No More Learning

Translation of Henry W. Longfellow.
I


## p. 11516 (#130) ##########################################

11516
AUGUST VON PLATEN
BEFORE THE CONVENT OF ST. JUST, 1556
From Trench's 'The Story of Justin Martyr and Other Poems,' and in 'Poets
and Poetry of Europe.
Is night, and storms continually roar;
T'S
Ye monks of Spain, now open me the door.
Here in unbroken quiet let me fare,
Save when the loud bell startles you to prayer.
Make ready for me what your house has meet,
A friar's habit and a winding-sheet.
A little cell unto my use assign:
More than the half of all this world was mine.
The head that stoops unto the scissors now,
Under the weight of many crowns did bow.
The shoulders on which now the cowl is flung,-
On them the ermine of the Cæsars hung.
I living now as dead myself behold,
And fall in ruins like this kingdom old.
THE GRAVE IN THE BUSENTO
-
BY
Y COSENZA Songs of wail at midnight wake Busento's shore;
O'er the wave resounds the answer, and amid the vortex's roar,
Valiant Goths, like spectres, steal along the banks with hurried pace,
Weeping o'er Alaric dead, the best, the bravest of his race.
Ah, too soon, from home so far, was it their lot to dig his grave,
While still o'er his shoulders flowed his youthful ringlets' flaxen
wave.
On the shore of the Busento ranged, they with each other vied,
As they dug another bed to turn the torrent's course aside.
In the waveless hollow, turning o'er and o'er the sod, the corpse
Deep into the earth they sank, in armor clad, upon his horse;
Covered then with earth again the horse and rider in the grave:
That above the hero's tomb the torrent's lofty plants might wave.
And, a second time diverted, was the flood conducted back;
Foaming rushed Busento's billows onward in their wonted track.


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AUGUST VON PLATEN
11517
And a warrior chorus sang, "Sleep with thy honors, hero brave;
Ne'er a foot of lucre-lusting Roman desecrate thy grave! "
Far and wide the songs of praise resounded in the Gothic host;
Bear them on Busento's billow! bear them on from coast to coast!
Translation of A. Baskerville.
VENICE
ENICE, calm shadow of her elder day,
VEN
Still, in the land of dreams, lives fresh and fair;
Where frowned the proud Republic's Lion, there
His empty prison-walls keep holiday.
The brazen steeds that, wet with briny spray,
On yonder church-walls shake their streaming hair,
They are the same no longer-ah! they wear
The bridle of the Corsican conqueror's sway!
Where is the people gone, the kindly race
That reared these marble piles amid the waves,
Which e'en decay invests with added grace?
Not in the brows of yon degenerate slaves
Think thou the traits of their great sires to trace; -
Go, read them, hewn in stone, on doges' graves!
Translation of Charles T. Brooks.
"FAIR AS THE DAY »
F
AIR as the day that bodes as fair a morrow,
With noble brow, with eyes in heaven's dew,
Of tender years, and charming as the new,
So found I thee,- so found I too my sorrow.
Oh, could I shelter in thy bosom borrow,
There most collected where the most unbent!
Oh, would this coyness were already spent,
That aye adjourns our union till to-morrow!
But canst thou hate me ? Art thou yet unshaken?
Wherefore refusest thou the soft confession
To him who loves, yet feels himself forsaken ?
Oh, when thy future love doth make expression,
An anxious rapture will the moment waken,
As with a youthful prince at his accession!
From Longfellow's Poets and Poetry of Europe. Translator anonymous.


## p. 11518 (#132) ##########################################

11518
AUGUST VON PLATEN
TO SCHELLING
I
S HE not also Beauty's sceptre bearing,
Who holds in Truth's domain the kingly right?
Thou seest in the Highest both unite,
Like long-lost melodies together pairing.
Thou wilt not scorn the dainty motley band,
With clang of foreign music hither faring,
A little gift for thee, from Morning Land;
Thou wilt discern the beauty they are wearing.
Among the flowers, forsooth, of distant valleys,
I hover like the butterfly, that clings
To summer sweets and with a trifle dallies;
But thou dost dip thy holy, honeyed wings,
Beyond the margin of the world's flower-chalice,
Deep, deep into the mystery of things.
From Longfellow's Poets and Poetry of Europe. '
Translator anonymous.
VOLUNTARY EXILE
MY
Y RANGING spirit seeks the far and wide,
And fain would soar and ever further soar:
I never long could linger on one shore,
Though Paradise should bloom on every side.
My spirit, sore perplexed and inly tried,
In this short life must often needs deplore
How easy 'tis to leave the homestead door;
But ah, how bitter elsewhere to abide!
Yet whoso hates things base with fervid soul,
Is driven from his country in despair,
When men, grown sordid, seek a sordid goal.
Far wiser then the exile's lot to share,
Than 'midst a folk that plays a childish rôle
The yoke of blind plebeian hatred bear.
Translation of Charles Harvey Genung.


## p. 11519 (#133) ##########################################

11519
PLATO
(427-347 B. C. )
BY PAUL SHOREY
LATO, the first of philosophers, and the only writer of prose
who ranks in the literature of power with the bibles and
supreme poets of the world, was born at Athens in the year
427 B. C. , and died in the year 347. His youth was contemporaneous
with that fatal Peloponnesian war in which the Athens of Pericles
dissipated, in a fratricidal contest, the energies that might have pro-
longed the flowering season of the Greek genius for another century.
His maturity and old age were passed as writer and teacher in the
subdued and chastened Athens of the restoration, whose mission it
was, as schoolmaster of Greece, to disengage the spirit of Hellen-
ism from local and temporal accidents, and prepare it—not without
some loss of native charm-for assimilation by the Hellenistic, the
Roman, the modern world. Like his pupil the Stagirite Aristotle, he
embraces in the compass of his thoughts the entire experience, and
reflective criticism of life, of the Greek race. But because he was an
Athenian born, and had nourished his mighty youth on the still living
traditions of the great age, he transmits the final outcome of Greek
culture to us in no quintessential distillation of abstract formulas, but
in vivid dramatic pictures that make us actual participants in the
spiritual intoxication, the Bacchic revelry of philosophy, as Alcibiades
calls it, that accompanied the most intense, disinterested, and fruitful
outburst of intellectual activity in the annals of mankind.
It was an age of discussion. The influence of the French salon
on the tone and temper of modern European literature has been often
pointed out. But the drawing-room conversation of fine ladies and
gentlemen has its obvious limits. In the Athens of Socrates, for the
first and last time, men talked with men seriously, passionately, on
other topics than those of business or practical politics; and their
discussions created the logic, the rhetoric, the psychology, the meta-
physic, the ethical and political philosophy of western Europe, and
wrought out the distinctions, the definitions, the categories in which
all subsequent thought has been cast. The Platonic dialogues are
a dramatic idealization of that stimulating soul-communion which
Diotima celebrates as the consummation of the right love of the


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PLATO
11520
beautiful; wherein a man is copiously inspired to declare to his friend
what human excellence really is, and what are the practices and the
ways of life of the truly good man. And in addition to their formal
and inspirational value, they remain, even after the codification of
their leading thoughts in the systematic treatises of Aristotle, a still
unexhausted storehouse of ideas, which, as Emerson says, "make
great havoc of our originalities. " This incomparable suggestiveness
is due after the genius of Plato-to the wealth of virgin material
which then lay awaiting the interpretative ingenuity of these brilliant
talkers, and the synoptic eye of the philosopher who should first be
able to see the one in the many and the many in the one.
Before the recent transformation of all things by physical science,
the experience of the modern world offered little to the generalizing
philosophic mind which the Periclean Greek could not find in the
mythology, the poetry, the art, the historical vicissitudes, the colo-
nial enterprises, and the picturesquely various political life of his
race. Modern science was lacking. But the guesses of the pre-
Socratic poet-philosophers had started all its larger hypotheses, and
had attained at a bound to conceptions of evolution which, though
unverified in detail, distinctly raised all those far-reaching questions.
touching the origin and destiny of man and the validity of moral
and religious tradition, that exercise our own maturer thought.
The concentration and conscious enjoyment of this rich culture
in the intense life of imperial Athens gave rise to new ideals in edu-
cation, and to the new Spirit of the Age, embodied in the Sophists-
or professional teachers of rhetoric and of the art of getting on in
the world. Their sophistry consisted not in any positive intention of
corruption, but in the intellectual bewilderment of a broad but super-
ficial half-culture, which set them adrift with no anchorage of unques-
tioned principle or fixed faith in any kind of ultimate reality. They
thus came to regard the conflicting religious, ethical, and social ideals
of an age of transition merely as convenient themes for the execu-
tion of dialectical and rhetorical flourishes, or as forces to be esti-
mated in the shrewd conduct of the game of life.
-
Among these showy talkers moved the strange uncouth figure of
Socrates, hardly distinguished from them by the writers of comedy.
or by the multitude, and really resembling them in the temporarily.
unsettling effect, upon the mind of ingenuous youth, of his persistent
questioning of all untested conventions and traditions. Two things,
in addition to the stoic simplicity of his life, his refusal to accept
pay for his teaching, and his ironical affectation of ignorance, espe-
cially distinguish his conversation from theirs: First, a persistent
effort to clear up the intellectual confusion of the age before logic, by
insistence on definitions that shall distinguish essence from accident.


## p. 11521 (#135) ##########################################

PLATO
11521
Second, an adamantine faith in the morality of common-sense, and
in the absoluteness of the distinction between right and wrong.
Every student must decide for himself which he will accept as
the probable Socrates of history: the homely portrait of Xenophon,
or the speculative, super-subtle, mystic protagonist of these dialogues,
fertile in invention, inexhaustible in resource, equal to every situation,
seemingly all things to all men, yet guarding ever his indomitable
moral and intellectual integrity behind a veil of playful irony. This
Platonic Socrates stands out as the second religious figure of the Euro-
pean world in the fourfold gospel of his conversation, his trial, his
temptation, and his death, recorded in the 'Gorgias,' the 'Apology,'
the Crito,' and the 'Phædo. ' However much of this result criticism
may attribute to the genius of the reporter, we divine a strangely
potent personality in the very fact that he dominated to the end the
imagination of a scholar who went to school to many other influ-
ences, and who absorbed the entire culture of that wondrous age
in "a synthesis without parallel before or since. " Amid all the dra-
matic variety, the curious subtlety, the daring speculation, the poetic
Pythagorean mysticism of the later dialogues, the two chief Socratic
notes persist. There is always an effort to dissipate the clouds of
intellectual confusion by the aid of some logic of definition and rele-
vancy; and however often the quest for absolute verities loses itself
in baffling labyrinths of dialectic, or issues in an impasse of conflicting
probabilities, the faith is never lost that truth exists, may be won by.
persistent wooing, and is in the end essentially moral.
Associated with Socrates are groups of the noble youths of Athens;
with worthy burghers who are their parents, guardians, or friends, an
inner circle of earnest disciples or devoted enthusiasts attached to the
person of the master, an outer circle of local celebrities and of all the
brilliant personalities whom the policy of Pericles drew to the Pry-
taneion of Greek intellect, visiting sophists, rhetoricians, philoso-
phers. The dramatic setting is some typical scene of Athenian life.
Socrates returning from the campaign of Potidæa strolls into a gym-
nasium, inquires of the progress of the young men, and draws the
reigning favorite Charmides into a discussion of the nature and defi-
nition of that virtue of temperance which is the bloom of youthful
beauty. He is aroused at earliest dawn by the knock of the youthful
enthusiast Hippocrates, who comes breathless to announce that "Pro-
tagoras is in town," and that there is to be a great gathering of wise
men at the house of Callias. Thither they proceed, and hear and say
many things. He meets Phædrus carrying a roll under his arm, and
fresh from the rhetorical school of Lysias, and joins him in a consti-
tutional beyond the city gates while they discourse on the philosophy
of style, and incidentally on love. He is a guest at the banquet held
―
XX-721


## p. 11522 (#136) ##########################################

11522
PLATO
to celebrate the success of Agathon's new tragedy at the Dionysiac
festival; and after listening benignantly to the young men's euphuis-
tic panegyrics on the great god Love, expounds to them the lore
he learned from the wise woman Diotima; and then, as the night
wears on, drinks all the guests under the table while he proves to
Aristophanes and Agathon that the true dramatic artist will excel in
both tragedy and comedy. Turning homeward from attendance on a
religious ceremony at the Peiræus, he is constrained by the playful
importunity of a band of young friends to remain for the torchlight
race in the evening. They proceed to the house of the delightful old
man Cephalus, father of the orator Lysias, where a conversation springs
up on old age and the right use of wealth, which insensibly develops
into the long argument on the Republic or Ideal State, in which alone
justice and the happy life are perfectly typed. Condemned to drink
the hemlock "for corrupting the youth," he spends the last hours in
prison beguiling the grief of his distracted disciples with high dispu-
tations touching the immortality of the soul, striving
"-to unfold
What worlds or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind, that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook. "
The style is as various as are the themes. It ranges from homely
Socratic parable and the simple exquisite urbanity of Attic conver-
sation to the subtlest metaphysical disquisition, the loftiest flights of
poetic eloquence, the most dithyrambic imaginative mysticism. The
only limitation of this universality which the critics of antiquity could
discover was the failure (in the 'Menexenus,' for example) to achieve
sustained formal eloquence of the Demosthenic type. The thought
was too curious and subtle, the expression charged with too many
minor intentions, for that; the peculiar blending, in the Platonic dic-
tion, of colloquialism, dialectic precision, vivid imagination, and the
tone of mystic unction, unfitted it for the conventional effects of
political oratory.
But no other prose writer manifests such complete and easy mas-
tery of every note in the compass of his idiom as Plato possesses over
the resources of Greek. He not only employs all styles separately at
will, but modulates from one to the other by insensible transitions,
that can be compared only to the effects of modern music. Platonic
prose is an orchestral accompaniment of the thought; suggesting for
every nuance of the idea its appropriate mood, and shot through
with leitmotifs of reminiscence and anticipation, that bind the whole
into emotional and artistic unity. He is not only the greatest but the
first artist of an elaborate and curiously wrought prose diction.
No


## p. 11523 (#137) ##########################################

PLATO
11523
writer before him had thus combined quotation, parody, literary and
historic allusion, idiom, proverb, dialect, continued metaphor, and the
dramatically appropriated technical vocabularies of all arts, sciences,
and professions,-to' one resultant literary effect suited to his various
meanings and moods. The nice finish of Demosthenes's comparatively
simple oratorical prose was the outcome from a long evolution, and
from the labors of three generations of orators and rhetoricians. The
composite, suggestive, polychromatic, literary prose which is the ideal
of the cleverest modern writers, was created, in its perfection and
without precedent, by the genius of Plato.
The reconstruction of a systematic philosophy for Plato must be
left, in his own words, to "some very clever and laborious but not
altogether enviable man. " The notorious doctrine of Ideas is a lan-
guage, a metaphysic, a mythology. "Socrates used to ask concerning.
each thing,— as justice, friendship, or the State,- What is it? " And so
in the minor dialogues of search, the definition pursued through many
a dialectical winding in the dramatization of elementary logic came
to be regarded as a real thing to be apprehended, and not as the
mere "statement of the connotation of a term. " "The naïve childish
realism of the immature mind! " will be the confident comment of
the hasty critic. But as against the deeper meaning of Plato such
criticism is competent only to those, if any there be, who have com-
pletely solved the problem of the true nature of Universals. The
mediæval controversy still subsists under manifold disguises; and in
the last resort, as Professor James picturesquely says, "introspective
psychology is forced to throw up the sponge. " We may classify the
doctrine of Ideas as "logical realism"; but if we remember the kind
of reality which Berkeley, Kant, Schopenhauer, Shelley, and the
most delicate psychological analysis concur in attributing to the
"things" of common-sense, which Plato called shadows and copies
of the ideas, we may well surmise that the Platonic doctrine is more
nearly akin to modern psychological and poetical idealism than to the
crude logical realism of the Middle Ages. The verification of this
conjecture would take us too far afield. It is enough that general
notions, forms, essences, purposes, ideals, are in a sense as real as
brick and mortar. For Plato they are the supreme realities. The
idea of a thing, its form, identifying aspect, purpose, and true func-
tion, — these, and not its material embodiment and perishable acci-
dents, are what concern us. The very workman who makes a tool
does not copy with Chinese fidelity the accidents of an individual
pattern, but is guided by an idea of a service or function which in
the last analysis determines both material and form. Similarly the
Divine Artist may be said to have created the world by stamping, in
the limits of necessity, upon rude and shapeless chaos the informing


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PLATO
11524
types of harmonious order and his own beneficent designs. Lastly we
may transfer the analogy to the social life of man, and say that the
true educator, statesman, and ruler, is he whose soul has risen to the
apprehension of fixed eternal norms of virtue, 'law, the ideal city,
the perfectly just man,- and who has the power to mold and fashion
as nearly as may be to the likeness of these ideal types, the imper-
fectly plastic human material the "social tissue" in which he
works.
-
―――――
Thus the theory of ideas is a high poetic language, consistently
employed to affirm the precedence of soul, form, ideal, reason, and
design, over matter, body, and the accidents, irrelevancies, imper-
fections, and necessary compromises, of concrete physical existence.
«For Soul is Form, and doth the body make. ”
From this it is but a step to the imaginative mythological personi-
fication of the ideas. They are beautiful shapes, almost persons, first
beheld by the soul in pre-natal vision, and now in life's stormy voy-
age, ever fleeting before us "down the waste waters day and night,"
or gleaming "like virtue firm, like knowledge fair," through the mists
that encompass the vessel's prow. So conceived, they provide a ready
explanation or evasion of all the final problems which Plato was
both unwilling and unable to answer in the sense of an unflinching
materialistic nominalism. Our instantaneous a priori recognition of
mathematical truth, the shaping of the vague chaos of sensation in
predetermined molds of thought, the apprehension of norms of expe-
rience to which no finite experience ever conforms, our intuitions
of a beauty, a goodness, a truth, transcending anything that earth
can show, our persistent devotion to ideals that actual life always
disappoints, our postulates of a perfection that rebukes and shames
our practice, what can these things mean save that all which we
call knowledge here is a faint and troubled reminiscence of the Divine
reality once seen face to face, a refraction of the white light of
eternity by life's dome of many-colored glass, a sequence of shadow
pictures cast on the further wall of the dim cavern in which we sit
pinioned, our eyes helplessly averted from the true Light of the
World?
But Plato does not, like the pseudo-Platonists, abandon himself to
dreaming ecstasy. The theory of Ideas in its practical effect is a
doctrine of the strenuous definition and application to life of regu-
lative ideals. The multitude who lack such guiding aims live the
"untested life" which Socrates pronounced intolerable. The so-called
statesmen who fail to achieve them are blind leaders of the blind.
The establishment in the mind of a clearly defined ethical and social
ideal, as
a touchstone of the tendencies of all particular acts and


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PLATO
11525
policies, is described in the language of poetical Platonism as the
acquisition of the highest knowledge, the knowledge of the Idea of
Good, on which the value of all partial and relative "goods" depends.
The Idea of Good, supreme in the hierarchy of ideas, and last reached
in the scale and process of pure dialectic, is the sun of the intelligible
world; and like its symbol, the visible sun, is not only the fountain
of light and knowledge, but the source of motion, life, and existence.
For-to translate the image into prose-institutions, laws, and sys-
tems of government and education have their origin and find their
best explanation in the final purposes, the ultimate ethical and social
ideals, of their founders and supporters. But the knowledge of the
Idea of Good, though described as a vision, is not granted to vision-
aries. The relation of all action to a rational and consistent theory
of practice presupposes a severe discipline in dialectic. And dialectic
itself, so confusing and unsettling as practiced in imitation of Socra-
tes and the Sophists by the irresponsible youth of Athens, may be
safely studied only after a long preparatory training in all the cult-
ure and exact science of the age. Only to the elect few, who, tri-
umphantly supporting these and many other tests of mind and body,
attain the beatific vision, will Plato intrust the government of his
perfect city and the guardianship of mankind. They represent for
him the antithesis of the typical pettifoggers and brawling demagogues
of the Athens that was "dying of the triumph of the liberal party. "
For these too he shapes, in many of the dialogues, a theory of un-
scrupulous cynical practice more coherent, doubtless, than anything
in their minds, but serving in a way as an ideal of evil to oppose to
his own idea or ideal of good. It has been affirmed that Plato was a
bad citizen because he despaired of the Republic. But if we remem-
ber that, as Matthew Arnold says, Plato was right and Athens was
doomed, if we recall the excesses of the post-Periclean demagogues,
if we reflect on his bitter disillusionment in the brief tyrannical rule
of the "good-and-fair" companions of his youth, we shall not censure
him for "standing aside under a wall in a storm of dust and hurri-
cane of driving wind," or seeking refuge in the "city of which a
pattern is laid up in heaven. " "He was born to other politics. "
Platonism is much more than this doctrine of Ideas, or than any
doctrine. The dialogues, apart from their dramatic interest and lit-
erary charm, make a manifold appeal to numerous abiding instincts
and aptitudes of the human mind through dialectics, metaphysics,
mysticism, and aesthetic and ethical enthusiasm. Some hard-headed
readers will use them as an intellectual gymnastic. The thrust and
parry of logical fence, the close pursuit of a trail of ratiocination
through all the windings and apparently capricious digressions of
the argument, the ingenious détours and surprises of the Socratic


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11526
PLATO
Elenchus, the apparatus of definitions, divisions, and fine-spun distinc-
tions. these things are in themselves a pleasurable exercise to many
minds. Others seek in the dialogues the gratification of that com-
monplace metaphysical instinct which Walter Pater warns us to sup-
press.
Being and non-Being, the One and the many, the finite and
the infinite, weave their endless dance through the 'Parmenides,' the
'Sophist,' and the 'Philebus. ' We may say that it is barren logoma-
chy, the ratiocinative faculty run to seed, if we will. The history
of literature proves it what Plato called it: a persistent affection
of discourse of reason in man. Certain Platonic dialogues exercise
and gratify this instinct even more completely than Neo-Platonism,
mediæval scholasticism, Hegelianism, or the new psychological scho-
lasticism of to-day. And so, to the amazement and disgust of the
positivists, the stream of résumés, new interpretations, and paraphrases
of the 'Sophist' and 'Parmenides,' flows and will continue to flow.
Mysticism too "finds in Plato all its texts. " The yearning towards
an Absolute One, ineffable symbol of the unity which the soul is
ever striving to recover amid the dispersions of life, the impulse to
seek a spiritual counterpart for every material fact, the tantalizing
glimpses of infinite vistas beyond the ken of the bodily eye, the
aspirations that elude definition, and refuse to be shut in a formula,—
to all these
"Fallings from us, vanishings,
Blank misgivings of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,»
Plato gives full recognition, while shunning with unerring tact their
concrete superstitious developments. His mystical imagery is always
embroidered on a definite framework of thought. The attributes of
the Absolute One are deduced as systematically as a table of logical
categories. The structure of a Greek temple is not more transpar-
ently symmetrical than the allegory of the sun and the Idea of Good,
the analogy of the divided line, and the symbolism of the Cave in the
'Republic'; or than the description, in the 'Phædrus,' of the soul as
a celestial car, of which reason is the charioteer, and noble passion
and sensuous appetite are the two steeds. The visions of judgment
that close the 'Republic' and 'Gorgias' are as definite in outline as
a picture of Polygnotus. All nobler forms of mystic symbolism, from
Plotinus to Emerson, derive from Plato; all its baser developments.
from Iamblichus to the newest thaumaturgic theosophy, seek shelter
under his name.
Allied to mysticism is the quality which the eighteenth century
deprecated as enthusiasm. The intellect is suffused with feeling.
All the nobler sentiments partake of the intensity of passionate love


## p. 11527 (#141) ##########################################

PLATO
11527
and the solemnity of initiations. Hence the sage and serious doctrine
of Platonic love, whose interpretation and history would demand a
volume:-
-
"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting
And cometh from afar. »
All noble unrest and higher aspiration in this world is a striving
to recapture something of the rapture of the soul's pre-natal vision of
the Divine ideas. Now the good and the true are apprehended dimly
through the abstractions of dialectic. The idea of beauty alone finds
a not wholly inadequate visible embodiment on earth. And so the
love of beauty is the predestined guide to the knowledge of the good
and the true. In the presence of the beautiful the soul is stung by
recollection of the Idea, and yearns for an immortality which the mor-
tal can put on only through generation. To this throe, this yearn-
ing, awakened by the sight of a beautiful body, men give the special
name love.
But love in the larger sense is all passionate thirst for
happiness, all thrilling recollection of the absolute beauty, all desire to
reproduce it on earth, not merely after the flesh, but in such immor-
tal children of the spirit as the poems of Homer and Sappho, the
laws of Solon and Lycurgus, the victories of Epaminondas.
"The noble heart that harbors virtuous thought,
And is with child of glorious great intent,
Can never rest, until it forth have brought
Th' eternal brood of glory excellent. ”
For this higher love the lower is a preparation and an initiation.
Akin to this enthusiasm of the lover is the fine frenzy of the poet,
who, by visitation of the Muse, is inspired to utter many strange and
beautiful sayings, of which he can render no account under a Socratic
cross-examination. This power of the Muse resembles the magnet,
which both attracts and imparts its attractive virtue to other sub-
stances. And when a vast audience thrills with terror and pity as
the rhapsode, tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, recites the
sorrows of Priam or Hecuba, they are all dependent links in the
magnetic chain that descends from the poet and the Muse.
The Vita Nuova' of Dante, the sonnets of Michael Angelo, the
'Eroici Furori' of Bruno, the spiritual quality of the higher poetry
of the Italian and English Renaissance, and the more recent names
of Shelley, Wordsworth, and Emerson, faintly indicate the historic
influence of these beautiful conceptions.
In later years Plato's "enthusiasm" was transmuted into a pro-
phetic puritanic world-reforming temper,- the seeming antithesis of


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11528
PLATO
this gracious philosophy of love and beauty. His work was from the
beginning as intensely moralized as were the discourses of Socrates.
On whatever theme you talked with Socrates, it was said, you would
in the end be forced to render an account of the state of your soul.
And so in Plato every text is improved for edification, "the moral
properties and scope of things" are kept constantly in sight, and
the unfailing ethical suggestiveness of the style intensifies the moral
sentiment to a pitch of spiritual exaltation that makes of Platonism
one of the great religions of the world. But the age as we see it
in Thucydides, Aristophanes, and Euripides, was one of "enlighten-
ment," skepticism, and the breaking up of traditional moral restraints.
And as he watched year by year the deterioration of the Athen-
ian civic temper, and the triumph of the mocking spirit of denial,
Plato's passionate concern for the moral side of life developed into
something akin to the temper of the Hebrew prophet, preaching
righteousness to a stubborn and perverse generation, or the modern
Utopian reformer, dashing his angry heart against the corruptions of
the world. The problems which increasingly absorb his attention are
the disengagement from outworn forms of the saving truths of the
old religion and morality, the polemic defense of. this fundamental
truth against the new Spirit of the Age, and the salvation of society
by a reconstitution of education and a reconstruction of government.
These are the chief problems, again, of our own age of transition;
and the 'Republic,' in which they find their ripest and most artistic
treatment, might seem a book of yesterday- or to-morrow.
The
division of labor, specialization, the formation of a trained standing
army, the limitation of the right of private property, the industrial
and political equality of women, the improvement of the human
breed by artificial selection, the omnipotence of public opinion, the
reform of the letter of the creeds to save their spirit, the proscrip-
tion of unwholesome art and literature, the reorganization of edu-
cation, the kindergarten method, the distinction between higher and
secondary education, the endowment of research, the application of
the higher mathematics to astronomy and physics, such are some of
the divinations, the modernisms of that wonderful work. The frame-
work is a confutation of ethical skepticism by demonstration that
morality is of the nature of things, and the just life is intrinsically
happier than the unjust. The nature of justice can be studied only
in the larger life of the State. A typical Greek city is constructed,—
or rather, allowed to grow, and by the reform of education is in-
sensibly transformed into the ideal monarchy or aristocracy, governed
by philosopher-statesmen who have attained to the Idea of Good.
The existing degenerate forms of government are reviewed, and
estimated by their approximation to this perfect type; and by means
-


## p. 11529 (#143) ##########################################

PLATO
11529
of an elaborate psychological parallel between the individual and the
social constitution, it is inferred that the superior happiness of the
"just man" is proportional to the perfection of the best city.
The puritanic temper reveals itself in the famous banishment of
Homer. In the course of a criticism of Greek anthropomorphism,
which was repeated almost verbatim by the Christian fathers, the
tales told of the gods by Homer are deprecated as unsuitable for the
ears of the young. As his conception of education broadens, Socrates
unfolds the Wordsworthian idea of the molding influence upon char-
acter of noble rhythms, and a beautiful and seemly environment of
nature and art; and ordains that in the perfect city all art and liter-
ature must be of a quality to produce this ennobling effect. Lastly,
recurring to the topic with deeper analysis in the closing book, he
rejects all forms of dramatic, flamboyant, luscious art and literature,
as superficial mimicries twice removed from absolute truth, unwhole-
some stimulants of emotion, and nurses of harmful illusions. We may
not, with Ruskin, pronounce this a quenching of the imagination and
of the poetic sensibilities by the excess of the logical faculty. Plato
is only too conscious of the siren's charm:-"And thou too, dear
friend, dost thou not own her spell, and most especially when she
comes in the guise of Homer? But great is the prize for which we
strive; and what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world of
poetry and art, and lose his own soul? »
"But all those pleasant bowers and palace brave
Guyon broke down with rigor pitiless,
Ne aught their goodly workmanship might save
Them from the tempest of his wrathfulness. "
The 'Republic' undertakes to prove that virtue is its own reward,
and needs no other wage here or hereafter. But at the close the
imperious human cry makes itself heard: "Give her the wages of
going on, and not to die. " The beautiful tale of salvation related
by Er the son of Armenius is like the myth at the close of the
'Gorgias'; and the description of the blissful region of the "upper
earth" in the 'Phædo' rather an "intimation of immortality" than a
cogent logical demonstration. Plato sketches many such proofs: the
soul possesses concepts not derived from experience; the soul is an
uncomposite unity; the soul is a spontaneous source of motion.
But
like the myths, these arguments are rather tentative expressions of
a rational hope than dogmatic affirmations or organic members of a
system. Yet the traditional conception of Plato as the champion of
immortality and the truths of natural religion, is justified by the fact
that in the age when traditional religion first found itself confronted


## p. 11530 (#144) ##########################################

11530
PLATO
with the affirmations of dogmatic science, and with the picture of
a mechanical universe that left no place for God or the soul,-he,
at home in both worlds of thought, stood forward as a mediator,
and demonstrated this much at least: that a purely sensationist psy-
chology fails to yield an intelligible account of mind, and that the
dogmatism of negation is as baseless as the dogmatism of unlicensed
affirmation.
Space does not admit even a sketch of the history of the Pla-
tonic dialogues, and their domination of the thought of intensely
vital ages, like the Renaissance and our own time. Their influence
in literature, philosophy, and the higher education, has perhaps never
been greater than in the past thirty years. No original book of this
generation has done more to shape the thought of our time than
Jowett's admirable translation, accompanied by notes and analyses.
This translation, with Grote's elaborate study in four volumes, Zeller's
"History of Greek Philosophy,' Campbell's excellent article in the
'Encyclopædia Britannica,' and Walter Pater's exquisite 'Plato and
Platonism,' will meet all the needs of the general student. The latest
edition of Zeller will guide scholars to the enormous technical litera-
ture of the subject.
Paul Shrey
ва
FROM THE PROTAGORAS›
[Socrates and his young friend Hippocrates visit the Sophists' school. ]
PROCEEDED: IS not a Sophist, Hippocrates, one who deals
wholesale or retail in the food of the soul? To me that
appears to be the sort of man.
And what, Socrates, is the food of the soul?
Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul; and we
must take care, my friend, that the Sophist does not deceive
us when he praises what he sells, like the dealers wholesale or
retail who sell the food of the body: for they praise indiscrimi-
nately all their goods, without knowing what are really beneficial
or hurtful; neither do their customers know, with the exception
of any trainer or physician who may happen to buy of them.
In like manner those who carry about the wares of knowledge,
and make the round of the cities, and sell or retail them to any
customer who is in want of them, praise them all alike: and I


## p. 11531 (#145) ##########################################

PLATO
11531
should not wonder, O my friend, if many of them were really
ignorant of their effect upon the soul; and their customers
equally ignorant, unless he who buys of them happens to be a
physician of the soul. If therefore you have understanding of
what is good and evil, you may safely buy knowledge of Pro-
tagoras, or of any one; but if not, then, O my friend, pause, and
do not hazard your dearest interests at a game of chance. For
there is far greater peril in buying knowledge than in buying
meat and drink: the one you purchase of the wholesale or retail
dealer, and carry them away in other vessels, and before you
receive them into the body as food you may deposit them at
home, and call in any experienced friend who knows what is
good to be eaten or drunken, and what not, and how much and
when; and hence the danger of purchasing them is not so great.
But when you buy the wares of knowledge you cannot carry
them away in another vessel; they have been sold to you, and
you must take them into the soul and go your way, either
greatly harmed or greatly benefited by the lesson: and therefore
we should think about this and take counsel with our elders; for
we are still young- - too young to determine such a matter. And
now let us go, as we were intending, and hear Protagoras: and
when we have heard what he has to say, we may take counsel
of others; for not only is Protagoras at the house of Callias, but
there is Hippias of Elis, and if I am not mistaken, Prodicus of
Ceos, and several other wise men.
To this we agreed, and proceeded on our way until we reached
the vestibule of the house; and there we stopped in order to
finish a dispute which had arisen as we were going along; and
we stood talking in the vestibule until we had finished and come
to an understanding. And I think that the doorkeeper, who was
a eunuch, and who was probably annoyed at the great inroad of
the Sophists, must have heard us talking. At any rate, when we
knocked at the door, and he opened and saw us, he grumbled,
They are Sophists-he is not at home; and instantly gave the
door a hearty bang with both his hands. Again we knocked,
and he answered without opening, Did you not hear me say that
he is not at home, fellows? But, my friend, I said, we are not
Sophists, and we are not come to see Callias: fear not, for we
want to see Protagoras; and I must request you to announce us.
At last, after a good deal of difficulty, the man was persuaded to
open the door.


## p. 11532 (#146) ##########################################

11532
PLATO
When we entered, we found Protagoras taking a walk in
the portico; and next to him on one side were walking Callias
the son of Hipponicus, and Paralus the son of Pericles, who by
the mother's side is his half-brother, and Charmides the son of
Glaucon. On the other side of him were Xanthippus the other
son of Pericles, Philippides the son of Philomelus; also Antimo-
rus of Mende, who of all the disciples of Protagoras is the most
famous, and intends to make sophistry his profession. A train
of listeners followed him, of whom the greater part appeared
to be foreigners, who accompanied Protagoras out of the vari-
ous cities through which he journeyed. Now he, like Orpheus,
attracted them by his voice, and they followed the attraction. I
should mention also that there were some Athenians in the com-
pany. Nothing delighted me more than the precision of their
movements: they never got into his way at all; but when he
and those who were with him turned back, then the band of list-
eners divided into two parts on either side; he was always in
front, and they wheeled round and took their places behind him.
in perfect order.
>>>
After him, as Homer says, "I lifted up my eyes and saw
Hippias the Elean, sitting in the opposite portico on a chair of
state, and around him were seated on benches Eryximachus the
son of Acumenus, and Phædrus the Myrrhinusian, and Andron
the son of Androtion, and there were strangers whom he had.
brought with him from his native city of Elis, and some others:
they appeared to be asking Hippias certain physical and astro-
nomical questions, and he, ex cathedrâ, was determining their
several questions to them, and discoursing of them.
Also, "my eyes beheld Tantalus"; for Prodicus the Cean was
at Athens: he had been put into a room which in the days of
Hipponicus was a storehouse; but as the house was full, Callias.
had cleared this out and made the room into a guest-chamber.
Now Prodicus was still in bed, wrapped up in sheepskins and
bedclothes, of which there seemed to be a great heap; and there
were sitting by him on the couches near, Pausanias of the deme
of Cerameis, and with Pausanias was a youth quite young, who
is certainly remarkable for his good looks, and if I am not mis-
taken, is also of a fair and gentle nature. I think that I heard
him called Agathon, and my suspicion is that he is the beloved
of Pausanias. There was this youth, and also there were the
two Adeimantuses,—one the son of Cepis, and the other of


## p. 11533 (#147) ##########################################

PLATO
11533
Leucolophides,- and some others. I was very anxious to hear
what Prodicus was saying, for he seemed to me to be an extraor-
dinarily wise and divine man; but I was not able to get into
the inner circle, and his fine deep voice made an echo in the
room which rendered his words inaudible.
No sooner had we entered than there followed us Alcibiades
the beautiful- as you say, and I believe you; and also Critias
the son of Callæschrus.
On entering, we stopped a little in order to look about us,
and then walked up to Protagoras, and I said: Protagoras, my
friend Hippocrates and I have come to see you.
Do you wish, he said, to speak with me alone, or in the pres-
ence of others?
That is as you please, I said: you shall determine when you
have heard the object of our visit.
And what is that? he said.
-
I must explain, I said, that my friend Hippocrates is a native
Athenian; he is the son of Apollodorus, and of a great and pros-
perous house, and he is himself in natural ability quite a match.
for those of his own age. I believe that he aspires to political
eminence; and this he thinks that conversation with you is most
likely to procure for him: now it is for you to decide whether
you would wish to speak to him of these matters alone or in
company.
Thank you, Socrates, for your consideration of me.
For cer-
tainly a stranger finding his way into great cities, and persuad-
ing the flower of the youth in them to leave the company of
their other kinsmen or acquaintance, and live with him, under the
idea that they will be improved by his conversation, ought to
be very cautious: great jealousies are occasioned by his proceed-
ings, and he is the subject of many enmities and conspiracies. I
maintain the art of the Sophist to be of ancient date; but that in
ancient times the professors of the art, fearing this odium, veiled
and disguised themselves under various names; some under that
of poets, as Homer, Hesiod, and Simonides; some as hierophants
and prophets, as Orpheus and Musæus; and some, as I observe,
even under the name of gymnastic-masters, like Iccus of Taren-
tum, or the more recently celebrated Herodicus, now of Selym-
bria and formerly of Megara, who is a first-rate Sophist. Your
own Agathocles pretended to be a musician, but was really an
eminent Sophist; also Pythocleides the Cean; and there were
—————


## p. 11534 (#148) ##########################################

11534
PLATO
many others: and all of them, as I was saying, adopted these
arts as veils or disguises because they were afraid of the envy
of the multitude. But that is not my way: for I do not believe
that they effected their purpose, which was to deceive the gov-
ernment, who were not blinded by them; and as to the people,
they have no understanding, and only repeat what their rulers
are pleased to tell them. Now to run away, and to be caught
in running away, is the very height of folly; and also greatly
increases the exasperation of mankind, for they regard him who
runs away as a rogue, in addition to any other objection which
they have to him: and therefore I take an entirely opposite
course, and acknowledge myself to be a Sophist and instructor of
mankind; such an open acknowledgment appears to me to be a
better sort of caution than concealment Nor do I neglect other
precautions; and therefore I hope, as I may say, by the favor of
heaven, that no harm will come of the acknowledgment that I
am a Sophist. And I have been now many years in the profes-
sion; — for all my years when added up are many, and there is
no one here present of whom I might not be the father. Where-
fore I should much prefer conversing with you, if you do not
object, in the presence of the company.
-
As I suspected that he would like to have a little display and
glory in the presence of Prodicus and Hippias, and would gladly
show us to them in the light of his admirers, I said: But why
should we not summon Prodicus and Hippias and their friends to
hear us?
Very good, he said.
Suppose, said Callias, that we hold a council in which you
may sit and discuss. This was determined, and great delight
was felt at the prospect of hearing wise men talk; we ourselves
all took the chairs and benches, and arranged them by Hippias,
where the other benches had been already placed. Meanwhile
Callias and Alcibiades got up Prodicus, and brought in him and
his companions.
When we were all seated, Protagoras said: Now that the com-
pany are assembled, Socrates, tell me about the young man of
whom you were just now speaking.


## p. 11535 (#149) ##########################################

PLATO
11535
FROM THE (PHÆDO›
[Socrates, concluding his mythical account of the soul's future state, pre-
pares for death. ]
I
Do not mean to affirm that the description which I have given
of the soul and her mansions is exactly true: man of sense
ought hardly to say that. But I do say that inasmuch as
the soul is shown to be immortal, he may venture to think, not
improperly or unworthily, that something of the kind is true.
The venture is a glorious one, and he ought to comfort himself
with words like these, which is the reason why I lengthen out the
tale. Wherefore, I say, let a
man be of good cheer about his
soul who has cast away the pleasures and ornaments of the body
as alien to him, and rather hurtful in their effect, and has followed
after the pleasures of knowledge in this life; who has adorned
the soul in her own proper jewels, which are temperance, and
justice, and courage, and nobility, and truth: in these arrayed she
is ready to go on her journey to the world below, when her time
comes. You, Simmias and Cebes, and all other men, will depart
at some time or other. Me already, as the tragic poet would
say, the voice of Fate calls. Soon I must drink the poison; and
I think that I had better repair to the bath first, in order that
the women may not have the trouble of washing my body after
I am dead.
When he had done speaking, Crito said: And have you any
commands for us, Socrates-anything to say about your children,
or any other matter in which we can serve you?
Nothing particular, he said: only, as I have always told you,
I would have you to look to yourselves; that is a service which
you may always be doing to me and mine as well as to your-
selves. And you need not make professions; for if you take no
thought for yourselves, and walk not according to the precepts
which I have given you,- not now for the first time, the
warmth of your professions will be of no avail.
We will do our best, said Crito. But in what way would you
have us bury you?
In any way that you like; only you must get hold of me, and
take care that I do not walk away from you. Then he turned
to us, and added with a smile: I cannot make Crito believe that
I am the same Socrates who have been talking and conducting
the argument; he fancies that I am the other Socrates whom he
I


## p. 11536 (#150) ##########################################

11536
PLATO
I will soon see,
a dead body,—and he asks, How shall he bury
me? And though I have spoken many words in the endeavor to
show that when I have drunk the poison I shall leave you and
go to the joys of the blessed, these words of mine with which
I comforted you and myself have had, as I perceive, no effect
upon Crito. And therefore I want you to be surety for me now,
as he was surety for me at the trial; but let the promise be of
another sort: for he was my surety to the judges that I would
remain, but you must be my surety to him that I shall not
remain, but go away and depart; and then he will suffer less at
my death, and not be grieved when he sees my body being
burned or buried. I would not have him sorrow at my hard lot,
or say at the burial, Thus we lay out Socrates, or, Thus we fol-
low him to the grave or bury him; for false words are not only
evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil. Be of
good cheer then, my dear Crito; and say that you are burying
my body only, and do with that as is usual, and as you think
best.
When he had spoken these words, he arose and went into
the bath-chamber with Crito, who bid us wait; and we waited,
talking and thinking of the subject of discourse, and also of the
greatness of our sorrow,- he was like a father of whom we
were being bereaved, and we were about to pass the rest of
our lives as orphans. When he had taken the bath, his children
were brought to him (he had two young sons and an elder one);
and the women of his family also came, and he talked to them
and gave them a few directions in the presence of Crito: and he
then dismissed them and returned to us.
Now the hour of sunset was near, for a good deal of time
had passed while he was within. When he came out, he sat
down with us again after his bath, but not much was said. Soon
the jailer, who was the servant of the eleven, entered and stood
by him, saying: To you, Socrates, whom I know to be the no-
blest and gentlest and best of all who ever came to this place, I
will not impute the angry feelings of other men, who rage and
swear at me when, in obedience to the authorities, I bid them
drink the poison: indeed I am sure that you will not be angry
with me; for others, as you are aware, and not I, are the guilty
cause. And so fare you well, and try to bear lightly what must
needs be; you know my errand. Then bursting into tears he
turned away and went out.


## p. 11537 (#151) ##########################################

PLATO
11537
Socrates looked at him and said: I return your good wishes,
and will do as you bid. Then turning to us, he said, How
charming the man is! - since I have been in prison he has always
been coming to see me, and at times he would talk to me, and
was as good as could be to me, and now see how generously he
sorrows for me. But we must do as he says, Crito; let the cup
be brought, if the poison is prepared: if not, let the attendant
prepare some.
Yet, said Crito, the sun is still upon the hill-tops; and many
a one has taken the draught late, and after the announcement
has been made to him, he has eaten and drunk, and indulged in
sensual delights; do not hasten then-there is still time.
Socrates said: Yes, Crito, and they of whom you speak are
right in doing thus, for they think they will gain by the delay,
but I am right in not doing thus, for I do not think that I should
gain anything by drinking the poison a little later; I should be
sparing and saving a life which is already gone: I could only
laugh at myself for this. Please then to do as I say, and not to
refuse me.
Crito, when he heard this, made a sign to the servant; and
the servant went in, and remained for some time, and then
returned with the jailer carrying the cup of poison. Socrates
said: You, my good friend, who are experienced in these matters,
shall give me directions how I am to proceed. The man an-
swered: You have only to walk about until your legs are heavy,
and then lie down and the poison will act. At the same time
he handed the cup to Socrates, who in the easiest and gentlest
manner, without the least fear or change of color or feature,
looking at the man with all his eyes, Echecrates, as his manner
was, took the cup and said: What do you say about making a
libation out of this cup to any god? May I, or not? The man
answered: We only prepare, Socrates, just so much as we deem
enough. I understand, he said; yet I may and must pray to the
gods to prosper my journey from this to that other world; may
this then, which is my prayer, be granted to me. Then holding
the cup to his lips, quite readily and cheerfully he drank off the
poison. And hitherto most of us had been able to control our
sorrow; but now when we saw him drinking, and saw too that
he had finished the draught, we could no longer forbear, and in
spite of myself my own tears were flowing fast; so that I cov-
ered my face and wept over myself,- for certainly I was not
XX-722


## p. 11538 (#152) ##########################################

11538
PLATO
weeping over him, but at the thought of my own calamity in
having lost such a companion. Nor was I the first: Crito, when
he found himself unable to restrain his tears, had got up and
moved away, and I followed; and at that moment, Apollodorus,
who had been weeping all the time, broke out into a loud cry,
which made cowards of us all. Socrates alone retained his calm-
ness: What is this strange outcry? he said. I sent away the
women mainly in order that they might not offend in this
way; for I have heard that a man should die in peace. Be
quiet then, and have patience. When we heard that, we were
ashamed, and refrained our tears; and he walked about until, as
he said, his legs began to fail, and then he lay on his back,
according to the directions: and the man who gave him the poi-
son now and then looked at his feet and legs; and after a while
he pressed his foot hard and asked him if he could feel; and he
said No; and then his leg, and so upwards and upwards, and
showed us that he was cold and stiff. And he felt them himself,
and said: When the poison reaches the heart, that will be the
end. He was beginning to grow cold about the groin, when he
uncovered his face, for he had covered himself up, and said (they
were his last words) -he said: Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius:
will you remember to pay the debt? The debt shall be paid,
said Crito: is there anything else? There was no answer to this
question: but in a minute or two a movement was heard, and
the attendants uncovered him; his eyes were set, and Crito
closed his eyes and mouth.
Such was the end, Echecrates, of our friend, whom I may
truly call the wisest and justest and best of all the men whom
I have ever known.
FROM THE APOLOGY'
[Remarks added by Socrates after his condemnation. ]
Α
ND now, O men who have condemned me, I would fain
prophesy to you; for I am about to die, and that is the
hour in which men are gifted with prophetic power.
And
I prophesy to you who are my murderers, that immediately after
my death, punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me
will surely await you. Me you have killed because you wanted
to escape the accuser, and not to give an account of your lives.


## p. 11539 (#153) ##########################################

PLATO
11539
For I say
But that will not be as you suppose: far otherwise.
that there will be more accusers of you than there are now; ac-
cusers whom hitherto I have restrained: and as they are younger
they will be more severe with you, and you will be more offended
at them. For if you think that by killing men you can avoid
the accuser censuring your lives, you are mistaken; that is not a
way of escape which is either possible or honorable: the easiest
and the noblest way is not to be crushing others, but to be im-
proving yourselves. This is the prophecy which I utter before
my departure, to the judges who have condemned me.
Friends who would have acquitted me, I would like also to
talk with you about this thing which has happened, while the
magistrates are busy, and before I go to the place at which I
must die. Stay then for a while; for we may as well talk with
one another while there is time. You are my friends, and I
should like to show you the meaning of this event which has
happened to me. O my judges,- for you I may truly call
judges, I should like to tell you of a wonderful circumstance.
Hitherto the familiar oracle within me has constantly been in
the habit of opposing me even about trifles, if I was going to
make a slip or error about anything; and now, as you see, there
has come upon me that which may be thought, and is generally
believed to be, the last and worst evil. But the oracle made no
sign of opposition, either as I was leaving my house and going
out in the morning, or when I was going up into this court,
or while I was speaking, at anything which I was going to say;
and yet I have often been stopped in the middle of a speech, but
now in nothing I either said or did touching this matter has
the oracle opposed me. What do I take to be the explanation of
this? I will tell you. I regard this as a proof that what has
happened to me is a good, and that those of us who think that
death is an evil are in error. This is a great proof to me of
what I am saying; for the customary sign would surely have
opposed me had I been going to evil and not to good.
Let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there is
great reason to hope that death is a good, for one of two things:
either death is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness,
or as men say, there is a change and migration of the soul from
this world to another. Now if you suppose that there is no con-
sciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed
even by the sight of dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain.
―――


## p. 11540 (#154) ##########################################

11540
PLATO
For if a person were to select the night in which his sleep was
undisturbed even by dreams, and were to compare with this the
other days and nights of his life, and then were to tell us how
many days and nights he had passed in the course of his life.
better and more pleasantly than this one, I think that any man
-I will not say a private man, but even the great king-will
not find many such days or nights, when compared with the
others. Now if death is like this, I say that to die is gain; for
eternity is then only a single night. But if death is the journey
to another place, and there, as men say, all the dead are, what
good, O my friends and judges, can be greater than this? If
indeed, when the pilgrim arrives in the world below, he is de-
livered from the professors of justice in this world, and finds the
true judges who are said to give judgment there,- Minos and
Rhadamanthus and acus and Triptolemus, and other sons of
God who were righteous in their own life,- that pilgrimage will
be worth making. What would not a man give if he might con-
verse with Orpheus and Musæus and Hesiod and Homer? Nay,
if this be true, let me die again and again. I too shall have
a wonderful interest in a place where I can converse with Pala-
medes, and Ajax the son of Telamon, and other heroes of old,
who have suffered death through an unjust judgment; and there
will be no small pleasure, as I think, in comparing my own suf-
fering with theirs. Above all, I shall be able to continue my
search into true and false knowledge; as in this world, so also in
that, I shall find out who is wise, and who pretends to be wise
and is not. What would not a man give, O judges, to be able
to examine the leader of the great Trojan expedition; or Odys-
seus or Sisyphus, or numberless others, men and women too!
What infinite delight would there be in conversing with them.
and asking them questions! For in that world they do not put
a man to death for this; certainly not. For besides being hap-
pier in that world than in this, they will be immortal, if what
is said is true.
Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer about death, and
know this of a truth,- that no evil can happen to a good man,
either in life or after death. He and his are not neglected by
the gods; nor has my own approaching end happened by mere
chance. But I see clearly that to die and be released was better
for me; and therefore the oracle gave no sign. For which rea-
son, also, I am not angry with my accusers or my condemners;


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they have done me no harm, although neither of them meant to
do me any good; and for this I may gently blame them.
Still I have a favor to ask of them. When my sons are
grown up, I would ask you, O my friends, to punish them; and
I would have you trouble them, as I have troubled you, if they
seem to care about riches, or anything, more than about virtue;
or if they pretend to be something when they are really nothing,
- then reprove them, as I have reproved you, for not caring
about that for which they ought to care, and thinking that they
are something when they are really nothing. And if you do
this, I and my sons will have received justice at your hands.
The hour of departure has arrived; and we go our ways—I
to die, and you to live. Which is better, God only knows.
E
FROM THE PHEDRUS›
[Mythic description of the soul. ]
NOUGH of the Soul's immortality.
Her form is a theme of divine and large discourse;
human language may however speak of this briefly, and in
a figure. Let our figure be of a composite nature,—a pair of
winged horses and a charioteer. Now the winged horses and the
charioteer of the gods are all of them noble, and of noble breed,
while ours are mixed; and we have a charioteer who drives them
in a pair, and one of them is noble and of noble origin, and the
other is ignoble and of ignoble origin; and as might be expected,
there is a great deal of trouble in managing them.
I will en-
deavor to explain to you in what way the mortal differs from the
immortal creature. The soul or animate being has the care of
the inanimate, and traverses the whole heaven in divers forms
appearing; when perfect and fully winged she soars upward, and
is the ruler of the universe: while the imperfect soul loses her
feathers, and drooping in her flight, at last settles on the solid
ground; there, finding a home, she receives an earthly frame
which appears to be self-moved, but is really moved by her
power: and this composition of soul and body is called a living
and mortal creature. For no such union can be reasonably be-
lieved, or at all proved, to be other than mortal; although fancy
may imagine a god, whom, not having seen nor surely known, we


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invent,― such a one, an immortal creature having a body and
having also a soul, which have been united in all time. Let that,
however, be as God wills, and be spoken of acceptably to him.
But the reason why the soul loses her feathers should be ex-
plained, and is as follows:-
The wing is intended to soar aloft and carry that which gravi-
tates downward, into the upper region which is the dwelling of
the gods; and this is that element of the body which is most
akin to the divine. Now the divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness,
and the like: and by these the wing of the soul is nourished, and
grows apace; but when fed upon evil and foulness, and the like,
wastes and falls away. Zeus, the mighty lord holding the reins
of a winged chariot, leads the way in heaven, ordering all and
caring for all; and there follows him the heavenly array of gods
and demigods, divided into eleven bands: for only Hestia is left
at home in the house of heaven; but the rest of the twelve
greater deities march in their appointed order. And they see in
the interior of heaven many blessed sights: and there are ways
to and fro, along which the happy gods are passing, each one
fulfilling his own work; and any one may follow who pleases, for
jealousy has no place in the heavenly choir.