[Sidenote: The soul and the ideas belong to the class of the unchanging,
which is also the unseen.]
Then now let us return to the previous discussion. Is
that idea or essence, which in the dialectical process we
define as essence or true existence—whether essence of
equality, beauty, or anything else—are these essences, I say,
liable at times to some degree of change? or are they each
of them always what they are, having the same simple self-existent
and unchanging forms, not admitting of variation at
all, or in any way, or at any time?
They must be always the same, Socrates, replied Cebes.
And what would you say of the many beautiful—whether
men or horses or garments or any other things which are
named by the same names and may be called equal or
beautiful,—are they all unchanging and the same always, or
quite the reverse? May they not rather be described as
almost always changing and hardly ever the same, either
with themselves or with one another?
The latter, replied Cebes; they are always in a state of
change.
And these you can touch and see and perceive with the 79
senses, but the unchanging things you can only perceive
with the mind—they are invisible and are not seen?
That is very true, he said.
Well then, added Socrates, let us suppose that there are
two sorts of existences—one seen, the other unseen.
Let us suppose them.
The seen is the changing, and the unseen is the unchanging?
That may be also supposed.
And, further, is not one part of us body, another part
soul?
To be sure.
And to which class is the body more alike and akin?
Clearly to the seen—no one can doubt that.
And is the soul seen or not seen?
Not by man, Socrates.
And what we mean by ‘seen’ and ‘not seen’ is that which
is or is not visible to the eye of man?
[Sidenote: _The nature of the soul._]
Yes, to the eye of man.
And is the soul seen or not seen?
Not seen.
Unseen then?
Yes.
Then the soul is more like to the unseen, and the body to
the seen?
That follows necessarily, Socrates.
[Sidenote: The soul which is unseen, when she makes use of the bodily
senses, is dragged down into the region of the changeable, and must
return into herself before she can attain to true wisdom.]
And were we not saying long ago that the soul when using
the body as an instrument of perception, that is to say, when
using the sense of sight or hearing or some other sense (for
the meaning of perceiving through the body is perceiving
through the senses)—were we not saying that the soul too is
then dragged by the body into the region of the changeable,
and wanders and is confused; the world spins round her,
and she is like a drunkard, when she touches change?
Very true.
But when returning into herself she reflects, then she
passes into the other world, the region of purity, and
eternity, and immortality, and unchangeableness, which are
her kindred, and with them she ever lives, when she is
by herself and is not let or hindered; then she ceases
from her erring ways, and being in communion with the unchanging
is unchanging. And this state of the soul is
called wisdom?
That is well and truly said, Socrates, he replied.
And to which class is the soul more nearly alike and akin,
as far as may be inferred from this argument, as well as
from the preceding one?
[Sidenote: The soul is of the nature of the unchangeable, the body of the
changing; the soul rules, the body serves; the soul is in the likeness of
the divine, the body of the mortal.]
I think, Socrates, that, in the opinion of every one who
follows the argument, the soul will be infinitely more like
the unchangeable—even the most stupid person will not
deny that.
And the body is more like the changing?
Yes.
[Sidenote: _The passing of the soul._]
Yet once more consider the matter in another light:
When the soul and the body are united, then nature orders 80
the soul to rule and govern, and the body to obey and serve.
Now which of these two functions is akin to the divine?
and which to the mortal? Does not the divine appear to
you to be that which naturally orders and rules, and the
mortal to be that which is subject and servant?
True.
And which does the soul resemble?
The soul resembles the divine, and the body the mortal—there
can be no doubt of that, Socrates.
Then reflect, Cebes: of all which has been said is not this
the conclusion?—that the soul is in the very likeness of the
divine, and immortal, and intellectual, and uniform, and
indissoluble, and unchangeable; and that the body is in the
very likeness of the human, and mortal, and unintellectual,
and multiform, and dissoluble, and changeable. Can this,
my dear Cebes, be denied?
It cannot.
But if it be true, then is not the body liable to speedy
dissolution? and is not the soul almost or altogether indissoluble?
Certainly.
[Sidenote: Even from the body something may be learned about the soul;
for the corpse of a man lasts for some time, and when embalmed, in a
manner for ever.]
And do you further observe, that after a man is dead, the
body, or visible part of him, which is lying in the visible
world, and is called a corpse, and would naturally be dissolved
and decomposed and dissipated, is not dissolved or
decomposed at once, but may remain for some time, nay
even for a long time, if the constitution be sound at the
time of death, and the season of the year favourable? For
the body when shrunk and embalmed, as the manner is in
Egypt, may remain almost entire through infinite ages; and
even in decay, there are still some portions, such as the
bones and ligaments, which are practically indestructible:—Do
you agree?
Yes.
[Sidenote: How unlikely then that the soul should at once pass away!]
And is it likely that the soul, which is invisible, in passing
to the place of the true Hades, which like her is invisible,
and pure, and noble, and on her way to the good and wise
God, whither, if God will, my soul is also soon to go,—that
the soul, I repeat, if this be her nature and origin, will be
blown away and destroyed immediately on quitting the
body, as the many say? That can never be, my dear
Simmias and Cebes. The truth rather is, that the soul
which is pure at departing and draws after her no bodily
taint, having never voluntarily during life had connection with
the body, which she is ever avoiding, herself gathered into
herself;—and making such abstraction her perpetual study—which
means that she has been a true disciple of philosophy; 81
and therefore has in fact been always engaged in
the practice of dying? For is not philosophy the study of
death?—