But men, because of their own fear of death, misrepresent the swans and say that
they sing for sorrow, in mourning for their own death. They do not consider that
no bird sings when it is hungry or cold or has any other trouble; no, not even
the nightingale or the swallow or the hoopoe which are said to sing in
lamentation. I do not believe they sing for grief, nor do the swans;
but since they are Apollo’s birds, I believe they
have prophetic vision, and because they have foreknowledge of the blessings in
the other world they sing and rejoice on that day more than ever before. And I
think that I am myself a fellow-servant of the swans; and am consecrated to the
same God and have received from our master a gift of prophecy no whit inferior
to theirs, and that I go out from life with as little sorrow as they. So far as
this is concerned, then, speak and ask what ever questions you please, so long
as the eleven of the Athenians permit.Good, said Simmias.
I
will tell you my difficulty, and then Cebes in turn will say why he does not
agree to all you have said. I think, Socrates, as perhaps you do yourself, that
it is either impossible or very difficult to acquire clear knowledge about these
matters in this life. And yet he is a weakling who does not test in every way
what is said about them and persevere until he is worn out by studying them on
every side. For he must do one of two things; either he must learn or discover
the truth about these matters, or if that is impossible, he must take whatever
human doctrine is best
and hardest to
disprove and, embarking upon it as upon a raft, sail upon it through life in the
midst of dangers, unless he can sail upon some stronger vessel, some divine
revelation, and make his voyage more safely and securely. And so now I am not
ashamed to ask questions, since you encourage me to do so, and I shall not have
to blame myself hereafter for not saying now what I think. For, Socrates, when I
examine what has been said, either alone or with Cebes, it does not seem quite
satisfactory.
And Socrates replied:
Perhaps, my friend, you are right. But tell me in what respect it is not
satisfactory.
In this,
said he, that one might use the same argument about harmony and a lyre
with its strings.One might say that the harmony is invisible and incorporeal,
and very beautiful and
divine in the well attuned lyre, but the lyre itself and its
strings are bodies, and corporeal and composite and earthy and akin to that
which is mortal. Now if someone shatters the lyre or cuts and breaks the
strings, what if he should maintain by the same argument you employed, that the
harmony could not have perished and must still exist? For there would be no
possibility that the lyre and its strings, which are of mortal nature, still
exist after the strings are broken, and the harmony,
which is related and akin to the divine and the immortal,
perish before that which is mortal. He would say that the harmony must still
exist somewhere, and that the wood and the strings must rot away before anything
could happen to it. And I fancy, Socrates, that it must have occurred to your
own mind that we believe the soul to be something after this fashion; that our
body is strung and held together by heat, cold, moisture, dryness, and the like,
and the soul is a mixture and a harmony
of these same elements, when they are well and properly mixed. Now if the soul
is a harmony, it is clear that when the body is too much relaxed or is too
tightly strung by diseases or other ills, the soul must of necessity perish, no
matter how divine it is, like other harmonies in sounds and in all the works of
artists, and the remains of each body will endure
a long time until they are burnt or decayed. Now what shall
we say to this argument, if anyone claims that the soul, being a mixture of the
elements of the body, is the first to perish in what is called
death?Then Socrates, looking keenly at
us, as he often used to do, smiled and said: Simmias raises a fair
objection. Now if any of you is readier than I, why does he not reply to him?
For he seems to score a good point. However, I think
before replying to him we ought to hear what fault our
friend Cebes finds with our argument, that we may take time to consider what to
say, and then when we have heard them, we can either agree with them, if they
seem to strike the proper note, or, if they do not, we can proceed to argue in
defence of our reasoning. Come, Cebes, said he, tell us what it
was that troubled you.Well, I will
tell you, said Cebes.