Then he, or any man who has the spirit of philosophy,
will be willing to die; but he will not take his own life, for
that is held to be unlawful.
Here he changed his position, and put his legs off the
couch on to the ground, and during the rest of the conversation
he remained sitting.
Why do you say, enquired Cebes, that a man ought not to
take his own life, but that the philosopher will be ready to
follow the dying?
[Sidenote: Socrates replies that a philosopher like Evenus should be
ready to die, though he must not take his own life.]
Socrates replied: And have you, Cebes and Simmias, who
are the disciples of Philolaus, never heard him speak of this?
[Sidenote: _Cebes speaking in his native dialect._]
Yes, but his language was obscure, Socrates.
My words, too, are only an echo; but there is no reason
why I should not repeat what I have heard: and indeed, as
I am going to another place, it is very meet for me to be
thinking and talking of the nature of the pilgrimage which I
am about to make. What can I do better in the interval
between this and the setting of the sun?
Then tell me, Socrates, why is suicide held to be unlawful?
as I have certainly heard Philolaus, about whom you
were just now asking, affirm when he was staying with us at
Thebes; and there are others who say the same, although I
have never understood what was meant by any of them.
[Sidenote: This incidental remark leads to a discussion on suicide.]
Do not lose heart, replied Socrates, and the day may come 62
when you will understand. I suppose that you wonder why,
when other things which are evil may be good at certain
times and to certain persons, death is to be the only exception,
and why, when a man is better dead, he is not
permitted to be his own benefactor, but must wait for the
hand of another.
Fery true, said Cebes, laughing gently and speaking in
his native Boeotian.
[Sidenote: Man is a prisoner who has no right to run away; and he is also
a possession of the gods and must not rob his masters.]
I admit the appearance of inconsistency in what I am
saying; but there may not be any real inconsistency after all.
There is a doctrine whispered in secret that man is a
prisoner who has no right to open the door and run away;
this is a great mystery which I do not quite understand.
Yet I too believe that the gods are our guardians, and that
we men are a possession of theirs. Do you not agree?
Yes, I quite agree, said Cebes.
And if one of your own possessions, an ox or an ass, for
example, took the liberty of putting himself out of the way
when you had given no intimation of your wish that he
should die, would you not be angry with him, and would you
not punish him if you could?
Certainly, replied Cebes.
Then, if we look at the matter thus, there may be reason in
saying that a man should wait, and not take his own life until
God summons him, as he is now summoning me.
[Sidenote: And why should he wish to leave the best of services?]
Yes, Socrates, said Cebes, there seems to be truth in what
you say. And yet how can you reconcile this seemingly true
belief that God is our guardian and we his possessions, with
the willingness to die which you were just now attributing to
the philosopher? That the wisest of men should be willing
to leave a service in which they are ruled by the gods who
are the best of rulers, is not reasonable; for surely no wise
man thinks that when set at liberty he can take better care of
himself than the gods take of him. A fool may perhaps
think so—he may argue that he had better run away from
his master, not considering that his duty is to remain to the
end, and not to run away from the good, and that there
would be no sense in his running away. The wise man will
want to be ever with him who is better than himself. Now
this, Socrates, is the reverse of what was just now said; for
upon this view the wise man should sorrow and the fool
rejoice at passing out of life.
The earnestness of Cebes seemed to please Socrates. 63
Here, said he, turning to us, is a man who is always enquiring,
and is not so easily convinced by the first thing which
he hears.
[Sidenote: _Simmias and Cebes._]
[Sidenote: You yourself, Socrates, are too ready to run away.]
And certainly, added Simmias, the objection which he is
now making does appear to me to have some force. For
what can be the meaning of a truly wise man wanting to fly
away and lightly leave a master who is better than himself?
And I rather imagine that Cebes is referring to you; he
thinks that you are too ready to leave us, and too ready to
leave the gods whom you acknowledge to be our good
masters.
Yes, replied Socrates; there is reason in what you say.
And so you think that I ought to answer your indictment as
if I were in a court?
We should like you to do so, said Simmias.
[Sidenote: Socrates replies that he is going to other gods who are wise
and good.]
Then I must try to make a more successful defence before
you than I did before the judges. For I am quite ready to
admit, Simmias and Cebes, that I ought to be grieved at
death, if I were not persuaded in the first place that I am
going to other gods who are wise and good (of which I am
as certain as I can be of any such matters), and secondly
(though I am not so sure of this last) to men departed, better
than those whom I leave behind; and therefore I do not
grieve as I might have done, for I have good hope that there
is yet something remaining for the dead, and as has been
said of old, some far better thing for the good than for the
evil.
[Sidenote: _The gaoler’s importunity._]
But do you mean to take away your thoughts with you,
Socrates? said Simmias. Will you not impart them to us?—for
they are a benefit in which we too are entitled to share.
Moreover, if you succeed in convincing us, that will be an
answer to the charge against yourself.
I will do my best, replied Socrates. But you must first let
me hear what Crito wants; he has long been wishing to say
something to me.
Only this, Socrates, replied Crito:—the attendant who is
to give you the poison has been telling me, and he wants me
to tell you, that you are not to talk much; talking, he says,
increases heat, and this is apt to interfere with the action
of the poison; persons who excite themselves are sometimes
obliged to take a second or even a third dose.
Then, said Socrates, let him mind his business and be prepared
to give the poison twice or even thrice if necessary;
that is all.
I knew quite well what you would say, replied Crito; but I
was obliged to satisfy him.
Never mind him, he said.
[Sidenote: The true philosopher is always dying:—why then should he avoid
the death which he desires?]
And now, O my judges, I desire to prove to you that the
real philosopher has reason to be of good cheer when he is
about to die, and that after death he may hope to obtain the 64
greatest good in the other world. And how this may be,
Simmias and Cebes, I will endeavour to explain. For I
deem that the true votary of philosophy is likely to be
misunderstood by other men; they do not perceive that he
is always pursuing death and dying; and if this be so, and
he has had the desire of death all his life long, why when
his time comes should he repine at that which he has been
always pursuing and desiring?
[Sidenote: ‘How the world will laugh when they hear this!’]
Simmias said laughingly: Though not in a laughing
humour, you have made me laugh, Socrates; for I cannot
help thinking that the many when they hear your words will
say how truly you have described philosophers, and our
people at home will likewise say that the life which philosophers
desire is in reality death, and that they have found
them out to be deserving of the death which they desire.
[Sidenote: _Simmias and Socrates._]
[Sidenote: Yes, they do not understand the nature of death, or why the
philosopher desires or deserves it.]
And they are right, Simmias, in thinking so, with the
exception of the words ‘they have found them out;’ for they
have not found out either what is the nature of that death
which the true philosopher deserves, or how he deserves or
desires death. But enough of them:—let us discuss the
matter among ourselves. Do we believe that there is such a
thing as death?
To be sure, replied Simmias.
Is it not the separation of soul and body? And to be
dead is the completion of this; when the soul exists in
herself, and is released from the body and the body is
released from the soul, what is this but death?
Just so, he replied.
[Sidenote: Life is best when the soul is most freed from the concerns of
the body, and is alone and by herself.]
There is another question, which will probably throw light
on our present enquiry if you and I can agree about it:—Ought
the philosopher to care about the pleasures—if they
are to be called pleasures—of eating and drinking?
Certainly not, answered Simmias.
And what about the pleasures of love—should he care for
them?
By no means.
And will he think much of the other ways of indulging the
body, for example, the acquisition of costly raiment, or
sandals, or other adornments of the body? Instead of
caring about them, does he not rather despise anything more
than nature needs? What do you say?