by Plato
‘Such is the nature of the earth as a whole and of the things that are round about it. But there are many places within the earth itself, all around it wherever there are hollow regions;185 some of these are deeper and more extensive than that in which we live, others deeper than our region but with a smaller expanse, some both shallower than ours and broader. (d) (e) All these are joined together underground by many connecting channels, some narrower, some wider, through which, from one basin to another, there flows a great volume of water, monstrous unceasing subterranean rivers of waters both hot and cold; and of fire too, great rivers of fire; and many of liquid mud, some clearer, some murkier, like the rivers in Sicily that flow mud before the lava comes, and the lava stream itself. By these the several regions are filled in turn as the flood reaches them.
‘All this movement to and fro is caused by an oscillation inside the earth, and this oscillation is brought about by natural means, as follows.
‘One of the cavities in the earth is not only larger than the rest, but pierces right through from one side to the other. It is 112(a) of this that Homer speaks when he says, ‘Far, far away, where lies earth’s deepest chasm’;186 while elsewhere both he and many other poets refer to it as Tartarus. Into this gulf all the rivers flow together, and from it they flow forth again; and each acquires the nature of that part of the earth through (b) which it flows. The cause of the flowing in and out of all these streams is that the mass of liquid has no bottom or foundation; so it oscillates and surges to and fro, and the air or breath that belongs to it does the same; for it accompanies the liquid both as it rushes to the further side of the earth and as it returns to this. And just as when we breathe we exhale and inhale the breath in a continuous stream, so in this case too the breath, oscillating with the liquid, causes terrible and (c) monstrous winds as it passes in and out. So when the water retires to the so-called “lower” region the streams in the earth flow into those parts and irrigate them fully; and when in turn it ebbs from there and rushes back this way, it fills our streams again, and when they are filled they flow through their channels and through the earth; and arriving in those regions to which their ways have been severally prepared, (d) they make seas and lakes and rivers and springs. Then sinking again beneath the ground, some by way of more and further regions, others by fewer and nearer, they empty themselves once more into Tartarus, some much lower, some only a little lower than the point at which they were drawn off; but they all flow in at a level deeper than their rise. (e) Some flow in on the opposite side to that on which they came out, and others on the same side; while some make a complete circle and, winding like a snake one or even more times round the earth, descend as far as possible before they again discharge their waters. It is possible to descend in either direction as far as the centre, but no further; for either direction from the centre is uphill, whichever way the streams are flowing.
‘Among these many various mighty streams there are four in particular. The greatest of these, and the one which describes the outermost circle, is that which is called Oceanus.187 Directly opposite this and with a contrary course 113(a) is Acheron,188 which not only flows through other desolate regions but passes underground and arrives at the Acherusian Lake, where the souls of the dead for the most part come, and after staying there for certain fixed periods, longer or shorter, are sent forth again to be born as living creatures. Halfway between the two a third river tumbles forth, and near its source emerges into a great place burning with sheets of fire, where it forms a boiling lake of muddy water greater than our sea.189 From there it follows a circular course, flowing turbid and muddy, and as it winds round inside the earth it (b) comes at last to the margin of the Acherusian Lake, but does not mingle with the waters; and after many windings underground, it plunges into Tartarus at a lower point. This is the river called Pyriphlegethon, whose fiery stream belches forth jets of lava here and there in all parts of the world. Directly opposite to this in its turn the fourth river breaks out, first, they say, into a wild and dreadful place, all leaden (c) grey, which is called the Stygian region, and the lake which the in-flowing river forms is called Styx. After falling into this, and acquiring mysterious powers in its waters, the river passes underground and follows a spiral course contrary to that of Pyriphlegethon, which it meets from the opposite direction at the Acherusian Lake. This river too mingles its stream with no other waters, but circling round falls into Tartarus opposite Pyriphlegethon; and its name, the poets say, is Cocytus.
‘Such is the nature of these things.190 And when the newly (d) dead reach the place to which each is conducted by his guardian spirit, first they undergo judgement to determine those who have lived well and holily, and those who have not. Those who are judged to have lived a neutral life set out for Acheron, and embarking in those vessels which await them, are conveyed in them to the lake; and there they dwell, and undergoing purification are both absolved by punishment from any sins that they have committed, and rewarded for their good deeds, according to each man’s deserts. (e) Those who on account of the greatness of their sins are judged to be incurable – people who have committed many gross acts of sacrilege or many wicked and lawless murders or any other such crimes – these are hurled by their appropriate destiny into Tartarus, from whence they emerge no more.191
‘Others are judged to have been guilty of sins which, though great, are curable; if, for example, they have offered violence to father or mother in a fit of passion, but have spent the 114(a) rest of their lives in penitence, or if they have committed manslaughter after the same fashion. These too must be cast into Tartarus; but when this has been done and they have remained there for a year, the surge casts them out – the manslayers down Cocytus and the offenders against their parents down Pyriphlegethon. And when, as they are swept along, they come past the Acherusian Lake, there they cry (b) aloud and call upon those whom they have killed or violently abused, and calling, beg and entreat for leave to pass from the stream into the lake, and be received by them. If they prevail, they come out and there is an end of their distress; but if not, they are swept away once more into Tartarus and from there back into the rivers, and find no release from their sufferings until they prevail upon those whom they have wronged; for this is the punishment which their judge has appointed for them.
‘But those who are judged to have lived a life of surpassing holiness – these are they who are released and set free from (c) imprisonment in these regions of the earth, and passing upward to their pure abode, make their dwelling upon the earth’s surface. And of these such as have purified themselves sufficiently by philosophy live thereafter altogether without bodies, and reach habitations even more beautiful, which it is not easy to portray – nor is there time to do so now. But the reasons which we have already described provide ground enough, as you can see, Simmias, for leaving nothing undone to attain during life some measure of goodness and wisdom; for the prize is glorious and the hope great.
(d) ‘Of course, no reasonable man ought to insist that the facts are exactly as I have described them. But that either this or something very like it is a true account of our souls and their future habitations – since there is certainly evidence that the soul is deathless – this, I think, is both a fitting contention and a belief worth risking; for the risk is a noble one. We should use such accounts to enchant ourselves with;192 and that is why I have already drawn out my tale so long.
(e) ‘These are the reasons, then, for which a man can be confident about the fate of his soul – as long as in life he has abandoned those other pleasures and adornments, the bodily ones, as foreign to his purpose and likely to do more harm than good, and has devoted himself to the pleasures of acquiring knowledge, and so by adorning his soul not with a borrowed beauty but with its own – with self-control, and 115(a) goodness, and courage, and liberality, and truth – has settled down to await his journey to the next world. You, Simmias and Cebes and the rest, will each make this journey some day in the future; but “for me the fa
ted hour” (as a tragic character might say) “calls even now”. In other words, it is about time that I took my bath. I prefer to have a bath before drinking the poison, rather than give the women the trouble of washing me when I am dead.’
Socrates’ last moments, and the release of his soul.
When he had finished speaking, Crito said, ‘Very well, (b) Socrates. But have you no directions for the others or myself about your children or anything else? What can we do to please you best?’
‘Nothing new, Crito,’ said Socrates; ‘just what I am always telling you. If you look after your own selves, whatever you do will please me and mine and you too, even if you don’t agree with me now. On the other hand, if you neglect yourselves and fail in life to follow the track that we have spoken of both now and in the past, however fervently you agree (c) with me now, it will do no good at all.’
‘We shall be keen to do as you say,’ said Crito. ‘But how shall we bury you?’
‘Any way you like,’ replied Socrates, ‘that is, if you can catch me and I don’t slip through your fingers.’ He laughed gently as he spoke, and turning to us went on: ‘I can’t persuade Crito that I am this Socrates here who is talking to you now and marshalling all the arguments; he thinks that I am the corpse whom he will see presently lying dead; and he asks (d) how he is to bury me! As for my long and elaborate explanation that when I have drunk the poison I shall remain with you no longer, but depart to a world of happiness that belongs to the blessed, my words seem to be wasted on him though I console both you and myself. You must give an assurance to Crito for me – the opposite of the one which he gave to the court which tried me. (e) He undertook that I should stay; but you must assure him that when I am dead I shall not stay, but depart and be gone. That will help Crito to bear it more easily, and keep him from being distressed on my account when he sees my body being burned or buried, as if something dreadful were happening to me, or from saying at the funeral that it is Socrates whom he is laying out or carrying to the grave or burying. Believe me, my dear friend Crito: misstatements are not merely jarring in their immediate context; they also have a bad effect upon the soul. No, you must keep up your spirits and say that it is only my body that you are burying; and you can bury it 116(a) as you please, in whatever way you think is most proper.’
With these words he got up and went into another room to bathe; and Crito went after him, but told us to wait. So we waited, discussing and reviewing what had been said, or else dwelling upon the greatness of the calamity which had befallen us; for we felt just as though we were losing a father and should be orphans for the rest of our lives. Meanwhile, (b) when Socrates had taken his bath, his children were brought to see him – he had two little sons and one big boy – and the women of his household – you know – arrived. He talked to them in Crito’s presence and gave them directions about carrying out his wishes; then he told the women and children to go away, and came back himself to join us.
It was now nearly sunset, because he had spent a long time inside. He came and sat down, fresh from the bath, and he had only been talking for a few minutes when the prison (c) officer came in, and walked up to him. ‘Socrates,’ he said, ‘at any rate I shall not have to find fault with you, as I do with others, for getting angry with me and cursing when I tell them to drink the poison – carrying out the magistrates’ orders.193 I have come to know during this time that you are the noblest and the gentlest and the bravest of all the men that have ever come here, and now especially I am sure that you are not angry with me, but with them; because you know who are
(d) responsible. So now – you know what I have come to say – goodbye, and try to bear what must be as easily as you can.’ As he spoke he burst into tears, and turning round, began to go away.
Socrates looked up at him and said, ‘Goodbye to you, too; we will do as you say.’ Then addressing us he went on, ‘What a charming person! All the time I have been here he has visited me, and sometimes had discussions with me, and shown me the greatest kindness; and how generous of him now to shed tears at my departure! But come, Crito, let us do as he says. Someone had better bring in the poison, if it is ready prepared; if not, tell the man to prepare it.’
(e) ‘But surely, Socrates,’ said Crito, ‘the sun is still upon the mountains; it has not yet gone down. Besides, I know that in other cases people have dinner and enjoy their wine, and sometimes the company of those whom they love, long after they receive the warning; and only drink the poison quite late at night. Please don’t hurry; there is still plenty of time.’
‘It is natural that these people whom you speak of should act in that way, Crito,’ said Socrates, ‘because they think that they gain by it. And it is also natural that I should not; because I believe that I should gain nothing by drinking the poison a 117(a) little later – I should only make myself ridiculous in my own eyes if I clung to life and hugged it when it has no more to offer. Come, do as I say and don’t make difficulties.’
At this Crito made a sign to his slave, who was standing nearby. The slave went out and after spending a considerable time returned with the man who was to administer the poison; he was carrying it ready prepared in a cup. When Socrates saw him he said, ‘Well, my good fellow, you understand these things; what ought I to do?’
‘Just drink it,’ he said, ‘and then walk about until you feel a weight in your legs, and then lie down. Then it will act of (b) its own accord.’
As he spoke he handed the cup to Socrates, who received it quite cheerfully, Echecrates, without a tremor, without any change of colour or expression, and said, looking up bulllike194 from under his brows with his usual steady gaze, ‘What do you say about pouring a libation from this drink? Is it permitted, or not?’
‘We only prepare what we regard as the normal dose, Socrates,’ he replied.
(c) ‘I see,’ said Socrates. ‘But I suppose I am allowed, or rather bound, to pray the gods that my removal from this world to the other may be prosperous. This is my prayer, then; and I hope that it may be granted.’ With these words, quite calmly and with no sign of distaste, he drained the cup in one draught.
Up till this time most of us had been fairly successful in keeping back our tears; but when we saw that he was drinking, that he had actually drunk it, we could do so no longer; in spite of myself the tears came pouring out, so that I covered my face and wept broken-heartedly – not for him, but for my (d) own calamity in losing such a friend. Crito had given up even before me, and had gone out when he could not restrain his tears. (e) But Apollodorus,195 who had never stopped crying even before, now broke out into such a storm of passionate weeping that he made everyone in the room break down, except Socrates himself, who said: ‘Really, my friends, what a way to behave! Why, that was my main reason for sending away the women, to prevent this sort of discordant behaviour; because I am told that one should make one’s end in a reverent silence. Calm yourselves and be brave.’
This made us feel ashamed, and we controlled our tears. Socrates walked about, and presently, saying that his legs were heavy, lay down on his back – that was what the man recommended. The man (he was the same one who had administered the poison) kept his hand upon Socrates, and after a little while examined his feet and legs; then pinched 118a his foot hard and asked if he felt it. Socrates said no. Then he did the same to his legs; and moving gradually upwards in this way let us see that he was getting cold and numb. Presently he felt him again and said that when it reached the heart, Socrates would be gone.
The coldness was spreading about as far as his waist when Socrates uncovered his face – for he had covered it up – and said (they were his last words): ‘Crito, we ought to offer a cock to Asclepius.196 See to it, and don’t forget.’
‘No, it shall be done,’ said Crito. ‘Are you sure that there is nothing else?’
Socrates made no reply to this question, but after a little while he stirred; and when the man uncovered him, his eyes were fixed. When Crito saw this, he closed the mouth an
d eyes.
This, Echecrates, was the end of our comrade, who was, we may fairly say, of all those whom we knew in our time the bravest and also the wisest and the most just.
Postscript: The Theory of Ideas in the Phaedo
When the Narnia of C. S. Lewis is destroyed and like some shadow-land yields to a new and brighter Platonic Narnia beyond (in The Last Battle), it perplexes some young readers, inspires others, and produces in others a mixed reaction. Plato’s Theory of Ideas has both inspired and puzzled his readers for centuries. It is an integral part of the philosophy of his middle period, and has links with his psychology, epistemology, ethics and theology. Most in evidence in the Phaedo is the connection between the Theory of Ideas and the doctrine of immortality (i) in the final argument for immortality, (ii) in the Argument from Similarity and (iii) via the Theory of Recollection. The contrast between Ideas and particulars provides the basis for the distinction, early in the work, between the real philosopher and the ordinary man; it also lies behind the contrast between our regions of the earth and its true and beautiful surface in the myth. Thus it colours the work throughout. The pursuit of the Ideas and the cleansing of that part of us most akin to them recurs like a refrain, making it particularly difficult for those out of sympathy with this theme to read the work with an open mind.
Nowhere in his writings does Plato openly expound this theory. The Phaedo already assumes that we are quite familiar with it (76d, 100b), and we can only assume that a significant number of his intended readers (or listeners) had heard a good deal about it. If those readers were essentially the members of his own school, then the assumption is understandable, but I doubt whether he can have envisaged such a restricted market for a work that contains both propaganda and apologetic. A wider public would have known something about Plato’s philosophy from (i) his earlier published works, (ii) the published works of rival intellectuals such as Antisthenes and Isocrates, and (iii) the references to it in the comedy of the day.