHN. Psyche or the Soul, a Poem. 12mo. bds. 
 75 cents. Lon. 1818. 
 
 BRUCE, JOHN. Death on the Pale Horse. l2mo. bds. plate. 
 75 cts. Lon. 1827. 
 
 BURNE T, Dr. THOMAS. A Treatise concerning the de- 
 parted souls before, and at, and after the Resurrection. 
 Translated from the Latin, by Dennis. 8vo. Calf. Por- 
 trait. $1 50. Lon. 1730. 
 BUSH, GEORGE. The Soul ; or, an enquiry into scriptural 
 psychology, as developed by the use Of the terms, soul, 
 spirit life, &c. viewed in its bearings on the doctrine of the 
 Resurrection. 12mo. pp.141. 44 cents. N. York, 1845. 
 BUSH, GEORGE. The Resurrection of Christ; in answer to 
 the question, whether he rose in a spiritual and celestial, 
 or in a material and earthly body. l2mo. Paper. 25 
 cts. N. York, 1845. 
 CICERO. The Tusculan Disputations of, (Embracing his 
 views on the Immortality of the Soul.) 8vo. $1 00. 
 
 Lon. 1840. 
 CLARKE, SAMUEL. A Letter to Mr. Dodwell ; wherein 
 all the arguments in his epistolary discourse against the 
 Immortality of the Soul are particularly answered, and the 
 judgment of the fathers concerning the matter truly rep- 
 resented. A defence of an argument made use of in a 
 letter to Mr. Dodwell, to prove the natural immortality of 
 
b CATALOGUE OF BOOKS ON THE 
 
 the soul. A second defence of the above, also a third and 
 
 fourth defence of the above. Bound in one vol. 8vo. 
 
 Scarce. $1 50. Lon. 1711. 
 
 COOKE, NATHANIEL. Creed Philosophie, or Immortality 
 
 of the Soul. 4to. $1 25. Lon. 1813. 
 
 COPLAND, ALEX. The Existence of other Worlds, peopled 
 
 with living and intelligent beings, deduced from the nature 
 
 of the Universe. l2mo. $125. Lon. 1834. 
 
 COLLIBER. Thoughts concerning Souls. 8vo. $ 2 00. 
 
 Lon. 1734. 
 COLLIER, JOHN. Essays on the Progress on the vital prin- 
 ciple from the vegetable to the animal kingdoms and the 
 Soul of Man. 8vo. Bds. $150. Lon. 1800. 
 
 COLLIER, JEREMY. Human Souls Naturally Immortal. 
 Translated from a Latin manuscript. Bound up with 
 Melmoth on the Sublime and Beautiful of Scripture. Thick 
 l2mo. $1 00. Lon. 1707 and 1777. 
 
 COWARD, W. Dr. The Grand Essay ; or a vindication of 
 Reason and Religion against Imposture and Philosophy. 
 That the existence of immortal substances is a philosophic 
 imposture, and impossible to be conceived. 2 vols. l2mo. 
 $1 50. Lon. 1704. 
 
 COWARD, W. Dr. Second Thoughts concerning Human 
 Souls. 8vo. Calf. $1 50. Lon. 1702. 
 
 COWARD, W. Just Scrutiny ; or a Serious Enquiry into the 
 Modern Notions of the Soul, with Second Thoughts con- 
 cerning the Human Soul. 2 vols. 8vo. Neat, but not 
 uniform ; rare. $4 00. Lon. 1702. 
 
 This work excited so much attention and dislike, that it was 
 burnt by order of Parliament ; it is an elaborate defence of 
 the doctrine of Materialism. — Orme. 
 
 DAVIS, WILLIAM. The true dignity of Human Nature, or 
 Man viewed in relation to Immortality. l2mo. 75 cts. 
 
 Lon. 1830. 
 DAVIS, W. True Dignity of Human Nature, or Man viewed 
 in relation to Immortality. 12mo. 88 cts. Lon. 1830. 
 D'ARGENES, (Marquis.) Philosophical Dissertations on the 
 uncertainty of knowledge, namely, of history, logic, gen- 
 eral principles, philosophy, metaphysics, judicial astrology, 
 with remarks on the theology of the Grecian philosophers. 
 To which is added JMaupertius's dissertaiion on gravity, 
 including a treatise oti the Immortality of the Soul. Por- 
 trait. 2 vols. 12mo. $2 00. Lon. 1753. 
 
IMMORTALITY OP THE SOUL. 7 
 
 DEAN, PAUL. A Course of Lectures in Defence of the final 
 Restoration. 8vo. Cloth, pp. 190. 75cts. 
 
 Boston, 1832. 
 
 DEMONT, G. D. On the Materialty of Mind, the Imnate- 
 riality of the Soul, the Vilal Principle and Nervous Sys- 
 tem. 8vo. Pomphlet. 50 cts. Lon. 1830. 
 
 DEMONSTRATING, A new method of, from reason and 
 philosophy, the four fundamental points of Religion, viz. 
 The exigence and the immateriality of the spirit or Soul of 
 man. The existence of the Supreme Spirit or God. The 
 Immortality of the Soul. The certainty of a future state. 
 8vo. $ 1 00. Lon. 1756. 
 
 DIGBY, KENELM. Two treatises. The Nature of Bodies, 
 and the Nature of Man's Soul, in the way of discovering 
 the Immortality. 4to. $1 75. Lon. 1645. 
 
 DICK, THOMAS. The Philosophy of a Future State. l2mo. 
 50 cts. N. York, 1829. 
 
 DODWELL, HENRY. An Epistolary Discourse, proving 
 from the Scriptures and the first fathers, that the Soul is a 
 principal naturally mortal ; but immortalized actually by 
 the pleasure of God. 8vo. {jfjl 50. Scarce. Lon. 1707. 
 
 DREW, S. An Original Essay on the Immateriality and Im- 
 mortality of the Human Soul, founded solely on physical 
 and rational principles. l2mo. pp. 210. 50 cts. 
 
 Baltimore, 1811. 
 
 ESSAYS ON SUICIDE and the Immortality of the Soul, by 
 the late David Hume, with remarks by the editor. To 
 which is added two letters on Suicide, by Rousseau. 12mo. 
 Very rare. $1 25. Lon. 1789. 
 
 FA WCETT, J. Dialogues on the other world, namely, An- 
 gelical Heaven, Nature and fall of Angals, State of the 
 Dead, Resurrection, Millenium, Future Renovation of all 
 things. I2mn. 75 cts. Lon. 1759. 
 
 FLAVKL, JOHN. Pneumatologia. A Treatise on the Soul 
 of Man. 8vo. pp.466. $150. Lon. 1824. 
 
 FLEMING CALEB. A Survey of the search after Souls, by 
 Coward, Clarke, Baxter, Sykes, Law, Packard and others. 
 Wherein the principles for and against the materiality, are 
 collected. 8vo. Si 00. Lon. 1758. 
 
 FREE THOUGHTS in defence of a future state, as discov- 
 erable by natural reason, and stript of superstitious append- 
 ages. Small 8vo. 75 cts. Lon. 1700. 
 
 FREE THOUGHTS concerning Souls ; in four essays. An 
 22 
 
O CATALOGUE OF BOOKS ON TIIE 
 
 Enquiry into the Scripture meaning of the word Satan, 
 and its synonymous terms. Kinnicotr, two dissertations, 
 one the Tree of Life in Paradise, and the Creation and 
 Fall of Man. Pound in one vol. 8vo. $2 00. 
 
 Lon. 1734. 
 
 GASTRELL BISHOP. A Moral Proof of the certainty of a 
 future state. 8vo. 75 cts. Lon. 1737. 
 
 GROVE, HENRY. Some Thoughts concerning proofs of a 
 Future State, from reason, occasioned by the discourse of 
 J. Hollett, on ifip same subject. 8vo. $1 25. Lon. 1730. 
 
 HARMER. T. Miscellaneous Woiks, among other things 
 contains an account of the Jewish Doctrine of the Rcsur- 
 rection of the Dead. 8vo. $ 1 50. Lon. 1823. 
 
 HAUGHTON, G. D. On Sex in the World to Come, an es- 
 say on. l2mo. pp.333. $150. Lon. 1841. 
 
 HARWOOD, EDWARD. Discourses on St. Paul's descrip- 
 tion of death, and its consequences. 8vo. pp. UM. $1 25. 
 
 Lon. 1790. 
 
 HILLS, H. A Short Treatise concerning the propagation of 
 the Soul. Justice done to human souls, in a short view of 
 Mr. Dodwell's late book, entitled An Epistolary Discourse, 
 proving from the Scriptures and the first fathers, that the 
 Soul is a principal naturally mortal. By John Turner. 
 Human Souls naturally immoital. Translated from a 
 Latin manuscript by S. E., with a recommendatory pre- 
 face by Jeremy Collier. The above three bound up in one 
 vol. 18mo. $ 2 00. Lon. 1GG7. 
 
 HINTS to Medical Students upon the subject of a Future State. 
 12mo. pp.48. 50 cts. York, 1823. 
 
 HOMES, NATHANIEL. The ResiiTrcction revealed, or the 
 Dawning of the Day — Star about to rise. Folio. $2 50. 
 
 Lon. 1G53. 
 Recommended by Peter Sfcrry and Joseph Caryll. 
 
 HOB ART, JOHN HENRY. (Late Bishop of New York.) 
 The state of the departed, set forth in a funeral address, 
 delivered at the interment of Bishop Moon — and a Dis- 
 sertation on the same subject. 8vo. Hlf. bd. pp. 98. 
 63 cts. N.York, 1825. 
 
 HUMPHREY, DITTON. A Discourse concerning the res- 
 urrection of Jesus Christ. Wherein the consequences of 
 the doctrine are stated. The nature and obligation of 
 moral evidence. The proofs of the fact of our Savior's 
 resurrection. Together with a treatise concerning the 
 
IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 9 
 
 impossible production of thought, from matter and motion ; 
 the nature of human souls and brutes, &c. 8vo. pp. 510. 
 $1 25. Lon. 1714. 
 
 HUNTINGFORD, THOMAS. Testimonies in proof of the 
 separate existence of the Snul in a srate of self conscious- 
 ness between death and the resurrection. To which is 
 added John Calvin's Fsychopannychia, (in Latin.) l2mo. 
 pp. 500. $2 25. Lon. 1829. 
 
 IMMORTALITY, An Essay on. By the author of a review 
 of First Piineiples of Bishop Berkley, Dr. Reid, and Pro- 
 fessor Stewart." 8vo. Bds. pp. 328. $1 00. 
 
 Lon. 1814. 
 
 IMMORTALITY or Annihilation? The question of a Future 
 State Discussed and Decided by the arguments of reason. 
 12mo. pp.270. $125. Lon. 1827. 
 
 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. Arguments natural, 
 moral, and religious for. l2mo. 50 cts. Worcester, 1805. 
 
 INTERMEDIATE STATE. Historical View of the Con- 
 troversy concerning an ; and "the Separate Existence of the 
 Soul between Death and the Resurrection. 8vo. Scarce. 
 $1 50. 1772. 
 
 JACKSON, JOHN. The Belief of a Future State proved to 
 be a fundamental article of the Religion of the Hebrews. 
 A Defence of the Ancient Philosophers, concerning their 
 doctrine and belief of a Future State. Dr. Priestley's En- 
 quiry into the knowledge of the Ancient Hebews con- 
 cerning a Future State. Jackson's Remarks on Dr. Mid- 
 dle tons's Free Inquiry. The four bound in one vol. 8vo. 
 $1 75. Lon. 1749. 
 
 JENNINGS, J. C. History of the Soul of Man and Brutes, 
 in German 8vo. Porirait. $1 25. Hull, 1774. 
 
 KERATRY, M. De L'Existence De Dieu, et De LTmmor- 
 lalite De L'Ame. l2mo. Paper cover. 75 cts. 
 
 Paris, 1815. 
 
 L'ANIMA. Di Ferrante Pallavicino. Divisa in sei vigilie 
 Vigilia Prima Ultima Lnpressionne. 32mo. Vellum. 50 
 cts. Lieon, 1664. 
 
 LAW, EDMUND. (Late Lord Bishop of Carlisle.) Con- 
 siderations on the 1 heory of Religion. To which is pre- 
 fixed a Life of the author, the late William Paley, and an 
 appendix concerning the use of the words Soul or Spirit, 
 in the Holy Scriptures, and the state of dead there de- 
 scribed, with a copious index. A new edition, by George 
 
10 CATALOGUE OF BOOKS ON THE 
 
 Henry Law, Lord Bishop of Chester. 8vo. pp. 555. 
 Bds. $2 00. Lou. 1820. 
 
 LANCASTER, THOMAS WILLIAM. The Harmony of 
 the Law and the Gospel with regard to the doctrine of a 
 Future State. 8vo. pp. 470. Oxford, 1825. 
 
 MANLOW, TIMOTHY. The Immortality of the Soul as- 
 serted, and practically improved ; showing by Scripture 
 reason, and the testimony of the ancient philosophers, that 
 the soul of man is capable of subsisting and acting in a 
 state of separation from the body ; and how much it con- 
 cerns us all to prepare for that state. With some reflec- 
 tions on a pretended refutation of Mr. Bentley's Sermon. 
 l8mo. pp.164. Very rare. $100. Lon. 1C83. 
 
 MARAT, M. (The celebrated French Revolutionist.) A 
 Philosophical Essay on Man, being an attempt to investi- 
 gate the principles and laws of the reciprocal influence of 
 the Soul on the Body. 2 vols. 8vo. Calf. $4 00. 
 
 London, 1773. 
 
 MARMORTERES, BARTHES. Elnathan ; ou Les Ages de 
 1' Homme, traduit du Chaldeen — Elnathan ; or the Age of 
 Man, translated from the Chaldean. 3 vols. 8vo. $5 00. 
 
 Paris, 1802. 
 
 MATERIALISM, Philosophically Examined, or the Immor- 
 tality of the Soul asserted and proved on philosophical 
 principles, in answer to Dr. Priestley's Disquisition on 
 Matter and Spirit, bv John Whitehead. 8vo. Boards. 
 $3 00. Lon. 1778. 
 
 MALLOCK, DAVID. The Immortality of the Soul, with 
 other Poems. l2mo. 75 cts. N. York, 1833. 
 
 MILLES, THOMAS. The Natural Immortality of the Soul 
 asserted, and proved from the Scripture?, and first fathers ; 
 in answer to Dodwell's Discourse, in which he endeavors 
 to prove the soul to be a principle naturally mortal. 8vo. 
 pp. 504. $1 25. Oxford, 1707. 
 
 MORE, HENRY. The Immortality of the Soul, so fane forth 
 as it is demonstrable from the knowledge of nature and 
 the light of reason. 12mo. pp.580. §100. 
 
 London, 1699. 
 
 NORRIS, JOHN. A Philosophical Discourse concerning the 
 natural Immortality of the Soul. 8vo. Calf. $1 00. 
 
 Lon. 1732. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS on various subjects, among other things 
 Arguments in support of the opinions that the Soul is in- 
 
IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 11 
 
 active and unconscious from death to the resurrection. 
 
 8vo. $1 CO. N. Yoik, 1795. 
 
 O'LEARY, ARTHUR. A Defence of the divinity of Christ, 
 
 and the Immortality of the Soul, and other Tracts. 8vo. 
 
 Calf. $1 00. Dublin, 1781. 
 
 PARKER, HENRY M. The Draft of Immortalitv and other 
 
 Poems. 8vo. pp. 204. $1 00. Lon. 1827. 
 
 PARKER, SAMUEL. Letters and Essays by, among others, 
 
 The Soul. The doctrine of the identity of the body at 
 
 the resurrection, vindicated. 8vo. Binding loose. 75 
 
 cents. Lon. 1701. 
 
 PAINE, THOMAS. Private Thoughts on a Future State. 
 
 Essay on Dreams, New Testament Examined, and the 
 
 Origin of Free Masonry. 8vo. $1 00. 
 
 New York, 1810. 
 PETERS, C. Critical Dissertation on Job, wherein a Future 
 State is shown to have been a popular belief of the Jews. 
 4to. $2 50. Lon. 1751. 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL LETTERS, Upon Physiognomies. To 
 which is added, Dissertations on the inequality of Souls, 
 Philanthropy and Misfortunes. 12mo. 75 cts. From the 
 Duke of Sussex's Library. Lon. 1751. 
 
 PLATO. PhajJon, or a Dialogue of the Immortality of the 
 Soul. To which is added Crito, or what we ought to do ; 
 with an introduction to each. Translated into English. 
 l2mo. Portrait. $1 00. Lon. 1783. 
 
 RALEIGH, SIR WALTER. Ghost, or his apparition to an 
 intimate friend, willing him to translate into English this 
 learned Book of L. Lessius, entitled De Providentia Nu- 
 minis, and Animi Immortalitali. 18mo. pp. 384. $2 00. 
 Very rare. Lon. 1651. 
 
 REYNOLDS, F. A view of Death, or the Soul's Departure 
 from the World. A Philosophical and Sacred Poem. To 
 which is added the Life of the author. 12mo. Very 
 scarce. $2 00. Lon. 1735. 
 
 R. C. Existence of the Soul after death. A Dissertation op- 
 posed to the principles of Priestley, Law, and their respec- 
 t ve followers. 8vo. Paper. 75 cts. Lon. 1834. 
 
 RUST, BISHOP. Lux Orientalis ; an enquiry into the opinion 
 of the Eastern Sages concerning the Prss^xistence of Souls, 
 Being a Key to unlock the grand mysteries of Providence. 
 Two parts. 8vo. Calf. §1 50. Lon. 1682. 
 
 SERMONS. Five, namely, against Atheism, God's Govern- 
 
12 CATALOGUE OF BOOKS ON THE 
 
 ment, Human Nature, natural and moral proofs of a Fu- 
 ture State. 8vo. 50 cts. Lon. 1738. 
 
 SHERLOCK, WM. A Discourse on a Future Slate. 8vo. 
 Gilt. $1 00. Lon. 1760. 
 
 SLADE, JOHN. The Transmigrating Soul; or an Epitome 
 of Human Nature. A Moral Satire. l2mo. 63 cents. 
 
 Lon. 1760. 
 
 SMITH, JOHN. (Of Cambridge.) Select Discourses, viz. 
 Immortality of the Soul, Superstition, Atheism, Existence 
 of God, Divine Knowledge, ccc. (Last leaf lost.) l2mo. 
 pp. 292. 75 cis. Edinb. 1756. 
 
 SMITH, LAWRENCE. The Evidence of things not seen, or 
 the Immortality of the Soul proved from Scripture and 
 Reason. Together with an examination of the opinion of 
 a Middle place of residence. 8vo. $100. Lon. 1703. 
 
 SOUL OF MAN. A Moral Essay upon the Soul of Man. 
 12mo. pp 447. 75 cts Lon. 1687. 
 
 THOMAS, SAMSON FREDERICK. Poetical Fragments; 
 containing the Psychologist, or whence is a knowledge of 
 the Soul desirable ? And the Deiuge, a midnight reverie. 
 8vo. Cloth. $1 25. Lon. 1£36. 
 
 THE HOPES OF IMMORTALITY. A Poem in four parts. 
 $2 00. Edinb. 1839. 
 
 THE GREAT SOUL of Man. 12mo. 75cts. Lon. N. D. 
 
 THE UNIVERSAL1ST. A Periodical, containing among 
 other things Psychology, or the Doctrine of the Soul. Res- 
 urrection, Anthropology, or an Essay on Man. 8vo. Bds. 
 87 cts. Utica, 1825. 
 
 THE PRE-EXISTENCE OF SOULS and Universal Restor- 
 ation. From the minutes and correspondence of the Burn- 
 ham Society. 8vo. $1 50. Taunton, 1798. 
 
 THE FUTURE STATE, or, a Discourse attempting some 
 display of the Soul's Happiness in regard to that eternally 
 progressive knowledge, or eternal increase of knowledge, 
 and the consequence of it, which is amongst the Blessed in 
 Heaven. l8ino. pp.159. $100. Lon. 1683. 
 
 TOLAND, JOHN. Letters to Serena, namely, Oiigin and 
 force of Prejudices, the history of the Soul's Immortality 
 among the Heathen, oiigin of idolatry, Spinoza's System of 
 Philosophy without foundation. 8vo. $1 55. Rare. 
 
 Lon. 1704. 
 
 VINDICT7E MENTIS. An Essay on the being and nature 
 of Mind. To which is added an Enquiry into the Life 
 and Immortality of the Soul. l2mo. $1 00. Lon. 1702. 
 
IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 13 
 
 WATTS, ISAAC. The World to Come ; or Discourses on 
 the joys or sorrows of departed souls at death, and the 
 glory or terror of the resurrection. To which is prefixed, 
 an Essay towards the proof ot a separate state of souls after 
 death. 8vo. $1 25. Haverhill, 1816. 
 
 WADSWORTH, THOMAS. The Immortality of the Soul 
 Explained and Proved by Scripture and Reason. A con- 
 futation of that irrational and irreligious opinion of the 
 Soul's dying with the body, and interruption of its com- 
 munion with God from death until the day of judgment. 
 The several theological, moral, and philosophical Absurdi- 
 ties thereof are discovered ; and the most considerable 
 objections answered, to which is added Faith's Triumph 
 over the Fear of Death, pp. 118, 115. 18mo. $150. 
 
 Lon. 1670. 
 
 WATSON, T. Intimations and Evidences of a Future Stale. 
 8vo. Bds. $1 00. Lon. 1792. 
 
 WEEKS, JOHN. A Discourse on the State of the Souls be- 
 tween death and judgment. 12mo. Bound with other 
 pamphlets. 63 cts. Lon. 1749. 
 
 WEST, Gr.ORGE MONTGOMERY. Miscellaneous Wri- 
 tings of, including a Philosophical Essay on the Immor- 
 tality of the Soul. 2 vols. 8vo. $ 1 50. Lon. 1829, 
 
 WHILBY, DANIEL. Christian Faith in General, and the 
 Resurrection of Christ in Particular. l2mo. $1 50. 
 
 Oxford, 1671. 
 
 WHATLEY, R. (Archbishop of DuUin.) A View of the 
 Scripture Revelation concerning A Future State. l2mo. 
 f 1 38. Scarce. Lon. 1829. 
 
 WH1STON, WM. Sermons and Essays by. One against the 
 Sleep of the Saul. 8vo. $125. Lon. 1711. 
 
 W1GRAM, G. Essay on Man, or the Mortal Body and Im- 
 mortal Soul, explained. 8vo. $2 00. pp. ISO. 
 
 London, 1828. 
 
 LAYTON'S, (H.) Search after Snuls ; or the Immortality of a 
 Human Soul theologically, philosophically, and rationally 
 considered. 2 thick vols. 4to. Calf. Very neat. $5 00. 
 
 Lon. 1706. 
 
14 CATALOGUE OF BOOKS ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 PLATO'S whole works, viz. His Fifty-four Dialogues and 
 Epistles, translated into English by Dr. Sydenham and 
 Thomas Taylor, with copious notes; in which are given 
 the substance of nearly all the existing Greek Manuscript 
 Commentaries on the Philosophy of Plato. 5 vols. 4to. 
 Cloth. $40 00. Lon. ,804. 
 
 NICHOLAS DE LYRA. His famous Commentary upon the 
 Holy Bible. 33ladv Setter, with the cloister corrections. 
 6 vols, folio. $30 00. Basil, printed between 1481/ 
 
 and 1502; 
 
 This book is famous as having been the first Commentary upon the 
 Scriptures published after the invention of printing- This appears to 
 have heen given to the world about 40 years after the invention of the 
 art. It is a gre.it literary curiosity. 
 
 BURNEY CHARLES. A General History of Music, from 
 the earliest ages to the present period. To which is pre- 
 fixed a Dissertation on the Music of the Ancients. 4 vols. 
 4to. Calf, line, clean copy ; plates. $30 00. 
 
 London, 177G. 
 
 UNIVERSAL HISTORY. {The Great.) From the earliest 
 Accounts of Time to the Present. Compiled from origi- 
 nal authors ; and illustrated with Maps, Plates, Notes, 
 Chronological and other Tables, both ancient and modem. 
 Uniform set. 25 vols, folio. $100 00. Lon. 1737. 
 
 MUSEUM of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art. Many 
 engravings. 42 vols. Thick 8vo. half bound and cor- 
 nered. (A complete set.) $55 00. 
 
 Philadel. 1822 and 1842. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE, W. Traduit, De L'Anglois, An Roi. 20 
 vols. 8vo. Sheep, gilt. $20 00. Paris, 1776. 
 
 This French translation of Skakspeare appears to have been 
 published by the aid of subscriptions; among the subscribers 
 are to be found the names of the Kings of France and Eng- 
 land, besides the most distinguished men of France. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE, W. Tragedie Di Shakspeare Tradotte Da 
 Michael Leoni, (with a curious Italian engraved head of 
 Shakspeare.) 14 vols. 8vo. Paper. $8 79. 
 
 Verona, 1819 
 
 ZUINGERUS, THEOD. Theatri Hiumans Vitc. 6* vols. 
 Folio. Hogskin binding. $24 00. 151(5. 
 

 
 
 
 
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