To this Galaxidorus rejoined: Sir, if Simmias hath heard Socrates
himself speak any thing about this matter, I am very ready to hear and
believe it with you; but yet what you and Polymnis have delivered I
could easily demonstrate to be weak and insignificant. For as in physic
the pulse or a whelk is itself but a small thing, yet is a sign of no
small things to the physicians; and as the murmuring of the waves or
of a bird, or the driving of a thin cloud, is a sign to the pilot of a
stormy heaven and troubled sea; thus to a prophetic soul, a sneeze or
an omen, though no great matter simply considered in itself, yet may be
the sign and token of considerable impending accidents. For every art
and science takes care to collect many things from few, and great from
small. And as if one that doth not know the power of letters, when he
sees a few ill-shapen strokes, should not believe that a man skilled in
letters could read in them the famous battles of the ancients, the rise
of cities, the acts and calamities of kings, and should assert that
some divine power told him the particulars, he would by this ignorance
of his raise a great deal of mirth and laughter in the company; so
let us consider whether or no we ourselves, being altogether ignorant
of every one’s power of divination by which he guesseth at what is to
come, are not foolishly concerned when it is asserted that a wise man
by that discovers some things obscure and inevident in themselves,
and moreover himself declares that it is not a sneeze or voice, but
a Daemon, that leads him on to action. This, Polymnis, particularly
respects you, who cannot but wonder that Socrates, who by his meekness
and humility hath humanized philosophy, should not call this sign
a sneeze or a voice, but very pretendingly a Daemon; when, on the
contrary, I should have wondered if a man so critical and exact in
discourse, and so good at names as Socrates, should have said that it
was a sneeze, and not a Daemon, that gave him intimation; as much as if
any one should say that he is wounded by a dart, and not with a dart
by him that threw it; or as if any one should say that a weight was
weighed by the balance, and not with the balance by the one who holds
it. For any effect is not the effect of the instrument, but of him
whose the instrument is, and who useth it to that effect; and a sign is
an instrument, which he that signifies any thing thereby useth to that
effect. But, as I said before, if Simmias hath any thing about this
matter, let us quietly attend; for no doubt he must have a more perfect
knowledge of the thing.
13. Content, said Theocritus; but let us first see who these are that
are coming, for I think I see Epaminondas bringing in the stranger.
Upon this motion, looking toward the door, we saw Epaminondas with his
friends Ismenidorus and Bacchylidas and Melissus the musician leading
the way, and the stranger following, a man of no mean presence; his
meekness and good-nature appeared in his looks, and his dress was
grave and becoming. He being seated next Simmias, my brother next me,
and the rest as they pleased, and all silent, Simmias speaking to my
brother said: Well, Epaminondas, by what name and title must I salute
this stranger?—for those are commonly our first compliments, and the
beginning of our better acquaintance. And my brother replied: His name,
Simmias, is Theanor; by birth he is a Crotonian, a philosopher by
profession, no disgrace to Pythagoras’s fame; for he hath taken a long
voyage from Italy hither, to evidence by generous actions his eminent
proficiency in that school.
The stranger subjoined: But you, Epaminondas, hinder the performance
of the best action; for if it is commendable to oblige friends, it is
not discommendable to be obliged; for a benefit requires a receiver
as well as a giver; by both it is perfected, and becomes a good work.
For he that refuseth to receive a favor, as a ball that is struck
fairly to him, disgraceth it by letting it fall short of the designed
mark; and what mark are we so much pleased to hit or vexed to miss,
as our kind intentions of obliging a person that deserves a favor? It
is true, when the mark is fixed, he that misseth can blame nobody but
himself; but he that refuseth or flies a kindness is injurious to the
favor in not letting it attain the desired end. I have told you already
what was the occasion of my voyage; the same I would discover to all
present, and make them judges in the case. For after the opposite
faction had expelled the Pythagoreans, and the Cylonians had burned the
remains of that society in their school at Metapontum, and destroyed
all but Philolaus and Lysis,—who being young and nimble escaped the
flame,—Philolaus flying to the Lucanians was there protected by his
friends, who rose for his defence and overpowered the Cylonians; but
where Lysis was, for a long time nobody could tell; at last Gorgias the
Leontine, sailing from Greece to Italy, seriously told Arcesus that he
met and discoursed Lysis at Thebes. Arcesus, being very desirous to
see the man, as soon as he could get a passage, designed to put to sea
himself; but age and weakness coming on, he took care that Lysis should
be brought to Italy alive, if possible; but if not, the relics of his
body. The intervening wars, usurpations, and seditions hindered his
friends from doing it whilst he lived; but since his death, Lysis’s
Daemon hath made very frequent and very plain discoveries to us of his
death; and many that were very well acquainted with the matter have
told us how courteously you received and civilly entertained him, how
in your poor family he was allowed a plentiful subsistence for his age,
counted a father of your sons, and died in peace. I therefore, although
a young man and but one single person, have been sent by many who are
my elders, and who, having store of money, offer it gladly to you who
need it, in return for the gracious friendship bestowed upon Lysis.
Lysis, it is true, is buried nobly, and your respect, which is more
honorable than a monument, must be acknowledged and requited by his
familiars and his friends.
14. When the stranger had said this, my father wept a considerable
time, in memory of Lysis; but my brother, smiling upon me, as he used
to do, said: What do we do, Caphisias? Are we to give up our poverty
to wealth, and yet be silent? By no means, I replied, let us part with
our old friend and the excellent breeder of our youth; but defend
her cause, for you are to manage it. My dear father, said he, I have
never feared that wealth would take possession of our house, except
on account of Caphisias’s body; for that wants fine attire, that he
may appear gay and gaudy to his numerous company of lovers, and great
supplies of food, that he may be strong to endure wrestling and other
exercises of the ring. But since he doth not give up poverty, since
he holds fast his hereditary want, like a color, since he, a youth,
prides himself in frugality, and is very well content with his present
state, what need have we, and what shall we do with wealth? Shall we
gild our arms? Shall we, like Nicias the Athenian, adorn our shield
with gold, purple, and other gaudy variety of colors, and buy for you,
sir, a Milesian cloak, and for my mother a purple gown? For I suppose
we shall not consume any upon our belly, or feast more sumptuously
than we did before, treating this wealth as a guest of quality and
honor! Away, away, son, replied my father; let me never see such a
change in our course of living. Well, said my brother, we would not
lie lazily at home, and watch over our unemployed riches; for then the
bestower’s kindness would be a trouble, and the possession infamous.
What need then, said my father, have we of wealth? Upon this account,
said Epaminondas, when Jason, the Thessalian general, lately sent me a
great sum of money and desired me to accept it, I was thought rude and
unmannerly for telling him that he was a knave for endeavoring, whilst
he himself loved monarchy, to bribe one of democratical principles
and a member of a free state. Your good will, sir (addressing the
stranger), which is generous and worthy a philosopher, I accept and
passionately admire; but you offer physic to your friends who are
in perfect health! If, upon a report that we were distressed and
overpowered, you had brought men and arms to our assistance, but being
arrived had found all in quietness and peace, I am certain you would
not have thought it necessary to leave those supplies which we did not
then stand in need of. Thus, since now you came to assist us against
poverty as if we had been distressed by it, and find it very peaceable
and our familiar inmate, there is no need to leave any money or arms to
suppress that which gives us no trouble or disturbance. But tell your
acquaintance that they use riches well, and have friends here that use
poverty as well. What was spent in keeping and burying Lysis, Lysis
himself hath sufficiently repaid, by many profitable instructions, and
by teaching us not to think poverty a grievance.
15. What then, said Theanor, is it mean to think poverty a grievance?
Is it not absurd to fly and be afraid of riches, if no reason, but
an hypocritical pretence, narrowness of mind, or pride, prompts one
to reject the offer? And what reason, I wonder, would refuse such
advantageous and creditable enjoyments as Epaminondas now doth? But,
sir,—for your answer to the Thessalian about this matter shows you very
ready,—pray answer me, do you think it commendable in some cases to
give money, but always unlawful to receive it? Or are the givers and
receivers equally guilty of a fault? By no means, replied Epaminondas;
but, as of any thing else, so the giving and receiving of money is
sometimes commendable and sometimes base. Well then, said Theanor,
if a man, gives willingly what he ought to give, is not that action
commendable in him? Yes. And when it is commendable in one to give, is
it not as commendable in another to receive? Or can a man more honestly
accept a gift from any one, than from him that honestly bestows? No.
Well then, Epaminondas, suppose of two friends, one hath a mind to
present, the other must accept. It is true, in a battle we should avoid
that enemy who is skilful in hurling his weapon; but in civilities
we should neither fly nor thrust back that friend that makes a kind
and genteel offer. And though poverty is not so grievous, yet on the
other side, wealth is not so mean and despicable a thing. Very true,
replied Epaminondas; but you must consider that sometimes, even when a
gift is honestly bestowed, he is more commendable who refuses it. For
we have many lusts and desires, and the objects of those desires are
many. Some are called natural; these proceed from the very constitution
of our body, and tend to natural pleasures; others are acquired,
and rise from vain opinions and mistaken notions; yet these by the
length of time, ill habits, and bad education are usually improved,
get strength, and debase the soul more than the other natural and
necessary passions. By custom and care any one, with the assistance of
reason, may free himself from many of his natural desires. But, sir,
all our arts, all our force of discipline, must be employed against
the superfluous and acquired appetites; and they must be restrained
or cut off by the guidance or edge of reason. For if the contrary
applications of reason can make us forbear meat and drink, when
hungry or thirsty, how much more easy is it to conquer covetousness
or ambition, which will be destroyed by a bare restraint from their
proper objects, and a non-attainment of their desired end? And pray,
sir, are you not of the same opinion? Yes, replied the stranger. Then,
sir, continued Epaminondas, do you not perceive a difference between
the exercise itself and the work to which the exercise relates? For
instance, in a wrestler, the work is the striving with his adversary
for the crown, the exercise is the preparation of his body by diet,
wrestling, or the like. So in virtue, you must confess the work to be
one thing and the exercise another. Very well, replied the stranger.
Then, continued Epaminondas, let us first examine whether to abstain
from the base unlawful pleasures is the exercise of continence, or the
work and evidence of that exercise? The work and evidence, replied the
stranger. But is not the exercise of it such as you practise, when
after wrestling, where you have raised your appetites like ravenous
beasts, you stand a long while at a table covered with plenty and
variety of meats, and then give it to your servants to feast on, whilst
you offer mean and spare diet to your subdued appetites? For abstinence
from lawful pleasure is exercise against unlawful. Very well, replied
the stranger. So, continued Epaminondas, justice is exercise against
covetousness and love of money; but so is not a mere cessation from
stealing or robbing our neighbor. So he that doth not betray his
country or friends for gold doth not exercise against covetousness, for
the law perhaps deters, and fear restrains him; but he that refuseth
just gain and such as the law allows, voluntarily exercises, and
secures himself from being bribed or receiving any unlawful present.
For when great, hurtful, and base pleasures are proposed, it is very
hard for any one to contain himself, who hath not often despised those
which he had power and opportunity to enjoy. Thus, when base bribes and
considerable advantages are offered, it will be difficult to refuse,
unless he hath long ago rooted out all thoughts of gain and love of
money; for other desires will nourish and increase that appetite, and
he will easily be drawn to any unjust action who can scarce forbear
reaching out his hand to a proffered present. But he that will not
lay himself open to the favors of friends and the gifts of kings, but
refuseth even what Fortune proffers, and keeps off his appetite, that
is eager after and (as it were) leaps forward to an appearing treasure,
is never disturbed or tempted to unlawful actions, but hath great and
brave thoughts, and hath command over himself, being conscious of none
but generous designs. I and Caphisias, dear Simmias, being passionate
admirers of such men, beg the stranger to suffer us to be taught and
exercised by poverty to attain that height of virtue and perfection.
16. My brother having finished this discourse, Simmias, nodding twice
or thrice, said: Epaminondas is a great man, but this Polymnis is the
cause of his greatness, who gave his children the best education, and
bred them philosophers. But, sir, you may end this dispute at leisure
among yourselves. As for Lysis (if it is lawful to discover it), pray,
sir, do you design to take him out of his tomb and transport him into
Italy, or leave him here amongst his friends and acquaintance, who
shall be glad to lie by him in the grave? And Theanor with a smile
answered: Lysis, good Simmias, no doubt is very well pleased with the
place, for Epaminondas supplied him with all things necessary and
fitting. But the Pythagoreans have some particular funeral ceremonies,
which if any one wants, we conclude he did not make a proper and
happy exit. Therefore, as soon as we learned from some dreams that
Lysis was dead (for we have certain marks to know the apparitions of
the living from images of the dead), most began to think that Lysis,
dying in a strange country, was not interred with the due ceremonies,
and therefore ought to be removed to Italy that he might receive them
there. I coming upon this design, and being by the people of the
country directed to the tomb, in the evening poured out my oblations,
and called upon the soul of Lysis to come out and direct me in this
affair. The night drawing on, I saw nothing indeed, but thought I heard
a voice saying: Move not those relics that ought not to be moved, for
Lysis’s body was duly and religiously interred; and his soul is sent
to inform another body, and committed to the care of another Daemon.
And early this morning, asking Epaminondas about the manner of Lysis’s
burial, I found that Lysis had taught him as far as the incommunicable
mysteries of our sect; and that the same Daemon that waited on Lysis
presided over him, if I can guess at the pilot from the sailing of
the ship. The paths of life are large, but in few are men directed
by the Daemons. When Theanor had said this, he looked attentively on
Epaminondas, as if he designed a fresh search into his nature and
inclinations.
17. At the same instant the chirurgeon coming in unbound Simmias’s leg
and prepared to dress it; and Phyllidas entering with Hipposthenides,
extremely concerned, as his very countenance discovered, desired me,
Charon, and Theocritus to withdraw into a private corner of the porch.
And I asking, Phyllidas, hath any new thing happened?—Nothing new to
me, he replied, for I knew and told you that Hipposthenides was a
coward, and therefore begged you not to communicate the matter to him
or make him an associate. We seeming all surprised, Hipposthenides
cried out: For Heaven’s sake, Phyllidas, don’t say so, don’t think
rashness to be bravery, and blinded by that mistake ruin both us and
the commonwealth; but, if it must be so, let the exiles return again in
peace. And Phyllidas in a passion replied, How many, Hipposthenides,
do you think are privy to this design? Thirty I know engaged. And why
then, continued Phyllidas, would you singly oppose your judgment to
them all, and ruin those measures they have all taken and agreed to?
What had you to do to send a messenger to desire them to return and not
approach to-day, when even chance encouraged and all things conspired
to promote the design?
These words of Phyllidas troubled every one; and Charon, looking
very angrily upon Hipposthenides, said: Thou coward! what hast thou
done? No harm, replied Hipposthenides, as I will make appear if you
will moderate your passion and hear what your gray-headed equal can
allege. If, Phyllidas, we were minded to show our citizens a bravery
that sought danger, and a heart that contemned life, there is day
enough before us; why should we wait till the evening? Let us take
our swords presently, and assault the tyrants. Let us kill, let us be
killed, and be prodigal of our blood. If this may be easily performed
or endured, and if it is no easy matter by the loss of two or three
men to free Thebes from so great an armed power as possesses it, and
to beat out the Spartan garrison,—for I suppose Phyllidas hath not
provided wine enough at his entertainment to make all Archias’s guard
of fifteen hundred men drunk; or if we despatch him, yet Arcesus and
Herippidas will be sober, and upon the watch,—why are we so eager to
bring our friends and families into certain destruction, especially
since the enemy hath some notice of their return? For why else should
the Thespians for these three days be commanded to be in arms and
follow the orders of the Spartan general? And I hear that to-day,
after examination before Archias when he returns, they design to
put Amphitheus to death; and are not these strong proofs that our
conspiracy is discovered? Is it not the best way to stay a little,
until an atonement is made and the Gods reconciled? For the diviners,
having sacrificed an ox to Ceres, said that the burnt offering
portended a great sedition and danger to the commonwealth. And besides,
Charon, there is another thing which particularly concerns you; for
yesterday Hypatodorus, the son of Erianthes, a very honest man and my
good acquaintance, but altogether ignorant of our design, coming out of
the country in my company, accosted me thus: Charon is an acquaintance
of yours, Hipposthenides, but no great crony of mine; yet, if you
please, advise him to take heed of some imminent danger, for I had a
very odd dream relating to some such matter. Last night methought I
saw his house in travail; and he and his friends, extremely perplexed,
fell to their prayers round about the house. The house groaned, and
sent out some inarticulate sounds; at last a raging fire broke out of
it, and consumed the greatest part of the city; and the castle Cadmea
was covered all over with smoke, but not fired. This was the dream,
Charon, that he told me. I was startled at the present, and that fear
increased when I heard that the exiles intended to come to-day to your
house, and I am very much afraid that we shall bring mighty mischiefs
on ourselves, yet do our enemies no proportionable harm, but only give
them a little disturbance; for I think the city signifies us, and the
castle (as it is now in their power) them.
18. Then Theocritus putting in, and enjoining silence on Charon, who
was eager to reply, said: As for my part, Hipposthenides, though all
my sacrifices were of good omen to the exiles, yet I never found any
greater inducement to go on than the dream you mentioned; for you say
that a great and bright fire, rising out of a friend’s house, caught
the city, and that the habitation of the enemies was blackened with
smoke, which never brings any thing better than tears and disturbance;
that inarticulate sounds broke out from us shows that none shall make
any clear and full discovery; only a blind suspicion shall arise, and
our design shall appear and have its desired effect at the same time.
And it is very natural that the diviners should find the sacrifices
ill-omened; for both their office and their victims belong not to the
public, but to the men in power. Whilst Theocritus was speaking, I
said to Hipposthenides, Whom did you send with this message? for if it
was not long ago, we will follow him. Indeed, Caphisias, he replied,
it is unlikely (for I must tell the truth) that you should overtake
him, for he is upon the best horse in Thebes. You all know the man,
he is master of the horse to Melon, and Melon from the very beginning
hath made him privy to the design. And I, observing him to be at the
door, said: What, Hipposthenides, is it Clido, he that last year at
Juno’s feast won the single horse-race? Yes, the very same. Who then,
continued I, is he that hath stood a pretty while at the court-gate and
gazed upon us? At this Hipposthenides turning about cried out: Clido,
by Hercules! I’ll lay my life some unlucky accident hath happened.
Clido, observing that we took notice of him, came softly from the gate
towards us; and Hipposthenides giving him a nod and bidding him deliver
his message to the company, for they were all sure friends and privy
to the whole plot, he began: Sir, I know the men very well, and not
finding you either at home or in the market-place, I guessed you were
with them, and came directly hither to give you a full account of the
present posture of affairs. You commanded me with all possible speed
to meet the exiles upon the mountain, and accordingly I went home to
take horse, and called for my bridle; my wife said it was mislaid,
and stayed a long time in the hostry, tumbling about the things and
pretending to look carefully after it; at last, when she had tired my
patience, she confessed that her neighbor’s wife had borrowed it last
night; this raised my passion and I chid her, and she began to curse,
and wished me a bad journey and as bad a return; all which curses, pray
God, may fall upon her own head. At last my passion grew high, and I
began to cudgel her, and presently the neighbors and women coming in,
there was fine work; I am so bruised that it was as much as I could do
to come hither to desire you to employ another man, for I protest I am
amazed and in a very bad condition.
19. Upon this news we were strangely altered. Just before we were
angry with the man that endeavored to put it off; and now the time
approaching, the very minute just upon us, and it being impossible to
defer the matter, we found ourselves in great anxiety and perplexity.
But I, speaking to Hipposthenides and taking him by the hand, bade
him be of good courage, for the Gods themselves seemed to invite us
to action. Presently we parted. Phyllidas went home to prepare his
entertainment, and to make Archias drunk as soon as conveniently
he could; Charon went to his house to receive the exiles; and I
and Theocritus went back to Simmias again, that having now a good
opportunity, we might discourse with Epaminondas.
20. We found them engaged in a notable dispute, which Galaxidorus and
Phidolaus had touched upon before; the subject of the enquiry was
this,—What kind of substance or power was the famed Daemon of Socrates?
Simmias’s reply to Galaxidorus’s discourse we did not hear; but he
said that, having once asked Socrates about it and received no answer,
he never repeated the same question; but he had often heard him
declare those to be vain pretenders who said they had seen any divine
apparition, while to those who affirmed that they heard a voice he
would gladly hearken, and would eagerly enquire into the particulars.
And this upon consideration gave us probable reasons to conjecture that
this Daemon of Socrates was not an apparition, but rather a sensible
perception of a voice, or an apprehension of some words, which after
an unaccountable manner affected him; as in a dream there is no real
voice, yet we have fancies and apprehensions of words which make us
imagine that we hear some speak. This perception in dreams is usual,
because the body whilst we are asleep is quiet and undisturbed; but
when we are awake, meaner thoughts creep in, and we can hardly bring
our souls to observe better advertisements. For being in a hurry of
tumultuous passions and distracting business, we cannot compose our
mind or make it listen to the discoveries. But Socrates’s understanding
being pure, free from passion, and mixing itself with the body no
more than necessity required, was easy to be moved and apt to take an
impression from every thing that was applied to it; now that which was
applied was not a voice, but more probably a declaration of a Daemon,
by which the very thing that it would declare was immediately and
without audible voice represented to his mind. Voice is like a stroke
given to the soul, which receives speech forcibly entering at the ears
whilst we discourse; but the understanding of a more excellent nature
affects a capable soul, by applying the very thing to be understood to
it, so that there is no need of another stroke. And the soul obeys,
as it stretches or slackens her affections, not forcibly, as if it
wrought by contrary passions, but smoothly and gently, as if it moved
flexible and loose reins. And sure nobody can wonder at this, that hath
observed what great ships of burden are turned by a small helm, or seen
a potter’s wheel move round by the gentle touch of one finger. These
are lifeless things, it is true; but being of a frame fit for motion,
by reason of their smoothness, they yield to the least impulse. The
soul of man, being stretched with a thousand inclinations, as with
cords, is the most tractable instrument that is, and if once rationally
excited, easy to be moved to the object that is to be conceived;
for here the beginnings of the passions and appetites spread to the
understanding mind, and that being once agitated, they are drawn back
again, and so stretch and raise the whole man. Hence you may guess how
great is the force of a conception when it hath entered the mind; for
the bones that are insensible, the nerves, the flesh that is full of
humors, and the heavy mass composed of all these, lying quiet and at
rest, as soon as the soul gives the impulse and raiseth an appetite
to move towards any object, are all roused and invigorated, and every
member seems a wing to carry it forward to action. Nor is it impossible
or even very difficult to conceive the manner of this motion and
stirring, by which the soul having conceived any thing draweth after
her, by means of appetites, the whole mass of the body. But inasmuch
as language, apprehended without any sensible voice, easily excites;
so, in my opinion, the understanding of a superior nature and a more
divine soul may excite an inferior soul, touching it from without,
like as one speech may touch and rouse another, and as light causes
its own reflection. We, it is true, as it were groping in the dark,
find out one another’s conceptions by the voice; but the conceptions
of the Daemons carry a light with them, and shine to those that are
able to perceive them, so that there is no need of words such as men
use as signs to one another, seeing thereby only the images of the
conceptions, and being unable to see the conceptions themselves unless
they enjoy a peculiar and (as I said before) a divine light. This
may be illustrated from the nature and effect of voice; for the air
being formed into articulate sounds, and made all voice, transmits the
conception of the soul to the hearer; so that it is no wonder if the
air, that is very apt to take impressions, being fashioned according
to the object conceived by a more excellent nature, signifies that
conception to some divine and extraordinary men. For as a stroke upon a
brazen shield, when the noise ariseth out of a hollow, is heard only by
those who are in a convenient position, and is not perceived by others;
so the speeches of the Daemon, though indifferently applied to all, yet
sound only to those who are of a quiet temper and sedate mind, and such
as we call holy and divine men. Most believe that Daemons communicate
some illuminations to men asleep, but think it strange and incredible
that they should communicate the like to them whilst they are awake
and have their senses and reason vigorous; as wise a fancy as it is to
imagine that a musician can use his harp when the strings are slack,
but cannot play when they are screwed up and in tune. For they do not
consider that the effect is hindered by the unquietness and incapacity
of their own minds; from which inconveniences our friend Socrates was
free, as the oracle assured his father whilst he was a boy. For that
commanded him to let young Socrates do what he would, not to force or
draw him from his inclinations, but let the boy’s humor have its free
course; to beg Jupiter’s and the Muses’ blessing upon him, and take no
farther care, intimating that he had a good guide to direct him, that
was better than ten thousand tutors and instructors.
21. This, Phidolaus, was my notion of Socrates’s Daemon, whilst he
lived and since his death; and I look upon all they mention about
omens, sneezings, or the like, to be dreams and fooleries. But what
I heard Timarchus discourse upon the same subject, lest some should
think I delight in fables, perhaps it is best to conceal. By no means,
cried Theocritus, let’s have it; for though they do not perfectly agree
with it, yet I know many fables that border upon truth; but pray first
tell us who this Timarchus was, for I never was acquainted with the
man. Very likely, Theocritus, said Simmias; for he died when he was
very young, and desired Socrates to bury him by Lampocles, the son of
Socrates, who was his dear friend, of the same age, and died not many
days before him. He being eager to know (for he was a fine youth, and
a beginner in philosophy) what Socrates’s Daemon was, acquainting none
but Cebes and me with his design, went down into Trophonius’s cave, and
performed all the ceremonies that were requisite to gain an oracle.
There he stayed two nights and one day, so that his friends despaired
of his return and lamented him as lost; but the next morning he came
out with a very cheerful countenance, and having adored the God, and
freed himself from the thronging inquisitive crowd, he told us many
wonderful things that he had seen and heard; for this was his relation.
22. As soon as he entered, a thick darkness surrounded him; then, after
he had prayed, he lay a long while upon the ground, but was not certain
whether awake or in a dream, only he imagined that a smart stroke fell
upon his head, and that through the parted sutures of his skull his
soul fled out; which being now loose, and mixed with a purer and more
lightsome air, was very jocund and well pleased; it seemed to begin to
breathe, as if till then it had been almost choked, and grew bigger
than before, like a sail swollen by the wind; then he heard a small
noise whirling round his head, very sweet and ravishing, and looking up
he saw no earth, but certain islands shining with a gentle fire, which
interchanged colors according to the different variation of the light,
innumerable and very large, unequal, but all round. These whirling, it
is likely, agitated the ether, and made that sound; for the ravishing
softness of it was very agreeable to their even motions. Between these
islands there was a large sea or lake which shone very gloriously,
being adorned with a gay variety of colors mixed with blue; some few of
the islands swam in this sea, and were carried to the other side of the
current; others, and those the most, were carried up and down, tossed,
whirled, and almost overwhelmed.
The sea in some places seemed very deep, especially toward the south,
in other parts very shallow; it ebbed and flowed, but the tides
were neither high nor strong; in some parts its color was pure and
sea-green, in others it looked muddy and as troubled as a pool. The
current brings those islands that were carried over to the other side
back again; but not to the same point, so that their motions are not
exactly circular, but winding. About the middle of these islands,
the ambient sea seemed to bend into a hollow, a little less, as it
appeared to him, than eight parts of the whole. Into this sea were two
entrances, by which it received two opposite fiery rivers, running in
with so strong a current, that it spread a fiery white over a great
part of the blue sea. This sight pleased him very much; but when he
looked downward, there appeared a vast chasm, round, as if he had
looked into a divided sphere, very deep and frightful, full of thick
darkness, which was every now and then troubled and disturbed. Thence a
thousand howlings and bellowings of beasts, cries of children, groans
of men and women, and all sorts of terrible noises reached his ears;
but faintly, as being far off and rising through the vast hollow; and
this terrified him exceedingly.
A little while after, an invisible thing spoke thus to him: Timarchus,
what dost thou desire to understand? And he replied, Every thing; for
what is there that is not wonderful and surprising? We have little
to do with those things above, they belong to other Gods; but as for
Proserpina’s quarter, which is one of the four (as Styx divides them)
that we govern, you may visit it if you please. But what is Styx? The
way to hell, which reaches to the contrary quarter, and with its head
divides the light; for, as you see, it rises from hell below, and as it
rolls on touches also the light, and is the limit of the extremest part
of the universe. There are four divisions of all things; the first is
of life, the second of motion, the third of generation, and the fourth
of corruption. The first is coupled to the second by a unit, in the
substance invisible; the second to the third by understanding, in the
Sun; and the third to the fourth by nature, in the Moon. Over every one
of these ties a Fate, daughter of Necessity, presides; over the first,
Atropos; over the second, Clotho; and Lachesis over the third, which
is in the Moon, and about which is the whole whirl of generation. All
the other islands have Gods in them; but the Moon, belonging to earthly
Daemons, is raised but a little above Styx. Styx seizes on her once in
a hundred and seventy-seven second revolutions; and when it approaches,
the souls are startled, and cry out for fear; for hell swallows up a
great many, and the Moon receives some swimming up from below which
have run through their whole course of generation, unless they are
wicked and impure. For against such she throws flashes of lightning,
makes horrible noises, and frights them away; so that, missing their
desired happiness and bewailing their condition, they are carried down
again (as you see) to undergo another generation. But, said Timarchus,
I see nothing but stars leaping about the hollow, some carried into
it, and some darting out of it again. These, said the voice, are
Daemons; for thus it is. Every soul hath some portion of reason; a man
cannot be a man without it; but as much of each soul as is mixed with
flesh and appetite is changed, and through pain or pleasure becomes
irrational. Every soul doth not mix herself after one sort; for some
plunge themselves into the body, and so in this life their whole frame
is corrupted by appetite and passion; others are mixed as to some part,
but the purer part still remains without the body,—it is not drawn
down into it, but it swims above, and touches the extremest part of
the man’s head; it is like a cord to hold up and direct the subsiding
part of the soul, as long as it proves obedient and is not overcome by
the appetites of the flesh. That part that is plunged into the body
is called the soul, but the uncorrupted part is called the mind, and
the vulgar think it is within them, as likewise they imagine the image
reflected from a glass to be in that. But the more intelligent, who
know it to be without, call it a Daemon. Therefore those stars which
you see extinguished imagine to be souls whose whole substances are
plunged into bodies; and those that recover their light and rise from
below, that shake off the ambient mist and darkness, as if it were
clay and dirt, to be such as retire from their bodies after death;
and those that are carried up on high are the Daemons of wise men and
philosophers. But pray pry narrowly, and endeavor to discover the tie
by which every one is united to a soul. Upon this, Timarchus looked as
steadfastly as he could, and saw some of the stars very much agitated,
and some less, as the corks upon a net; and some whirled round like
a spindle, having a very irregular and uneven motion, and not being
able to run in a straight line. And thus the voice said: Those that
have a straight and regular motion belong to souls which are very
manageable, by reason of their genteel breeding and philosophical
education, and which upon earth do not plunge themselves into the foul
clay and become irrational. But those that move irregularly, sometimes
upwards, sometimes downwards, as striving to break loose from a vexing
chain, are yoked to and strive with very untractable conditions, which
ignorance and want of learning make headstrong and ungovernable.
Sometimes they get the better of the passions, and draw them to the
right side; sometimes they are drawn away by them, and sink into sin
and folly, and then again endeavor to get out. For the tie, as it were
a bridle on the irrational part of the soul, when it is pulled back,
draws in repentance for past sins, and shame for loose and unlawful
pleasures, which is a pain and stroke inflicted on the soul by a
governing and prevailing power; till by this means it becomes gentle
and manageable, and like a tamed beast, without blows or torment, it
understands the minutest direction of the Daemon. Such indeed are but
very slowly and very hardly brought to a right temper; but of that
sort which from the very beginning are governable and obedient to the
direction of the Daemon, are those prophetic souls, those intimates of
the Gods. Such was the soul of Hermodorus the Clazomenian, of which it
is reported that for several nights and days it would leave his body,
travel over many countries, and return after it had viewed things and
discoursed with persons at a great distance; till at last, by the
treachery of his wife, his body was delivered to his enemies, and they
burnt the house while the inhabitant was abroad. It is certain, this
is a mere fable. The soul never went out of the body, but it loosened
the tie that held the Daemon, and permitted it to wander; so that
this, seeing and hearing the various external occurrences, brought
in the news to it; yet those that burnt his body are even till this
time severely tormented in the deepest pit of hell. But this, youth,
you shall more clearly perceive three months hence; now depart. The
voice continuing no longer, Timarchus (as he said) turned about to
discover who it was that spoke; but a violent pain, as if his skull
had been pressed together, seized his head, so that he lost all sense
and understanding; but in a little while recovering, he found himself
in the entrance of the cave, where he at first lay down.
23. This was Timarchus’s story; and when at Athens, in the third month
after he had heard the voice, he died. We, amazed at the event, told
Socrates the whole tale. Socrates was angry with us for not discovering
it whilst Timarchus was alive; for he would very gladly have had a more
full discovery from his own mouth. I have done, Theocritus, with the
story and discourse; but pray, shall we not entreat the stranger to
discuss this point? For it is a very proper subject for excellent and
divine men. What then, said Theanor, shall we not have the opinion of
Epaminondas, who is of the same school, and as well learned as myself
in these matters? But my father with a smile said: Sir, that is his
humor; he loves to be silent, he is very cautious how he proposeth any
thing, but will hear eternally, and is never weary of an instructive
story; so that Spintharus the Tarentine, who lived with him a long
time, would often say that he never met a man that knew more, or spake
less. Therefore, pray sir, let us have your thoughts.
24. Then, said Theanor, in my opinion, that story of Timarchus
should be accounted sacred and inviolable, and consecrated to God;
and I wonder that any one should disbelieve his report, as Simmias
has related it. Swans, horses, dogs, and dragons we sometimes call
sacred; and yet we cannot believe that men are sacred and favorites
of Heaven, though we confess the love of man and not the love of
birds to be an attribute of the Deity. Now as one that loves horses
doth not take an equal care of the whole kind, but always choosing
out some one excellent, rides, trains, feeds, and loves him above the
rest; so amongst men, the superior powers, choosing, as it were, the
best out of the whole herd, breed them more carefully and nicely;
not directing them, it is true, by reins and bridles, but by reason
imparted by certain notices and signs, which the vulgar and common
sort do not understand. For neither do all dogs know the huntsman’s,
nor all horses the jockey’s signs; but those that are bred to it are
easily directed by a whistle or a hollow, and very readily obey. And
Homer seems to have understood the difference I mention; for some of
the prophets he calls augurs, some priests, some such as understood
the voice of the very Gods, were of the same mind with them, and could
foretell things; thus,
Helenus Priam’s son the same decreed,
On which consulting Gods before agreed.
And in another place,